The Neighbors Are Watching (11 page)

“Sure,” Diana said. “Thanks. Are you going to make it fresh?”

“That was the plan,” Sam said.

“Cool.” Diana smiled, showing off her lovely, straight white teeth. Sam wondered if she’d had braces or was just lucky. She was such a pretty girl with that smooth clear skin and long, thick, gorgeously curling hair cascading down her back. Her face was a little puffy now though, this late in her pregnancy, and when Sam glanced down she could see that Diana’s ankles were swollen too, the skin stretching around her tattoos. Sam flushed with sudden concern and anger. Was anyone taking care of this girl?

“Come sit down,” she said again, gesturing to the little round table and chairs they kept in the kitchen. “How are you doing, hon? Are you feeling okay?”

Diana’s hands went instinctively to her huge belly, which Sam noticed was much lower than it had been the last time she’d seen Diana.
Any minute now
, Sam thought. She remembered the feeling vividly; how when you got toward the end, there was no space left anywhere—in your body or your mind—for anything but the formless life that had taken over your own. Heaviness and waiting, that was all.

“I’m all right,” Diana said, pulling out a chair and sitting down much more gracefully than Sam would have thought possible. “Just, you know …” She patted her belly. “It’s so big,” she said. “I never would have thought it could get so big.” Diana was still smiling, but Sam could see the strain around her eyes and in the dark half moons below them. She probably
wasn’t sleeping much. Sleeping was hard in the ninth month; there was just no way of getting comfortable. She pulled a few lemons out of the fruit bowl and started slicing.

“You must be due soon, right?”

“In one week exactly,” Diana said. “But they say first babies come late, don’t they?”

“Not always,” Sam said. The first lemon was practically dry. It took all Sam’s strength just to wring out a couple of tablespoons of juice. She picked up a second and tried again. “What does your doctor say?” When Diana didn’t answer, Sam looked up sharply, stopping midsqueeze. “You do have a doctor, don’t you?”

“I’m going …” Diana smoothed the big T-shirt over the beach-ball lump in her lap. “We checked out the hospital and everything,” she said. “But I don’t really have a regular doctor. Something about the insurance. It’s my mom’s coverage and over here—”

“But surely—” Sam stopped herself before she could say anything else. She didn’t know how far she could go with Diana and she didn’t want to push. It wasn’t her business really, no matter how drawn she felt to this girl and her baby. And Allison was such a loose cannon lately, Sam didn’t want to piss her off. As for Joe, Sam simply couldn’t understand why he hadn’t shown more backbone. She didn’t know him well, it was true, but she’d always gotten the sense from him that he was a little more open, a little more
decent
than most of the people in this neighborhood. She was disappointed by his lack of caring or connection. All you had to do was look at Diana—Joe was there in every curve and angle of her face. How was it possible for him to ignore that? But then, Sam remembered, she’d been wrong about Noah too. If someone—
anyone
—had told her how nasty and vindictive he’d become after she moved in with Gloria, Sam would have laughed in disbelief. Maybe it was just that she knew nothing about men. For all of their carrying on about how they were essentially simple beings and it was women who were complicated, men were way more screwed up and emotionally convoluted than women.

“I mean,” Sam said, taking care with her words, “you’ve had an exam recently? Even if—”

“It’s fine,” Diana interrupted.

“Okay,” Sam said, although she suspected nothing was okay and was becoming desperate to try to remedy that situation. She was on the fourth lemon now and had barely a half a glass of juice. Well, that was going to have to be enough. She took the simple syrup out of the fridge and measured out a quarter cup, combined it with a half liter of Pellegrino, and stirred in the lemon juice. “I think,” she said, “I even have a sprig of mint around here somewhere.”

“So who’s Pollyanna?” Diana asked as Sam rummaged through the crisper looking for the mint. “You were saying something about Pollyanna when I came in.”

“Right, Pollyanna,” Sam said, pulling out the wilted mint and searching for a usable sprig. “Poor Pollyanna got kind of a bad rap. It was a kid’s book, written probably a hundred years ago about a girl—an orphan, I think—who plays this game where she finds the good in everything. She’s an eternal optimist, even when bad things happen. She’s always looking on the bright side even when she has an accident and becomes paralyzed.”

“That would be seriously annoying,” Diana said.

“Exactly,” Sam said, tearing a mint leaf and stirring it into the glass of lemonade, “which is why
Pollyanna
has become a term for someone who’s foolishly or blindly optimistic with no good reason.” She handed the glass to Diana. “Here you go.”

“So you were calling yourself Pollyanna?”

“Right before you came in, I was thinking …” Sam trailed off, remembering exactly what she’d been thinking about and seeing, once more, Gloria’s face as it had been that long-ago day, all lit up from inside. “I was thinking about making you something to drink and I remembered that phrase ‘when life gives you lemons, make lemonade,’ which is probably one of the most Pollyannaish expressions there is.”

“So what kind of lemons do you have in your life?” Diana asked. She took a long swig from the glass. “This is so good. Thanks.”

“Well, everyone has lemons,” Sam said, smiling, glad Diana looked relaxed, and happy she was enjoying the lemonade. Diana took another long sip and put the glass on the table. She wanted to say something, Sam could tell, but the words weren’t coming easily. Sam waited and Diana rubbed at the condensation on the glass. The silence between them was weighted but not uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the adoption before. You know, when you came over with the baby clothes. I should have said something. It was really nice of you to bring them over. They’re really cute.”

“Oh, honey, don’t worry about that,” Sam said and reached out to cover Diana’s hand with her own. “It’s totally fine. You didn’t have to tell me anything. I should have asked. I mean, no, not asked, but—”

“I just didn’t know Allison was going to be such a complete bitch about it,” Diana said sharply. “She can’t wait, you know. She’s counting the fucking seconds until I’m gone.”

“I’m sure that isn’t true,” Sam said and almost gagged at the insincerity of her words. Diana, frowning, could hear it too. Sam didn’t want to lie to this girl or offer her useless nostrums. She needed someone she could trust, someone she could feel safe sharing her feelings with. “Okay,” Sam said, “I’ll agree with you that, from what I’ve seen, Allison doesn’t seem to be managing things all that well.”

Diana snorted. “You got
that
right.”

“But,” Sam continued, “maybe that’s because she doesn’t know what to do or say. She isn’t a bad person. She teaches third grade. You know that, right? My son was in her class a couple of years ago. She was great with him—with all the kids.”

“So what?” Diana spat. “My mother’s a teacher too. It doesn’t mean anything if you’re great with other people’s kids if you can’t handle your own.”

“I’m just saying, maybe Allison’s confused and it’s not coming out the right way.”

“She’s a bitch,” Diana said. “She has been since the day I got here. I get that she’s pissed off she never knew her husband had a kid, but it’s not my fault Joe didn’t tell her about me, is it?”

“No,” Sam said, “but it’s probably more complicated than that.”

“You know,” Diana said, shifting in her chair, “everyone always says that when old—” Diana caught herself and smiled quickly. “I mean, when
older
people behave badly. If you’re, like, under twenty-five and you act like an asshole, it’s because you’re an asshole. If you’re older than that, it’s
complicated.
”

Sam had to laugh. There was more than a little truth to what Diana was saying, although her classification of anyone over the age of twenty-five as “older” made her feel ancient. “Okay, I’ll give you that,” she said. “But, even though it really isn’t my place to say, I’d guess that there’s a story behind Allison’s actions—or, her feelings, I should say—that started being written long before you came along. It’s just a pity.…”

“What?” Diana said. “What’s a pity?”

“It’s a pity that she can’t talk to you about it.”

“You mean it’s a pity she can’t act like a grown-up?”

“I didn’t say that, Diana.” Sam sighed. She’d said something so similar to Gloria just the other night when the two of them were having yet another argument.
Why can’t you just grow up
? Sam couldn’t believe she’d even said it. It was the first time she’d ever referenced the ten-year age difference between herself and Gloria. Before now, it hadn’t made a difference, but these days that decade felt more like an entire generation.

“What I’m trying to say,” Sam said, “is that it’s difficult for some people to communicate how they’re feeling. Like Allison. But it’s a pity she can’t get around that because you could probably really use someone on your side right now.” Sam pursed her lips as if to keep back the words she was about to say. She shouldn’t ask and she would probably regret it, but she was powerless to stop herself. “Diana, can I ask you …? The
adoption—was that your idea? I mean, have you been able to talk about it with anyone? Your mom?”

Diana turned her head so that Sam wouldn’t see the tears welling in her eyes. “I’m done talking to my mother,” she told Sam. “My mother kicked me out. I hate her.” She swallowed hard and Sam could see her struggling mightily to keep from crying. Sam felt Diana’s pain inside her own heart—so sharply she could feel her eyes sting and water. Because as much as she wanted to reach Diana, it was herself she wanted to help, to go back all those years ago to when she was the same frightened, angry girl about to make a decision she would regret for the rest of her life and stop her.

“She doesn’t give a shit what happens to me,” Diana said. “Why else would she let me come here?” She said “here” as if it were the bottom rung of a stepladder to hell.

“Maybe she felt you’d be protected here,” Sam said, wondering why Diana used the phrase
let me come
instead of
sent me
.

“Protected from
what
?”

“From gossip?” Sam began and then realized she was in over her head. “The kids at school? Sometimes kids your age can be pretty cruel.”

Diana gave Sam a look of genuine puzzlement. As she should, Sam thought, because who cared if a teenage girl came to school pregnant anymore? It was no longer the scarlet letter it had been for Sam. Now, when your abstinence-only education led to you getting knocked up you were actually lauded for “choosing life,” even if the life you were sacrificing in the process was your own.

“No, that’s not it,” Diana said. “School would have been fine. And my mother never tried to protect me from shit. She just didn’t want to be
embarrassed
by me. She didn’t want to be reminded of the same mistake
she
made.” Diana’s tears fell, finally, big drops rolling down both cheeks. “Like I could have helped it. It wasn’t my choice to be born. And this wasn’t my choice either.” She was weeping openly now, sobbing and hiccupping.

“What wasn’t your choice, honey?” Sam asked very softly.

“N-noth …” Diana took a breath and wiped her cheeks with her hands. “Nothing,” she said.

“You mean the adoption? You didn’t choose the adoption?”

Diana shook her head, her long dark curls trailing across her shoulders. “It’s the best thing to do to give her up,” Diana said.

“Her?” Sam’s throat tightened.

“It’s a girl. I had an ultrasound and they told me. She’s … It’ll be better for her if I give her up.” There was no conviction in her words at all, and Sam worried again that Diana was being pushed into a corner by the confused adults in her life who couldn’t possibly understand.… There was Allison with no kids of her own and Joe who obviously hadn’t wanted the one he’d made. The odds were not stacked in Diana’s favor.

“Are you sure about that?” Sam said and again wondered if she was going too far. “I mean, are you sure you want to do that?”

Diana nodded.

“What about … Have you spoken with the … the father? I mean, sometimes there’s a legal obligation to—”

“Forget it,” Diana said, her voice suddenly hard and guarded. “He’s got nothing to do with it.” She took a long drink from her forgotten glass of lemonade, draining it. Sam wondered what the story was. A bad breakup? Some asshole kid who’d dumped her as soon as she told him she was pregnant? Or someone older—someone married? Or just a poor, sweet boy who loved her and didn’t know what to do? But no, that was Sam’s particular cross to bear. Because it wasn’t just her own baby she’d given up, it was
his
too.

“It might seem that way now,” Sam said, “but he might—”

“No,” Diana said. “He won’t.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he doesn’t know.”

“Maybe you should tell him.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t even know his name.”

Sam tried to keep her face passive, but Diana saw it—that flicker of distaste—and seized on it. “You think I’m a whore, huh? So does my mother.”

“No, no, not at all,” Sam said. “I was your age once, you know,” she added. “Hard as that might seem to believe. I’m not judging you.”

“Yeah, you are,” Diana said, drawing herself up and in, shielding herself behind toughness. “But whatever. You’re probably right anyway. It was my fault. I should have known better.”

The word
fault
triggered a rush of anger and recrimination in Sam. So much of her life, it seemed, had been about who was at fault and who should be punished. “What was your fault?” she said.

“I shouldn’t even have gone to that party,” Diana said.

“What party?” Sam asked.

“Just … it was a bunch of UNLV people. Like, sophomores and juniors, I think. My friend Sasha was supposed to meet me there and of course she never showed up. She’s such a flake. I was the only high school kid there. I should have left. But I didn’t. And I shouldn’t have had anything to drink. But I did. My bad. All of it.”