The Perfect Neighbors (21 page)

Well, maybe that would be unnecessarily abrupt. She didn't
want to be rude to Miller. A gradual withdrawal would probably be the smarter route. Maybe one final treat together, then she could say she was cutting out sugar.

She walked over to her closet and examined her clothes, reaching for her black pantsuit. She felt like she was in mourning.

She looked down at her cell phone, feeling a heaviness infuse her body when it showed no new messages. Maybe Miller had come to the same conclusion; maybe he was planning to start withdrawing, too. He could be with his wife right now, curled against her in bed as his warm hand lazily drifted down her thigh—

“Honey?” She jerked her head up at the sound of Jason's voice coming from the kitchen. “Can you send the kids down for breakfast?”

“Yes, yes,” she called back.

Kellie went into Noah's room where, predictably, he'd fallen back asleep despite the fact that she'd woken him up before going into the shower. He lay half off the bed, one arm and leg dangling, his head buried under a pillow.

“Time to get up, sweetie,” Kellie said. She removed the pillow and opened the blinds to flood the room with sunlight.

“Mgrf,” Noah said.

“Up,” Kellie said. “Don't forget to put on clean underwear.”

“Ew, do you really have to remind him of that?” Mia asked from the doorway. “Who forgets to put on clean underwear every day?”

“Seven-year-old boys,” Kellie said. “Come on.”

She made sure Noah was stumbling toward the bathroom before she went downstairs. As she walked into the kitchen, the aroma of fresh coffee and the smell of frying eggs hit her. Jason was standing at the stove, spatula in hand.

“Why aren't you at work yet?” Kellie asked. The hardware store opened at eight a.m., which meant Jason always left at seven thirty, and it was past that time now.

“I told my dad I'd be in a little late today,” Jason said. “I wanted to have breakfast with my family.”

“Oh,” Kellie said. “I mean, that's really nice!”

“Do you have any special plans this weekend?” Jason asked.

“Nope,” Kellie said. “Since I don't have any houses at the moment, I won't need to do a showing.” A lump formed in her throat at the thought of Miller's absence from her life. Everything would seem so gray and ordinary.

“Good,” Jason said as he slid an egg onto a plate and handed it to her.

He'd set the table and fried bacon for Mia. There was a pile of carrot sticks, Noah's preferred entrée, on his plate, along with a piece of toast. Steaming coffee trickled from the machine into the glass carafe.

“Wow,” Kellie said, looking at it all. “What got into you?”

“I just want my wife to know how much I appreciate her,” Jason said. He caught her eye and smiled.

Yes, she thought as she bowed her head, too ashamed to let her wonderful, loving husband see her face. Jason was definitely suspicious.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*Ants

I know it won't be springtime for a while yet, but for the past few years we've had an invasion of ants coming through our kitchen window. I squash the little buggers, but they're relentless. Any suggestions on how to prevent this from happening this year? I'd like to be proactive. —Lev Grainger, Crabtree Lane

*Re: Ants

I use Ant Begone! Exterminators. Give them a call, they'll take care of the problem. —Gloria Wakeman, Blossom Street

*Re: Ants

I'd be wary of using harsh chemicals, especially in the kitchen. We're becoming a very toxic society. I use nothing but vinegar and hot water to clean my house. A few ants don't bother me. —Tally White, Iris Lane

•  •  •

Melanie didn't come home until nearly one a.m. Joe was slumped on the couch while Gigi peered out the window yet
again and saw headlights finally ease down their street and pause in front of their house.

“It's her!” Gigi cried. “She just got out of a car . . . It looks like Raven's.”

“I'm going to ground her for a month,” Joe said. “No, two months.”

“We shouldn't start by yelling,” Gigi said. “Let's ask her what happened. Maybe there's a logical explanation. Maybe they got a flat tire.”

“Yes, at the exact moment all cell phones in the universe stopped working,” Joe said.

Gigi smiled despite herself. The sweet relief rushing through her, weakening her knees, made her realize just how terrified she'd been that Melanie had run away. The pot in her Ziploc bag looked as if it hadn't been touched, either, which was reassuring. But by the time she heard Melanie's key turn in the lock, her relief was already churning into anger.

The car peeled off, its engine loud in the quiet night, and the front door creaked open.

“Oh,” Melanie said when she saw her parents. “Hi.”

Tears flooded Gigi's eyes. This was what people meant when they said that having children meant wearing your heart on the outside of your body, where it was most vulnerable. The little baby who'd cuddled at her breast, warm and soft and cooing, had turned into a tall young woman overnight. In a few years, Melanie would be gone. Would she ever have the chance to know her daughter again?

“Where were you?” Gigi shouted. “Do you know how worried we've been?”

She felt, rather than saw, Joe's look:
So much for asking for an explanation first.

“I'm sorry,” Melanie said, which pulled Gigi up short.

“Sit down, Mellie,” Joe said. He was the only one who could get away with calling her by her old nickname. Melanie
walked over and joined him on the couch. Gigi looked at her carefully. Melanie's eyes weren't red, and she was walking fluidly, which seemed to indicate she was sober.

“I know I should have called,” Melanie said. “But I broke up with Raven tonight, and he was really upset. I needed to talk to him for a long time.”

Gigi looked at Joe, who was looking back at her, mirroring the surprised expression she knew she was wearing. Melanie had revealed more about her life in the past thirty seconds than she had in the past three months to Gigi.

After a moment, Gigi cleared her throat. One of them had to take the reins here—or take them away from Melanie, who seemed the only one in control of the situation.

“Well,” Gigi said. “I guess it's okay.”

“Just this once,” Joe added quickly. “But next time, you need to answer your phone. Your mother was worried.”

“So was your father,” Gigi said dryly.

“Yes,” Joe said. “I was worried.”

“I'm sorry,” Melanie said. She looked different tonight. She was in her usual black jeans but she was wearing a red top. The vibrant splash of color made her face look brighter. Her hair looked more styled, too.

Gigi bent down to hug her, discreetly sniffing to see if she could detect the aroma of alcohol or weed. But all she smelled was sweet shampoo. Melanie didn't hug her back, but she didn't pull away, either.

Was her baby finally returning to her after all? All that worrying . . . it could have been for naught. The hope fluttered up through Gigi's chest like a butterfly and lodged in her throat, making it difficult for her to swallow.

“You need to get to bed,” Gigi said. “If you want to sleep in tomorrow, I can drive you in after your first class.”

“It's okay,” Melanie said. “I'll wake up. I don't deserve to sleep in after staying out so late.”

Melanie hugged Joe, then left the room as Gigi stared after her.

•  •  •

Before Newport Cove

Danny Briggs, the Young Rangers leader, was a widower who had two grown sons. He had a firm handshake. He looked you in the eye when he spoke. He didn't trigger any warning signals in Tessa.

At least not on the first night they met.

Addison had run off to play with the other kids while Tessa sat in one of the metal folding chairs set out around the perimeter of the room. There was a table in the back with bottles of water and juice boxes and cookies. Lots of parents were hanging out, chatting or peering at cell phones—it wasn't worthwhile to drop off the kids, drive home, and come back again when the meeting only lasted an hour.

When all the kids had arrived, Danny gathered everyone into a circle and talked about all the fun things they'd do. There were fourteen boys in the “Ranger Pack” as Danny called it (
Adorable
, Tessa had thought) and they'd go on hikes, earn badges, and even build a derby car to race. There would be a service project—the kids would get to vote on which one—and in the late spring, an overnight camping trip.

“I'm going to need a lot of parent volunteers to help with that one,” Danny had said, laughing. “Ever tried to wrangle fourteen boys in the woods while building a fire to cook dinner?”

“Can't we just order in Domino's?” one of the dads had called.

“And Starbucks in the morning?” another had added, and everyone had laughed.

What a wonderful group, Tessa had thought, looking at the bright, eager faces of the little boys. This would be so good for them. They'd get away from Minecraft and Plants vs.
Zombies—Addison would play those games in his sleep if she let him—and spend more time out in the fresh air, all while learning about teamwork.

And it would be good for her, too, she'd thought, settling deeper into her seat and releasing a sigh. Maybe she'd make some new friends among the parents here. And now that the kids were in school, she'd start exercising again. Maybe she'd take a Zumba class; it sounded like fun. Life was easing up, she'd told herself. She was finally catching a break.

She'd gone to shake Danny's hand at the end of the meeting, buoyed by a sense of optimism.

“Thank you for doing this,” she'd said.

He'd grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His hands were warm and dry. “My two sons live so far away I barely see them, so it's fun for me, too,” he'd replied. “Boys are such a joy to be around.”

What a nice guy
,
she'd thought, smiling back at him. “Our kids are lucky to have you.”

•  •  •

Susan eased into the big leather chair, slipped on her earphones, and leaned toward the microphone. It was time for her radio show. For the next half hour, she'd take calls from worried sons and desperate daughters. A man would bluster about how irresponsible his mother was being for not creating a living will (he was terrified of losing her, hence the bluster), or a woman would rail about the fact that her siblings weren't stepping up and doing enough for their bedridden mother (she'd be right; Susan would suggest a family meeting with a therapist to determine which tasks the siblings needed to take on or pay to have outsourced).

During the first few weeks of her show, her producer had called in questions from the next room when there were gaps in the airtime. Now, all the lines lit up the moment Susan's voice came over the airwaves.

“Good morning, this is Susan Barrett, here to talk to you about how to best support your aging parents,” she said. Her producer, a young woman with colorful tattoos covering both forearms, signaled that the first call had come in. “Diane in Charlotte,” the producer said into Susan's earpiece.

“We're going to chat with Diane in Charlotte now. Hello, Diane,” Susan said.

“Hi,” Diane's voice came over the line. Callers always sounded uncertain during the first few seconds, as if they'd just discovered they'd made a horrible mistake and were on the verge of hanging up.

“I'm glad you called, Diane,” Susan said quickly. “Tell us what's on your mind.”

“Um . . . okay. I'm worried about my father's driving,” Diane said. “He's eighty-eight, and he's never had an accident but I feel like he's just tempting fate now.”

“I see,” Susan said. “Does he live near you?”

“About twenty minutes away,” Diane said. “He and my mother still live in their home, but she has cataracts and doesn't drive anymore. My dad was always a good driver. But I think he needs to stop soon. I'd never forgive myself if he got into an accident. Or what if he hit some kid or something?”

“That is a lot to worry about,” Susan said. “Have you talked to your father about it?”

Diane gave a little laugh. “No way. He's a former marine who started his own business while going to night school. He's a very proud man.”

“Do you have any siblings?” Susan asked.

“No, it's just me,” Diane said. She was almost shouting now. “It's so frustrating! He shouldn't be driving, but I know he's going to make a big deal about it and we're just going to end up in a fight.”

Apparently the apple didn't fall far from the tree, Susan thought.

“Here's what you need to do,” Susan said. “Starting tomorrow, I don't want you to use your car for an entire week.”

“Not use my car?” Diane gasped. “But how will I get to the grocery store? And work? And I have a doctor's appointment next Thursday. And . . . Oh.”

“It's hard, isn't it?” Susan said gently. “To imagine losing something that represents so much freedom? And I bet your father has had a lot of losses lately.”

“He has,” Diane said. She sniffed and her voice lost its angry edge and grew husky. “His best friend passed away last year, and he lost his only brother five years ago.”

“No wonder you think he'll resist giving up driving,” Susan said.

Diane was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “It isn't just about the driving, is it?”

Susan could see the other lines blinking red and she knew she needed to wrap up.

“It's going to be a tough conversation,” Susan said. “But you'll approach it in a loving way, and help your parents figure out alternatives, like taxis. It may be that taking a cab somewhere twice a week will end up costing less than the insurance and upkeep on a car.”

“My dad would like that point,” Diane said, laughing. “He's a cheapskate. And I visit them every week. We usually just have dinner together at the house. Maybe I can do it twice a week.”

“And maybe you'll take them out for lunch at a restaurant instead,” Susan said. “And then go run errands with them afterward.”

“That sounds good,” Diane said. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Susan said. “And good for you, for being a responsible daughter. Our next caller is Roald from Asheville. Good afternoon, Roald. How can I help you?”

Susan talked to Roald about the handyman he was worried was overcharging his father for unnecessary jobs, then Dottie
called in to complain that her mother's new boyfriend wanted to take her to Saint Thomas for Christmas rather than letting her mother cook dinner for the family for the holiday, as had been the tradition for decades (after two minutes on the phone with Dottie, Susan could understand the boyfriend's need for a tropical escape and knew it would be the best thing for ­Dottie's mom, too). Susan chatted about the difference between revocable and irrevocable trusts with a caller who wanted his parents to set them up for tax benefits, and comforted a bereaved daughter before gently steering her toward a counselor.

With three minutes left to go, Susan accepted her last call from Catherine in Raleigh.

“Hello?” Catherine said. She sounded elderly. “I know this show is more for our children, but sometimes I like to listen to it.”

“I'm glad,” Susan said. “What is your question today?”

A gentle sigh, then: “I'm ready to give up the family home,” Catherine said. “I've lived here for fifty years and it's time to move on.”

“I understand,” Susan said. “Are you thinking about a retirement community? There are many vibrant ones in your area; I have links on my website.”

“I would like that,” Catherine said. “The problem is my children, you see. My son comes by to mow the lawn and do yard work, and my daughter hired a cleaning lady to come every two weeks so I don't have to do any heavy housework. She brings by dinner once a week, too.”

“Sounds like you raised wonderful children,” Susan said. “They must love you very much.”

“Yes,” Catherine said. “My grandchildren come to visit me often, too. I'm very lucky. Some of my friends don't get to see their families nearly as much. But I'm . . .”

She paused for so long Susan worried they'd been disconnected.

“I'm tired,” Catherine said. “I'm ready to leave this old house that I've loved so much. My kids think they know what's best for me. They think I'll be happiest here, with all the memories surrounding me. With my roses blooming in the springtime, and my newspaper delivered to my doorstep every morning. I think they feel proud that they've made it possible. And I'm grateful to them, I really am, but . . .”