Jason started to hand her back her phone, but he gave it a little toss at the last second so she had to catch it. Probably because he didn’t want to risk having their fingers touch.
“Tell me what to do,” she said again. Her nose was running and she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table and wiped it. “Please let me try to fix this.”
When he spoke again, the contempt was gone from his voice, replaced by sadness, which felt so much worse.
“I don’t know if you can,” he said. He stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”
Then he left the room.
Kellie looked down at her phone, wondering if she should reply and tell Miller there would be no more outings together. She stood up, feeling a weariness that had nothing to do with lack of sleep, and put on the coffee. She had no appetite, but she’d make waffles for the kids and leave an extra one for Jason, just in case. She’d warm the syrup, and make fresh-squeezed juice, if there were enough oranges.
A few minutes later Kellie heard Mia yelling at Noah to get out of her room, and she stopped stirring the waffle batter and hurried upstairs, to smooth over the squabble, to get the kids dressed and downstairs. Jason would see them all in the kitchen, eating breakfast, a chair waiting for him. He’d have to stay.
He couldn’t just . . . leave. Could he?
• • •
“Mom? Can we go shopping today?”
Gigi was stirring oatmeal at the stove, and her hand actually froze at the words, before she consciously directed it to begin moving in slow circles again.
Melanie wanted to spend the day with her. Shopping. The two of them, together. It was such a normal mother-daughter activity.
She couldn’t overreact, Gigi warned herself, aware that she was acting like a girl who’d been asked to the prom by the star football player.
“Sure,” she said. “Where do you want to go?”
“Just the mall,” Melanie said. “Thanks.” She came up behind Gigi and peered in the pot. “Smells good.”
“Help yourself,” Gigi said. She hid her smile as she moved away from the pot, to gather bowls and spoons. Julia had spent the night at a friend’s house, and wasn’t due to be picked up until early afternoon, since she and her pal were working on a science project together and had planned to devote the morning to it.
It would be just Gigi and Melanie today, as it had been so many years ago, when the two of them had been inseparable.
• • •
Two hours later, Gigi was on a chair outside a dressing room, checking the messages on her phone. Campaign duties beckoned, but she ignored them. Melanie had disappeared into the room with an armful of clothes. At first Gigi had been hesitant, holding back while Melanie considered various items, not wanting to annoy her daughter and shatter their newfound peace.
But Melanie drew her in: “What do you think about this?” she’d asked, holding up a blouse. So Gigi began to give her opinion: “It’s a bit dark for you. Try this green one instead?”
By the time they’d made it through the store, Melanie seemed to have chipped away at the wall she’d erected between her and her mother during the preceding months. They’d even laughed when they spotted a mannequin posed in such a way as to look as if she were spanking the butt of another mannequin.
“Is that intentional?” Gigi had asked.
Melanie had shrugged. “Funny either way,” she’d said.
Coffee, Gigi decided as she checked the messages on her phone. She’d suggest the two of them take a little break and get lattes—the decadent kind, with chocolate syrup and sprinkles—before hitting the next store. Maybe they’d get salads for lunch, too.
Julia had texted that she wouldn’t be done working until three, so there was plenty of time.
“Mom?” Melanie said. Gigi blinked and looked up. “Oh, honey,” she said. Melanie’s dark hair was loose and wavy, and the green, peasant-style blouse Gigi had picked out left her smooth shoulders bare and flattered her figure. “I love it,” Gigi said. “Let’s buy it.”
Melanie checked the price tag. “It isn’t that much,” she said. “Forty dollars. I have some of my birthday money, so—”
“My treat,” Gigi interrupted. She’d taken Julia shopping a few weeks earlier but she hadn’t bought any clothes for Melanie, save for a few pairs of jeans and some sweatshirts, in more than a year. This wasn’t spoiling a daughter; this was a treat for a mother.
Melanie smiled. “Really? Thanks!” She twisted around to check her reflection in the mirror.
“Go try on the other stuff,” Gigi said. “Bright colors look great on you.”
“Okay,” Melanie said, and she disappeared back into the dressing room.
All those hours of worrying, all those fights . . . It was as if time had reversed itself, and she and Melanie were a team again.
Gigi sank lower into the chair and exhaled deeply for what felt like the first time in months. It was incredible, she thought, how everything could change overnight.
• • •
Susan stared at her computer screen, willing the images to disappear.
Facebook stalking wasn’t something she was proud of—and she only did it very occasionally these days, at least compared to the immediate aftermath of her separation—but something had compelled her to check Daphne’s page just now. Randall didn’t have an account, but Daphne regularly filled hers with photos and cheery status updates. Although Susan had deleted Daphne from her friends list long ago, Daphne hadn’t implemented privacy settings, so her page was available for anyone to view.
She’d announced her pregnancy here, a week or so after Randall had told Susan about it. She’d posted a photo of her belly—The little one is the size of an orange now!—and had solicited advice on how to get through morning sickness from her friends.
Ginger chews, Susan had thought when she’d read that post. They had been Susan’s salvation when she’d been carrying Cole. If Daphne and Randall had never met—if Daphne were carrying the baby of some other man—Susan would have bought a big bag and driven them over. She would’ve put her hand on Daphne’s stomach to feel the baby move, and rubbed her friend’s feet, because they had to be getting sore by now.
She missed Daphne almost as much as she hated her.
Today’s Facebook status update felt like a slap: I can’t believe our wedding is in one month! Dozens of messages of congratulations filled the spaces below her post.
Susan had known it was coming, of course. Randall had kept her up to date, as had Cole. He was to be the best man.
“That’s so exciting,” Susan had said when Cole had prattled on about the new outfit Randall was buying him, and how he’d get to hold the rings during the ceremony. He knew exactly where to hold them; in the pocket of his shirt. He’d pull them out at the signal from the minister, Cole had told her. He was going to practice a lot. “You must be so proud,” Susan had said.
Meryl Streep had nothing on her.
She was happy for Cole, though, and the brightness of that emotion sometimes quieted her pain. Or maybe it was what let her power through the pain. If Randall had been marrying someone awful, someone who hated kids—well, that would’ve been intolerable. Far worse than him falling for Susan’s friend. In a way, she was lucky, all things considered.
The wedding was going to be simple, held in Randall and Daphne’s backyard. Just a few dozen friends and family. And their puppy, probably. He’d do something adorable like race down the aisle, or bark when Randall and Daphne kissed, and everyone would laugh.
“I know you wouldn’t want to come,” Randall had said to her in their last phone conversation. “But you’re not excluded from anything, I don’t want you to ever think that, so . . .”
“Thank you,” Susan had managed to say. “I think it’s better if I don’t, but . . .”
“Okay,” R
andall had said.
Neither of them had spoken for a moment that felt heavier than the ones before it, then Susan had brought up Cole—the only bit of glue holding them together, but sticky enough to last the length of their lives—and they’d concluded the conversation civilly.
Progress, Susan had thought. She could feel herself inching forward at times, before the weight of hurt and regret jerked her back. Maybe a year from now, she’d be able to smile when she saw Randall and Daphne together. Coo over their baby. Drop Cole off and accept Daphne’s offer of tea. Well, that might take a little longer . . . but someday. She could almost see it, like the promise of the sun behind a storm cloud.
Or maybe that was just a lie she was telling herself. Maybe a year from now she’d still be alone, and just as sad as she was now.
One more look at the photos, she told herself, scanning through the shots Daphne had uploaded of her engagement ring—a simple amethyst in a beautiful silver setting, so Daphne—and a silhouette of her embracing Randall at sunset.
She closed the lid on her computer, then she went into the kitchen to make a grocery list, to distract her mind with mundane tasks until it grew dark and she could drink a glass or two of wine.
• • •
Before Newport Cove
On the day that Addison had revealed how Danny had checked his legs, Harry had gotten in from California on a late-afternoon flight. He’d arrived home after the kids had gone to bed.
“How was your day?” Harry had asked, crunching a carrot.
“Strange,” Tessa had said.
He’d looked up. Was there a tinge of wariness in his eyes, some hint of reluctance to hear her latest fear? She’d felt herself bristle.
She’d tell it straight out, she’d decided. She’d report the facts and let Harry decide if there was cause for concern; he was much more sensible about such things. Besides, the Young Rangers group was a tremendous positive in Addison’s life. She couldn’t disrupt that without real proof. A mother’s intuition, that tingling along the back of her neck—maybe those signals were reliable for other women, but Tessa knew they were broken in her.
Harry hadn’t said much as Tessa had relayed Addison’s story, trying to remember their son’s precise words, without adding any inflection or significant facial expressions. She’d told him how long Addison had been inside the house, and how he’d come back out wearing his uniform. She’d finished and had looked at him, trying to gauge his reaction. But he’d been impossible to read.
“What do you think?” she’d finally asked.
He’d finished another bite of pasta before answering. Something about that delay—the moment he’d taken to wind up his spaghetti into a neat coil on his fork, the way he’d chewed methodically, the food making a little bulge in the corner of his mouth—had made her want to scream.
“I think kids sometimes confuse details,” Harry had finally said.
“Yeah,” Tessa had said. “But this wasn’t some story about a spaceship or something. It was really specific. Addison showed me how Danny touched him—”
“You already demonstrated,” Harry had said, and Tessa had stayed her hand in its gesture along her leg.
“So you think it’s nothing?” Tessa had said.
“Probably,” Harry had said. “But I’ll talk to Addison when he wakes up in the morning.”
Tessa had paused. “Okay,” she’d said. “I’m going to get ready for bed.”
She’d walked out of the room, but she’d stopped just beyond the threshold of the doorway. Had Harry discounted the story because she’d overreacted in the past? Maybe he thought she was exaggerating.
She was the one who’d stayed home with the kids, who’d nursed them through illnesses and night terrors. They’d only ever called out “Mama” in the night; they’d known Harry wouldn’t be the one to comfort them. But suddenly Harry was the expert who had to talk to Addison and decide whether their boy was in danger?
The old Tessa, the one who’d untangled complicated taxes and had run half-marathons, came surging back, imbuing a skeleton of steel in the hesitant, confused woman she’d morphed into during the preceding years. She didn’t need Harry to lay down the final pronouncement on the welfare of their children. Maybe she hadn’t done everything right, maybe she’d erred on the side of being overly cautious, but wasn’t that better than the alternative?
The way he’d . . . dismissed her and turned back to his newspaper had stung, as if she were just overwrought, someone incapable of reason. He had no right to treat her with so little respect.
She’d glanced back toward the kitchen. Harry would be at the table awhile—he was a slow eater—then he’d watch TV before coming upstairs. It was his routine.
She’d reached for the keys to the minivan that hung on a shelf by the front door, needing to get out.
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Six
* * *
Newport Cove Listserv Digest
*Salsa Lessons!
Get ready to shake a move, Newport Cove residents! We’ll be offering Salsa Lessons at the community center on Saturday evenings at 7 p.m. Cost: $15 to join the group lesson. Non-alcoholic beverages will be served! Simply email Newport Cove Manager Shannon Dockser to sign up. Remember: No need to “reply all”! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager
• • •
Sunday meant routine and family, dinner at the in-laws’. Kellie hadn’t been sure if Jason would want to go, but he grabbed the car keys at a little before five and called out, “Ready?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, though. It was scary how adept Jason had become, in such a short amount of time, at avoiding her. He stared at a spot just beyond her when it was necessary for him to talk to her, like now. He edged out of rooms when she entered them, always casually enough that the kids didn’t pick up on anything.
“We’re ready,” Kellie said, grabbing her purse. Her cell phone was inside it, but she’d turned it off.
She and the kids followed Jason out to the minivan. Kellie felt awkward sliding into the passenger’s seat, as she knew he’d rather there be more space between them. The kids filled the short drive with chatter, with Mia talking about the upcoming Taylor Swift concert and Noah launching into a deliberately annoying imitation of her song “I Knew You Were Trouble”—and then they were at Jason’s parents’. It was a journey they’d taken hundreds of times before, but never had it felt so precious to Kellie.
Jason’s mom and dad had become an extra set of parents to her through the years. Losing Jason would mean losing them, too. She should have thought of all she was risking, and for what? A few moments of feeling young again, of exploring possibilities that had closed off to her long ago. Now it all seemed so . . . cheap. She’d taken a long, hot shower that morning but the sensation of uncleanliness clung to her like a stain.
Jason pulled into his parents’ driveway and Kellie got out, opening the sliding door for the kids. They ran ahead, with Jason close behind them. Don’t cry tonight, Kellie warned herself.
She walked through the front door, straight into the hugs Jason’s parents always gave freely, and instantly her resolve crumpled. Her throat constricted, but she managed to blink away her tears.
“So good to see you,” Jason’s dad said. “Recovered from the party?”
“Just barely,” Kellie said, trying for a laugh.
“Oh, I need to check on the roast,” Jason’s mom said, hurrying toward the kitchen. “Kids? I got you each one of those books with the magic pens, you know the kind with invisible ink . . . Go find them in the living room.”
Jason followed his mother to the kitchen. Usually Kellie helped her put together the finishing touches on dinner—or tried to help; Jason’s mom rarely let her do more than throw together a salad, saying that Kellie was busy enough and this was her time to relax. She hesitated, wondering what to d
o, but then Jason came back out with a beer and so Kellie went into the kitchen.
“I hope it’s not getting dry,” Jason’s mother said, opening the oven door and peering in.
“I’m sure it’s delicious,” Kellie said. She could see freshly washed lettuce in the salad spinner so she pulled it out and began tearing it into shreds.
“Thank you, honey,” Jason’s mom said. “So tell me all about the party. At least the parts we missed.”
“Oh . . . It was wonderful,” Kellie said. “The music and decorations, having everyone there . . .”
She knew her tone didn’t reflect her words.
“Were you surprised?” her mother-in-law asked. “Jason really wanted you to be.”
“I was,” Kellie said. “Truly . . . I’m sorry, I’m a little tired today.”
Jason’s mother pulled the lid off a pot that was warming on the stove, added a pat of butter, and gave the mashed potatoes a quick stir. “Ten more minutes,” she said. She moved to the refrigerator—Jason’s mother was always moving, always chatting; she reminded Kellie of a bird—and pulled out a bottle of white wine.
She didn’t ask before pouring a glass for Kellie, because that was their routine. The moms in the kitchen sharing a glass of wine, the kids playing in the backyard or basement depending on the weather, Jason and his dad by the fire in the wintertime and poking around in the garage workroom during the other seasons.
Kellie hadn’t planned on drinking anything tonight, but she took a sip and found the tart, cold wine soothed her raw throat.
“You know, our fiftieth wedding anniversary is coming up in a couple of months,” Jason’s mother began.
Kellie shook her head. “That’s incredible . . . really.”
“We’ve been putting aside a little money,” Jason’s mother said. “We thought we’d like to take the whole family away somewhere special.”
The Perfect Neighbors Page 27
