The Perfect Neighbors (19 page)

She'd shopped a dozen times before it happened again—quick trips to the mini-mart to pick up a quart of milk, and bigger excursions to Whole Foods. She'd gotten a new winter coat for Melanie. Temptation had never beckoned.

Until the day Gigi went into an upscale boutique with the gift certificate Joe's parents had given her for her birthday. Gigi had never set foot in the store before—it catered to a certain kind of woman, one who didn't wear Birkenstocks—and she felt uncomfortable the moment she breathed in the perfumed air and saw a tall, stick-thin woman approach her.

“Just looking,” Gigi said. She reached out absently to touch a coat on a rack and snatched her hand back when she realized she was touching fur.

She'd once seen a documentary about the torture animals endured so wealthy people could strip them of their fur. Soft little creatures caught in traps, their limbs broken, plaintively crying . . . Gigi knew she couldn't buy anything here.

She approached the saleswoman. “I received this for a birthday,” she said, handing over the certificate. “There isn't anything here I need, so I'd like to receive the cash instead.”

The woman had raised an eyebrow. “I'm sorry, but that's against our policy.”

Gigi had felt a slow burn. “That's ridiculous. May I speak to the manager?”

“I am the manager,” the woman had said.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Gigi said. “I don't like the clothes here. I won't wear them. I want a refund.”

The woman had flipped over the certificate. “It says right here: ‘Cannot be exchanged for cash value.' ”

Gigi had snatched it back.

“Fine,” she said. She wanted to tear it to shreds, but had a better idea. “I'll donate it to a women's shelter.”

She'd started to stalk out then and, without even thinking about it, her hand had shot out and grabbed a scarf.

She'd made it four paces down the sidewalk when she heard the man's voice behind her:

“Ma'am? I'm going to need you to come with me.”

Of course, with all that expensive fur, there had been a security guard in the store, Gigi thought as she froze in place, one foot outstretched, her heart thudding in her chest.

“Why did you do it?” Joe asked later, when he'd come to the police station.

He wasn't mad, but he was deeply confused. She was, too.

“I have no idea,” she'd finally said. Reasons rolled through her mind, but none made sense. Because I was bored? Because sometimes I feel as if I don't matter, and the contours of my life are shrinking, and I want to mean more?

She was relieved Joe didn't know the worst part. She'd been alone when she'd been caught. But the other two times—at the department store and the drugstore—baby Melanie had been strapped in a carrier on her chest, sleeping, while her mother had blithely committed crimes.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Before Newport Cove

AFTER THE INCIDENTS WITH
the nanny and the Advil and at the park, things grew increasingly strained between Tessa and Harry. He called more frequently when he was out of town—three or four times a day—and took the red-eye home rather than stay away an extra night. Harry was six foot two, and he never could sleep on airplanes. He hated the red-eye. She suspected he no longer trusted her, even though the children had begun school full-time. Even though there hadn't been another incident in years.

But maybe he was right. Those early, panic-inducing scenes seemed to have changed something in Tessa. Or maybe years of sleep-deprivation and general anxiety had rewired her, leaving her jittery and easily startled. Celine was working with another family in the neighborhood and had been for years; Tessa saw her now and then in the park. The nanny still didn't smile much, but she seemed to be a diligent caregiver.

Tessa had seen danger everywhere when it hadn't existed. It made the ground feel unsteady beneath her feet. How could
she protect her children when she couldn't distinguish an actual threat from an imaginary one? When her children were safely asleep, Tessa would wander out to look at the angel statue in the butterfly garden she and Harry had created.

Help me
, she would pray beneath the moonlight.
Help me to . . .
But she never knew what to add after that. Get better? Relax? Learn to be the right kind of mother?

She insisted on walking her kids to school, even after Bree turned eight and her friends on the street were allowed to walk alone. Even though the school was just two blocks away, and didn't require crossing any major intersections.

She felt perpetually keyed up, as if she'd consistently had one cup too many of coffee. She tried to take up yoga, but her mind raced even more frantically in the quiet space. She threw herself into volunteering at the kids' school, which helped a little, but only because Tessa could surreptitiously sneak glances at her kids on the playground and in the lunchroom.

When one of Addison's friends invited him to join a local group called Young Rangers that was similar to Boy Scouts, Tessa was relieved to know parents were invited to attend all the meetings, as well as excursions like an overnight camping trip.

Tessa had driven Addison to the first meeting. She'd brought along a book in her purse, and had intended to sit in the back row, reading.

She and Addison had walked into the school rec room together that first night. A tall man with crew-cut graying hair had walked over to greet them. He appeared to be about sixty, a little heavyset, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans.

“Are you our newest Ranger?” he'd asked Addison.

Addison had broken into a grin. “Yup,” he'd said. He could be shy sometimes, but something about this man had put him at ease.

“Excellent,” the man had said. He'd reached out to shake Addison's hand, then he'd smiled up at Tessa.

“I'm Danny Briggs,” he'd said.

Chapter Twenty-Five

JASON HAD BEEN ACTING
strangely.

Ever since Thanksgiving, when Irene had made her crack about Kellie's texts, Kellie had noticed the change. He'd gone from being a contented man who looked forward to dinner and the television after work to someone who seemed more . . . alert.

Last night, Kellie had come out of the bathroom to discover Jason staring down at her iPhone.

“What are you doing?” she'd asked.

“It, uh, rang,” he'd said. “I was going to answer it for you but I think they hung up first.”

“Oh,” Kellie had said. “Probably just a telemarketer.”

But when she'd walked over to her iPhone and typed in the code to unlock her screen, the register showed no incoming calls.

Had he been trying to check her messages? He wouldn't find anything incriminating. A bunch of work exchanges, some spam, and a few texts from Miller, including one that had arrived that afternoon that read:
You look especially pretty today.

Well, maybe that was incriminating. If Jason worked in a normal office building, though, he'd probably go out to lunch
with attractive women all the time. Just look at the way that blonde in the hardware store had acted! But because his father and old Ed were his only coworkers, it might be hard for him to understand that she and Miller checked in with each other during the weekdays and occasionally scouted houses together.

“Office spouses.” There was even an innocuous term for her relationship with Miller, one that showed how common their relationship was in the workplace.

Still, something had compelled Kellie to get home early today, so she could hit the grocery store and get the fixings for dinner before the kids came home from school. Usually she dragged them along on errands so she could be in the office from nine to three, but today she decided to grill steaks, Jason's favorite, and make twice-baked potatoes.

Miraculously, Mia even put a tiny piece of steak on her plate, next to her pile of carrots and roll, and proclaimed it “Not awful.”

“I'll take it,” Kellie whispered to Jason. “She's tougher than Gordon Ramsay.”

“Did everyone have a good day?” Jason asked.

“I did,” Mia said. “Mrs. Dickenson had to step out of the room and she asked me to be in charge and report any bad behavior.”

Well played, Mrs. Dickenson
, Kellie thought. Mia must've been drunk with power.

“Did anyone misbehave?” Kellie asked.

“No, but I'm pretty sure Luke Dunhill was thinking about it,” Mia said.

“Why did she have to leave?” Noah asked. “Did she have diarrhea?”

Kellie and Jason burst into laughter.

“That is so gross,” Mia said. “Why are you laughing? You're encouraging him.”

“Projectile vomit is worse,” Noah said.

“Make him stop!” Mia said.

“Should we watch
Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
tonight?” Kellie asked.

It was one of their traditions. They taped tons of holiday specials, and watched them together before bedtime, one per night, between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

“Sure,” Jason said. “Sounds great.”

After the dishes were done and the kids bathed and in pj's, Kellie put oil in a pot to heat, then she dumped in popcorn kernels and set out the butter to soften before going into the living room.

“Move over, monkey,” she said to Noah, bumping him with her hip. She plopped onto the couch and put an arm around him. Jason was at the other end, with Mia also in the middle, next to Noah.

“Finally!” Mia said loudly. “We've been waiting forever for you, Mom!”

Kellie was about to remind Mia to keep her voice down, but Jason spoke up first.

“It's okay, honey,” Jason said softly. “She's here now.”

Kellie's eyes drifted to his and he smiled. It took so little to make Jason happy. A piece of steak. A football game. Having his little family all on the same couch.

“Can we have hot chocolate, too?” Noah asked.

“Sure,” Jason said. He leaped up. “I'll get it.”

Jason never leaped up.

“Check on the popcorn?” Kellie asked.

“Sure,” he said.

Jason was definitely more energetic lately. More tuned in. Was he trying a new kind of diet? Kellie wondered. He'd brought home a nice sweater in a navy knit yesterday; she'd seen him take it out of a shopping bag. Maybe he'd gone to the mall and had realized he'd inched up a few sizes over the past few years.

“You didn't tell us about your day. Was it good?” Kellie asked, kissing the top of Noah's head. He had the world's greatest hair—thick and full and sand-colored. Luckily, he was still at an age where he didn't mind her running her hand through it.

“Yeah,” he said.

“What was the best part?” she asked.

“Recess,” he said. “We played Power Rangers.”

She loved the feeling of his warm body resting against hers. Noah was her puppy child, a floppy, happy-go-lucky bundle of deliciousness. A miniature version of his father, a third-­generation photocopy. She stretched out her arm and grabbed on to Mia, pulling her in closer, too. She loved her children so deeply it felt like an ache sometimes. She could never do anything to cause them pain.

“Popcorn, madam,” Jason said, handing Kellie the bowl.

“Yum,” she said, scooping up a handful before passing it to the kids to devour.

“Four hot chocolates coming up,” he said, disappearing again and returning a moment later with a tray of drinks.

“Fancy,” she said, taking her cup. “Where'd you find the whipped cream?”

“In the back of the fridge,” he said. “The expiration date said it expired last week but it still tastes good.”

Kellie wrinkled her nose and took a sip, but he was right.

“Did you fart?” Mia asked Noah.

“Yup,” he said.

“Eww! Mom!”

“Noah, I forbid you from ever farting again,” Jason said, mock sternly. “Hold it in, son.”

He reached for the clicker and started the video.

This was her real life, Kellie realized. Her messy, imperfect, wonderful life. Her crush on Miller, their mutual flirtation—that was just an illusion. It was like the airbrushed photos of models frolicking on a beach. Miller looked good to her because she didn't know any of his flaws. But if they ever were together—which was not going to happen—she'd discover all sorts of horrible things about him.

Maybe he picked his nose, for example.

No, she couldn't picture it.

Miller had worn a new suit to work today. The cut looked
vaguely Italian. She'd asked him if he'd gotten it in preparation for his dream trip to the vineyards.

“You noticed it's new?” he'd said, grinning.

Jason was looking at her with an odd expression.

“What?” she said. She reached up and touched her chin. “Do I have hot chocolate on my face?”

“No,” he said. “Didn't you hear me? I was talking to you.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I just spaced out. What'd you say?”

A look she wasn't able to identify flitted across his face, and when he spoke again, his tone didn't match his words.

“I said, ‘This is nice, isn't it?' ” Jason said.

Kellie nodded quickly. “It is,” she said.

Jason cleared his throat. “Are you working this weekend?”

“Just showing around a client for an hour or two on Sunday,” she said.

“Shhh!” Mia said. “I'm trying to watch.”

Kellie smiled at Jason and turned toward the screen again, determined to keep her focus on her family. Where it belonged.

•  •  •

Susan picked up the insulated shopping bag and her purse from the passenger's seat of her Mercedes and headed into Sunrise Community Assisted Living Center. As she walked toward the elevator, she noticed a group of about a dozen schoolchildren clustered in the lobby, singing carols.

Susan paused, drawn in by the ethereal sound.

“Silent night,” the boys and girls sang in high, sweet voices. “Holy night. All is calm, all is bright . . .”

Residents were gathered around the singers, some in wheelchairs and others leaning on walkers. A frail-looking woman with white hair so thin her pink scalp shone through raised a shaky hand toward the children, as if she yearned to touch their faces. Susan saw a man sitting on the couch, an afghan across his knees, discreetly dabbing his eyes with a tissue.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” a familiar voice said beside her.

Susan turned to see Mr. Brannon in his usual white button-­down shirt and pressed slacks.

“It is,” she whispered, surprised by the catch in her throat.

They listened together as the song wound down, then joined in the applause. The children began to move through the audience, distributing little snowflake-shaped gift bags.

“Would you mind if we departed now?” Mr. Brannon said before the children reached him. “I don't mean to rush you.”

“Of course,” Susan said, hoping he wasn't exhausted from standing for so long. His treats would keep in the insulated bag; she could give them to him later. She went out and brought around the car and opened the passenger's-side door for him, then closed it when he was safely inside.

“Thank you,” he said as she climbed in.

Susan patted his hand, then turned the heat a few notches higher and drove to their usual Starbucks. Once he had his chai tea in hand, she headed to the high school where he'd first asked her to stop.

“Shall we sit for a while?” he asked when they approached the entrance. He always worded his requests politely, but she knew by now how much these quiet minutes meant to him. Always at the high school, the house, the hospital, the pizza place. Always the vigils.

“For as long as you like,” she said. She pulled into a visitor's parking spot and they stared at the large redbrick structure. A big outdoor sign proclaimed,
HOME OF THE TIGERS—2015 ROLLINGWOOD COUNTY SOCCER CHAMPIONS!

They sipped their chai in companionable silence, and after ten minutes or so, Mr. Brannon turned to her.

“I'm ready now, my dear,” he said.

Susan went to put her chai in the cup holder, then she remembered something. The garden stone Tessa had given her weeks earlier was tucked in her purse, wrapped in layers of tissue paper to protect it. She'd forgotten to give it to Mr. Brannon the last time she'd seen him.

She reached into her purse and pulled it out.

“The new owners of your house found this,” she said. “They thought you might want it.”

“Oh, what do we have here?” Mr. Brannon said. He unwrapped it and looked down.

“It was in the garden,” Susan said. She hadn't looked at it carefully when Tessa had given it to her, but now she saw that along with the mold of a child's handprint was the name “Edward.” What she'd thought was a design etched along the border was actually thin, spidery-looking letters.

“Edward,” she said. “Was he a neighborhood child?”

Mr. Brannon released a sound from deep in his throat and her head dropped.

“Oh, no, Mr. Brannon,” she said. She reached out and twisted in her seat so she could put her arms around him. “Please, Mr. Brannon, I didn't mean to make you cry.”

She could feel his thin shoulder blades through the fabric of his coat. His body shook but he didn't make any more sounds.

She comforted him like she would Cole. “I'm so sorry,” she said. “I'm so sorry you're hurting.”

After a moment she drew back and reached for a napkin. He wiped his eyes and stared at the stone.

“How could I have forgotten this?” he said. He put his own hand up against the print. “Thank you for bringing it to me.”

Gigi had said the Brannons didn't have any children. Edward must have died long ago, Susan thought.

“You must miss him so much,” Susan said.

“I do,” Mr. Brannon said.

Edward must have gone to school here, Susan thought as she looked up at the high school. The pizza parlor could have been where they'd celebrated his birthday. The old redbrick house—perhaps the Brannon family had lived there when Edward was a boy.

“It was my fault he is lost to us,” Mr. Brannon said. Deep
grooves of sorrow were etched from the corners of his mouth down to his chin.

“It wasn't,” Susan said, because she couldn't stand to see this kind man blame himself. “It wasn't your fault he died!”

Mr. Brannon looked up at her.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Edward is still alive.”

•  •  •

Mr. Brannon looked utterly exhausted, so Susan hadn't asked a single question. She'd just driven him back home. He'd held on to her arm as they'd walked to the elevator, one of the few signs of physical weakness he'd ever allowed himself to show in her presence.

It was dinnertime at Sunrise, but he'd said he was too tired to go into the dining room.

“They can bring me up a meal if I put in a request,” he said once he was seated comfortably in the easy chair in his bedroom, his shoes off.

“We can do better than that,” Susan said. “Just give me a minute.”

Mr. Brannon's suite didn't contain a full kitchen, but there was a sink, a mini refrigerator, a hot plate, and a microwave in a little nook off the living area. Susan unpacked her grocery bag, stacking individual containers of casseroles and soups in the refrigerator. She put two tins of brownies on the counter, figuring Garth would snatch up the one labeled with his name when he returned from dinner. She prepared tomato soup and a grilled cheddar cheese sandwich for Mr. Brannon, then took one of the bottles of water from the fridge and arranged everything on a tray before bringing it to him.

“You're so good to me,” he said as he dipped his spoon into the bowl. His hand was shaking, Susan saw.

Susan sat down across from him, on the foot of the bed. He'd put the garden stone on the bureau, but Susan wondered if he wanted to look at it every time he came into his room.
“Would you like me to put the garden stone away?” she asked. “I can wrap it back up and put it in a drawer.”