The Girl Next Door (8 page)

“All right, then,” said Duncan. “Lead the way.

G
EORGE
and Rose Connelly’s house was a modest bungalow with a small, neatly tended yard
and a bright standing lantern that threw out a welcoming arc of light. A foot-high
statue of
the Virgin Mary, set inside a pale blue starry niche, stood in the front garden near
the steps. A bouquet of red artificial roses in the vase near her feet were a jarring
note in the otherwise browning shrubbery of autumn.

Nina parked behind Jimmy’s Saturn and she and Duncan followed him up the front steps.
He opened the door and called out, “Hello. I’m home.” The front of the house had a
dark glassed-in porch with canvas-covered porch furniture. But it was bright inside
the house, and an appealing smell wafted out to the darkened porch.

“Come on in,” said Jimmy, leading the way through the open front door. “You can have
a seat.” He gestured toward the matching taupe sofa and love seat perpendicular to
one another against the living room walls. Above the sofas were a bevy of framed family
photos, many of them including Jimmy, and an assortment of acrylic landscapes in tubular
aluminum frames. There was also a framed picture of a haloed Jesus.

Despite Jimmy’s suggestion, Nina and Duncan remained standing. Rose Connelly came
out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel. She was a short, stout woman
with a blond perm. She was wearing a Western-style denim shirt with pearl snaps up
the front and pink flowers embroidered across the yoke.

Jimmy reached out and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said.

“Mom, you remember my father, and Nina.”

Rose smiled at Nina. “Hello, dear.” Then she nodded at Duncan. “Dr. Avery,” she said.

“Hello, Rose. You’re looking well,” said Duncan.

“Something smells great,” said Nina, trying to ignore the strained smile on Rose’s
face and her own unease at hearing Jimmy call this woman “Mom.”

“I made a stew for dinner. I hope that’s okay. Go get
George, honey,” she said to Jimmy. “He’s out in his workshop. Sit down, sit down.”

“This is so nice of you,” said Nina, slipping off her coat and holding out her hand
for Duncan’s jacket. “Where can I put these?”

“Just lay them on the glider on the sunporch. Dr. Avery, can I get you a drink? We
have beer, or wine coolers.”

“Uh, no,” said Duncan. “I’m not allowed to have alcohol. Conditions of parole. And
call me Duncan. Please.”

Rose nodded, but Nina saw something stiff and disapproving in Rose’s expression. Rose
had always been warm and friendly to Nina when she visited in the past. There was
a distinctly different atmosphere to this visit. Nina deposited the coats on the porch
and came back into the living room, seating herself beside Duncan on the love seat.
Rose sat in a wooden Windsor-style armchair across the room, beside the gas fireplace.

“So, Jimmy tells me that you two are staying at your aunt’s house?” Rose asked politely.

“Just temporarily,” said Nina. “We need to find a more permanent place for Dad. Do
you know of anybody who has an apartment?”

“Around here? No, oh no,” said Rose quickly, frowning as if Nina had suggested the
impossible. “There’s nothing.”

Nothing, Nina thought? Rose Connelly had lived here for years. Surely she would know
someone with an apartment to rent. If she wanted to help. Nina reminded herself not
to take offense. Rose and her husband, George, had done her family a great favor.

“How is Anthony doing?” Duncan asked.

The harsh expression on Rose’s face softened. “He’s doing fine. Healthy as a horse.
Knock on wood,” she said, tapping on the arm of her chair. “Graduates from college
this year. He’s going to go to medical school,” Rose said proudly.

“That’s wonderful,” said Duncan. “If there’s any way I can help, any advice about
managing the work …”

Rose’s smile disappeared. “That won’t be necessary,” she said coolly. “Oh, they’re
here,” she said, relief in her voice as she looked through the archway into the dining
room.

George Connelly came in, trailed by Jimmy. Their former postman was graying, but still
trim, and wore the same jovial expression that Nina remembered from childhood when
he would greet her by name at the front door as she ran to get the mail.

Duncan stood up as George entered the room and extended his hand. “George.”

George brushed Duncan’s hand away and gave him a quick embrace, clapping him heartily
on the back. “Good to see you, Doc,” he said.

Duncan looked at Jimmy, who fidgeted uncomfortably under his gaze, and then back at
George. “I’m glad I can thank you in person for all you’ve done for my boy.”

George shook his head. “It’s been our pleasure, Doc. We love this boy like our own
son.” He gazed at Jimmy, who smiled shyly at the ground.

Duncan nodded. “Of course, he’s imposed on your hospitality for rather a long time.
I never meant for him to become a permanent fixture under your roof.”

“I don’t really think of that as a problem,” Rose said sharply.

“Jimmy will always have a home here,” George said in a soothing tone. “Rose, that
dinner smells so good. Can we eat?”

R
OSE
served the meal in dutiful silence while Duncan and George talked about fishing.
George had a skiff he kept on a trailer down by the river. Duncan always claimed that
he never had time to fish, but even when George was their mailman, he and Duncan would
have long conversations about what was biting and the relative merits of different
kinds of bait.

“We might still get a day or two in before the boat’s got to come out of the water
for the winter,” said George. “The three of us can go. You, me, and Jimmy.”

Nina glanced at her brother. He had been silent through much of the meal, and his
face was contorted with anxiety. He was clearly suffering, as she was, from the tension
that would descend on the table whenever the conversation flagged.

Almost as soon as they set down their forks, Nina suggested that they should be getting
home. They got up from the table and thanked Rose for her dinner. She remained seated,
insisting politely that it was no trouble. George got up to bid them farewell and
Jimmy accompanied them to the door. The three of them stood in awkward silence on
the darkened sunporch.

“Well, we’d better be going.” Duncan reached out and put his arm awkwardly around
Jimmy’s shoulders. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I just want you to know that
I’m proud of you, Jim. I know addiction is a hard battle. I’m proud of the way you
took your life in hand.”

“Working in a flooring place,” Jimmy demurred. “It’s not like being a doctor.”

“Hey, it’s honest work,” said Duncan. “I think it’s great. I think you’re great.”

Jimmy shook off Duncan’s embrace. “Stop it, Dad. Just stop it.”

“Jimmy,” said Nina in a warning tone.

Even in the dim light of the porch, Nina could see Jimmy’s eyes glistening, and there
was a pained expression on his face. “I can’t handle this.”

“Handle what?” Duncan asked, perplexed. “All I said was that I was proud of you.”

“You don’t even know me,” Jimmy cried. Without a word of farewell, he turned and rushed
back inside the house.

D
UNCAN
sat silently beside her in the car. Nina glanced at his stony profile and fumed at
the memory of her brother’s behavior. “I’m so sorry about that scene with Jimmy,”
she said, breaking the silence. “He’s kind of a high-strung guy. I’m sure he didn’t
mean to be so …”

“Stop apologizing, Nina. You don’t owe me any apologies.”

“This is why I didn’t want you coming back to Hoffman. I mean, everywhere you turn
you’re running into this kind of thing. People can be so cruel.”

Duncan snorted. “You have no idea, Nina. You could never imagine, in your wildest
dreams, how brutal and inhuman people can be to one another,” he said in an expressionless
voice.

Nina knew he was talking about his life in prison. “How did you stand it?” she asked
cautiously. “Especially knowing you were innocent. It must have been horrible. I can’t
even imagine how horrible,” said Nina. “And after all you went through …
Jimmy acts like he’s the one who’s suffered. Honestly, it makes me want to scream.”

Duncan was silent for a moment. Then he said, “Your brother really seems to have made
a home with the Connellys.”

“Yeah, maybe too much,” said Nina. “Patrick’s afraid he’s going to live there forever.”

“He calls her Mom,” said Duncan.

“I noticed,” said Nina. She drove along in silence for a moment. Then she said, “Why
did
Jimmy go to live with the Connellys, Dad? I mean, we hardly knew them. Mr. Connelly
was our mailman. I never really understood how he ended up there.”

Duncan did not answer right away. For a moment Nina wondered if her question had registered.
She glanced over at his brooding profile. “Dad?”

Duncan shook his head. “The Connellys wanted to help because of Anthony. They were
grateful and they wanted to help. And I thought … I could see what strong people they
were. Good people. I knew it would take a lot of strength to get him away from … the
drugs. I thought I could trust them to do … what was best for Jimmy.”

“Well, in all fairness, I’d say you were right about that,” she admitted.

“Your mother always blamed Jimmy’s problems on me, you know. She said I was a terrible
father.”

“That wasn’t true,” said Nina loyally.

“I don’t know,” Duncan said wearily. “Maybe it was.”

N
INA
had left the lights on, so the house glowed cheerfully as she pulled her aunt’s old
Volvo into the driveway. She got out of the car and inhaled deeply of the autumn night.
“It does smell
good here, doesn’t it?” she said to her father, who had emerged from the passenger
side.

“You can’t imagine,” he said.

“Let’s go in. I’m tired. I don’t know about you.”

Duncan frowned. “I think I’m going to take a little stroll.”

For some reason, the idea of him out walking alone in the dark filled her with anxiety.
“It’s kind of late,” she said. “It’s dark.”

“I’m not afraid of the dark,” he said.

“I know, but …”

“Nina,” Duncan snapped. “Don’t be my jailer. Please. I don’t need any more of that.”

Nina shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dad. You’re right. I don’t know what’s the matter
with me.”

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker and started off down the driveway,
the leaves crunching and rustling around his feet. Nina turned and went into the house
after he had disappeared from view.

The house felt damp and chilly, so she turned up the thermostat, and she switched
on the TV so the noise would keep her company. Everywhere she looked there were little
jobs to do. Obviously, Aunt Mary had been letting the housekeeping slide because of
her age and her bad hip. Nina dusted off the piano keys and closed the instrument’s
lid, straightened up a pile of magazines, and took a bunch of old newspapers into
the back room for recycling. She looked in the empty refrigerator and sighed, knowing
she needed to go to the store the next day. But first things first. She had to check
her messages, to see if her agent had any news for her. She fished her cell phone
out of her satchel on the kitchen table and punched in the numbers to reach her voice
mail.

“Yeah, Nina,” said the gravelly voice of Len Weinberg, who had been her agent since
the start of her career. “You got
Monday and Tuesday free like you wanted. But you’ve got three auditions after that.
Wednesday morning you have an audition for Seasons Cosmetics and you have to be in
the chair by six a.m.”

Six a.m., Nina thought. She’d have to take the bus into the city Tuesday or she’d
never make it on time. As she listened to the rest of Len’s message, she wandered
back into the living room and flopped down on the couch, gazing absently at the talking
heads on the news. All of a sudden, she saw her father’s face pictured on the screen.
It was a recent photo, taken during a jailhouse interview after he won his parole.
She put down her phone, grabbed the remote, and turned up the volume.

“Authorities here in Hoffman have learned that the convicted wife killer, who was
once a respected physician, has moved back into their community. The news has some
people worried. We talked to the chief of police, who had this to say.”

An image of a stocky red-haired man filled the screen. His tie was tight against a
stark white collar. Under his solemn face, the footage was captioned “Chief Eugene
Perry, Hoffman Police.” Nina did not recognize the new chief from the time of her
mother’s murder. “I’m aware of Dr. Avery’s history,” Chief Perry said. “It’s nothing
for people to be concerned about. He does not pose a threat to the community.”

The reporter was returned to the screen. “The chief is confident that they have the
situation in hand,” he said, “but there are others here in Hoffman who are not so
sure.”

The reporter’s face was then replaced by tape of some middle-aged woman shopping on
Lafayette Street saying, “You’re darn right I’m worried about it. I mean, a man that
violent living here in our community. I didn’t know the man, but I remember when it
happened …”

Oh my God, Nina thought. Who told them? We’ve been here one day. Already they’ve got
him plastered all over the
news. How can he get any peace? I knew he shouldn’t come back here.

The camera switched back to the reporter, who was saying, “This is Ed Fitler, reporting
from Hoffman, New Jersey, where an anxious town is trying to adjust to the homecoming
of a convicted killer.”

Fuming, Nina snapped off the TV and stalked over to the window. There had to be a
law against that. How could they put that stuff on TV for everybody to see? She peered
up and down the street, as far as the trees allowed her to see, but there was no sign
of her father.

She could picture him walking along out there, kicking through the leaves, his hands
in his pockets, taking a little pleasure from his freedom. What if somebody saw him
out there and recognized him? And decided they didn’t want him on their street? People
could be so irrational and vicious. They might come chasing after him. They could
hurt him. Kids were known for things like that. Adults, too. She couldn’t just leave
him alone out there. She grabbed up the keys and her jacket and ran out to the car.