The Good Neighbor

by A. J. Banner

  “You couldn’t have known,” I said, sitting at the table in Eris’s kitchen. The scent of blueberry muffins wafted from the oven. Todd had warned me about crazy people in Shadow Cove. He’d been referring to himself. Nobody was supposed to die.

  “What if he’d lit a match when one of us wasn’t home?” Eris went on. “The man was a pyromaniac. I thought I knew him.”

  “He seemed regretful,” I said. “Maybe he thought the houses would be empty.”

  “Why would he think such a thing?”

  “Maybe he’d been watching the Kimballs’ house while they were away, and he didn’t expect them to come home early.”

  “We can’t know what was going through his mind,” Eris said.

  “They found methamphetamine at his place. But he didn’t seem like an addict.”

  “Nobody ever seems like it.” Eris wiped the counter, put a carton of milk back in the fridge.

  I gazed out through the trees toward the cottage, clearly visible from here.

  “He was a firefighter. I still don’t understand how he could do this.”

  “Did you ever see that movie Backdraft? The arsonist was a firefighter in that one, too. They’re drawn to fire. They set one, and then they get to return to the scene of the crime and become all heroic dousing the flames. A double whammy.”

  “Not all firefighters are like that,” I said.

  “Nope, but you get your one bad seed—”

  “He did seem remorseful.”

  Eris shrugged. “Speaking of remorse, what about that husband of yours?”

  “I’ve been too hard on him.”

  “You’ll find someone better.”

  “He’s flawed. But aren’t we all?”

  “Some of us are more flawed than others.” Eris took a plate of butter out of the fridge, then busied herself loading dishes from the sink into the dishwasher.

  “It wasn’t all a lie. I mean, he hurt me, but I believe he loves me. He wishes he’d told me about Monique.”

  “I’ll bet he does.” Eris turned off the oven, brought out a tray of muffins, and set them on the stovetop to cool.

  Tears pushed at the backs of my eyes.

  Eris came and sat next to me, rested a hand on mine. “I felt sad about my ex, too. But I survived. So will you. You’ve got your friends, your writing. You are strong.”

  I nodded, still bereft. “He was having a painting restored for me. He’s a good man.”

  “Of course.” Eris nodded sympathetically. She got up and took a tub of yogurt from the fridge. “Smoothie to perk you up?”

  “Thank you.” I needed to talk to Natalie, but I would have to wait. She was en route back home.

  Eris threw yogurt in the blender. Then she chopped up bananas and turned on the blender. The grating noise jarred my eardrums, but the resulting smoothie tasted heavenly. “You’re an expert at this,” I said. “I feel better already.”

  She sat next to me again and grinned. “My smoothies are the Rx for grief. Your life is going to get better.”

  “I hope so.” I gazed into my half-empty—or half-full—glass, but the smoothie gave up no secrets. “I’m going to take a leap. I’m going to try again with Johnny.”

  Eris regarded me with curiosity and concern. “You think he can change?”

  I sipped the last of the smoothie, letting the cool, thick liquid slide down my throat. “He can’t change what he did before he met me.”

  Eris nodded thoughtfully. “Like I said, I got a little wild when I was young. But I got over it. I matured. I wouldn’t want anyone judging me for my past, either.”

  “That’s what I mean.” I finished off the smoothie.

  I turned the empty glass around in my hand. Afternoon sun cast a ray of almost-white illumination across the tile floor. A play of light and leaves danced across the wall above the sink.

  “I understand,” Eris said, and got up. “But you may regret it later.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  “Where’s Uncle Johnny?” Mia said as she skipped into the cottage, holding Princess Barbie. She wore a new pair of sparkling princess shoes. The afternoon hung gray and humid, the sky brooding, warning of a coming storm.

  “He’s away,” I said. “He’s in Seattle.”

  “See-at-ul,” Mia said, jumping up and down in the foyer. “When is he coming back?”

  “Late.” But he was coming. He was to move back in that evening. I’d been a mess of anticipation, unable to concentrate.

  On the drive back from the hospital, where I’d left Harriet, I’d stolen glances at Mia, trying to detect any resemblance to Johnny. What about Mia’s double-jointed thumbs, the way she stuck out her tongue? Could any of these traits come from him?

  No, I’d concluded, as I’d hauled Mia’s heavy overnight bag into the cottage. Her chin had a slight cleft, exactly like Chad’s.

  “I want Uncle Johnny to read to me,” Mia insisted, stamping her foot on the floor. “Goodnight Moon.”

  “You are a little princess, aren’t you?”

  “Uncle Johnny.” Mia pouted halfheartedly, pulling a new set of Dr. Seuss books from the bag. No wonder the darned thing was so heavy.

  “He’s teaching a class at the university. He might be late.” He’d been invited to give a guest lecture on general pediatric dermatology. I’d barely had a chance to talk to him in the past week, except to tell him I was ready to sit down with him, to discuss the future. His voice had become buoyant and hopeful. As soon as I get back, he’d said.

  Tonight, tonight, tonight . . . Wasn’t that a song?

  I missed the sound of his voice, the way he left newspapers strewn on the table, crumbs under his chair. His special interest in cooking Indian food. The way he often read aloud to me before bed. The way he took his time touching me, as if he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for the rest of his life. The cottage felt strangely large and empty without him.

  The Minkowskis were gone, their house locked up, the blinds drawn. They had flown to Florida, as Kadin’s father had suddenly passed away. The painting of Miracle Mouse remained in Theresa’s studio, waiting for her to finish the restoration. Eris was home but often out at meetings or making lucrative real estate deals.

  Mia’s nonstop chatter offered a pleasant distraction. She never tired of finding new ways to play. She helped me bake an elaborate cake, creating a mess of flour all over the kitchen.

  Finally, she collapsed on the cot for her afternoon nap. Her chest rose and fell in an easy rhythm, her face peaceful. In the soft lamplight, she resembled a young Monique. Apparently, she’d begun to act out, to remember her fear during the fire. She woke crying in the night. But I had not seen any evidence of her sadness since she had arrived at the cottage.

  I sat on the couch to write on my laptop, grateful for Mia’s company. Her grandmother probably appreciated having her around, too. Harriet had appeared frailer than usual that morning. She’d mentioned her sister in Vermont. She’ll fly in if I need her. Didn’t Harriet need her now?

  She was alone at the hospital. Mia and I had stayed there awhile, but Mia had grown restless, so I’d brought her home. We would go back to see Harriet later. I’d left my number with the nurse.

  Mia had been napping for barely fifteen minutes when my cell phone lit up. My heart leaped. Johnny. Maybe he’d finished his lecture early. But it wasn’t him. It was Jessie.

  “Can you come and get me?” Her voice was high-pitched and tearful.

  I replied in a low voice. “Mia’s asleep. What’s wrong? Are you with Adrian?”

  “No. I’m walking to your house. Can you pick me up?”

  “Walking to my house from where?”

  “I’m on Cedar Drive but I have, like, two more miles to go, and it’s raining.”

  “I can’t leave Mia alone. Can you call your parents? What’s going on?”

  “Sarah, please. I can’t call them.” Jessie broke into hiccupping sobs.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to hang u
p and call 911?”

  “No, I—I need you.”

  “Can you take a cab home?”

  “I took a cab here, but I ran out of money.”

  “Keep walking on Cedar. I’ll find you.”

  I called Eris to come and watch Mia, and a few minutes later, Eris showed up at the door in jeans and a rain jacket, shaking her umbrella. She took off muddy boots. “Where’s the kid?” she whispered. She looked pale, dark circles under her eyes.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “Fine.” But she didn’t look fine. Perhaps she’d fought with her boyfriend. He hadn’t come around in a few days.

  “She’s in the bedroom.” I showed her Mia asleep on the cot. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll take good care of her,” Eris said.

  “Thank you for watching her.” I grabbed my keys and purse. “I don’t know what happened to Jessie, but it sounds bad.”

  “Did you call her parents?” Eris whispered back.

  “I left a message for her mother.”

  “Go on then, hurry.” Eris waved me away.

  I drove slowly along Cedar Drive, scanning the sidewalks through sheets of rain. Finally, I spotted a hunched figure. I pulled over and opened the passenger side door. Jessie got in, a waterlogged waif in a hoodie, soaked to the skin. Her hands trembled as she dropped her wet backpack on the seat. I reached over her and shut the door. She smelled of clove cigarettes and wet wool.

  “Put on your seat belt,” I said.

  Jessie clipped on her seat belt with shaking fingers.

  I pulled back into the road, made a U-turn.

  Jessie looked at me from beneath her hoodie, her face shadowed. “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “I thought we were going to your house.”

  “We can’t go to my house. You need to talk to your parents.”

  “But I can’t.” She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking.

  “Why not?”

  “This is why not.” She pulled off her hoodie, revealing her face, the black bruise on her cheek, her swollen eye, her split and bloody lip.

  I gasped and nearly swerved into the ditch. “I’ll kill that asshole.”

  Jessie said nothing, her lips trembling.

  “I’m taking you to the hospital,” I said.

  “No, Sarah, please.”

  “Don’t argue with me.”

  “My parents will find out.”

  “We’ll make it through this, okay?” I headed straight for Cove Hospital, my fingers gripping the steering wheel. I resisted cursing aloud. “You need to press charges.”

  Jessie wiped her nose with the palm of her hand. “I hate myself.”

  “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that.”

  “I’m so stupid.”

  “You are not stupid. Where is he? You need to call the police.”

  “I don’t want to. I don’t know how he knew.”

  “About what?”

  “Chad. Someone told him.”

  “Oh, Jessie. How could anyone else know? Maybe he guessed.”

  “I don’t want to go to the hospital.”

  “You need stitches.” I pulled into the parking lot at Cove Hospital. “Come on. Let’s go in.”

  I got out, dialing Pedra as rain pelted my skin. I led Jessie inside the hospital, into the emergency room. “Díos mio,” Pedra said into the phone. “I’ll be right there.”

  Next, I called Eris. She gasped, cursed under her breath. “You’re kidding. Keep me posted.”

  Ten minutes later, Pedra rushed into the waiting room, Don in tow. They were both white-faced. “Jessie, what happened?” Pedra took Jessie’s face in her hands.

  Tears spilled down Jessie’s cheeks.

  I pulled Don aside. “I have to go. I’m babysitting Mia. I left her with a neighbor.”

  He nodded, his eyes bewildered and angry. I worried about what he might say to Jessie, whether he would blame her. But I had to get back. I hugged Jessie, squeezed her hand, then called Eris again on my way back to the car.

  “Is Mia awake yet?”

  “She got up. We’re playing.” Her voice sounded crackly and distant, as if she had turned on the speakerphone. “You’re on your way back?”

  “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  When I got back, the cottage was dark and quiet, save for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the fan of my laptop computer, which I’d left turned on in my hurry. No sign of Mia or Eris. Mia must’ve woken up. Eris must’ve taken her next door. I dialed Eris’s cell, but the call went straight to voice mail.

  In the master bedroom, my journal sat on the bed. The journal in which I had meticulously documented everything that had happened after the fire, every thought and emotion. I didn’t remember leaving the journal on the bed, but I must have.

  Still in my raincoat and boots, I rushed outside and took the wooded trail to Eris’s house. I knocked on the front door, but nobody answered.

  I tried calling Eris’s cell phone again. Voice mail. Eris’s car still sat in the driveway—but the house was dark. I followed a worn path around to the back, peered in the windows. No sign of anyone. Nobody answered the side door to the kitchen. The door was unlocked, so I went inside. “Eris! Mia!” I called out. A plate sat on the counter, sprinkled with toast crumbs, next to a coffee cup and a teaspoon. In the dining room, the air smelled of orange polish.

  “Eris! Mia!” No answer. Soft classical music drifted down from the second floor. “Eris! Mia!” Still no answer.

  I followed the source of the music upstairs to Eris’s quiet room. A soft Brandenburg concerto played inside. I knocked, but nobody answered. I turned the knob, and to my surprise, the door opened easily. “You guys in here?” I called into the dimness. A single window cast diffuse light on a crumpled bedspread and outlined the shapes of a dresser, chair, and bookshelf. Maybe Eris had brought Mia in here to calm her down. But again, nobody answered.

  The air hung heavy with incense and perfume. I flipped a switch on the wall next to the door, and a line of track lights flickered on overhead. I gasped and nearly stumbled backward. The concerto played on, an incongruous accompaniment to the unbelievable scene now in front of me. Nobody was in here, but Eris had turned the room into a shrine, a temple, but not in tribute to any god—in this room, Eris worshipped Johnny.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  I stepped farther into the room, my breathing fast and shallow, my heartbeat a rapid gallop. What kind of sick obsession was this? This perfumed room made into an elaborate shrine to Johnny? His face stared out from photographs plastered on the dresser mirror, framed behind glass on the walls.

  That’s my quiet room.

  In the open closet, silk negligees hung in a rainbow of colors—red, violet, turquoise. Spaghetti straps and lace, stiletto heels and G-strings, cologne bottles lined up on the dresser. Lotions, makeup, hairbrushes. Condoms, still in their colorful wrappers, arranged on a plate, like finger foods at a party.

  What about the bed pressed against the window, the blankets in a tangled mess? Did Eris sleep here every night, on that single pillow, gazing at the photographs of Johnny? Was this her bedroom? Who could live in a space like this one, full of crazy longing and fixation?

  A bottle of wine sat on the nightstand next to two glasses. Untouched glasses, waiting for a man who might never come, and it wasn’t just any bottle of wine. It was the bottle of Chardonnay that Johnny had given to Eris. Unopened. She had not offered to open the bottle during dinner. She had spirited the bottle away, had returned with raspberry wine.

  On a bookshelf, medical textbooks were arranged alphabetically by title, some still wrapped in plastic—Eris had bought them but never bothered to open them. And architecture magazines. Self-help books. How to Snag Him and Keep Him. Your Lovable Self. Perfect Skin. Who read books like this? I started to hyperventilate, nausea rising in my throat.

  Breathe. Think. What’s going on he
re? A large pair of binoculars sat on the windowsill. Eris had a perfect view of the cottage from here—a direct line down the path through the woods. She could not possibly see into the rooms from this distance. But she could watch Johnny and me coming and going. She could slip inside the cottage when we weren’t home, with an extra key.

  She had taped photographs around the perimeter of the dresser mirror. Johnny mid-stride, coming out of the clinic in his suit. Johnny sitting in the RAV4. Johnny jogging up the trail. Johnny emerging from the house on Sitka Lane, getting into his car. Eris must’ve used a telephoto lens. She’d added Johnny to photographs of herself, and she had removed other people from the pictures. Eris and Johnny in a swimming pool, on a ski slope, gazing at each other over a candlelit table. The picture of Johnny on the dock. Eris must’ve stolen it from the cottage. She’d cut Monique out of the photograph.

  I trembled all over. This couldn’t be real. Draped over a chair were three polar bear plunge T-shirts, all in Eris’s size, but otherwise identical to Johnny’s shirts. Had she gone looking for them? Had she ever worn them?

  She had arranged a circle of candles on the dresser, a handwritten note in the center, next to a cutout picture of Johnny’s face. The time will come, my love, the note said. Until then.

  I was noticeably absent from all of the pictures. No photograph of me with my face slashed, no mug shot with a dart in my forehead. No, to Eris, I simply didn’t exist. If I’d been in any of the photographs with Johnny, I had been summarily deleted.

  How could Eris project such a confident, normal, self-assured exterior? Such friendliness? When she had claimed to be in love, she hadn’t been talking about Steve. She’d been referring to Johnny, the man she thought was stuck in an unhappy marriage, waiting for freedom from “entanglements.” There were two Erises, the one in here and the one out there. The one in here frightened me to death.

  The one out there had Mia.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  I raced out of the room, the music receding behind me as I stumbled down the stairs, punched 911 into my cell phone, yelled that a deranged neighbor had kidnapped Mia Kimball and to come right away. I left a message for Johnny. “Hurry, come back. Eris is crazy. She has Mia. She’s taken her somewhere.” Next I left a message for Ryan Greene, and I ran outside into the wind, down the driveway to the street, screaming for Mia. Where could Eris have possibly taken her?