A Quiet Neighbor (32 page)

“It seems like self-defense,” Malone said
curtly.

Crogg eyed him, uncertain.

“Now that we settled that, check to see where
the girl’s mother is. If there is no mother, check if there are any close
relatives that the girl could stay with.”

“Got it. What about the boy?”

Malone turned to watch Neil brush the streaming
tears off Elizabeth’s swollen face and gently kiss her blank eyes. “Call Dawes
back in. Tell her to escort them to the ambulance, and to ride along with them,
even though she’d probably do that anyway. Follow them to the hospital and stay
there while the kids are examined and treated. Meanwhile, contact the boy’s
parents to inform them of his whereabouts. They can take him home once the cast
is set. If you ask me, all we have here is a boy who was in the wrong place at
the right time. That girl is lucky he was there.”

Chapter
Twenty-Six:

Tuesday,
June 19, 2012

5:15
A.M.

Loral Holmes:

Waking up an hour before the sun splashes light
into a room filled with mismatched interests—purple and Dora for Tory, pink and
Hello Kitty for Bella, creamy-blue and white and unlabeled for me—I wrap myself
in a thin blanket and grab my notebook and pen. Quietly, I unclip the latch and
push the casement window outward. Recently I added a bit of oil to the hinge so
on mornings like this, I won’t have to worry about waking my sisters. I want to
be completely alone.

Climbing onto the roof, I open my notebook and
start writing. Early mornings are the best time to take a moment out of the
day, to reflect and write. The air is sweet with dew. A milky sheen shrouds the
trees. And the timid quiet of my surroundings always feels like a spark of new
beginnings.

Shivering from the brush of wind, I peer up at
the fading crescent moon in awe. It sits low on the horizon; Venus hovers
lovingly to the left of the silver crescent on a purple-gray field. It is
beautiful.

There is something about the serenity of the early
morning that moves me deeply; the soft darkness, the living pastel of the
horizon, the glistening leaves; one gentle trickle of life hiding away, another
stream thawing, awakening to the coming day. The pain from the days before has
been washed and the hope for a better day has awakened.

Once the sun eases its way over the horizon, I
close the book with its pages of thoughts, stories, and poetic words and
quietly creep back inside. Checking on the girls to make sure the opened window
hasn’t chilled and reddened their button noses, I change into a long-sleeved
t-shirt and faded jeans before heading downstairs.

Dirty pots and pans fill the kitchen sink,
crusted with last night’s lasagna. Sighing, I push up the sleeves of my large
Padres shirt that I got at the game with Mike last season, and scrub the dishes
in hot soapy water before placing them in the dishwasher. Once the dishwasher
is running, I wipe the countertops and tables with a sponge and dust-mop the
tile floors (when four girls live under one roof, the floors are routinely
blanketed in a sheet of fallen hair).

The living room is next. Toys are strewn across
the couch, glass table, and carpet. Markers—uncapped and capped—poke out from
between the cushions. The carpet needs vacuuming, but I figure the rest of my
family wouldn’t think it was worth the racket. I’m not in the mood for hearing
any grumbling or having any pillows thrown at my face, so I settle on leaving
the rest of the chores for the afternoon.

Judging by the time—seven o’clock—I have a good
half hour before my family starts waking up. I open the kitchen cupboard and
remove one of the three boxes of cereal, turn on the KUSI news to a low hum,
and fill my bowl with Lucky Charms.

On the screen is a fairly attractive news
reporter wearing a slim-fitted suit that cinches high at the waist, ostensibly
to emphasize her curvy physique for the male viewers. She boasts a smooth wave
of frosted brown hair swooped to one side, plump glossy lips, and gleaming
hazel eyes that look not at the camera, but
through
it to you, the
viewer.

The female reporter is highlighting the summer
sports activities available at Patrick Henry this year. A fresh-faced kid in
junior varsity football garb, noticeably winded from training, trots over
beside her when she beckons with a wave of her arm. Bits of grass are matted
against his sweaty forehead. He leans in, wheezing into the mic before the
reporter can strategically distance herself from the overanxious kid. The
subsequent interview drags on and on, interspersed with shoddy clips of boys
and girls playing various sports. The kid never regains his breath, nor does
the camera crew wipe the grass clumps from his forehead.

Figures, not much going on in the exciting town
of San Carlos. Not today, not ever.

My recently devised plan of leaving town has
been fresh on my mind these days, my previous trip to Los Angeles the fuel. I
want to start fresh somewhere new and exciting. Leaving the quiet suburbs for
the city would be a nice change of pace.

Excitement builds with each spoonful of
softened cereal. I’m so done with high school, with this place. In a couple of
months I will no longer wander aimlessly up and down the streets of San Carlos
in a constant daze, but will be awakened in a bustling city where everyone
lives life out loud—with passion, anger, or just for the sake of yelling. I
want to feel alive, I need to, and East L.A. seems like just the place.

Thinking August will be a perfect time to
unleash my plan, I decide to lay low for the time being and not intervene with
Tess’s and Brett’s problems. The girls will miss me, but I’ll visit as often as
I can. And once I settle into a place, I’ll invite them over; maybe take them
on a train adventure and back. Besides, I can’t be expected to put my life on
hold just for them.

At a quarter to eight, Tess rushes into the
kitchen in a panic. Late as usual, she frantically grabs the mug of coffee I
dutifully hold out for her and she takes a long, therapeutic sip.

“Mmm. Thank you, sweetie.”

Tess looks as if she just stepped out of a
high-end boutique or the glossy pages of Vogue magazine. Her wheat-blond hair
is coiled and pinned at the nape of her neck. Her ivory skin, painted in warm
shades, plays up her lake blue eyes. She wears a simple charcoal pencil skirt
and lightweight blazer over a silk lavender chemise. Tess looks the way she
wants to: charming, elegant, and important.

A lingering scent of Chanel N
°
22 wafts in my direction and I
stiffen. The scent, I know, is meant for a guy. She only wears this particular
scent when she is out on the prowl. Once, she even wore it for Brett, but it’s
been some time since I smelled that carnivorous scent on her.

Cautiously, I lean against the counter,
stirring some milk into my second cup of coffee. “Are you going to be home in
time for dinner?”

“Actually, I might be a little late tonight.”
Tess pours the rest of the coffee into a travel mug. Glancing at the time on
the microwave, she crosses to the tiled entryway. I watch as she slips her feet
into a pair of nude Valentino heels; she looks up, giving me a warm smile.
“Don’t worry about me sweetie, I’ll just grab a sandwich or have Chinese
delivered to the office or something.” With a little wave and shrug, she blows
me a kiss as she heads out the door.

Hardened over time from Tess’s light dismissals
and nonchalance, I swallow the twinge of bitterness with a gulp of coffee.
Sympathy and crude understanding simmer in my blood as I wash my cereal bowl.

For years, I’ve quietly accepted my role and
the minuscule crumbs of love Tess tosses my way. I am Tess’s confidant, her
friend. I share half of her genes and the other half with some guy that Tess
either loved or detested, but never talks about. Either way, I now see myself
as a constant reminder of Tess’s troubled past; a constant buzzkill who gets in
the way of Tess’s otherwise carefree life.

Heavy steps thunder down the stairs. From the
hallway, I spot two sleepyhead munchkins shuffling into the kitchen. Time to
put on my game face.

“Good, you guys are up.” I scoop Bella onto my
lap. Bella’s chubby arms wrap around my neck in a sleepy squeeze. Her chest rises
and falls with my contact, putting her back to sleep. Before Bella’s face can
sag against my shoulder, I place her in the chair beside me. Bella purses her
lips into a frown, her eyes still halfway closed.

“Can we have pancakes today?” Tory’s eyes are
round and hopeful.

“Sure, but only if I get some help. You know,
it’s very hard work making pancakes so I’ll need assistance.”

“Ooo, I can help! I can!” Tory grins, jumping
up and down as if about to make a little accident on the laminate floor.

Nodding, I turn to Bella and cock my head.
“What about you, munchkin? Awake enough to help?”

“Can I just eat it?” Bella rubs a hand over her
eyes, not quite ready for the day, producing a half-joking smile.

“Bella, things don’t come free in this world,
you have to do your share of the work to reap the benefits.”

“What about the people who stand out on the
streets holding signs? I saw this guy drive up and give one of them money. The
dirty man wasn’t even doing anything, just holding up a sign.”

“Bella, those people don’t have a home or
family and some people just want to give them a little something to help them
out. It’s called charity or just being a nice person.”

“Oh,” Bella leans against the table with her
head resting on her folded hands. Scrunching up her face into a frown, she says,
“Why?”

I am not in the mood to lecture my
five-year-old kid sister about the ways of the world or indulge her new fascination
with infinitely regressive “whys,” so I just put my hands on my hips and say,
“Bella, do you want pancakes or don’t you? Because if you do, I need you to
wash your hands. We’re starting.”

Sliding out of her chair, Bella holds her hands
in the air and glumly says, “Okay, okay. What do you want me to do?”

After we dig into a tall stack of pancakes, or
at least try to—a few are a tad runny on the inside—Brett strolls in.

“Daddy, look! I made pancakes.” Bella lifts her
plate of half-eaten pancakes with a puddle of sugary syrup dripping off the
side of the plate and onto her sticky hands.

“That’s great, princess.” Brett leans in,
giving Tory and Bella each a kiss on the head and gives me an awkward nod.
“Morning.” He turns stiffly toward the counter and pours himself a cup of coffee.
Sipping slowly, he clears his throat. “So Loral, did Tess say when she was
going to come home tonight?”

I don’t respond. No longer hungry, I stuff a
forkful of gummy pancakes into my mouth and chew slowly, feeling the raw batter
ooze between my teeth and gums.

Brett turns to face me. Absently, he drums his
fingers against the counter and clears his throat again. “Well, if she comes
early, tell her I’ll be late.”

That was unexpected. I sit up in my chair and
swallow hard. “Where are you going?”

“Class. And then I’ll be in the library working
on a project.”

Brushing another kiss on Tory and Bella’s plump
cheeks, he says goodbye and heads for the door. Dressed in a dapper,
charcoal-gray suit for the first time since the wedding, he slips into a pair
of black dress shoes that are slightly misshapen and dusty from being stuffed
in the back of the closet for some time, and he opens the door. Hesitating, he
looks back in my direction. “You’re okay looking after Tory and Bella today,
right?”

“Yeah.” Before I can add, “I’ll watch them,”
Brett is out the door.

I reach for my lukewarm mug of milky coffee and
chug slowly, my frustration peaking. I force on a smile. “So, what do you guys
feel like doing today?”

“Kung Fu Panda!” Bella jumps out of her chair
and does her best kung fu impression.

I rush Bella to the sink before she can touch
anything with her sticky fingers and prepare for another long, exhausting day.
If this is what summer break is going to be like, I’m not sure that I can wait
until August to fly the coop.

After watching Bella’s favorite movies,
Kung
Fu Panda
and
Kung Fu Panda 2
, for the hundredth time while simultaneously
coloring with Tory in her new princess coloring book, I get them dressed for the
pool. I need some time to myself, need to unwind with my notebook, unleashing
all my grievances onto the pre-lined pages.

The day is lukewarm at best. A few gloomy
sheets of gray still lurk in the sky, portending a drizzle in the near future,
but at the moment the weather is nice enough to warrant a couple hours in the
pool—a far better option than being cooped up in the house all day.

While helping Bella into her floatation
devices—arm floats and one hip float—I hear the distinct click of metal against
rusted metal and a few excited barks from dogs anxiously protecting their
pee-lined property. Looking up, I see the diligent mailman heading over to the
next mailbox along our street.

I walk over to retrieve the bundle of mail, a
meager stack of envelopes haphazardly jammed between voluminous folds of
unwanted junk. Dumping the junk mail filled with lurid ads and coupon booklets
into the blue recycle bin, I walk back to the pool with the remaining envelopes
that appear important enough to open.

There are two bills that Tess is going to groan
over, and one ivory-colored envelope addressed to me. Curious, I open the ivory
envelope and unfold the letter inside. The thick paper, also ivory, is embossed
with a golden university logo. The details perplex me. “Congratulations, you
have been accepted into the Sarah Lawrence College Writing Program…” Scanning
the rest of the page, I read that apparently they were very impressed by the
poem they supposedly received, which won my acceptance, but they will still
need my transcripts before registration starts in September.