The Perfect Neighbors (22 page)

“But you're ready to move on,” Susan said. “You'd like to try something different.”

“Some of these retirement homes have gourmet coffee in the morning,” Catherine said eagerly. “Doesn't that sound nice, coffee that someone else makes?”

“It does,” Susan said. Sometimes it was the small things that held the greatest allure; she'd love to be brought coffee once in a while instead of having to brew it herself.

“And you don't have to go outside to get the newspaper, and there are swimming pools heated to make old bones comfortable,” Catherine said. “And don't laugh at the cliché, but I might even take a knitting class.”

“I wouldn't laugh,” Susan promised.

“But my kids won't let go,” Catherine said. The cadence of her voice slowed, became more somber. “I can't find happiness with them holding on so tightly. They love this house. I think they're planning on inheriting it when I go, and maybe giving it to one of the grandchildren. It's been in our family for so long.”

“Catherine, I don't think you need me to tell you what to do,” Susan said gently.

Catherine sighed again. “I need to talk to them,” she said. “I need to tell them I'm going to sell our family home to use the money to pay for an apartment in a retirement community. It'll break their hearts.”

“I wouldn't think of it that way,” Susan said. “I think they're just scared of what will happen to them if you move on. They might lose some of their purpose and their identity if they
no longer feel they're needed to take care of you. And they'll miss their childhood home, of course. But that doesn't mean it should keep you from living your life. They'll adjust. I promise they will.”

“Thank you,” Catherine said softly. “I'll do it.”

“That wraps up our chat for this morning,” Susan said, her tone becoming brisk. “Thank you all for joining us. Please tune in again next week at the same time, same station. I'm Susan Barrett, wishing you a healthy and happy week ahead.”

Her producer gave her the thumbs-up as the show's theme music played for a few beats, then Susan removed her headphones and walked out of the studio.

“Good show,” one of the sound guys said as she headed to the elevator.

“Thanks,” she said. “Sorry—just in a rush. I've got to—”

Thankfully the elevator came before he could get a look at her face, and she escaped into the soundproof chamber before releasing the sob that was building in her throat. She made it to her Mercedes in the employees' lot and turned on the engine, but instead of driving away, she stayed in place, her hands on the wheel, her body beginning to tremble.

How could she counsel other people to let go, to move on with their lives, when it was impossible for her to do the same? She was still frozen in place, her life locked into the moment Randall had left.

They're just scared of what will happen to them if you move on
,
Susan had said.
But that doesn't mean it should keep you from living your life. They'll adjust. I promise they will.

Sometimes, though, people didn't adjust. She never should have made that promise. She was a fraud.

•  •  •

Jason looked completely out of place in the doorway to her office. He was wearing a dress shirt, the same blue button-down
he'd had for nearly a decade. It strained slightly across his middle.

“Honey?” Kellie had been about to dial a number, but she put down her phone and hurried to his side.

“Surprise!” he said.

“What are you doing here?” Kellie asked, feeling her eyes widen. “I mean, I just— Don't you have to be at work?”

“I took off early,” he said.

Jason never took off early on Fridays. Those afternoons, along with Saturday mornings, were the hardware store's busiest time, when all the weekend repair warriors stocked up for projects.

“Wow,” Kellie said. “Well, let me show you around! I was actually going to leave in fifteen minutes to get the kids. I'm glad you caught me.”

“My mom is getting the kids today,” Jason said. “I thought we could go somewhere for happy hour, then get dinner. Just you and me.”

“Really?” Kellie looked at Jason carefully. Usually she was the one who cajoled Jason to go out. He was the homebody, she was the social butterfly. “Okay. Sure. That sounds really nice.”

Kellie could see the office receptionist watching them, and gossipy Maria peering around from the edge of her computer screen to check out Jason. Jason noticed them, too.

“Don't you want to introduce me?” he asked.

“Sure,” Kellie said. She suddenly wondered if Miller was nearby. She hadn't seen him in almost an hour. Maybe he'd left early to show a client some listings in advance of the open houses that were always held on Sundays.

Kellie walked Jason over to the receptionist's desk. “This is Barb, who saves all of our lives by staying on top of everything and keeping this place organized.”

“I'm the office mom,” Barb said agreeably.

“Barb, my husband, Jason”—Kellie waited while Jason smiled and shook hands—“and Maria, one of our senior agents.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Maria, who'd progressed from peering around the edges of her computer to getting up and walking over to Kellie's side. The memory of Maria's look when she'd spotted Kellie and Miller in the bakery flashed in Kellie's mind.

“Maria!” Jason said, breaking into a big smile, as he gave a slight emphasis to the second syllable in her name.

Kellie looked at him quickly. “Do you guys know each other?”

“Nope,” Maria said.

Kellie frowned. The way Jason had said Maria's name had seemed . . . familiar.

“So, how long have the two of you been married?” Maria was asking.

“Forever,” Kellie said lightly.

“Almost seventeen years,” Jason said. “We met in high school.”

“Aw, high school sweethearts,” Maria said. She had the raspy voice of a longtime smoker, which she was, and the ability to instantly carry on a conversation on any topic—a valuable skill in a real estate agent.

“So you were lab partners in biology? Or let me guess—­Kellie was the cheerleader and you were the football star, Jason?” Maria continued. “Am I right?”

“That is uncanny,” Kellie said, just as Jason began to say, “Well, not exactly the star.”

“Oh, Jason, come check out the kitchen,” Kellie said. If Jason started talking about his high school football days they might never escape. “Do you want some coffee?”

“No, I'm good,” Jason said, but Kellie kept moving, giving him no choice but to follow, cutting short his conversation with Maria. Kellie wanted to get out of the office fast. It felt strange having Jason here. Disorienting, somehow.

She knew she wasn't handling this well. Maria was staring after her, probably puzzled by the abrupt end to the conversation, and Kellie's voice sounded higher and sharper than
normal, even to her own ears. She probably seemed nervous. She
was
nervous. Jason had looked at Maria strangely; she hadn't been imagining that. And what about the way Maria had marched over to meet Jason and had immediately started asking about their marriage!

Maria couldn't possibly have looked up Kellie's home number and phoned to warn Jason about Kellie's flirtation with Miller, could she? Was that why Jason had shown up without any warning?

“Sure I can't tempt you with a Keurig Dunkin' Donuts latte?” Kellie offered. “Or a hot chocolate?”

No, she was being ridiculous. It wasn't as if Maria had caught Kellie and Miller going at it in the supply closet. Besides, Maria didn't seem malicious, only nosy.

“Should we head out?” Jason asked.

They'd almost made it to the door when it opened. Jason had to abruptly stop moving to avoid being hit as it swung inward. Kellie knew before he even took a step inside the office that Miller was on the other side.

“Hey, you,” he said, breaking into a wide smile when he saw Kellie.

She quickly stepped up next to Jason. “Miller, hi. This is my husband, Jason.”

She had to do it like that. She couldn't risk Miller mentioning something about them going to A Piece of Cake.

Jason stuck out his hand and Miller shook it. “Nice to meet you,” they said in unison.

“Kellie's mentioned you,” Jason said.

I have?
Kellie thought. But then she remembered the house Miller had sold to Tessa. Kellie had helped him with the listing, so she'd probably dropped Miller's name then. She knew she hadn't brought up Miller in a while, though. Jason's words seemed deliberate. Significant.

Was Jason jealous? She saw Miller through his eyes. Miller was a few inches taller than Jason's five foot ten, and he still
had all of his hair. Those sorts of details seemed to matter greatly to men.

“Ducking out early?” Miller was asking.

Kellie smiled, even though her heart was thudding. Why had Jason shown up here? Was he staring at Miller a beat too long? Did he know she'd closed her eyes last night when they'd been in bed and had imagined Miller was the one making love to her? Could she have spoken Miller's name in her sleep?

Kellie could feel her armpits grow damp. Her breath came faster.

“Have fun,” Maria called out, waving.

Jason put his hand on the small of her back in what seemed like a possessive gesture, and steered her toward the door. Her husband, the guy who'd always been an open book, was suddenly inscrutable to Kellie.

“Okay, we're off!” Kellie said. “See you.”

She walked through the door as Miller held it open, briefly becoming almost sandwiched between the two men, as Jason was so close behind her. She couldn't escape from this place quickly enough.

Kellie exhaled as they turned the corner and reached the elevator. How did women do this? How did they carry on affairs and keep their worlds from colliding? It was too stressful. She needed to end her flirtation with Miller. What she should do was transfer to another branch of the real estate company. There was another office just twenty minutes away, on the other side of town.

But then there would be no sweet texts from Miller telling her he liked her dress. No tingle in her lower belly as she pulled in to the employee parking lot and checked to see if Miller's car was there yet. Her life would deflate back into its old, tired shape.

Maybe she didn't need to transfer, she thought miserably. She just had to tone things down with Miller. If only she knew how.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Before Newport Cove

THE YOUNG RANGERS GROUP
was proceeding exactly as Tessa had hoped. Addison earned badges and learned songs and tried, along with the other boys, to rub together two sticks to start a fire (that was about as successful as Tessa had expected, and after a few minutes Danny had pulled out a Zippo lighter, calling it a “Ranger magic wand”). The kids toasted marshmallows and made s'mores. They argued about what colors to paint their derby car. They laughed a lot.

“He's a saint,” one of the other mothers had said to Tessa as she watched Danny give the kids high-fives. “We're thinking about getting him a nice gift card for the holidays. Want to go in on it?”

“I'd love to,” Tessa had said. Sometimes Tessa wondered if Harry's being absent from the children's lives during so much of their formative years had created a distance between them. He loved the kids, of course. He just didn't seem terribly interested in them. He'd play with them for a few minutes, then pick up the newspaper or turn on his iPad. He never created
forts out of pillows or put shaving cream on Addison's chin and gave him a razor with the blade taken out so that Addison could pretend he was shaving alongside his dad. He didn't do the kind of fun things that sitcom fathers seemed to. Sometimes Tessa would watch Phil on
Modern Family
—clueless, ridiculous Phil—and she'd wished she'd married a guy with a little more Phil in him.

But he'd set up college savings accounts for the kids when they were babies. He'd put up safety gates on the stairs to protect them. He didn't get angry when the kids bounded into the bedroom early in the morning and pulled the covers off him. Maybe he wasn't a great father, but he was a good enough one.

But Danny was present in all the ways Harry wasn't. Danny listened to the kids, and threw back his head and laughed when they said something unintentionally funny. He sat cross-legged on the floor with them. He ate a charred marshmallow at the campfire and made ridiculous faces that practically sent the boys into convulsions.

“Remember, uniforms come in next week,” Danny had said at the conclusion of one of the meetings.

“Say thank you to Danny,” Tessa had prompted Addison, who'd run over to Danny. Danny had reached down to give Addison a hug. “You're welcome, buddy,” he'd said.

Tessa was in a rush to drive home and get the kids bathed and into bed. Harry was out of town again, and it was a school night. They'd be tired in the morning if she didn't hurry.

She, the eternal worrier, still hadn't picked up on a single sign.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*Help Needed for Holiday Decorating Committee!

Please join Newport Cove's Holiday Decorating Committee! We'll be festooning street lamps with wreaths, wrapping white lights around community bushes, and planning a very special visit by Santa for all kids (young and merely young-at-heart). Contact Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager, to sign up. —­Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager

•  •  •

Kellie started to walk toward the parking lot. “Should we leave my car here?” she asked. “It seems silly for us to drive two. But then you'd have to bring me back to work tomorrow . . .”

Jason smiled and put his hands on Kellie's shoulders and steered her toward the front of the building, in the opposite direction of the parking lot.

“Jason?” she asked. “What's going on?”

She stopped short when she saw a limousine parked in front of her office building, a driver wearing a jacket and cap standing by the open back door of the vehicle.

Kellie blinked a few times, then turned around and stared at her husband.

Jason was smiling. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “Get in!”

•  •  •

“Where should we put the cake?” asked Susan, who was wearing bell-bottom jeans and a headband decorated with blue and red peace signs.

Gigi, who was in a sheath dress and white go-go boots, glanced around. “Maybe on that empty table by the bar?” she suggested. “We should probably keep it away from the dance floor.”

Jason had booked a private room at the community center for Kellie's surprise fortieth birthday disco party. Right about now, he'd be picking her up at the office. In the back of the limousine he'd rented, he had a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket. After a long, leisurely drive around town and a stop at Kellie's favorite restaurant for hors d'oeuvres, he'd bring her here, where her family and friends were assembling.

Jason had picked up alcohol and sodas and a few appetizer platters and Susan had made the cake—a decadent, fudgy one. Gigi was in charge of the decorations. Tessa had volunteered to bartend, surprisingly. “I used to do it at the charity fund-raiser for my kids' school,” Tessa had said. “I can make a mean dirty martini.”

The disco strobe light was hung in place, and Gigi was taping up the last streamer. Jason's parents were bringing by the kids for the first half hour of the party, to sing “Happy Birthday” and give their mom a kiss and steal a piece of cake, then the lights would go down and the real party would begin.

Kellie's actual birthday was a month away. But Jason knew she'd become suspicious if he planned a party for the right date.

Easygoing Jason, who was always in the front yard tossing around a football with his son and who'd once shown up at the pool with his toenails painted bright green (his daughter's
handiwork), was such a sweet husband, Gigi thought. She wondered if Jason knew about Kellie's flirtation with her work friend, Miller. Maybe that's why he was going all out for the party, to fight for his wife.

Gigi was rooting for him.

Gigi had found an online store that specialized in '70s attire, and she'd bought extra wigs and outfits. After everyone shouted “Surprise!” she'd hustle Kellie into the bathroom and let her pick something fun to wear.

All the elements were in place. Except for the niggling feeling in the pit of Gigi's stomach, a sense that something was amiss.

This morning, Melanie had come downstairs with her hair neatly brushed, wearing jeans and a cream-colored sweater and the brown riding boots that had been buried in the back of her closet.

“You look so nice!” Gigi had blurted before she could stop herself.

But instead of rolling her eyes or rushing back upstairs to change, Melanie had simply mumbled, “Thanks,” and reached into the fruit bowl for an apple.

Gigi had been praying for a shift precisely like this in Melanie. Now that it had arrived, though, it felt too dramatic. Too quick.

After she'd eaten half of her apple, Melanie had gotten a mug from a cabinet and filled it with coffee.

“You're drinking coffee?” Gigi had asked.
Way to state the obvious
, she thought. Melanie didn't have to be sarcastic around her; Gigi was well trained enough to do it to herself now.

“Mmm-hmm,” Melanie said.

Well, she was almost sixteen. A little coffee wouldn't hurt her, Gigi thought, hiding a smile as Melanie took a sip, wrinkled her nose, and added a huge splash of cream and two heaping spoonfuls of sugar.

“Is Dad around?” Melanie asked.

“No, he and Zach went to some breakfast,” Gigi said. “Rotary Club or— No, a seniors group, I think.”

“Okay,” Melanie said.

“Remember it's Kellie's surprise party tonight,” Gigi said.

“Right,” Melanie said. “Is Dad going with you?”

Why are you suddenly so concerned about Dad's schedule?
Gigi wanted to say, but didn't. She knew exactly why.

“Yes,” Gigi said. “He might get there a little late, but he's coming.” She felt like she was pressing her luck, but she still asked, “So can you stay home with Julia? You know she gets nervous being alone at night.”

“Won't Zach be here?” Melanie asked. “Since Dad doesn't have any events?”

“I guess so,” Gigi said. “I'm not sure I'd feel comfortable asking him, though . . .”

“It's okay,” Melanie said. “I'll do it.” Was she smiling? Yes, that was definitely a smile. Melanie had such a beautiful smile. Her front teeth had stuck out when she'd been little, but after two and a half years in braces, they were perfect.

Oh, how she'd missed her daughter's smile.

Now Gigi looked across the room, to where Tessa was stocking the bar. “Half an hour till the birthday girl arrives,” Tessa said. “Olives. Where did I put the olives?”

“What can I do?” Gigi asked.

“If you could slice some lemons it would be great,” Tessa said. “I'll start on the limes once I find the olives.”

“Sure,” Gigi said, grabbing a cutting board and a knife. “Is Harry coming tonight?”

“He's in California,” Tessa said. “Oh, here they are! Right with the maraschino cherries. Go figure, I was actually organized when I packed this stuff.”

The DJ Jason had hired had already arrived and was setting up his equipment. Suddenly “Y.M.C.A.” by the Village People blared out of his speakers. Gigi began shaking her hips to the beat.

“This is going to be fun,” Tessa said. “I love parties.”

“Me, too,” Gigi agreed. “And I especially love everything about the seventies.”

“Oh! We should come up with specialty drink names in honor of Kellie!” Tessa said. “Like . . . the Kellie Pickler! I can probably make a good green drink with some Midori.”

“Great idea,” Gigi said. Had Tessa already had a cocktail? Her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes were bright. Normally Tessa was shy and reserved, but right now she seemed almost giddy.

“The Kelly Ripa?” Tessa was asking. “What should I put in that one? Maybe a gin and tonic with a twist.”

“And the Kelly Clarkson,” Gigi suggested. “It could have—”

One moment Tessa was reaching for a lime and a knife. The next, the sharp silver blade was cutting through the soft pink flesh on the tip of Tessa's index finger.

“Oh my gosh!” Gigi gasped. “Are you okay? Here.” She tore a paper towel off a roll and handed it to Tessa, who was just staring at her finger.

“Tessa? Put pressure on it to stop the bleeding,” Gigi said. It must've been a deep cut; blood was running down Tessa's fingers and dripping onto the floor. Gigi hoped she wouldn't need stitches.

“I hate blood,” Tessa whispered, staring at the stain on the floor, just before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

•  •  •

Susan had wanted to do something nice for her best friend. So she'd made an enormous batch of chili. She'd threaded strawberries and chunks of pineapple onto skewers, and had made a trio of sweet dips. She'd baked the sheet cake from scratch. She'd stayed up late the previous night cooking, but she hadn't minded losing a little sleep. With Billie Holiday singing in her kitchen, and a glass of red wine by her hand, it had felt cozy. She was showing her love for her friend through food.

She'd made all the food for Randall's fortieth birthday party, too, slow cooking ribs the way he loved them and chopping a
dozen cabbages for coleslaw. She'd told him to go out golfing for the day.

“Relax,” Susan had instructed, pushing him out the door. In his golf bag she'd put a new putter tied with a big red bow. Randall was a big believer in celebrating birthdays well. For her thirty-fifth, he'd picked her up at work and had whisked her away to the Bahamas for a long weekend. For Cole's fifth birthday, Randall had constructed a tree house for the backyard complete with a zip line and rope ladder before blindfolding their son and leading him outside for the surprise unveiling.

Susan had wanted to make the day special for her husband, to put the kind of thought into it that he devoted to the celebrations he planned for her. But she'd been harried, and had rushed through the cabbage-chopping and rib-basting in between returning work phone calls. Randall's mother and older sister and brother-in-law were coming to the party (his emotionally distant father was claiming he had a cold, which Susan knew would hurt Randall), and Cole was getting over a stomach bug, which had kept him out of school for two crucial days when Susan had counted on doing errands for the party. She'd had to cancel her plan to blow up old photographs of Randall, from babyhood to today, for display. She'd scaled down her menu, swapping store-bought corn bread and appetizers for homemade ones.

But somehow, she'd pulled off the preparations. It was all going to be great. Until it wasn't.

Susan's company was still relatively young. One of her new clients had hired her to do weekly check-ins on his father at a nursing home. His father was showing early signs of dementia, the client had explained in a phone call.

The client—a businessman who seemed eager to convey how important he was—ate lunch all during his phone call with Susan. He lived in Los Angeles. He was “in entertainment,” he said. He was a very loud chewer.

“Just pop in and make sure he isn't hitting on the nurses,”
the client had said, chortling. “Last thing I need is a sexual harassment suit.”

“Of course,” Susan had said, glad he couldn't see her rolling her eyes. “We'll give your father some menu options so we can bring him meals when we visit. Something home-cooked makes a nice break now and then. And we can pick up a Kindle for him as well. The great thing about e-readers is that you can easily enlarge the font size. He can order movies on it, too.”

“Sure, sure,” the client had said in the slightly delayed, distracted way of a person checking emails. “Put it on the bill.”

Susan had planned to visit Mr. Spivey in the nursing home for the initial visit the day before Randall's party. She always did the initial visits. But Cole's stomach bug, the mountain of ribs waiting to be cooked, and the impending visit from the in-laws—it had all conspired to devour Susan's time. Susan only had one assistant back then, a smart, competent woman named Rosa whose kids attended the same school as Cole. So she'd sent Rosa to meet Mr. Spivey instead. Technically she wasn't doing anything wrong, Susan had told herself. She hadn't promised the businessman she'd go to the initial meeting.

The day of the party, just as Susan was about to pull the warm, fragrant chocolate marble cake (Randall's favorite) from the oven, her business phone line and the doorbell had rung simultaneously. At the door were Randall's family members, minus his father. On the phone was the businessman.

“What the hell kind of scam are you running!” he'd shouted.

“I'm sorry, I— What?” Susan had said. She opened the door and gestured for Randall's family to come inside, smiling an apology.

“My father's Rolex is missing,” the businessman had said. “Is that your deal? You like to steal from confused old people? Nice racket you've got going, but I will shut you down so fast—”

“Wait!” Susan had cried. She gestured for Randall's family
to make themselves comfortable, then ran upstairs to her bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her.

“Tell me exactly what happened,” Susan had said. She'd been breathing hard, aware of the oven buzzer erupting one floor below, reminding her to take the cake out before it burned.

“My father's gold Rolex is missing,” the businessman had said. “The woman you sent today took it.”

“But you don't have any proof of that!” Susan had protested. “Your father has early-onset dementia . . . he could have put the watch in a drawer or something. I can go tomorrow and look for it. I'm sure there's a logical answer!”

“He told me you sent a Mexican. He doesn't trust Mexicans,” the businessman had said, and Susan had drawn in her breath sharply.

“Rosa Gonzales is an American citizen,” Susan had said. She began to tremble with anger. “She also happens to be one of the hardest-working people you could ever hope to meet!” Rosa had worked for a monstrous boss—a woman who'd paid her below the minimum wage and demanded that Rosa work twelve-hour days cooking and cleaning and caring for bratty twins—in exchange for a green card. She'd earned her citizenship two years ago. She was one of the finest women Susan knew.

“You've got until the end of today to come up with the watch or I call the cops on you,” the businessman had said before slamming down the phone.

The damn watch was in a drawer, or a shoe, or under the bed. Mr. Spivey had left it somewhere. Of course it was in his room!