The Good Neighbor (4 page)

“What about your emergency meeting in New York?”

“It was an interview. Didn't work out.”

Did anything?

“What's the point of this call, Bruce? Just to ruin my night?”

“I thought you should know I don't know when I'll be able to pay for day care, or to send the next check, but I'll try.”

“Are you kidding me? You'll try? What are we supposed to do in the meantime?”

“We'll all just have to cut back. I have a few irons in the fire, and they've tied up most of my cash. As it is, I'm just going to squeak by paying my own mortgage and car payments.”

“Not my problem, Bruce.” But it was.

“Maybe Mrs. Feldman can watch Noah,” Bruce sputtered. “He loves her. Didn't you stay with her when you were little?”

“Mrs. Feldman is eighty-five!” Bruce was impervious to everyone's limitations except his own.

“Maybe your parents can help.”

My parents were two hours away and Bruce knew it. “I know. Now that you're not working, you can take Noah to school and pick him up every day. You can even stay at my house until I get home. If you have an interview, schedule it during school hours.”

“That's another thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

What now?

“I'm not going to be here for a while.”

“What do you mean you're not going to be here?”

“I'm going to Palo Alto.”

“California? You have a son, Bruce. He belongs to both of us. Not just to me and not just to you when you feel like it. You can't leave him.” Or me again
.
I willed myself to not throw up in the middle of the street, or on top of my car.

“Stop!” he yelled. I pictured Noah alarmed. Bruce was not a yeller. Even the end of our marriage was met with quiet conversations and sticky-note messages on the refrigerator. “It's only for a few weeks. Amber's company is based there.”

My head swirled. A few weeks and I was supposed to feel grateful? I didn't like being away from Noah for a weekend, and Bruce was leaving for a few weeks and used the word
only
? And
Amber's company
—where did I even start with that one? “You need to look for a job, Bruce. You don't get to go on a vacation with your girlfriend. You don't get to go on a vacation, period.”

“Amber is giving me airline miles, and obviously I'll stay with her in a company apartment. I'll spend less there than I would at home. And I'll be doing a lot of networking.”

“Oh, is that what they're calling it now? I must have missed the memo.”

“It's only three weeks. A month at most,” he mumbled. “We'll talk on the phone and you can hook up a Web chat. Noah understands.”

“He doesn't understand. He's
five
. I've got to go.” I walked down 12th Street to turn left onto Sansom toward the restaurant. Meema's was Jade's hip hangout du jour. It served designer cocktails and gourmet comfort food. Whatever that was.

“Izzy?”

“What now, Bruce?”

“I'm sorry.”

I wouldn't let his sincere tone fool me again. “I scramble to make ends meet and you lie on the beach. You're such a man, Bruce.” I knew what got to him and was glad to use it, even though I had always promised myself I'd play fair.

“First, Palo Alto is near San Francisco. I'm not going to be lying on the beach. Second, I'm just asking you to deal with this for a month or two.”

“Are you kidding me? You do know I'm calling my lawyer. You have to pay child support, Bruce. You have to pay for day care. I'm pretty sure that going to California indefinitely would be considered abandonment. Way to help Noah rack up the therapy bills before he's six.”

“Do you really want Noah to get caught up in a court battle?” Bruce knew what got to me. “I promise I'll make it right. I would never let Noah down, I just need a little time. I know what you think of me, but I'm a great dad, Izzers.”

How dare he use the nickname for my nickname. He was playing on my emotions, my sympathy, the kind heart that he knew existed beneath the one he'd turned to stone.

I stopped at the entrance to Meema's, but didn't remember walking there. “I've got to go.” I pulled open the door. Out sailed a line of revelers.

Now I looked like a doorman and a doormat.

“Will you give me a chance to turn this around before you take me to court?”

“I'll think about it.”

“I'll have Noah home tomorrow night at six. Unless you want an extra night off since…”

“No. Stick to the schedule.” I wanted my boy to come home.

“Iz?”

“What?”

“I know it's a lot to ask, but please trust me.”

I had trusted him more than once, and that didn't work out so well. All I could do was push
END
.

 

Chapter 4

Kerplunk

M
EEMA'S WAS CROWDED AND
dimly lit. I looked to the bar and saw blurry faces, bodies moving in slow motion. What was I doing here? Who was I there to see? I gazed above shoulders and heads and saw one graceful arm waving back and forth. Right. Jade. I weaved through the pretty people, none of whom resembled anyone in my real life. They lined up like bowling pins as they waited for tables and cocktails and lovers and friends. Their faces revealed no outward worry. Were they all as happy as they seemed? How I wished I hadn't answered the phone so I could seem happy, too.

I stepped in front of Jade and grabbed her arm.

Her eyes opened wide. “What's wrong, Pea?”

“Everything.” I burst into tears.

Jade grabbed her drink and draped her arm over my shoulder. Then she took my coat and handed it to the man standing next to her. He looked familiar but I couldn't place the face, so I just nodded. Let him have the coat. My self-esteem was in the pocket with some coins and a straw wrapper. He could have it all. I didn't care.

“Let's go somewhere,” Jade said. And by
somewhere
she meant
inside
the ladies' lounge.

She nudged me onto a chair and plucked tissues from the deluxe cozy-covered box near the sinks. Then she scooted next to me and dabbed my eyes. “Waterproof mascara. Good choice. Now tell me what's wrong. Is it Mac?”

“No. Bruce lost his job.”

Jade stared, waiting for more. Wasn't that enough?

“He bailed on the day-care bill and I have no idea if he'll pay support next month!” The ominous uncertainty drained any feeling from my legs. “And he asked me to give him time to get back on his feet. Can you believe that?”

Jade nodded. The woman at the sink raised her eyebrows at me in solidarity before turning on the water.

“It's a bad economy.”

“Excuse me?”

“I'm sorry, but is it really your problem that Bruce needs a new job?”

“Yes, it's my problem.” I grabbed the tissues from her hand. I would wipe my own tears and snot. How could I expect her to understand? I might have been Queen of Chicken Nuggets and School District Paperwork, but Jade was Center City's social media sweetheart.

“I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I thought moving back home made things easier for you.”

Back home
. That stung like a school-yard pinch. “It does. But easier still doesn't mean easy. Anyway, just because I can take care of everything on my own doesn't mean I should have to. It's his obligation. Noah is his kid, too. And with Bruce's support added to my salary, I don't really struggle to pay the bills. We're okay. Now I'll pinch pennies and he'll lie on the beach. He's going to California with Amber.”

Now I had her attention. Or not. Jade nodded like a television therapist. “He's moved on.” She rubbed my back in circles. “At this point, he's supposed to. You should be moving on, too. I thought you had. Or at least that you were trying.”

“This has nothing to do with Bruce and Amber, it has to do with Bruce leaving when he should be here helping with Noah. And taking care of us—not leaving us again.” I gasped after hearing my words aloud.

“Déjà vu, Pea.”

She was right. Bruce had left me flailing at critical moments through the nine years I'd known him. It was the times he
didn't
that had made me believe I could count on him. I realized now he acted out of obligation, in deference to his good-guy image. If after his leaving, the obligation vanished for him, and the image vanished for me, then why did the disappointment feel the same? The hollow at the bottom of my stomach. The twinge in my side. Stress manifested itself in my gut every time.

“You're amazing, Pea. Remember that. I could
not
do what you're doing—working, raising a kid, seeing an ex
all
the time…”

“You would if you had to, honey.” The voice drifted toward us from a bathroom stall.

Ladies' washrooms were peculiar gathering places. Strangers shared toilet paper squares under stall dividers, divvied up tampons, and ensured no one left with a skirt tucked into her underwear or a bra strap showing—unless it was the style.

“But I'm still confused.” Jade was never confused. She was meticulous and methodical. She was a problem solver. A puzzle lover. “I get why you're upset about Bruce going to California. Let's face it. That's just Bruce. At first, he does what's right for everyone. You know that. In the end, he just
can't
and he does what's right for him. Frankly, you should try it, but the Noah part…”

“I shouldn't have to support Noah on my own.”

“Does it really make that much of a difference?”

“Yes. It's a lot of money. But if I go right to court, I'm still going to look like the bad guy.”

“Then don't. Give Bruce a chance.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I'm not. I just want you to do what's right for you—not what you think Bruce
deserves
.”

“So Noah has to be without his dad, we both have to be without the money we need, and Bruce can work on some scheme and pursue his passion out in California?”

“You never know when opportunity might come knocking on your door.”

“As long as it's not Bruce knocking, I'll answer it.”

Then a voice filtered out from another bathroom stall: “Good riddance to bad rubbish, honey.”

Then the toilet flushed, which said it all.

*   *   *

Jade and I joined a group of mostly hipsters huddled around a small high top. Coat Guy was there, but no longer held my coat.

“Everyone! This is Elizabeth Lane,” Jade said.

“Izzy,” I said. I widened my eyes and smiled at Jade. I thought we were here to have a girls' night out,
girls
meaning
me and Jade,
not me and Jade and six twenty- or thirtysomethings, half of whom weren't girls. Not to mention Coat Guy, who looked my age, and who looked familiar. I leafed through my mental photo album of Jade's exes, many of whom she'd stayed friends with, but he didn't look like her type. My thoughts were then drowned out from the welcoming committee and its clutter of nice-to-meet-yous and we've-heard-so-much-about-yous.

“You want to help me out here?” I side-mouthed to Jade.

“This is my team,” Jade said it as if that explained everything. “From Pop Philly.”

“Oh.” I shook hands fist over fist and made eye contact with each person, trying to match the person with the details I'd heard from Jade over the past two years. Since launching the online hub for all things interesting or new in the city, Jade had told me every time she hired someone, added a blog or an angle or a new design, the same way a mom rattled on about her baby's monthly milestones. I was supposed to be reading Pop Philly every day when really I popped in once a week. Or when I remembered. So maybe I didn't keep up with everything that was going on. But this—the hair, the smiles, the clothes, the piercings, the visible tattoos—it was all too much. They were all too young. None of them, except Coat Guy, were older than thirty. I'm sure they all felt my thirty-nine-year-old vibe before I'd merged onto I-95.

“So this is our
Philly over Forty
blogger, huh?”

My mouth dropped open and I looked at Jade, who pointed to her own mouth so I'd shut mine.

“Yes, Izzy is going to be the newest blogger for Pop Philly!”

My mouth opened again. What did Jade say? “I can't.”

“Why not, honey?” Dreadlocks spoke up with a lilt in his voice, songlike, sweet. “I sent a link to your
Bizzy Blog
to my dad, and you know what? He'd already seen it! When AOL slaps your URL for a few hours on their home page, lots of people see it. And I didn't even know people still used AOL.” A collective nod told me to delete my AOL account.

“Tell her what your dad said, Holden.”

Holden. Dreadlocks = Holden.

“He says he's following your lead and moving forward. And my parents have been divorced for ten years.”

Something I wrote gave a stranger confidence? Some posts had a lot of comments, but never close to the number of page views. I wondered what the lurkers thought, and now I knew. At least about one. Someone old enough to be Dreadlocks'—Holden's—father, was listening to my little words of wisdom? Wait, did this mean
I
was old enough to be Holden's mother?

“That's very nice, but I'm just not writing anymore.” I counted in my head and figured Holden's dad must be much older than me.

“I think you owe it to your reading public,” Nose Ring said. Aside from the tiny gold hoop that went in and out with her every word, this young woman looked like a Main Line prep school princess. She had blunt-cut, straight blond hair, naturally long lashes, and clavicles that looked like rolling hills. She also had a tattoo on the inside of her forearm, script I couldn't quite read at an upside-down and sideways angle. I peeked around at her feet, expecting stilettos, ballet flats, or pumps, but saw combat boots. And she saw me.