The Good Neighbor (11 page)

“Johnny would not fool around on you. He loves you more than life. You remember that chick he went to school with, the one who got drunk and threw herself at him at your wedding?”

“I’d like to forget,” I said.

“He only had eyes for you, always has. He’s so intensely in love with you, and I am so jealous.”

“But the wife is always last to know.”

“Your mom was, but it doesn’t mean you will be. Not every man on the planet is like your peripatetic, AWOL dad. There’s nothing to know about Johnny. You chose him for a reason.”

“But our lives feel fragile, Nat. We lost everything. I can’t lose him, too.”

“You won’t.”

“Is this one of your predictions?”

“A good one.”

I felt as though someone was reaching into my head and twisting my brain around. “I trust him. But what if I shouldn’t?”

“You need to focus on healing, getting back on your feet, getting into a house.”

When I hung up, I paced. I wasn’t going to visit Theresa. I would end up interrogating an innocent, friendly, pregnant neighbor. Natalie was right. Johnny and I needed to look for another place to live. I called Eris to take her up on her offer to show us houses for sale.

By Friday afternoon, she had shown us several lovely homes, none of which seemed right. One artsy blue bungalow, hugging the shore of Moon Cove, had too many windows. The scents of outside seeped through the cracks—the salty ocean and a nearby bonfire emitting the nauseating odor of burning wood. At one time, I would’ve found such a smell comforting, a reminder of campfires and s’mores, but not now. In the bathroom, I had gazed up through the skylight and watched the skittering clouds overhead, while Eris and Johnny chatted in the bedroom. “Dixondale wanted all his windows facing the water,” Eris had said. “High glass to let in the most light.”

“Art Dixondale designed this house?” Johnny’s voice had risen in admiration. They’d discussed one architect after another, and then Eris had shown us a two-story house on Green Spot, the lower level built into the hillside, its rooms dark, the bottom level slightly dank and mildewed. Aside from the view of the ferryboat chugging across Puget Sound, the house had offered nothing to recommend it. We were back where we started. It would take time to find the proper home.

Johnny had started running on the roads, avoiding the woods. It was as though he deliberately followed well-traveled paths in plain view, to reassure me. My headaches started to decrease, but my nightmares took on a life of their own, and it was all I could do to put on a smiling face to babysit Mia on Friday afternoon. Her hair had begun to grow back, but the white scar on her forehead still peeked through her bangs. On the drive from Harriet’s place to the cottage, Mia sang along to a Taylor Swift tune playing on the radio.

“Pretty impressive,” I said. “Do you know what those words really mean?”

“They’re about breaking up with a boy.”

“You’re full of wisdom,” I said as I turned onto Shadow Bluff Lane.

“I’m full of . . . breakfast!”

“Then we can move right along to having fun.”

When Johnny got back to the cottage that evening, Mia sat on the living room floor, covered in cookie icing, her hair done up and her nails painted. She quietly played with her Barbie dolls.

Johnny hung his coat in the small front closet and strode into the living room. I sat on the couch, pretending to read, but I watched Mia, who was lost in her Barbie world. Her lips kept moving, her words silent as she engaged the dolls in secret conversation.

“Mia, Uncle Johnny is here,” I said.

Mia didn’t reply, just kept playing and whispering to herself.

“Hello, Mia.” Johnny kneeled next to her, picked up a blond Barbie clad in a pink tutu. “Who is this?”

“That’s Barbie I Can Be a Ballerina.” She didn’t look at him.

“What do you want to be?”

“I’m a princess.”

“You certainly are. Nice hairdo.”

She looked up at him and smiled, dimples forming in her cherubic cheeks. “I have Barbie Flower ’N Flutter Fairy Doll at home. Not at my grandma’s house.”

“I see.” Johnny glanced up at me, and I shook my head. None of Mia’s dolls had survived the fire.

He put the doll down. “We might have to get a replacement.”

“No, I have one already. My mommy got it. She’s getting me more fairy dolls.” She busied herself undressing another Barbie that she’d brought from Harriet’s house. “I want Barbie the Princess and the Pop Star.”

“You do, do you?” Johnny glanced at the pile of picture books on the coffee table. “Did you bring bedtime stories, too?”

“My daddy reads to me.” Mia’s lips turned down, and for a moment, she seemed about to burst into tears. Was she remembering the fire? “My daddy is buying me presents. I have Rock Princess Barbie. She has a coloring book. I need more crayons. My favorite color is Granny Smith apple.”

“Okay, we’ll get Granny Smith apple.” He got up and went into the kitchen. I followed. He sifted through the mail, his shoulders tense. “How long is she staying, again?” he asked.

“Overnight,” I whispered.

“She still believes she’s going home.”

“She’s only four.”

Mia was suddenly silent in the living room, as if she were listening. “Eris mentioned a house for sale up in Kingston,” he said. He ripped open envelopes and threw junk mail into the recycling bin.

“I’m taking Mia shopping tomorrow,” I said. “Jessie is coming with us.”

“Sounds nice,” Johnny said absentmindedly.

“You have to work.”

“Yes, work.” He spoke from another planet.

I returned to the living room, suppressing my irritation, and smiled at Mia. “Want to go on the tire swing before dark?”

Mia jumped to her feet in the carefree manner of children—limbs loose, her head tilted to the side as she held Ballerina Barbie upside down. “Can she come, too?”

“She can come. But you might need both hands on the swing.”

“Okay.” Mia dropped Barbie on the floor. “She says she wants the Barbie Dreamhouse. It’s got a kitchen with a light-up oven and stuff.”

“Maybe she should ask your grandma.” I took Mia’s hand, and it was a major operation to put on her shoes. Johnny escaped into the second bedroom and shut the door. Mia chattered on about the dolls she had at home. She recited all their names.

In the backyard, I helped Mia climb into the tire swing. “It’s a donut swing!” she exclaimed, pumping her legs. I’d been pushing her for only a few minutes when Mia pointed toward the road. “Look! A doggy!”

“We don’t have any dogs here.” But someone’s yellow lab pranced around the yard, tongue lolling, whole body wagging.

“Cute doggy!” Mia said, fearless.

“It must belong to a neighbor. Stay here.” I ran around to the front. Eris sauntered down the road next to a tall, casually dressed man who held a leash in his hand. “Hey, Sarah!” Eris called out and waved.

Was this the new boyfriend? I met them at the curb, the dog weaving around their legs. Close up, the man had a clean-cut, suave appeal. He called for his dog,
Briana,
in a stern voice, clipped her collar to the leash.

Eris patted Briana’s head, then smiled at me, her cheeks flushed. “Sarah, I’d like you to meet Steve Wessler.”

I smiled and shook his hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

Steve nodded in a perfunctory way, his lips pursed tight, like a horizontal crack in concrete. “We should get back,” he said to Eris. “We have things to discuss.”

“Yes, things to discuss.” Eris winked at me and the couple headed for home, the dog on a short leash.

When I returned to the backyard, I found the tire swinging gently without Mia inside. She couldn’t have climbed down so fast on her own.

“Mia, where are you?” A surge of adrenaline kicked me into action. I called for her while I checked behind the woodpile, behind the small shed at the edge of the yard. The door was secured with a padlock. I looked along the edge of the woods.
Okay, don’t panic.

Finally, I heard a small whimpering sound beneath the front porch. Mia hid there, crouched with her arms around her legs. “There you are,” I said, relief washing through me.

“I’m scared,” she said.

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. I promise.” But could I really make such assurances? “What would make you feel less scared?”

She looked up at me. “My mom gives me a protection kiss.”

Monique’s sad eyes materialized in my mind, but I could no longer picture the details of her face. “A double protection kiss for you,” I said, and I blew a kiss to Mia. “Will you come out now?”

“Maybe,” she said.

“What if I add ice cream to the kiss?”

She nodded and slowly crawled out from under the porch. I held her tight, stroking her soft hair.

Johnny had not come out the whole time. He’d holed up in the office, and later that evening, as I stood in the office doorway, listening to him read
Where the Wild Things Are
to Mia, I no longer felt certain about him as a future father.

At precisely what moment had my feelings begun to shift? I had always imagined him like this, reading to a child. Had he changed, or had I simply become less sure of him?

“Read it again,” Mia said when Johnny had finished.

“We’ve already read it twice,” he said wearily.

“Again.” What was it about children and repetition? I remembered checking out the same Curious George books from the library again and again when I was a child, seeking the comfort of familiar yellow covers. If only I could find that comfort again.

“Okay, but this is the last time, and then night-night,” Johnny said. He read through the story, his deep voice a soothing lullaby. Mia’s eyes focused on the full-page, imaginative illustrations, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes gradually closed.

As he finished reading, Mia didn’t move. She snored softly. Johnny slowly extracted himself from her grasp and got out of bed. I had never seen such a large person move so quietly. Mia did not wake up. Johnny put the book on the table, tiptoed to the door, and turned off the light.

Back in our room, with both doors slightly ajar, Johnny hugged me and stroked my hair. “So, what do you think? Do I make the perfect dad?”

“You were great,” I whispered back.

“But not perfect,” he said.

“Nobody’s perfect.”