The Perfect Neighbors (26 page)

She closed the lid on her computer, then she went into the kitchen to make a grocery list, to distract her mind with mundane tasks until it grew dark and she could drink a glass or two of wine.

•  •  •

Before Newport Cove

On the day that Addison had revealed how Danny had checked his legs, Harry had gotten in from California on a
late-afternoon flight. He'd arrived home after the kids had gone to bed.

“How was your day?” Harry had asked, crunching a carrot.

“Strange,” Tessa had said.

He'd looked up. Was there a tinge of wariness in his eyes, some hint of reluctance to hear her latest fear? She'd felt herself bristle.

She'd tell it straight out, she'd decided. She'd report the facts and let Harry decide if there was cause for concern; he was much more sensible about such things. Besides, the Young Rangers group was a tremendous positive in Addison's life. She couldn't disrupt that without real proof. A mother's intuition, that tingling along the back of her neck—maybe those signals were reliable for other women, but Tessa knew they were broken in her.

Harry hadn't said much as Tessa had relayed Addison's story, trying to remember their son's precise words, without adding any inflection or significant facial expressions. She'd told him how long Addison had been inside the house, and how he'd come back out wearing his uniform. She'd finished and had looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. But he'd been impossible to read.

“What do you think?” she'd finally asked.

He'd finished another bite of pasta before answering. Something about that delay—the moment he'd taken to wind up his spaghetti into a neat coil on his fork, the way he'd chewed methodically, the food making a little bulge in the corner of his mouth—had made her want to scream.

“I think kids sometimes confuse details,” Harry had finally said.

“Yeah,” Tessa had said. “But this wasn't some story about a spaceship or something. It was really specific. Addison showed me how Danny touched him—”

“You already demonstrated,” Harry had said, and Tessa had stayed her hand in its gesture along her leg.

“So you think it's nothing?” Tessa had said.

“Probably,” Harry had said. “But I'll talk to Addison when he wakes up in the morning.”

Tessa had paused. “Okay,” she'd said. “I'm going to get ready for bed.”

She'd walked out of the room, but she'd stopped just beyond the threshold of the doorway. Had Harry discounted the story because she'd overreacted in the past? Maybe he thought she was exaggerating.

She was the one who'd stayed home with the kids, who'd nursed them through illnesses and night terrors. They'd only ever called out “Mama” in the night; they'd known Harry wouldn't be the one to comfort them. But suddenly Harry was the expert who had to talk to Addison and decide whether their boy was in danger?

The old Tessa, the one who'd untangled complicated taxes and had run half-marathons, came surging back, imbuing a skeleton of steel in the hesitant, confused woman she'd ­morphed into during the preceding years. She didn't need Harry to lay down the final pronouncement on the welfare of their children. Maybe she hadn't done everything right, maybe she'd erred on the side of being overly cautious, but wasn't that better than the alternative?

The way he'd . . .
dismissed
her and turned back to his newspaper had stung, as if she were just overwrought, someone incapable of reason. He had no right to treat her with so little respect.

She'd glanced back toward the kitchen. Harry would be at the table awhile—he was a slow eater—then he'd watch TV before coming upstairs. It was his routine.

She'd reached for the keys to the minivan that hung on a shelf by the front door, needing to get out.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*Salsa Lessons!

Get ready to shake a move, Newport Cove residents! We'll be offering Salsa Lessons at the community center on Saturday evenings at 7 p.m. Cost: $15 to join the group lesson. Non-alcoholic beverages will be served! Simply email Newport Cove Manager Shannon Dockser to sign up. Remember: No need to “reply all”! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager

•  •  •

Sunday meant routine and family, dinner at the in-laws'. Kellie hadn't been sure if Jason would want to go, but he grabbed the car keys at a little before five and called out, “Ready?”

He didn't meet her eyes, though. It was scary how adept Jason had become, in such a short amount of time, at avoiding her. He stared at a spot just beyond her when it was necessary for him to talk to her, like now. He edged out of rooms when she entered them, always casually enough that the kids didn't pick up on anything.

“We're ready,” Kellie said, grabbing her purse. Her cell phone was inside it, but she'd turned it off.

She and the kids followed Jason out to the minivan. Kellie felt awkward sliding into the passenger's seat, as she knew he'd rather there be more space between them. The kids filled the short drive with chatter, with Mia talking about the upcoming Taylor Swift concert and Noah launching into a deliberately annoying imitation of her song “I Knew You Were Trouble”—and then they were at Jason's parents'. It was a journey they'd taken hundreds of times before, but never had it felt so precious to Kellie.

Jason's mom and dad had become an extra set of parents to her through the years. Losing Jason would mean losing them, too. She should have thought of all she was risking, and for what? A few moments of feeling young again, of exploring possibilities that had closed off to her long ago. Now it all seemed so . . . cheap. She'd taken a long, hot shower that morning but the sensation of uncleanliness clung to her like a stain.

Jason pulled into his parents' driveway and Kellie got out, opening the sliding door for the kids. They ran ahead, with Jason close behind them.
Don't cry tonight
, Kellie warned herself.

She walked through the front door, straight into the hugs Jason's parents always gave freely, and instantly her resolve crumpled. Her throat constricted, but she managed to blink away her tears.

“So good to see you,” Jason's dad said. “Recovered from the party?”

“Just barely,” Kellie said, trying for a laugh.

“Oh, I need to check on the roast,” Jason's mom said, hurrying toward the kitchen. “Kids? I got you each one of those books with the magic pens, you know the kind with invisible ink . . . Go find them in the living room.”

Jason followed his mother to the kitchen. Usually Kellie helped her put together the finishing touches on dinner—or tried to help; Jason's mom rarely let her do more than throw
together a salad, saying that Kellie was busy enough and this was her time to relax. She hesitated, wondering what to do, but then Jason came back out with a beer and so Kellie went into the kitchen.

“I hope it's not getting dry,” Jason's mother said, opening the oven door and peering in.

“I'm sure it's delicious,” Kellie said. She could see freshly washed lettuce in the salad spinner so she pulled it out and began tearing it into shreds.

“Thank you, honey,” Jason's mom said. “So tell me all about the party. At least the parts we missed.”

“Oh . . . It was wonderful,” Kellie said. “The music and decorations, having everyone there . . .”

She knew her tone didn't reflect her words.

“Were you surprised?” her mother-in-law asked. “Jason really wanted you to be.”

“I was,” Kellie said. “Truly . . . I'm sorry, I'm a little tired today.”

Jason's mother pulled the lid off a pot that was warming on the stove, added a pat of butter, and gave the mashed potatoes a quick stir. “Ten more minutes,” she said. She moved to the refrigerator—Jason's mother was always moving, always chatting; she reminded Kellie of a bird—and pulled out a bottle of white wine.

She didn't ask before pouring a glass for Kellie, because that was their routine. The moms in the kitchen sharing a glass of wine, the kids playing in the backyard or basement depending on the weather, Jason and his dad by the fire in the wintertime and poking around in the garage workroom during the other seasons.

Kellie hadn't planned on drinking anything tonight, but she took a sip and found the tart, cold wine soothed her raw throat.

“You know, our fiftieth wedding anniversary is coming up in a couple of months,” Jason's mother began.

Kellie shook her head. “That's incredible . . . really.”

“We've been putting aside a little money,” Jason's mother said. “We thought we'd like to take the whole family away somewhere special.”

“That's so generous of you,” Kellie said. “But we're the ones who should be treating you—”

Jason's mother held up a hand to cut Kellie off, but she was smiling. “Maybe a cruise,” she said.

“Sounds wonderful,” Kellie said. She wondered if she and Jason would still be together when the date rolled around. Maybe he'd want to go alone with the kids. She turned her head and tossed the salad as tears filled her eyes again.

If anyone saw her cry, there would be concern. Questions. They'd notice Jason wouldn't be comforting her, and conclusions would be drawn. She'd ruin the family dinner, which no one deserved. And her shame would be multiplied if her in-laws deduced what she'd done.

She felt a soft hand on her shoulder and she bowed her head, unable to look at Jason's mother.

“Marriage is hard,” she said. “I say we've been married for fifty wonderful years when anyone asks. But really, the answer is we've been married for forty wonderful years, eight so-so years, and two really bad years.”

Kellie lifted her head and turned, her surprise at the revelation erasing her tears.

“You've had hard times?” she asked. “You two always seem like . . . such a pair.”

“I almost left him once,” Jason's mother said, and Kellie nearly dropped the salad tongs. “After we were first married . . . my father was sick, he'd just been diagnosed with cancer, and I had a miscarriage.”

“I didn't know,” Kellie whispered. “I'm so sorry.”

“It seemed like everything was falling apart,” she said. “Ralph tried to comfort me, but he didn't really know what it was like. I was mad at him. Mad at the world.”

“So what did you do?” Kellie asked.

“I stayed,” she said simply. “It was a choice to keep on loving him, to keep on trying. Marriage is like a muscle. You have to work at keeping it strong so it doesn't atrophy.”

Kellie nodded and took another sip of wine, wondering how much Jason's mother had seen. Maybe she'd noticed something amiss at Thanksgiving dinner, and had picked up how important the party was to Jason. She had to have noticed the distance between Kellie and her son Friday night. But she didn't understand the reason, or she wouldn't be speaking to Kellie in this soft, gentle voice.

Jason's mom pulled out the roast and set it on the stove. “Do you want to call everyone in for dinner?” she asked. Kellie nodded. She'd see if Jason needed another beer, and she'd cover up his quiet by chatting during dinner. She'd do whatever she could—distribute as many gestures of kindness as possible—to try to soften the terrible thing she'd done to her entire family.

She turned to leave the room, then went back, to give Jason's mother another hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered, and was grateful for the soft, motherly arms that gently patted her back.

•  •  •

“Is Melanie home?”

Gigi whirled around to see Zach standing in the kitchen. It was eerie how he appeared, catlike, without making any noise.

“No,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“I wanted to give you and Joe a heads-up about something,” he said.

Gigi nodded. “In there,” she said, jerking her head toward the living room. “I'll get Joe.”

Melanie had left for school, as had Julia, and Joe was upstairs on his computer, answering emails. If everyone had been around, Gigi would have pulled Zach outside and de
manded to know what was going on. His last revelation felt like a power play, and she was determined to keep him from knocking her off balance again.

She realized her fists were clenched as she went to call Joe. He came downstairs so rapidly she knew he deduced from her tone that it was important.

She sat on the couch next to her husband, with Zach across from them. He had a folder—of course he had a folder! The sight of it made her pulse quicken. Gigi spoke up immediately, not wanting Zach to control the tone or pace of this conversation.

“What is it, Zach?” she asked. “I've only got a minute.”

“I thought you should see this,” he said, handing them the folder.

Gigi opened it and couldn't refrain from gasping. She'd been expecting to have another piece of her past revealed. But Melanie was the target.

Inside was a printout of a conservative web page; Gigi had seen the site before when its reporter—there only seemed to be one writing the stories—had published an “exposé” of one of Joe's campaign contributions, claiming that it came from terrorists. Of course it had been a lie, but the comments section showed plenty of people believed it.

The headline on this new story read:
Family Feud!

Beneath it was a photograph of Joe, Melanie, Gigi, and Julia. It was from the session they'd held on the front steps, but Gigi had never seen this picture before. Melanie's face was furious as she pulled away from the woman who'd tried to cover up her pimple, and Gigi's mouth was twisting in anger, too. Joe was staring off into space, as if bored by the scene, while Julia looked as if she were about to cry.

Beneath the photo was another, of Melanie fleeing. The angle was particularly unflattering, and Melanie's shirt was hiked up, revealing the top of her white underpants peeking up above her black pants and—oh no!—a hint of her butt
crack. Gigi skimmed the story, wincing as she saw the words “hissy fit” and “out-of-control teenager.”

“What the hell?” Joe said. “Who took this?”

“Hard to say,” Zach said, steepling his fingers. “A neighbor with a grudge, an aide for one of your opponents who knew about the shoot and happened to have a camera ready at the right time . . .”

“The right time?” Joe asked incredulously. “I will sue their asses . . . Get me the number of whoever runs that piece of shit website . . .”

“The right time for them,” Zach said quickly. “The wrong time for us, of course.”

He gestured to the folder. “There's more.”

Joe flipped the page and saw a photograph of Melanie at a park, seated on the grass next to Raven, taking a puff off a joint.

“She's smoking weed?” Joe asked. The venom drained from his voice; he sounded stunned.

Zach cleared his throat. “That night, when we were watching a movie, I talked to Melanie. I figured it might be easier for her to open up to someone closer to her own age, so . . . She's only tried it a few times. She doesn't like it, really. She says it makes her jittery. That's an old photo, she says it happened at the beginning of the school year. And now that she broke up with that guy, I doubt she'll be trying it again soon. He was really into pot.”

“You talked to her?” Gigi asked. She was grateful for the information, but she couldn't understand why Zach had taken such an interest in Melanie. And something was off in the timeline he'd presented, but she couldn't quite discern what it was. The photos had come at her like punches and she was still reeling.

“So do we bring it up to her?” Joe asked Gigi. “If it was just a couple of times . . .”

Gigi gazed down at the picture from the family photo shoot again. The date on the top caught her eye. “This was pub
lished more than a week ago,” she said. “When did you find out about it?”

“Just a little while ago,” Zach said. “I think we should schedule a new shoot and release our own photos to offset this. Melanie can wear a nice outfit, maybe have her hair done. This will be forgotten.”

“Not to me, it won't,” Joe snapped. “I'm serious, Zach. I want this taken down . . .”

Joe was still talking, but his voice seemed to fade away as Gigi remembered Melanie on the couch with Zach. That secret smile curving her lips.

Melanie's interest in new clothes had been too abrupt. She'd even asked for a makeover at the Lancôme counter, and had come home with tinted moisturizer, mascara, and lip gloss. Gigi had seen her that night, experimenting with the mascara in the bathroom mirror.

Melanie had lingered around the main level of the house in her new clothes and makeup that night, instead of retreating to her room, until after Joe had come home. She'd even helped Gigi cook dinner. Gigi had thought it was because Melanie wanted to be with her, but suddenly she realized Melanie had wanted Zach to see her new look. Her daughter had been waiting for him. She wanted his approval.

“What did you do to her?” Gigi demanded.

“Pardon?” Zach asked, swiveling to face her. He must've seen the angry expression on her face, but he was as calm as ever. This was theater to him, Gigi realized.

“Does Melanie know about this?” She closed the folder and shook it near his face. “Is this why she wanted to go shopping right after you watched that movie?”

“Of course not,” Zach said. “I wouldn't say a word about it to her.”

“So what
did
you say?” Gigi demanded. Her breaths were coming hot and fast now, even though her body felt cold. She turned to Joe. “The night after Kellie's party, remember? The
two of them were on the couch. Melanie asked me to go shopping the next morning.”