“Yes, but…”
“Look. I was a little out of line on Sunday, scurrying up the stairs like that. So if I said or did anything to upset you…”
“No, really. It’s fine. I’ve just been so busy,” I say.
Both of us know this is a lie. Busy with what? Broiling lamb chops and folding boxer shorts?
“I want to make it up to you,” he says. “Get in.”
“What? Now?” I am leaning on his car. I take a step back.
“I said get in.” That tough-guy voice again.
“Really, you don’t have to…”
“I’ve got a big surprise planned,” he says.
“I can’t now,” I say. “I’ve got to pick up…” But he cuts me off.
“Taken care of,” he says. “I called Darcy. She’s gonna bring the kids home. So come on. No more excuses.”
I just stand there.
“Scout’s honor,” he says holding up three fingers. “You’re gonna love it. Trust me. Get in.”
So I get in. Is this a good idea? I don’t know. A second later I’m buckling my seat belt.
Vince turns and we drive through town.
“We need to talk,” he says.
“About…?”
“About my wife,” he says. He looks over at me as we pass a row of fancy Victorian gingerbread houses opposite a small park. My favorite part of town.
“Okay,” I say. He parks the car and I follow him out. We sit on a park bench. He is staring off into space for quite a while. Then he turns toward me.
“The truth is, my wife left me. Walked out on Vinny and me, over a year ago. Decided she just didn’t want to…be with us anymore.”
He turns away and I see him wipe his eyes with the back of his hand.
I am stunned. I don’t know what to say.
“She’s living—I don’t know. Somewhere in Florida, I think. We haven’t heard from her since. It’s been terrible for me and Vinny. I still have a hard time even talking about it.”
“So she’s not…?”
“Sick? In a rest home, somewhere? No,” he says sadly. “That’s what I tell people. But I wanted you to know the truth.”
My heart is breaking for him. He’s lonelier than I could ever imagine. A minute ago I thought I was being kidnapped. Now I just want to throw my arms around him and tell him it’s all gonna be okay.
So I do.
We sit like that for a while, hugging each other, cheek to cheek. I smell his aftershave—something spicy. Patchouli, maybe. Or musk. He runs his hand across my back. Then up along the back of my neck. He whispers my name over and over again. “Oh, Laura…”
I want this moment to last forever. Is that all I want? I’m ashamed of what I am thinking. But he seems so very unhappy.
Then he pulls away.
“Well now,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Now that that’s out of the way—do you want to know where we’re going?”
“You mean there’s more to this car ride?”
“You think I spirited you away just to tell you that? We’re going into the city,” he says. We go back to the car and he makes a left turn onto the highway.
“New York City?” I ask.
“Unless you’d rather go to Cleveland.” We both laugh.
“What’s in New York?” I ask.
“Look in the glove compartment.”
I pop it open. Next to the registration and manual is an envelope. I open it.
It’s two center orchestra seats to Hamilton. Today’s matinee. Starting at two.
“I know how you love acting, music, all that stuff,” he says. “So I thought maybe this was something you might want to see.”
Might? The show of the century? Is he kidding? Last month I asked Ned about getting tickets. His response? “At five hundred dollars a pop? I’d rather watch Netflix.”
The show is thrilling and gorgeous and full of wonderful moments. And Vince seems to really enjoy it. He applauds loudly.
And at one point, during a touching moment, he reaches over and takes my hand. We look at each other and smile. Has any moment in my life ever felt this joyful, this peaceful?
I don’t think so.
We chat about the show all the way home. He pulls into my driveway. I can see the kids through the living room window, sitting on the couch. Caroline is reading a book. Joey and Ben are watching Game of Thrones. Nobody seems to be missing me.
“This was a lovely afternoon,” I say. “Thanks. And Vince…”
“Yes?”
“Thanks for leveling with me about your wife.”
“Thanks for listening,” he says. He leans over to my side and gives me a quick and gentle kiss on the cheek.
One of the mysteries of Vince: how can a kiss this chaste and friendly feel so…well…so incredibly hot?
I stand there for a moment as he drives off. Now it’s back to the lamb chops and the boxer shorts.
I miss him already.
Chapter 21
Ned and I are supposed to meet at Maggie’s. But at the last minute, he texts:
Meeting running late. Can’t get away. Go w/o me.
Ordinarily, I would be pissed. But today I am glad for a private session.
I need to talk to her about Vince.
Maggie knows something’s up. She sees it in my face, as I sit down. I want to tell her everything. But I don’t know where to begin.
“See, there’s this guy…” I say.
Damn. Bad enough I feel like a teenager. Now I’m starting to sound like one, too.
“This man. He’s new in the neighborhood. I drive his son places. He’s charming and funny and nice to me. And his wife walked out on him, a year ago…”
“Go on,” she says.
“Do I have to spell it out? Ned has been a dick and I spend time with a nice man who seems genuinely fond of me. He says I’m his only friend.”
Her eyebrows go up a bit on that line. But then they settle down again.
“And I think I’m falling in love with him.”
“Tell me about it,” she says.
Then the floodgates open. Every fear and feeling and fantasy of the last few weeks comes tumbling out.
As I ramble on, I know what Maggie’s thinking: how could I possibly hope marriage counseling would work, when all along my heart was elsewhere?
But if Ned hadn’t been acting so awful these past few months…
“So this is Ned’s fault?” she asks.
“Well—sort of,” I say. “What I like about Vince is it’s all so easy. He really cares about me. We don’t get bogged down in the awful stuff.”
“Awful stuff, like…?”
“Oh, you know. Dentist appointments. Mortgage payments. Blaming each other for things the kids did.”
“The stuff of life,” she says.
“Well, yes…” I say. “But it’s more than that. I mean—what do I do here, Maggie? Nothing’s happened between us—yet. But would it be so terrible? I mean, yes, for the kids, if they ever found out. They would be devastated. And Ned—it would be awful for him. Maybe. I don’t know anymore.”
She doesn’t say anything.
“Oh God, Maggie. Don’t just sit there nodding. Tell me what to do here! I’m a wreck!”
“You want me to give you permission to have an affair,” she says.
I say nothing.
“You know I can’t do that,” she says quietly, smoothing down the pleats of her skirt. “Only you can decide. But if we keep talking about it…”
“No!” I say. It comes out louder than I thought it would. “I am so damn tired of talking, and thinking about this, and slinking around behind Ned’s back, and feeling guilty about what I want to happen, and being angry at Ned for…for…”
“For not being more like Vince?”
“For not being Vince. A nice simple guy who loves me and has a good time with me.”
“Once a week.”
Oh. Low blow.
“Okay,” I say. “Once or
twice a week. What are you saying? That Vince would turn into Ned if we were married? That that’s how all marriages get, over time?”
“Laura, I didn’t say that. I just asked…”
“Help me, Maggie. Please! I feel like my whole life has turned upside down, ever since I answered that phone call.”
And then, all of a sudden, my cell phone rings.
I look at it, prepared to let it go. But it’s not Ned or Vince or any of my friends.
It’s Ben and Caroline’s school.
“I have to take this,” I say to Maggie. Damn. What has Ben done now? I bet he mouthed off to one of his teachers. Or maybe he failed something.
I press Talk.
“Mrs. Sherman?” I hear a voice say.
“Yes,” I say. I’m prepared to hear the worst about my son.
“This is Principal Wallace’s office. We need you to come to school. There seems to be a serious problem…with Caroline.”
Chapter 22
We are sitting in Principal Wallace’s office. Evelyn Wallace is a heavyset woman with short curly hair. She wears navy suits a lot. Even on a good day, she could pass for a prison warden.
Principal Wallace is usually cheerful—just what you want in a person who spends her life around small children.
But today she is not smiling.
And neither are we.
“This is outrageous,” I say. Ned nods.
“There’s no way our daughter could be involved in something like this,” he says.
Mrs. Wallace is holding a small plastic bag. In it are a bunch of pills.
“I understand your concern,” she says. “But these were found in her backpack.”
How dare Wallace suggest such a thing!
“That’s impossible,” I say. If I sound huffy or pissed, it’s because I am.
She shakes the bag. The pills dance around.
“I don’t know how they got there!” Caroline says. She is crying. She’d been sitting on the bench outside Wallace’s office crying even before we arrived. Her face is bright red.
I lean in closer and study the bag in Wallace’s hand.
“Hah! That’s not even the kind of bag we use,” I say. “I never buy the ones with zippers.” Case closed. Or so I think.
“We have two witnesses,” Principal Wallace says. “Your daughter accidentally dropped her backpack when she was getting up from her desk, and this bag fell out.”
“It isn’t mine!” Caroline says, still sobbing.
“A boy sitting next to her picked it up and handed it to the teacher,” Mrs. Wallace says. “The teacher brought it to me.”
Ned has been seething. Suddenly, he explodes.
“I want the name of that boy!” Ned yells. “And I want to talk to that teacher!”
Good. I want him to make a scene. I want him to yell and scream and show this woman how wrong she is. My little girl? My baby? The whole thing is preposterous.
“What kind of pills are they?” I ask.
“Ritalin,” the principal says. “Twenty milligrams. I showed them to the school nurse.”
“Then I’ll speak to her as well!” Ned yells.
“Mr. Sherman,” the principal says, in the kindly voice we’re more used to. “I know children these days are under a lot of pressure to do well. And your Caroline has always been…a perfectionist. So it’s easy to understand…”
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Ned says. “My daughter does not take drugs.”
It’s clear our protests are falling on deaf ears. Or, even worse, the ears of a person who has already made up her mind.
“There are many children in the school who require medication,” she says. “But the protocol is for a parent to give the prescription bottle to the nurse, who then doles it out.”
“I don’t think you heard me, Mrs. Wallace,” Ned says. His face is almost as red as Caroline’s. “I said my daughter does not take drugs!”
There is a pause.
“Not that you’re aware of,” she says quietly.
That’s when Ned loses it.
“What are you saying?” he says, jumping up suddenly. “That my daughter is a drug addict? That’s she’s selling these? Giving them away?”
I’m torn between wanting him to reach across the desk and slug her…and afraid he just might.
“Please, Mr. Sherman. I’m just saying…”
But there’s no stopping him.
“If I get my lawyer on the phone, I can have you removed just like that!” He pounds his fist on her desk. “How dare you suggest that my daughter, a goddamn eleven-year-old…”
“Mr. Sherman! There are children around!” Mrs. Wallace says. She stands up. Now they are eye to eye. “I’m not suggesting anything! I’m only saying…we have a drug-free school! If Caroline needs Ritalin to focus…”
“They’re not mine!” Caroline wails. “I don’t know how they got there.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I say. Ned takes Caroline’s arm and leads her to the door. He turns toward Principal Wallace one last time.
“You will be hearing from my lawyer about this. I can promise you that!”
I follow him out the door. Caroline is still crying.
“Dad, I swear…”
“I know you didn’t,” he says. “This is all a terrible mistake. And if she dares put this on your permanent record…”
He walks us to my car without finishing his sentence. “I’ll meet you at home,” he says. “I’ve got to…take care of a couple things.”
“You’re not heading back to the office, are you?” I ask. “It’s after four.”
“Yes,” he says. But then a moment later: “No.” He turns and heads to his car.
I get in my car and Caroline gets in next to me. “Mom, those aren’t mine. Honest.” She’s still sniffling.
“I know. Honey, I believe you.” And I do believe her. Really.
But then whose are they?
Chapter 23
No doubt about it. Tonight will be a “Freezer Night.”
After our meeting with the principal, I’m too wiped out to cook. So I open the freezer and throw together a meal made up of anything I can microwave.
It’s a haphazard menu, even for us. Frozen pizza. Frozen Brown ’N Serve sausages. (Can you put breakfast sausages on a pizza? Well, I’ll find out soon enough.) Fish sticks. Two dozen pigs in a blanket. And chunks of frozen cookie dough for dessert.
The kids don’t care. And Ned doesn’t, either. Neither one of us has the energy to make conversation at dinner. As the boys chat away, Caroline is quiet. Her face is still puffy from crying. I look over at Ned. He looks like I feel: totally spent. Worse than spent. Squandered.
Later on, when I go upstairs, Ned is already in bed reading. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together since our meeting at the school. I can’t stop thinking of how the principal looked at us. The expression on her face as she shook that bag.
“What are we gonna do?” I ask him.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I don’t want to talk about it now.”
I feel the fury rise up in me.
“Oh. And you think I do?”
He shrugs and goes back to his book.
“Damnit, Ned. This is important! What do you think is going on?”
He doesn’t answer.
“I mean, do you think…there’s any chance that she…?”
“No!” He says. He slams the book shut and turns to face me. “Jesus, Laura! She’s practically a baby! No way she would have those pills in her backpack. Hell, the kid can barely swallow a Tylenol. No way she’s taking drugs behind our back!”
“Well, then how come…?”
“Forget about it,” he says. He goes back to his reading. Book open. Case closed.
Forget about it? Does he really think I can do that?
“Okay, then. What do you want to talk about?” I ask. “The weather? The situation in Iraq? Game of Thrones?”
If my life were a movie
, a little animated red-devil character would jump onto my shoulder at this point and whisper in my ear: “Go ahead! Tell him about Hamilton! Tell him about Vince! Tell him…everything!”
But of course, I don’t.
“I do have one piece of good news,” he says. “That guy Vince came by my office this week.”
Wait. Did I say my life was a movie? Wrong. Minute by minute, it’s turning into an episode of The Twilight Zone.
“What did he want?” I ask. I can barely get the words out.
What I really want to ask is: Did he mention me? Did he tell you how we hugged? Did he tell you we held hands in the theater, or how he kissed me good-bye?
“He asked if I’d be willing to take him on as a client. You know. Handle some of his money.”
“And you said…?”
“Sure. Why not. A commission’s a commission. So we’re going to get together again next week and talk strategy. I need to find out his level of risk tolerance.”
“When was this?” I ask.
“Wednesday.”
“This past Wednesday?” The day Vince poured his heart out to me? The day the two of us went into the city?
“Yes,” he says.
Fear, anxiety, and adrenaline are racing through my body. There’s just one thing I can do to distract myself: start my Lamaze breathing.
Of course, it doesn’t help me any more now than it did during childbirth.
Ned may be lying about this, I think. Or is he? Did Vince stop by before he picked me up? I can’t ask Ned too many questions. He’ll wonder why I’m asking.
Maybe Ned is wrong about the day. But if he isn’t, why didn’t Vince tell me what he had done? He sends me ten, twelve texts a day. Why didn’t he mention this in any of them?
One of them is lying to me. Maybe both of them are.
(Memo to self: It’s too bad you didn’t pursue your acting career. Look how you’re able to maintain a straight face when, inside, your entire life is falling apart.)
Ned goes back to his book and reads a few more pages. He yawns. Soon he turns out his light. He’s asleep in a matter of minutes.
Me? I know I’m going to be tossing and turning for hours.
The House Next Door Page 6
