Neighbors

by Danielle Steel

  By the time Justin came along, she and Scott were trying to alternate the films they did on location so that at least one of them would be at home with him. When Kendall was a child, they were often both away at the same time, which she held against them later, especially her mother. She blamed her mother for all the ills in her early life.

  Justin had a more easygoing nature than Kendall. Kendall had always been upset about something, and she resented her mother’s career, although Meredith underplayed it at home. Kendall didn’t resent her father’s fame. But even now, when they spoke, Kendall made caustic comments about when her mother was a star. She was proud of her father’s career now, but she never really acknowledged how famous and successful her mother had been. What she remembered most about her mother was how harsh she had been with Scott when Justin died. All Kendall’s sympathy and compassion had been with him. She chose to overlook that any part of her brother’s death had been her father’s fault, and that Scott should never have let him go out in the sailboat alone. She couldn’t bear to think that her father had been responsible for it at all, although she had loved Justin passionately. She considered his death an act of fate, or the hand of God. Her father was her hero, and she liked to believe that he was a saint. She never talked about how Scott had walked out on her mother, and had an affair with Silvana that was on the front page of every tabloid around the world. And, married by then herself, Kendall had been old enough to understand it, but chose not to.

  Meredith thought of Julia and wondered what she was like now. As shocking as it seemed, she hadn’t seen her granddaughter since she was ten years old. Meredith hadn’t fully recovered from Justin’s death until then, and Kendall always made it difficult for her mother to see her only grandchild, and kept her away. The timing was never convenient to visit them, and she never brought her to San Francisco to see her grandmother, except once nine years before for a few days, and hadn’t been back since.

  Meredith hadn’t traveled anywhere in fourteen years, and for years now, Kendall had spent the holidays with her husband’s family and not her own. She and George had bought a house in Aspen, so now they spent Christmas there and had never invited Meredith. She didn’t force the issue, and didn’t want to beg Kendall to come home. She knew it wasn’t exciting to come and visit her, and for Kendall, the memories of her brother there were just too painful. She always told her mother she was “too busy” to come out. For Meredith, the outside world had lost some of its reality, like a TV show she hadn’t watched in a long time, and had lost the thread of the plot. The characters had become unfamiliar to her, and she felt as though she had missed too many episodes in their lives to re-engage in the story now.

  * * *

  —

  She had just turned the TV on to one of her favorite series, which she watched religiously every week during the entire season. It was the third year, and she hadn’t missed a single episode, and re-watched it all again at the end of the season. She was tucked into a comfortable chair in her bedroom, when there was a strange groaning sound, as though it came from the depths of the earth. The television began to shake and the screen went black. The chandelier overhead was swinging wildly from side to side. When she looked up and saw it, she realized what was happening, just as everything slid off the coffee table in front of her and fell on the floor, and a painting came crashing down. She wasn’t sure what to do at first. There was the sound of breaking glass around her, as the groaning in the earth continued and got louder, and she could hear things falling and breaking all around the house. Remembering what to do in an earthquake, she rushed to her bedroom doorway, and stood there shaking, as two more large paintings fell. Her feet were bare, and she had cut her foot on a piece of glass as she ran across the room. She didn’t even feel it. All the lights had gone out by then, and she could see out the window that the whole neighborhood had gone dark. It felt like it went on forever, and after what seemed like an eternity, the groaning stopped, and there was a brief final shake. Meredith stood in the dark with a sea of broken glass around her, and she could hear Debbie calling out to her. A moment later, she heard Debbie coming up the stairs. She was breathless when she found Meredith in the doorway, and they stood there staring at each other for a moment. Debbie was carrying a powerful battery-operated lantern, and shined it around the room, at the fallen paintings and broken glass.

  “Holy shit, that was a big one,” Meredith said, sounding calmer than she felt. “I guess it was earthquake weather.”

  “Are you okay?” Debbie asked her. She looked badly shaken herself.

  “I think so,” Meredith answered. “Are you? Where’s Jack?”

  “He’s behind the house at the meter, trying to turn off the gas.” As always, he knew just the right thing to do, and Meredith was grateful to have them there. “It was like climbing a roller coaster, trying to get up the stairs to get to you,” Debbie said, still breathless from the shock of what had happened.

  “Thank you for coming up.”

  “Jack said we should go out to the courtyard, in case things keep falling in the house for a while.” They heard a loud crash downstairs, and when she shined the light on the chandelier, it was still swinging. She handed a flashlight to Meredith, who turned it on to look for her shoes, found them, and as she put them on, she saw that her foot was bleeding. “Are you okay?” Debbie asked her, and Meredith answered that she was and followed her to the stairs. When they shined their lights on the big chandelier in the main hall, it was still swinging from side to side, and all the hanging crystals sounded like chimes as they bumped into one another. “Don’t walk under it!” Debbie warned her, as they made their way gingerly down the stairs, and saw the paintings on the floor in the hall. The large frames on several of them were broken.

  They walked around them, and opened the front door. Meredith could see, as she had from her bedroom window, that the entire neighborhood was dark.

  “I wonder how big it was,” Meredith said as they stood in the doorway, and Debbie shined the lantern outside.

  “Big,” she said, as they walked cautiously into the courtyard, and Jack found them a few minutes later.

  “Are you two okay? The gas is off in the house now,” he said in a reassuring tone.

  “We’re fine,” Meredith said, starting to feel calmer. They could hear people talking in the street, and she wondered if they should open the gate.

  “Don’t go out in the street,” he warned them both. “There are power lines down. One of them is shooting sparks. I saw it when I moved some of the netting on the gate to take a look.” As he said it, all three of them could feel a mild aftershock, and Debbie looked panicked.

  “What if there’s another big one?” she asked, clutching Jack’s arm. “What if that was just the first one? A warm-up?”

  “There won’t be another one,” he said, sounding more hopeful than certain, trying to calm them, as Meredith wondered what the rest of the night would have in store for them, and how much damage had been done to the house, as paintings and fragile objects fell.

  “We ought to check on our neighbors,” Meredith said, concerned. “Somebody could be trapped, or hurt. Where’s the first aid kit?” she asked Jack, and he glanced at Debbie before he answered.

  “You can’t go out there, Meredith. Everyone knows who you are and that you live here. You don’t want people shoving their way inside. We don’t know how bad it is outside. There could be looters.” He made it sound ominous, as though there were people waiting to invade them. Meredith didn’t care.

  “Get the first aid kit, and we’re going to open the gate, Jack,” she said in a voice he’d never heard before. It was the voice of unquestionable authority. He hesitated and then disappeared into the house, as Debbie looked terrified.

  “Don’t open the gates. We don’t know what’s out there.”

  “No, we don’t. But we’re going to find out,” Meredi
th said in a calm, firm tone that left no doubt in Debbie’s mind.

  Five minutes later, Jack was back with the first aid kit, and a stubborn look on his face, as Meredith took the key and manually opened the gate. It resisted at first, and then slowly it swung open. Meredith walked through the gates to the street, and Debbie and Jack followed. This wasn’t what they wanted to happen at all. But Meredith was in charge now, for the first time in a very long time, and her eyes were bright and alive.

  Chapter 2

  Tyla Johnson was just taking a meatloaf out of the oven when Andrew came home from work. She knew he wouldn’t like it, but she had promised the children. It was her grandmother’s recipe and one of their favorites. She served it with mashed potatoes and corn on the cob. She had a steak in the fridge for him if Andrew preferred it.

  “It’s like coming home to a second-rate diner,” he grumbled as he went to wash his hands with a sour expression. She hated it when he came home like that. She wondered if something had gone wrong at the office. She could usually tell. She had worked for him for three years as an O.R. nurse before they started dating and he married her. She’d gotten the job right out of nursing school. She was thirty-eight now, and he was forty-seven. He was an orthopedic surgeon at one of the best hospitals in the city, and had a booming practice.

  Andrew was tall, blond, athletic, and handsome, with powerful shoulders. He had grown up in Southern California in a blue-collar suburb of L.A., and had lived in Venice for a while, which he thought was the perfect beach town, with lots of college girls to pick up, who were dazzled by him. Even now, as a busy physician, he ran three miles every day to stay in shape before he went to work.

  Their daughter, Daphne, was seven, and their son, Will, was eleven. They both went to private schools, and Andrew never let them or Tyla forget how much it cost him. His parents had been poor when he was growing up, and had scrimped and saved and borrowed to put their only son through medical school, and now he was one of the most successful orthopedic surgeons in the city. From where he had come from, it was a huge achievement.

  Tyla was from a poor Irish family in Boston, and had gotten a full scholarship to nursing school. She came to San Francisco as soon as she graduated, and when she married Andrew, her whole life had changed. Andrew was obsessed with money and success and worked hard.

  They’d bought the house on Washington Street when Daphne was two. Tyla had stopped working when Will was born, and Andrew reminded her regularly how lucky she was to have a husband like him, who provided for her, and an easy life. He was proud of the money he’d made, and owning a house like this. He paid a hefty mortgage. He watched every penny she spent, and Tyla was never extravagant. She loved their house, and the advantages they could give their children that she had never had growing up. Her mother had stretched every dollar, made their clothes, and put food on the table for them by working as a maid in one of the finer houses in Boston. One of her brothers was a plumber, and the other one was an electrician. Both of her sisters were domestics as her mother had been. Tyla was their pride and joy, married to a doctor, living in a big house in San Francisco. She would have continued working to help him, but Andrew didn’t want her to, and made enough money that she didn’t have to work. He was proud of that too.

  He came back to the kitchen after he washed his hands, took his jacket off, loosened his tie, and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, as the children came to dinner, wearing their school uniforms. Daphne looked up at her father with a wide toothless smile, her hair in pigtails, and Will looked serious, as they both sat down, and their mother put their dinner on plates and set them on the table in front of them.

  “Meatloaf or steak?” she offered Andrew.

  “Meatloaf is fine,” he said, without smiling at his children. He hadn’t kissed Tyla when he walked in, which was never a good sign. She didn’t ask him how his day had been. She could see it. At other times, he spun her around and kissed her, but not tonight. She sat down after she had put his plate in front of him and served herself. The children had already started eating. The meatloaf was hot and delicious, and they were enjoying it as their father slammed his fist down on the table, and all three of them jumped. “What kind of rude kids are you? You started eating before we did. Where are your manners?”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Will said under his breath, pausing for a moment, as Daphne looked as though she was about to cry, and they continued eating in silence, while Tyla chatted to break the tension, and Daphne ate her mashed potatoes first, keeping her eyes on her plate. They were used to his outbursts, but it made dinner more stressful than pleasant when he was like that. It happened a lot, more and more these days.

  “How was school today?” he asked them, looking pointedly at his son. In second grade, Daphne wasn’t likely to have much to tell him about her academic accomplishments.

  “It was okay,” Will answered for both of them, and avoided his father’s gaze.

  “How was the math quiz?” He remembered.

  Will hesitated. He knew he wouldn’t escape his father’s interrogation, and if he lied it would be worse. Tyla hated it when he put Will on the spot like that. Lately, he had developed a stammer, and his teacher had suggested speech therapy. “Not so good,” he answered in barely more than a whisper. Will resembled his father, with the same handsome blond looks. Daphne had dark hair and green eyes like her mother.

  “What does ‘not so good’ mean? What did you get on it?”

  “A fifty-five, Dad,” Will said, his eyes brimming with tears. “I got an F. I didn’t understand it. I have to meet with Mr. Joppla tomorrow after school.”

  “Didn’t you work on it with him before?” Andrew said to Tyla, turning his laser beam eyes on her. “What the hell do you do with them? He’s in sixth grade. This is serious.”

  “I tried. I don’t understand the way they do the math now either,” she said quietly. “We really did work on it, Andrew. He might need a tutor,” she said cautiously, suddenly feeling too sick to eat. The kitchen was bright and cheery, and the dinner was delicious, but when Andrew was in one of his moods, no one could eat. He was spoiling for a fight tonight.

  “We had math in school today too,” Daphne said gently, trying to distract their father to give her brother some relief. “And reading,” she added. Andrew didn’t bother to answer her, and continued to harangue his wife about how irresponsible she was, and said that maybe she needed a tutor more than Will did, if she was too dumb to figure it out. He told Will that all he had to do was pay attention in class. He was smart enough to master the material, so obviously he was just lazy.

  “He’s not lazy, Andy. He’s first in the class in English. He got an A+ on an essay last week. Math just isn’t easy for him.” Tyla tried to intervene on his behalf.

  “And what’s an A on an essay going to get him? A job as a schoolteacher? He needs to work on math and science. I’m not paying private school tuition to have him flunk a math quiz.” There was dead silence at the table. They knew better than to answer him when he was on a rampage, and he was getting there.

  The plates were still half full when Tyla cleared the table. She had made brownies and served them with ice cream for dessert. Andrew’s cellphone had vibrated with messages all through dinner. He glanced at them, but never responded while they were eating, unless the hospital was calling him in for an emergency, which wasn’t the case so far tonight. Will almost hoped they would call him back in. He knew his father would hound him all night about the math quiz.

  The children asked permission to leave the table. Tyla gave it to them, and they scampered up the stairs, whispering to each other. Tyla saw Daphne give her brother a quick kiss to make him feel better.

  “You have to stop being so hard on them,” she said softly, as she sat down next to him, after she’d removed their plates.

  “Why? Do you want an idiot for a son? Do you want him to wind up
a plumber like your brother?” he said nastily.

  “My brother is dyslexic, and he makes a damn good living,” she said in defense of her younger brother. Andrew didn’t like her family, and viewed them with contempt.

  “It’s your job to see that Will studies and gets decent grades,” he said accusingly, checking his messages again.

  “I do it with him. Math isn’t his best subject. He’s gifted in English, and he loves history.” Andrew ignored her to answer a text, and then he looked at her more calmly for a minute, but there was a light in his eyes she didn’t like. She knew where it led.

  “It’s my job to put them in good schools. It’s yours to see that they learn something.” She didn’t argue with him, she knew better. She was about to tell him again that he needed to go easy on Will. He had come home twice in the last week with severe stomachaches, and Daphne had started biting her nails. They all knew that Andrew had a fierce temper. He controlled it at work and with his patients, but he took it out on them. All the pent-up rage that had been gathering momentum throughout the day was unleashed on them as soon as he got home.

  Tyla had just opened her mouth to speak when the house started shaking. It felt as though someone had picked it up and was shaking it from side to side, and then up and down. The lights flickered and went out. There was a hideous groaning sound, like a beast about to eat them, and Tyla could hear Daphne scream as she started to run out of the kitchen toward the stairs. Andrew grabbed her arm to stop her and yanked her back. He hurt her arm when he did it.