* * *
Chapter Thirty-Three
* * *
Before Newport Cove
TESSA HAD BEEN EASING a handful of pasta into a pot of boiling water when Addison spoke up. It was a warm, lazy weekend evening, and her body felt loose and relaxed from the first Zumba class she’d taken that afternoon. Pasta, a glass of wine, the kids sleeping through the night—life looked pretty good at the moment.
“I wonder if I’m taller than Jacob,” Addison had said.
He’d been sitting at the kitchen table, playing a handheld Nintendo DS game, his thumbs moving quickly.
“I dunno,” Tessa had said. Shoot, she’d forgotten to buy lettuce at the store, so they wouldn’t have salad. She checked the vegetable bin and decided to cut up carrots and celery instead.
“I’m going to ask Danny,” Addison had continued.
“Ask him what?” Tessa had said.
“Whose are longer,” Addison had said. “He checked our legs.”
“Danny checked your legs?” Tessa had asked. “At Young Rangers?” She didn’t recall seeing it, though she could have been chatting with another parent.
“No, at his house,” Addison had said. He slid off his stool and wandered toward the living room, still intent on his game. “He said mine felt really strong, so he gave me a special hug.”
Tessa had stared after him as he flopped on the couch, then she’d turned down the water on the pasta and followed him.
“Addison?” she’d said. “Can you put that down for a minute?”
“One sec,” he’d said.
“What kind of special hug?” Tessa had asked.
“Huh?” Addison had said, his focus on the game.
“Addison, what kind of special hug did Danny give you?”
“An extralong one,” Addison had said.
Tessa had frowned. “Why did he check your legs?” she’d asked.
“To see if my uniform fit,” Addison had mumbled, his eyes still on the screen.
She’d felt that icy stirring again, the prickling in her chest, just as she had that day with the nanny, and on the afternoon in the park . . .
But she’d been wrong before.
“Addison,” she’d said. She’d knelt down in front of him and removed his game, shushing his protests. “You can have this back in a minute. Show me how he did it.”
Addison had sighed and stood up from the couch. As Tessa had stared, feeling oddly immobile, Addison had reached down and demonstrated what Danny Briggs had done, tracing a slow line with the palm of his hand along the inseam of his pants, from his ankle up to his groin.
“Can I have my game now?” Addison had asked, dropping back onto the couch.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Four
* * *
KELLIE LAY IN BED, listening to the sounds of Jason brushing his teeth through the partially opened bathroom door. He hadn’t spoken to her the whole ride home, not when she’d thanked him for throwing the party, not when she’d whispered, “I’m sorry.”
She could hear the water turning on, and Jason gargling, a noise that used to bother her. How many times had she called to him to shut the door—earlier on in the marriage in a joking voice, but lately in one that didn’t disguise her irritation? She didn’t deserve him.
Maybe she should touch his shoulder when he came to bed, or try to hug him. Gigi had told her to give Jason time, but Kellie worried it would increase the distance between them.
She glanced at the shirt he’d left on the floor. She could still make out the faint stain on the collar. She got out of bed, smoothed it out, and hung it in the closet.
The bathroom door was opening. Kellie’s stomach muscles tensed.
Jason wore a T-shirt and athletic shorts, instead of the boxers he usually slept in. His face seemed to have settled into permanent hard lines in the space of the past few hours. He walked over toward her and for one heart-lifting moment, Kellie thought he was reaching for her. But he just grabbed a pillow and left the room, shutting the door behind him. Closing it like a soft slap.
She collapsed onto Jason’s side of the bed. It smelled like him. She breathed in deeply and curled up in a ball, knowing she wouldn’t sleep tonight. She should be the one to sleep on the couch, but she didn’t want to bother Jason by asking him if he wanted to switch. She’d try to talk to him tomorrow. She’d offer to set up counseling, to quit her job. She’d do anything.
She lay there, staring into the darkness, feeling her body ache as if with the flu. When she turned her head a little later, her eyes had adjusted enough to the dark for her to make out the framed wedding photo on Jason’s nightstand. In it she was staring at the camera, smiling broadly. Jason was looking at her, not smiling, but with an expression so tender it made fresh tears roll from her aching eyes.
Their wedding day had been so wonderful. It hadn’t been fancy; there wasn’t enough money for an elaborate reception. But Kellie had worn a poufy white princess gown—if a girl couldn’t wear a big dress on her wedding day, when could she?—with flowers woven through her hair. Jason had rented a tux, the only time she’d ever seen him in one. He’d been so young and handsome. He’d started crying when she’d begun to walk down the aisle, and his tears had set off her own. When she’d finally reached him, he’d leaned down to kiss her, and she’d wound her arms around his neck, then they’d both burst into laughter, realizing they were supposed to wait until after the ceremony. The guests had all laughed, too.
They’d danced at the reception, with Kellie waltzing with Jason’s father while Jason twirled around her mother, then Kellie was passed around by Jason’s groomsmen while he danced with her sister and bridesmaids, but they always found their way back to each other at the end of every song. They’d been so busy with their guests that they’d forgotten to eat dinner, but Jason’s mother had brought along a picnic basket and packed up leftovers for them to take to the hotel. They’d gobbled down pasta and salad while sitting cross-legged on the bed, then Jason had moved away the plates and silverware and had pulled Kellie to her feet, for one final, slow dance with no music.
How had she thrown that love away? Kellie rolled over in bed, holding Jason’s pillow against her chest, wondering if he was awake one floor below her, too.
As dawn approached, she realized it was the first time in recent memory that she had gone hours without thinking about Miller at all.
• • •
Susan awoke to weak sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. She knew immediately she’d overslept; usually she arose by seven. But it had been a late night. A strange night. Plus she’d had three cocktails, which her mild headache reminded her was unusual. And Cole was at Randall’s, so there wasn’t any need to get out of bed.
She never lazed around in the morning, though. Then it would be too easy to think. Better to head directly to the shower, to get on with the day, to start moving and never stop.
She stretched her arms over her head and conjured up an image of Peter from the party. His intent eyes, slightly receding hairline, and lanky frame. Last night had marked the first time since her separation that she’d found a man attractive. And Peter had asked for her phone number, which she’d written down on a little piece of paper from the Moleskine notebook in her purse. “Do you like Mexican food?” he’d asked, and she’d nodded, feeling her mouth dry up as shyness had overtaken her.
She was curious about how Kellie and Jason knew Peter, but she couldn’t call and ask. Kellie had far too much to deal with today. Her mind flashed to the memory of Kellie leaving the party, trailing Jason as he marched ahead to the limo.
Susan heard a little whine and looked down to see Sparky’s pleading eyes.
“You need to go out,” she said. “Sorry, boy.”
She got up and slipped on jeans and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, then swallowed an Advil and a long dr
ink of water before brushing her teeth and splashing cold water on her face. She found Sparky’s leash and hooked it on, then put on her shoes and coat and headed out the door.
It had been relatively simple to meet guys at age twenty-two, even though she hadn’t gone on many dates before marrying Randall, she thought as Sparky sniffed a bush in her front yard. A few movies and dinners, one serious boyfriend during her sophomore and junior years of college, another during the summer after graduation.
Now, though, dating seemed fraught with peril, as treacherous as scaling Everest without supplemental oxygen. Life was so much more complicated! What if Peter hated kids? What if he had a psycho ex? What if she got all dressed up and went out with him, feeling the faint stirrings of hope as she had last night, only to learn that he was actually still married?
It seemed impossible that she’d ever find another man who did the small, sweet things Randall had done for her, like packing snacks for her to bring to work while she was pregnant. He’d filled Ziploc bags with cut-up carrots and pita chips. He’d checked the tires on her car every month to make sure the tread was still safe. He’d fallen asleep with his hand curved around her belly.
How would it feel to roll over in the middle of the night and reach for a warm body, to feel strong arms slide around her again? To watch from the doorway and laugh as someone else danced across the cold winter sidewalk on bare feet to retrieve the newspaper?
For a moment she let herself sink into the fantasy.
But instead of hopeful, it made her feel unsettled. Her life right now, while not joyous, wasn’t unhappy. It was . . . under control, not like in those raw, roiling months after Randall had first left, when tears would pour from her eyes in the strangest of places: at the ATM machine, the dog groomer’s, the swimming pool between laps.
She’d ensconced her heart in Bubble Wrap, and her grief had slowly ebbed away, like a dropped oar drifting from a rowboat. The ache of losing Randall still consumed her, but most of the time it was a low, steady throb. Only occasionally did it erupt into breath-stealing pain.
She knew how Mr. Brannon felt, sitting in his room at the nursing home, looking at the imprint of his son’s hand, forever captured in a block of concrete. Sometimes the future you yearned for was forever lost to you.
But her life was . . . manageable now. In order. If she started to date, everything would change. And her heart, her poor, bruised heart, would be at risk once more.
She felt almost angry at Peter, for asking her out, for awakening long-dormant feelings in her. Yes, she wanted to love and be loved again. But she didn’t have time to date. She was a single mom, she ran a business, she had a house to take care of . . . Sparky was looking at her, his head cocked.
“Yeah,” she said, kneeling down to scratch his ears. “Excuses, excuses.”
Sparky tugged the end of the leash, and she forced herself to take a step, then another. They’d go for a long walk, then she’d eat a light breakfast—scrambled eggs with bell peppers, maybe—then she’d text Randall to see when he’d be bringing Cole home. She had to do laundry, and unload the dishwasher, and maybe she and Cole could have popcorn and movie night . . . Okay, so her life wasn’t all that glamorous.
But if Peter or someone like him became part of it . . . Oh, to have Cole on one side of her on the couch, and Peter on the other, while they laughed at a movie together. To feel a big hand wrap around hers, and to sense the warmth of a strong leg as it rested an inch or two away. To climb the stairs with someone at night, knowing that if she awoke at three a.m., she’d see the reassuring outline of another form under the covers next to her.
She shook her head. It was a little soon to be shopping for a wedding dress. She’d have a margarita and some nachos with the guy.
That was, if he even called.
• • •
Before Newport Cove
Tessa hadn’t reacted to Addison’s revelation immediately. She’d gone back into the kitchen, pulled the carrots and celery out of the vegetable bin, and had begun to slice them as she replayed her son’s words over and over in her mind.
Could there be a simple explanation?
There could, of course. She was just at a loss to come up with one.
The prickly sensation she’d felt all over her skin—the same warning system that had failed her before—hadn’t subsided.
She’d reached for a bottle of wine to pour a glass, then pushed it away. She’d tell Harry as soon as he got home. Her logical, left-brain husband would weigh the information and come up with a conclusion.
Addison was safe, and there wasn’t a Young Rangers meeting for another few days. She’d proceed cautiously this time. After all, this wasn’t like making some accusation against a stranger in the park or a nanny she didn’t know very well.
This was Danny Briggs, the tireless leader, the man kids and parents alike adored.
The more she thought about it, the more Tessa convinced herself there had to be an innocent explanation.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Five
* * *
SHE WAS AFRAID TO go downstairs. She didn’t know what she’d find. Would Jason be at the breakfast table, drinking coffee and reading the sports page? Maybe he’d greet her by saying “Good morning”—although a curt nod seemed more likely—and indicate he was ready to talk.
Maybe he wouldn’t be there at all.
Kellie strained to hear the clatter of silverware or the gurgle of the coffeepot, but she couldn’t make out a thing.
The kids were still asleep, so she’d better face her husband now. She didn’t bother changing out of her nightshirt or checking the mirror. She knew she looked horrible, with her eyes puffy from crying and her face drawn from lack of sleep, but she didn’t care. For Miller, she’d always made an effort to look her best. New clothes, makeup freshly applied, hair curled . . . But that was a façade. Jason had seen her with the stomach flu, and with her face covered in a bumpy red rash from an allergic reaction to a skin cream, and even with a perm that had fried her hair and turned it an orangish shade when she was just nineteen. None of it had mattered to him.
Kellie checked the living room first. The blanket Jason had used was at the end of the couch, his pillow resting on top. The blanket wasn’t folded neatly, of course. It was a lumpy bundle, with its ends flopping out. Kellie’s eyes pricked with tears at the sight of it.
She went into the kitchen and there he was. But he wasn’t reading the sports page; he was just sitting at the table.
“Hi,” she said.
He turned to look at her.
“Can I make you some coffee?” she asked.
He shook his head. Was he going to speak to her at all?
She took the chair opposite his. “I am so sorry,” she began. “Nothing happened . . . nothing physical at all—”
Jason cut her off: “You said that last night.”
“What do you want to know?” Kellie asked. “I’ll tell you anything . . . Jason, it was a crush that got out of hand, that was all . . . It was so wrong of me.”
His posture was rigid. He was furious, but hurt and scared, too, Kellie realized. If she could just touch him, and hug him, and let him know how terribly sorry she was . . . She stretched out her hand. Jason closed his eyes, then opened them.
“Can I hug you?” Kellie whispered. “Please.”
She could see his face soften. He was going to say yes. They were going to be okay. She would hold on tight, and tell him a million times how sorry she was . . .
She was aware of an electronic ping, but it didn’t register that it was coming from inside her purse until Jason’s head whipped around and he stared at her bag on the counter, just a few feet away from them.
“Sounds like you’re getting a text,” he said. “Shouldn’t you check it?”
“Jason,” she said, her voice breaking. “Pleas
e . . .”
“No, it could be work,” he said. “Could be important. Check it. Here.” He stood up and reached for her purse and handed it to her, but he didn’t move away. He loomed over her, waiting.
She reached into her bag for her phone, praying it was a client, Susan, anyone . . . but she knew even before she saw the text that it would be Miller.
Up for scouting houses today, beautiful?
She kept her eyes on the screen for too long, because she couldn’t bear to look up at Jason.
“Is it from your boyfriend?” he asked.
“It’s from Miller,” Kellie said, her mouth twisting around the words.
Jason held out his hand and Kellie gave him the phone.
He glanced down at it, then his fist closed around her phone and Kellie thought he might hurl it against the wall. He wanted to; she could tell.
“You should go out with him,” he said. “Sounds like fun.”
“Jason,” Kellie said. “Please . . . I’ll text back and ask him to not ever contact me again, if that’s what you want.”
“If that’s what I want?” Jason’s laugh was incredulous. “This guy hits on my wife, destroys our family . . . Uh, yeah, Kell, it’s probably a good idea to stop dating him, don’t you think?”
Destroys our family?
Panic swelled within Kellie. Jason couldn’t leave her; she didn’t know how to live without him!
“How often do you guys text each other?” Jason asked. “Every day? Every night? Good thing you put that passcode on your phone.”
His voice was laced with sarcasm. No, worse—contempt.
“Tell me what to do,” she begged. “I’ll do anything you want.”
She stretched out her hand, but he yanked his back, out of her reach.
“You can’t give me what I want,” he said.
“I know,” she said. “You want this never to have happened. I do, too, Jason. I wish I’d never met him. I wish I wasn’t so . . . so weak. It was just about me, my ego. I felt like I was getting older, and was just this frumpy mom . . . and I know you never saw me that way, but I felt it . . .”
The Perfect Neighbors Page 26
