The Neighbors Are Watching (34 page)

“Please,” she told the Suns, “have a seat. Would you like something to drink? Coffee or …”

Mrs. Sun smiled at her and looked at her son, who mumbled something in Chinese. She shook her head. “No, please,” she said.

Joe cleared his throat and everyone turned to hear what he had to say. “I really appreciate you all coming over,” he began. Allison recognized his take-charge tone—he used it in the restaurant to make everyone feel welcome and important, to soothe customers with both real and imagined complaints. “And I want you to know that I’m thankful for how helpful you’ve all been since … especially helping out with Zoë and—” He stopped, looked over at Allison, his expression apologetic.

“We’re happy to help, Joe.” That was Sam. She was holding a plate
with an untouched slice of Dorothy’s cake. Everyone, Allison now noticed, had a slice of Dorothy’s cake and nobody was eating.

“Diana’s been missing for more than a month,” Joe went on. “And the longer she’s gone, the harder it is to find her. I know you’ve all spoken to the detectives and told them everything, but I thought maybe if we all got together here there’s something we could come up with together that we might have missed.” He looked around the room, his eyes darting as if he didn’t want to rest them anywhere. “Look, I know some of us have had our differences,” he said and looked at Dorothy, who stared fixedly at the cake on her plate, “and I know I could have been a better …” He wouldn’t say it, Allison thought. He couldn’t say it. “I could have done a better job taking care of things, but you never expect this to happen. You never think you’ll wind up on the news.”

“It isn’t your fault, Joe.” Everyone, including Joe, turned to Jessalyn, who blushed deeply. Joe was responding, brushing off her comment, and moving on with his monologue, but Allison could no longer hear anything. She was transfixed by the look that passed between her husband and Jessalyn: complicity, intimacy, awkwardness, guilt—all of it there in a flash of heat and electricity running the distance from her to him and looping back around. It was there for a second and gone, nobody but Allison still looking at Jessalyn as she adjusted her skirt and primly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, but it was enough for Allison to see and understand. The ton-of-bricks realization came crashing through Allison’s painfully sober consciousness. When had it started? Had it ended? Looking at Jessalyn’s buried embarrassment and watching Joe’s reserved body language she was almost sure the affair was over, but when it had stopped was a mystery. It could have been six months ago or yesterday, Allison couldn’t know. Her head felt thick and heavy, her thoughts suddenly sluggish. She could sense herself drifting out of the conversational loop. Someone was going to ask her something and she would be lost. She couldn’t afford to seem as if she didn’t care, as if she were checked out. Allison struggled to regain her equilibrium. Joe was summarizing the police investigation, telling the group
something about Diana’s cell phone, her clothes, that Yvonne had contacted everyone she’d ever known in Las Vegas. People were responding. Sam said something about who might have stayed in the neighborhood during the evacuation. There was always someone who didn’t leave.… Then Dorothy’s voice, adding something.…

But Allison’s eyes and attention kept wandering back to Jessalyn. She fixated on small details—the carmine-colored nail polish, a scuff at the heel of her alligator pumps, the glint of her gold fleur-de-lis earrings. Everything about Jessalyn seemed magnified, outsize, and Allison couldn’t look away. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with her sudden knowledge and she didn’t know how to identify the stirring she felt in the deepest recesses of her emotions.

“… nice that it’s a family moving in, but of course we will be very sorry to see you go.”

Allison forced herself to focus. Sam, Gloria, and Jessalyn were looking at Dorothy and Kevin, who had folded himself into a small black knot and was staring down at his hands. “Family?” Allison asked, hoping she could guide her way back into the conversation with that one word.

“The new family moving in across from us,” Dorothy said, “who bought the Suns’ house. They have children. How old did you say they were?” Dorothy turned back to Mrs. Sun and Kevin to Allison, his eyes darkened and flashing. What was it he wanted from her? She couldn’t read the signals—couldn’t hear or see anything other than the huge looming presence of Jessalyn Martin in her living room.

Allison had to stand up, had to leave the room, if only for five minutes. She couldn’t breathe. “I think I hear the baby,” she said. “I’ll be right back. I’m just going to check on her.” She was gone—up the stairs and out of sight—before anyone could offer to help her.

“A
nyway, I just want to tell you again how much I—how much
we
appreciate everything you’ve done, Sam. You’ve really been such a huge help.”

Joe had been standing at his front door saying good-bye to Sam for at least ten minutes but couldn’t seem to let her leave. He’d already thanked her twice and knew that if he did it again it was going to start sounding insincere, but she was the last person to leave and once she did he’d be alone with Allison. Joe wasn’t ready, nor did he think he’d ever be ready to have the conversation with his wife that he knew was coming.

“It’s nothing, Joe,” Sam said. “I only wish I could do more.” She could sense his anxiety, Joe thought, and maybe she felt it too. Gloria had already gone home almost an hour ago, apologizing and claiming a migraine. Sam said nothing at the time, but Joe could see the disapproval and tension in the look that passed between them. He’d been on the receiving end of those looks himself. It didn’t require any great sensitivity to know that their relationship was in trouble. Sam probably didn’t want to go home either. It was a pity for both of them that he couldn’t just keep her here until daybreak.

“Is there anything you need for Zoë?” Sam added. “You know if you need me to take her—I mean, watch her … I mean … Sorry, Joe, this isn’t
coming out right. You know what I mean. If you and Allison need any help at all with the baby …”

“I know, Sam.” Reflexively, Joe looked toward the kitchen, where his wife was cleaning up. Allison had taken charge of Zoë’s care since Yvonne left and she appeared to like it that way. Joe didn’t want to rock that boat, especially since it seemed so tenuously moored.

“We’re doing okay,” he told Sam. “Allison’s really good with her.” It came out sounding apologetic and he didn’t know why.

“I know,” Sam said, “I didn’t mean … Anyway, whatever you need, just ask, okay?”

“I will, thanks, Sam.”

There was nothing else to say then and they both knew it. “All right, Joe. Please keep me posted, all right?” She leaned forward and gave him a quick hug, tight and unexpected. She was gone, closing the door behind her, before Joe had a chance to say anything else. He slid the dead bolt on the door and stood there in the void for a moment, trying to figure out what face to put on. He could hear water running in the kitchen. There ought to be a rule book, he thought, a plan for what to do next.

But Joe had no idea what the new rules were between him and Allison, and he didn’t think she did either. He’d seen how Allison looked at Jessalyn earlier and he was sure she knew about their affair. It was over of course, but that wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t make a difference to Allison that he now thought Jessalyn was the most pathetic woman he’d ever known and he realized it was a mistake of epic proportions to get involved with her, that the only reason he
had
in the first place was because Allison had made herself completely unavailable in every way. Nor could he tell Allison that he’d been with Jessalyn the day she’d left and gone to her mother’s, that he’d been unable to be reached while the area was evacuated and Sam tried frantically to find him because he was holed up in a hotel fucking the neighborhood whore. Yes, he’d found that out too. She wasn’t just your average party-girl slut; Jessalyn was a bona fide pro. Not that Jessalyn would ever admit that and not that it could ever be proven, really, in
a court of law, but Joe knew it. The main question—the only question, really—was why it had taken him so long to figure it out in the first place.

So, no, he couldn’t tell Allison that before she’d even come back home he’d gone over to Jessalyn’s house to call it off officially because he’d realized the extent of his temporary insanity and found her there, bidding good-bye to a john—or whatever she called the men that she serviced. The funny thing of course was that before that moment he’d felt doubly bad—first for cheating on his wife and second for leading on this girl who was twenty years younger than he—and was worried about hurting Jessalyn’s feelings. He’d convinced himself by that point that her sudden coolness toward him after he’d left Zoë with her that one night was caused by confusion over his feelings for her. Joe hated to think about it even now, how he’d really believed the girl was in love with him and that he would have to be careful with her emotions. He had it all planned out. He was going to tell her that even though he had feelings for her he loved his wife and owed it to Allison to try to work things out; all the usual bullshit that anyone over the age of sixteen had either heard or said. And he meant it, which might have been the saddest thing of all. Then he saw her—saw
him
—and all those words strangled and died in his throat.

Jessalyn had started to explain, said, “It’s not what you think” or something that was equally clichéd, but Joe stopped her before she could get too far.

“It doesn’t matter,” he told her. “I shouldn’t have come here. And I’m going to pretend I never did.” As he turned to leave, he added, “And I hope you’ll do the same.”

He didn’t understand what Jessalyn had been hoping to prove by coming to his house that night or in which alternate reality she thought that she could be helpful in any way. He thought he’d kept it cool despite all of that—he’d let her in, hadn’t he?—but Allison wasn’t an idiot. He walked into the living room, picked up a mug and a paper plate that somebody had left on the coffee table, and headed into the kitchen with the frightened resolve of a man on his way to the gallows.

Allison was wrapping the remainder of Dorothy’s cake in plastic wrap. She turned to him as he walked in, her face a puzzle. Joe caught his breath, waiting for it.

“Sam go home?” she asked.

“Yes, she … Yes.” His voice sounded so strained. He wondered what Allison was waiting for. Why didn’t she just come out with it?

“I don’t think they’re going to make it,” Allison said.

“What?”

“Sam and Gloria. It looks to me like they’re going to break up. It’s too bad.”

“You’re right,” Joe said. He wondered if Allison was really talking about Sam and Gloria or making some kind of obtuse reference to the two of them.

“This cake,” Allison said, switching topics, “I’m pretty sure it came from a mix.” Joe looked from her to the remainder of the cake in her hands and was speechless. “Because it’s not bad, I tried it. Dorothy doesn’t know how to make cake this edible.”

“Allison—”

“But it was nice of her to bring it. I think she feels bad about everything, I really do. They all do.” Allison sighed. “They all want to help now.” She put the carefully wrapped cake in the fridge and turned to the countertop, wiping it clean even though there was no dirt on it that Joe could see. It was a futile gesture but still oddly hopeful, and it suddenly seemed to Joe to represent their entire lives.

“Do you think it’s going to help?” he asked Allison.

“What do you mean, Joe?”

“Are we going to find her? Do you think she’s …?” He felt the fear gathering, paralyzing the base of his spine.

“We’re doing everything we can. Joe, we’re doing everything we’re supposed to do.”

He wanted so badly to touch her, to take her in his arms, but the
strength and charge of all that was unspoken between them might as well have been an electrical force field.

“I’m going to go to bed,” she said. “Will you bring Zoë’s bottle when you come up?”

“Of course.”

“You’ll lock up?”

“I’ll lock up,” he said, silently begging her for more as he watched her walk away and head upstairs. It was several minutes before he could move himself to start turning off the lights and checking all the doors. He was trying to work out whether or not he’d just been given a stay of execution because while Allison had said nothing about Jessalyn, he felt implicated just the same. It was that reversal of rules again. Before Diana had come to live with them, Joe had always left the heavy lifting to Allison when it came to their disagreements. He’d always waited for her to bring up the problems and then let her take the lead in trying to fix them. Yes, it was lazy but no different from any other married man he knew. But Allison had turned all of that around since she’d come home, her behavior a cipher that Joe had been trying to work out since then.

She’d come right back to their bed for one thing and hadn’t asked him to sleep on the couch. Whether that was to display some sort of united front for Yvonne or because she didn’t mind still sharing the same bed with him, although she hadn’t so much as kissed him since she’d come home, was beyond what he could figure out on his own and he was afraid to ask her. And then there was the way she fussed over Zoë—as if she’d always felt maternal toward this baby, as if she’d never had any doubts, as if she hadn’t spent the first several weeks of Zoë’s life in a bitter drunken stupor. And maybe that was it, Joe thought. Maybe Allison had come out of that alcohol haze for long enough to feel guilty about neglecting Diana and Zoë. Because she could have helped out Diana. Allison could have made it easier for her. It might have made a difference. Although Allison had seemed so wounded from the start, never seeming to get over the mere fact of Diana’s
existence, perhaps something had happened to her while she was at her mother’s that had made her rethink it all. She hadn’t had anything to drink since she’d been back, and even though she said nothing about that either, Joe sensed that she’d made some kind of pact with herself to stay sober.