The Woman Next Door

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Yes. When we’re distracted. When he’s hung up on a deadline. Or when we’re both rushed. Like this week. I missed the Quinn thing. They’ve all moved on and don’t want to discuss it. Is it really over?”

  “For now, I guess.”

  “I worry about drinking.”

  “Allie’s fine. She’s solid.”

  “So is Quinn.”

  Amanda was silent, judging how much to say. “Maybe not the way we thought.”

  “You know more?”

  “Only that he has issues.” She couldn’t say more without breaching a confidence. “You and Russ must have talked about the drinking thing before.”

  “We have. We generally feel the same way.”

  “Are there any things that you and Russ are uncomfortable discussing?”

  “His brother. The guy is shady. He owns a car dealership in Michigan and lives way above what we would assume a car dealer makes, but any time I say that, Russ hits the roof. He says it’s his brother, and he loves him, and it’s none of our business how he pays for what he buys. I guess it isn’t. Be grateful Graham’s brothers are clean.”

  “Oh, they are that,” Amanda said. “I like all of Graham’s siblings. His mother’s the problem.”

  “When’s her birthday party?”

  “Sunday. I’d be looking forward to it, even only to see the others, if it weren’t for this latest setback. What if we don’t ever have a baby, Georgia? If his family is on our backs now, what’ll they be like if a baby never comes?”

  “Don’t worry about that. There are other ways of being parents.”

  “Like adoption. I think we should consider it.”

  “Does Graham?”

  “He thinks it’s premature. He thinks we need to exhaust all the options for having our own first. My worry is that by the time we do, it’ll be too late ...”

  ***

  Georgia tried to avoid end-of-the-week travel whenever possible, but this time it couldn’t be helped. Executives from the company courting hers wanted a tour of the Florida plant. The only day they could make it was Saturday.

  Killing two birds with one stone, she scheduled a full day of meetings with her management team in Tampa on Friday. Such visits were standard; she was the spirit behind the company and a perfectionist, which meant that she wanted things done well at all levels. She wasn’t foolish enough to micromanage. She had staff to do that. But her physical presence made a difference, which was why she tried to visit each major office and plant once a month.

  Her flight out wasn’t until late afternoon on Thursday, and there was her own office in Danbury to visit before then. Still she had lingered with the children before putting them on the bus, then lingered with Amanda before she too drove off, leaving her with the same dreadful qualms she had each day she traveled—qualms that inevitably involved visions of terrorists opening fire while she was waiting for her plane, or the plane crashing. She was about to go in and let Russ cheer her up when the milkman came down the street, his truck creaking with age. It had been weeks since she’d heard that sound. It evoked thoughts of a simpler, safer time.

  The Langes and the Cotters had been using the same dairy for years, but Pete usually came in the late morning. Georgia was surprised to see him so early, and was doubly surprised when he stopped at Gretchen’s first. He hopped out of his truck with his metal basket and ran up the walk.

  The milkman. That was an interesting possibility. He was in his forties and had a family. But he certainly looked eager. When it came to the Langes and the Cotters, he customarily put their orders in the hinged box by the back door. But he went into Gretchen’s house and stayed for several minutes. Georgia watched until he reappeared before she went into her own kitchen. Russ was at the table, hidden behind the paper.

  “I didn’t know Gretchen used the dairy,” Georgia said.

  He lowered a corner of the paper. “Hmm?”

  “Since when has Gretchen been using our dairy?”

  “A while. She came over one day and asked for the number. Why?”

  “He was in there a while. So maybe Pete’s the guy.”

  Russ rolled his eyes.

  Georgia said, “Why not Pete?”

  Russ raised his brows and studied her over his glasses. “He has a full day’s worth of deliveries to make. He doesn’t have time to fool around with customers. Besides, she wasn’t using him last October. It wasn’t until January that she asked for the number.”

  Georgia was bemused. “You remember that.”

  “I do,” he said without apology. “I was showing her all the super things Pete brings, and I pulled the last of the Christmas roll from the freezer. We were joking about how it had to be stale. I let her have a taste.”

  “She was tasting ice cream here in our kitchen?”

  “For two minutes. It was snowing outside. She didn’t stay long. Didn’t do anything more than unbutton her coat. I think it was Ben’s coat. It was big.” He continued to look at her over his glasses, daring her to make something of the visit.

  Instead, she was struck by how adorable he looked with his hair all messed up and his wedding band conversely neat on the long-fingered hand holding the paper. Opting for now to trust and believe, she went over, popped a kiss on the thinnest spot at the top of his head, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

  ***

  Karen spent Thursday morning repairing books at the elementary school library. As volunteer chores went, it wasn’t mentally demanding. She was grateful that there were other mothers working with her. They talked about this, that, and the other, nothing earth-shattering but enough to keep her from brooding.

  She and Lee were barely talking. Self-righteously indignant, he claimed to have been deeply offended by her suggestion that he had fathered Gretchen’s child. He had actually marched defiantly to Gretchen’s that evening to ask who the father was. He told Karen that Gretchen wouldn’t say.

  But Karen hadn’t been at Gretchen’s. She didn’t know for sure what was said or done. If Lee wasn’t fooling around with Gretchen, though, he was doing it with someone else. Karen would bet money on that.

  She returned from school this day at noon and was sitting on her front steps, soaking up the warmth of the sun as an antidote to her emotional chill, when the mailman drove his Jeep down the street and parked. He leaned sideways to sort through his tray, filled his arms with mail, and slipped from the Jeep.

  He put the O’Learys’ mail in the box at the end of the drive and did the same with the Langes’. He walked the Cotters’ mail over to Karen, asked how she was, remarked about the lilacs nearing bloom, and, with a salute, continued on toward the Tannenwald house.

  Karen was sorting through the pile on her lap when the mailman called out a greeting to Gretchen, who came right down the driveway to meet him. She was wearing a pretty tunic top and slacks, with what looked to be Italian sandals on her feet. Any one of the three items were fine enough to have come from Saks or Neiman Marcus. Karen didn’t shop at either store, not for herself or for the kids. But Lee had bought high-priced items at both, and not for himself. After seeing the charges on his credit card bill, she had checked labels in his closet. She had checked for cuff links that might have been new; naturally, since young techies didn’t wear cuff links, there were none. Nor was there a new wallet.

  Someone was benefiting from his largesse. She wondered if Gretchen wore a necklace hidden under her tunic, or earrings under the swing of that pretty blond hair, or a sparkly bracelet under her cuff. She was holding a manila envelope as she talked with the mailman. A bracelet might easily have slipped toward her elbow and out of sight.

  The mailman was shorter than Gretchen and more round than a man who lugged mail up and down walks each day should be. Of course, he didn’t always walk. Normally he drove from mailbox to mailbox, leaning out of his truck at each. Karen wondered why he had chosen to walk today. It could be that he had an abbreviated afternoon route and therefore time to spare, or that he wanted the sp
ring sun or the exercise. It could also be that he wanted Gretchen.

  There were smiles and several minutes of a conversation that Karen couldn’t make out. Gretchen handed him the manila envelope and took a thicker one from him, plus smaller pieces. When one letter fell to the ground, Gretchen reached for it, but the mailman retrieved it first. He handed it over, smiled, and returned to his truck.

  The mailman. The physical disparity between them didn’t rule it out. Karen had seen tall women with short men. She had seen slim women with chubby men. Who could account for tastes?

  Lee, on the other hand, was sinfully handsome. A woman could hate his spiked hair and still see that. He and Karen had been a handsome couple on their wedding day. Then life had grown complicated, what with children and work, and Lee’s affairs had taken their toll. They made her feel inadequate and unattractive.

  Turning, she went into the house and fixed a peanut-butter-and-potato-chip sandwich. She didn’t care if it was starchy. She needed comfort food.

  The sandwich helped only marginally. Back in the car, she headed to the home of the woman in charge of the all-school graduation party that was thrown by the town for its seniors each year. Karen and she would work together for several hours, going through the list of local stores that could be counted on to make donations for the event. Then Karen would head home in time for the school bus to arrive.

  Needing more comfort than the sandwich brought, she vowed to keep an eye out for Amanda. Amanda was a sure bet to give comfort.

  Karen wanted to ask her about the mailman. While she was at it, she wanted to know what was in the manila envelopes that were coming and going next door. She figured that Amanda had a stake in all this. After all, if Lee wasn’t the father of the baby, even money said it was Graham.

  ***

  Amanda immediately shook her head when Karen waylaid her as she climbed from her car later that afternoon and mentioned the mailman as a suspect. “Dominic? I can’t believe that he’d have the courage, much less the desire to impregnate Gretchen.”

  “Because of his looks?”

  “Because his mother is the center of his life.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’ve talked with him. I was outside one day when he came by, and he was looking so down in the mouth that I asked what was wrong. He lives with his mother. She’s a semi-invalid, and he’s her major caretaker. He was upset that day because she needed to have dental work done and he didn’t have the money. The only alternative was to pull her teeth, and that was upsetting him.”

  “A fine son,” Karen murmured. Putting her hands on her hips, she looked around the cul-de-sac. “Does Graham know anything?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Did he ask Gretchen?”

  “Not to my knowledge.”

  “Russ did. So did Lee. Isn’t Graham curious?”

  Amanda was still for a minute. Then, softly, she said, “Karen, I don’t think it’s Graham. If he didn’t ask, it’s because he didn’t think it was important.”

  “I’d say it’s important.”

  “Okay. What did Russ and Lee learn?”

  “Nothing. She wouldn’t say who the father is. Maybe she’ll tell Graham.” Her voice grew hushed. “Oh. Look. There she is.”

  Gretchen came around the far side of her house with the garden hose in hand. When she glanced their way Amanda raised a hand in greeting. Gretchen nodded, turned her back, and began watering her beds.

  “That wasn’t terribly friendly,” Karen murmured. “She’s toying with us.”

  “It may just be that she feels awkward.”

  “Because the baby’s father is one of our husbands?”

  “No. Because we’re together and she isn’t our friend.”

  “And whose fault is that?” Karen asked, raising a hand to wave at the paperboy, who was riding his bicycle down the street, his basket filled with the local weekly. “Hey, Davey” she called, then told Amanda, “I worked with his parents on last year’s Christmas bazaar.”

  “Hey, Mrs. Cotter,” Davey called back, but he had stopped in front of the widow’s house and was holding out the paper while Gretchen crossed the grass.

  “He may be towheaded and adorable, but I don’t think he’s a suspect,” Amanda murmured, but she was entranced watching the widow. When Gretchen smiled, as she was doing at the boy, there was a definite warmth to her. And a shyness. Amanda had never noticed that quality before.

  The paperboy glided toward them with one foot skimming the pavement. He offered a paper to each.

  “I haven’t seen your parents in a while,” Karen told him. “How are they?”

  “They’re fine.”

  “Tell them I say hello.”

  “I will,” he said. He sailed off, tossing a paper onto the Langes’ front steps with a deft overhand lob and heading down the street.

  As a matter of habit, Amanda opened the paper. She sucked in a sharp breath when she saw the headline.

  Chapter Nine

  BASEBALL STAR SUSPENDED AFTER DRINKING INCIDENT, read the headline, and the article went on to relate, in exact detail, the events of Tuesday.

  Amanda murmured a soft, “Oh no.”

  Karen had unfolded her own paper and was reading the same piece. “Well, it is news.”

  “Not like this. It’s not even on the sports page. Talk about being pilloried.”

  “When you’re a star, you have to take the good with the bad.”

  All Amanda could think about was Quinn Davis nervously rubbing his thumbs and forefingers at the meeting the other night. He wasn’t all calmness and confidence. A kid who was in control didn’t show up at baseball practice drunk. Given the vehemence with which his parents had tried to sweep his offense under the rug, this front-page exposure wouldn’t sit well with them. Amanda could only begin to wonder how it would sit with Quinn himself.

  She had no sooner stepped inside her kitchen when the phone rang. It was Maggie Dodd, as concerned as she was about the article. Yes, school officials had been asked about the incident, she said, but they hadn’t given out details. Apparently those had come from the baseball coach, members of the team, and Quinn’s friends.

  Amanda and she were talking about possible fallout when Maggie put her on hold to take another call. When she came back, her voice was tight. “Quinn’s parents. They’re livid. They want to know how their son could be smeared this way.”

  Part of Amanda agreed with Karen’s earlier, rather blunt assessment of the situation. In the four years that she had been reading the Woodley Weekly, there had been numerous front-page articles praising one Davis or another. This was the flip side of that coin, inevitable in some regards. To some extent, it was just news.

  The other part of her—the counselor—worried about Quinn. “Let me call them,” she suggested to Maggie. “I’ll go over there to talk if they’ll let me.”

  ***

  They wouldn’t. “That would be a waste of our time, Ms. Carr,” Quinn’s father said. “You could have helped us the other night. But you aren’t on our side.”

  “It isn’t about taking sides,” Amanda reasoned. “It’s about doing what’s best for Quinn. My concern right now is for him. Has he seen this article?”

  “Of course he has. He couldn’t miss it. His friends have been calling. Our friends have been calling.”

  “Is he all right?”

  “No. But that’s not your concern.”

  “It is. It’s my job. It’s my nature. I’d really like to talk with him.”

  “We’ll handle it. Thank you.” He hung up the phone.

  ***

  Amanda felt helpless on the matter of Quinn. She wanted to talk it over with Graham. His instincts were good. He could reassure her or make a suggestion. It would be a neutral subject they could discuss.

  For a minute, she thought her wish had come true. Graham called shortly after she hung up the phone with Quinn’s father.

  “Hi,” he said cautiously. She could
hear that he was in the truck. The reception had that hands-off quality.

  “Hi. Where are you?” she asked, as she often did, wondering whether he was two, ten, or twenty minutes away. This time, though, her voice held the same caution as his, which made the question sound distrustful.

  His voice reflected that. It was harder, closed to discussion. “Just now heading for Providence. I’m running way late.”

  She let a beat pass. “Will this be every day?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a good job. It helps fill the time when you’re at school.”

  “I’m not at school every night.”

  “Well, Tuesday you ran back.”

  “It was important.”

  “So is this.” He swore. Amanda heard the angry honk of a horn, then Graham’s angry voice. “That bastard just cut into my lane, smack in front of me at seventy-five miles an hour.”

  “You don’t usually drive that fast.”

  “I’m running late.”

  “Was it a bad day?”

  “Just busy.”

  So much for conversation. “When will you be home?”

  “Ten, eleven.”

  “Okay. Have a good meeting.”

  “Yup.”

  Amanda hung up the phone thinking of all the things she could have said, should have said—all the ways she might have gotten him to talk more. But this Graham was a stranger to her. She didn’t know how he would react to the things she said. She didn’t know how the things she said would even come out. Perhaps it was better that she didn’t even try to open up.

  Sex might do it. They had always related on a physical level.

  Although not in recent months.

  But her period was ebbing, and she refused to think about the clinical aspects of baby-making, so maybe passion had a chance.

  At least, that was what she was thinking when, later that evening, she bathed in bubbles, creamed her body with scented lotion, put on one of the slightly indecent nightgowns Graham had bought her during their earliest, randiest days, and climbed into their bed. As olive branches went, it was a fair one.