Love Next Door

by Hunting, Helena

  Since I’ve been back, I’ve been undecided on what my next move will be. I’ve been looking at positions for project managers in Chicago and checking out rentals that have a half-hour commute or maybe even less. I want to have options once I’m no longer needed here, but none of the positions have been all that appealing so far. With all the reno projects this winter, it seems like my dad is going to be on-site more and in the office less, so no matter what happens, I’ll likely have to train someone to take over for me when the time comes.

  I’m also aware that there’s a possibility Van will eventually decide his best option is to sell Bee’s property. And it would be hard to fault him, if that’s what he ends up doing. With everything hanging over his head and no job, it may be the only thing he can do. So I’m reluctant to let my heart get all soft over him.

  Not that I’m having much luck in that department. Everything he does makes me all melty like a toasted marshmallow.

  “Hey, Dee, you in there?” Aaron snaps his fingers and gives me a wry smile.

  “Huh? Oh, hey. Just lost in thought. What do you need?”

  “You feeling okay?” His brows pull together.

  “Yeah, of course. Why?”

  He adjusts the brim of his hat and rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, I called your name three times before you snapped out of your trance.”

  “Oh.” I touch my cheek with the back of my hand. “I’m fine. I just . . . have a lot on my mind. Anyway. What can I help you with?”

  “I need to check the loft plans for the Bowmans’ ‘garage’ and the kitchen reno for the Kingstons.” He makes air quotes around the word garage. It’s one of the ways the north side folks get around some of the tricky building permits. They’ll build a one-and-a-half-story garage and put a loft on the second floor.

  “Right. Yeah. Is everything okay?” Both of those projects are extensive and aren’t slated to start until later in the summer, after the official beginning of hockey season, when most people have gone back to the city, or farther south if they’re intent on avoiding the snow as much as possible.

  Aaron raises both hands in the air, a motion meant to be calming. “Everything’s fine. Mrs. Bowman wants to look at a few more options for the garage, and they’re wondering if they might be able to put an extra bedroom in the pool house. They’re putting in one of those swim-spa things, and those pool guys from the city are always slowing us down.”

  “We need to find someone local who installs pools.”

  Aaron nods. “There’s a couple in Lake Geneva, but they’re all booked up until next summer. Anyway, if you have the plans handy, it’d be great if we could take a look at them. I want to see what all I’ll need to be able to tie into the existing plumbing, and I think there’s a chance we’ll have to upgrade the septic with the additional bathrooms they’re planning to put in.”

  “Will you need to visit the property again to assess that?”

  “Definitely, but I figure it’s best if I go over the plans first and make sure everything is doable. You know what those architects are like. Sometimes the ideas are great but the execution isn’t actually possible.”

  I spin around in my chair, open the filing cabinet holding all the current and upcoming jobs, and find the files he’s asking about.

  “Do you want to do that on your own, or would it be better for me to hang around and make notes?”

  “If you have time for that, it would definitely cut out a few steps later.” He nods to the stacks of paperwork on my desk. “But I understand if you’re busy.”

  “I’m always busy, but in the interest of making less work for myself later, and you having to explain all this stuff to my dad, and then him having to explain it to me, and all of us having to explain it to the Bowmans, it sort of seems like it makes better sense for you and me to go over this stuff together?” I pose it as a question.

  “Makes sense to me.”

  “Great. Let’s do it, then. I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.” I abandon the invoices I’m currently working on, grab my things, and follow Aaron to the break room so there’s enough space for us to spread out.

  Half an hour later I have a purchase list, a revised potential cost list, hourly rate subtotals, and bullet points to go over with Mrs. Bowman. I fire off an email to her and ask if there’s a date and time that will work for her to get together to review the revisions. Her husband’s response to almost every email we’ve sent is “Whatever Lainey thinks is best.” It’s kind of cute.

  “These mansion renovations should set us up for the entire winter.” Aaron leans back in his chair and sips his coffee.

  “I think that’s what we’re all hoping. It’s why I’m spending so much time making sure everything is managed efficiently where they’re concerned, you know? We need great customer service so they tell all their friends about how awesome we are.”

  He nods his agreement. “You think maybe you want to stay on past Christmas?”

  I shrug. “Billy will probably be back by then.”

  “Yeah, but he works on the projects, and these big ones mean either John or your dad needs to be on-site to help manage them. It’s not like the small stuff we do for the local businesses that take a couple of days, or a week, and don’t need extra supervision. And lately the projects have been more involved on my end. I’m not complaining, but it means we need all the manpower we can get.”

  I focus on my coffee mug, tracing the design on the front. “Do you think Billy will be okay working on these bigger projects?”

  Aaron lifts his ball cap and runs a hand through his hair before replacing it and bending the brim. “Hard to say. He can be a real asset or a real liability. Depends on what he’s been up to the night before.”

  This is the stuff I’ve been trying to get out of my parents ever since I’ve been back here: I want to know what the situation is with Billy and whether the DUI charge was a random accident or something more. “How many days a week would you say he was an asset?”

  Aaron is silent for a few moments, weighing his response. “Maybe half and half just before he had the accident. Before that it was most of the time, but I don’t know, Dee . . .” He looks around, not wanting to be caught gossiping. “He’s changed in the past year. Something is just . . . off, I guess? He was always into mischief, but it was basically harmless when we were kids. Now, not so much.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “I don’t want to throw him under the bus or anything, but recently, like say maybe the past six months, I haven’t been hanging out with him all that much.”

  “I noticed he was with the Wallace boys at the beach party.”

  “Yeah. He’s been spending more time with those two, and they’re nice enough guys, but they’re not all that motivated. Mostly all they do is drink beers and drive around on their ATVs. And maybe that was fine when we were teenagers, but we’re adults. I guess I’m looking to settle down, and he’s still partying like it’s senior year.”

  “I’m worried about him,” I admit.

  “Honestly, me too. I’ve messaged him a bunch of times since the accident, but he hasn’t had much to say other than the painkillers they’ve been giving him kick some serious ass. Last week he asked if I had his journal from high school, though, which was weird.”

  “I didn’t even know he had a journal.”

  “Me either. He doesn’t seem like the type to put his feelings on a page. I chalked it up to the painkillers and left it at that.” Aaron gives me a small smile.

  “Maybe that’s all it was, some kind of dream thing?” But I’m not sure I buy that. Billy has always been different, but this is more than that. I don’t know how to broach this with my dad without him going on the defensive, but I don’t feel like I can ignore it anymore.

  As a teenager I used to get so annoyed that we always had to be home to have dinner as a family. It didn’t matter if I was halfway across town with my friends, usually Tawny and Allie, sometimes Tucker—I’d jump on my bike and pedal my butt home. Sometimes
the ride would be fast and reckless as I cut through the paths in the forest because I didn’t want to be late and end up on dishwashing duty. But lately I find myself looking forward to family dinners, even with Billy’s unpredictable moods.

  “Where’s Billy?” I ask as I set knives and forks on top of the napkins. That’s one thing my mom always had: pretty napkins. Most of the time they were one season out of date because she always bought them on sale, so in the winter we’d have fall and Thanksgiving themes, and by spring it was snowmen and holly. Currently the napkins we’re using have an Easter theme.

  “Still in his room, I think. I knocked on his door a few minutes ago. When you’re done setting the table, could you knock again, please?” She tastes the potato salad, her expression contemplative, before she turns back to the fridge, grabs a jar of pickles, and pours in extra dill juice for flavor.

  “Sure thing.” Once the salt and pepper are on the table, I head down the hall to Billy’s room and knock, calling out, “Dinner’s ready.”

  I listen for the sound of the bed creaking, or the computer chair rolling across the floor, but all I’m met with is silence. I knock again. “Hey, Billy, you in there?”

  When I don’t get an answer, I open the door, thinking maybe he’s wearing headphones. But he’s not. He’s fast asleep, drooling on his pillow. His bedroom smells like stale farts and beer. A stack of empty bowls sits on his nightstand, and empty beer cans peek out from under his bed.

  I cross the room, stepping on a discarded chip bag, which crinkles loudly, and poke him in the shoulder. When that doesn’t rouse him, I give him a solid shake. He groans and flings his arm out. I’m agile enough to get out of the way before he can accidentally smack me. But he hits the can sitting on his nightstand and it tips over, brown liquid splattering the tabletop, his pillow, and the side of his face before I can right it.

  “What the hell?” He scrubs a hand down his face and blinks a few times.

  “It’s dinnertime. I knocked a bunch of times and so did Mom, but you didn’t answer. Have you been up at all today?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night.” He throws off his covers and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He’s shirtless, exposing his torso. Billy has always been lean, wiry even, but he’s exceptionally thin right now. So much so that his collarbones are sharp points, poking at his skin, and I can practically count his ribs. “Can you pass me that shirt?” He motions to the one hanging over the back of his computer chair.

  I toss it to him, and he gives it a cursory sniff before he pulls it over his head. “I can help you clean up in here after dinner.” I open the window to let in some fresh air.

  “Don’t do that!” he snaps.

  “It smells like a frat house. You need some fresh air, and probably a little sunshine, unless you’re trying out the whole vampire vibe.”

  His eyes flare and he looks around the room, as if he expects one to appear. “That window needs to stay locked, otherwise people can get in.”

  I can’t tell if he’s still half-asleep or if he’s making a joke.

  “Based on the smell in here, I’m confident you’re not going to have any unwanted or wanted midnight visitors.” I pick up the stack of dishes and the mostly empty pop can, give the nightstand a quick wipe with a few tissues to soak up most of the mess, and follow him back to the kitchen. The charred crutch has been replaced, but the new one is old and looks like it needs to be adjusted. I’d ask where he got it from, but I worry that in his current mood, all it will do is start a fight.

  Billy pushes his food around his plate while Dad talks about the Bowman garage and pool house and all the amazing things that will be coming out of their place that he thinks we can probably make use of. All Billy does is grunt occasionally, and he leaves his plate half-full, says no thanks to dessert, and locks himself back in his room once dinner is over. So much for me helping him tidy his mess. I’d been hoping for an opportunity to snoop, but it doesn’t look like that’s going to be all that easy. Not when the only time he surfaces these days is for meals and trips to the bathroom.

  CHAPTER 19

  SIBLING RIVALRY

  Van

  My phone buzzes from the nightstand. I don’t want to answer the call, seeing as Dillion is tucked into my side. She passed out right after the orgasms. We did expend a hell of a lot of energy, and she’s been working long hours, so I get it, but sometimes she gets chatty after sex, and I learn new things about her, like her favorite food is popcorn and she has every single seasoning flavor under the sun, but the maple bacon is the one she can’t get enough of.

  Or she’ll tell me stories about growing up in Pearl Lake and how the high school is an hour-long bus ride away, and in the winter they stayed home almost once a week because of all the snow. They would spend those days tobogganing. I wonder if I’ll still be around by the time winter hits, or if I’ll have found a new job in Chicago. The idea of not being here, with Dillion, hits me for the first time. I can’t say I like it much.

  I pick the phone up with the intention of sending the call to voice mail, since it’s already after ten, but it’s Frankie, so I hit the green button and bring the phone to my ear, answering with, “Hold on a sec.”

  I throw off the covers and grab my boxers from the floor, pulling them up my legs as I make my way across the room. I close the bedroom door behind me and pad quietly down the hall to the living room.

  “Hey, you there?” I ask, my voice still low and hoarse.

  “Yeah, man, why are you whispering?”

  I clear my throat. “I’m not.”

  “Did I wake you up?” Frankie sounds surprised, which would make sense. When I lived in the city, I was never in bed before midnight. And even that was on the early side for me.

  “Not really. Anyway, what’s up? Chip break it off with Monica?”

  “We should be so lucky. Although I will say, she’s been around a lot less. He wasn’t impressed with her behavior when we came to visit you. Girl is more high maintenance than a Kardashian.” It’s good to hear Frankie take my side on this, and by association Dillion’s, even if he doesn’t actually know her.

  “You think he’s starting to see the light?” I can only hope he cuts her loose before she persuades him to put a ring on her finger. If that happens, we might have to stage some kind of intervention. I take a seat on the couch, facing the fireplace. The porch light is on, illuminating the area around it, but beyond is a black abyss. That’s probably the hardest thing to get used to out here: the only sounds are crickets and the rustle of critters skittering across the forest floor. Combined with the lack of light pollution from high-rises, it’s impossible to see more than a few feet in front of you if it’s cloudy and there’s no moon or stars.

  “Keep your fingers crossed, my friend.”

  “Will do. I’m guessing you didn’t call to talk about Monica.”

  “You would guess correctly. I don’t know if you’ve been keeping tabs on what’s going on with your family over the past couple of weeks or not . . .” I can sense his unease, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  I’ve been wrapped up in emptying out the garage, cold-calling companies about job opportunities—which hasn’t proven fruitful so far—and Dillion. “I’ve talked to my sister and my dad, and I’ve messaged my brother, but you know what he’s like. Those conversations are about three lines long. Unless something has changed in the last forty-eight hours, all arrows are still pointing at me.”

  “That’s true for the most part, but you know how the media likes to blow things up whenever they can.”

  I sit up straighter. “Yeah. Why? What are they saying?”

  “They’re going after your family now. It’s not great, Van. You know what your dad is like, always living the high life. Driving flashy cars, wearing expensive suits, outfitting Teagan in head-to-toe Prada.”

  “Yeah, but what does that have to do with the missing money? Especially when everything already points to me.�
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  “It makes for a good story, though. Like the family who set up a foundation to benefit underprivileged children, only to shelter money and steal it all back because they were in hock up to their eyeballs.”

  “Ah fuck.” I let my head drop back against the couch cushion. “Because my dad has loans out the ying-yang, and somehow they know that?”

  “Yeah. Looks like someone might have leaked some information.”

  “Do I need to come home? Is there anything I can do?”

  “No, man, I think you need to stay where you are. If you need to borrow money or anything, I can help you out, interest-free.”

  “Shit. It’s that bad?” Frankie loaned his sister twenty grand once and charged her interest at 0.1 percent less than the bank rate, so him offering to help me out with no interest is a big damn deal.

  “It’s just media digging around. So as long as you don’t have anything to hide, it’s gonna be fine, but clearly something shady is going on. I wouldn’t be surprised if the board hires someone to investigate it further because they’re worried that you didn’t do it alone.”

  “I didn’t do it at all,” I remind him.

  “I know that, but they don’t. I think they’re drinking the Kool-Aid, and they believe your dad was in on it. They suspended him from the board of directors until they’ve completed a full audit of the books for the last seven years.”

  “Well, that’s not good. When did all this go down?”

  “It all kind of came to a head today. So don’t be surprised if you get a call from your sister tomorrow.”

  “Okay, thanks for the heads-up. What about my brother?”

  “It’s business as usual there. You know how he is—unaffected by pretty much everything. If you’re still good where you are, I suggest staying there.”

  “Yeah. Of course.” I hadn’t planned on coming back to the city anytime soon anyway, but it sucks to have the option taken away. I’m worried about Teagan and how she’s really dealing with all of this. She’s always been on the sensitive side, so this can’t be fun for her. And my dad’s go-to response to stress is always to spend money, which in this case isn’t going to help things.