The Perfect Neighbors (14 page)

Not that she did! She wouldn't take Randall back, not after everything that had happened. If he'd only agreed to counseling when she'd suggested it, if he'd only told her about meeting Daphne . . . if she'd only had the chance to go to Daphne after that first meeting and beg her to stop seeing Randall . . .

Randall and Daphne hadn't had sex until a week or so after Randall had moved out. Susan knew because Daphne told her. Daphne hadn't shared many of the details—perhaps she was trying to be considerate, given that Susan's own marriage had just been demolished—but there was no unseeing the look that had come into Daphne's eyes when she'd mentioned her new boyfriend. Or the way the look had transformed into horror a few minutes later, when she'd spotted the family photo.

She hated Daphne.

The words she'd spoken earlier, about the little girl who'd pouted when she'd lost at dodgeball, reverberated in her head.

Sore loser.

That was different, Susan thought. That was something else entirely.

Chapter Twenty

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*Barking Dog

Someone let their dog out very late last night—close to midnight—and allowed it to bark for at least ten minutes, waking up my family. Please be mindful of the hours when you let your pet outside. —Barb Dixon, Forsythia Lane

*Re: Barking Dog

There's a noise ordinance pertaining to construction, which permits on-site work only until 8 p.m. Perhaps this rule should also relate to dogs? It seems like something for the Newport Cove Manager to investigate. —Tally White, Iris Lane

*Re: Barking Dog

Thank you for the suggestion, Tally! —Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager

•  •  •

“We need a girls' night out,” Susan announced at the bus stop.

“I'm in,” Kellie said. “We should invite Gigi, too. I haven't seen her much lately.”

“How about Thursday?” Susan asked. “Tessa, are you free?”

Excuses sprang to her lips: She and Harry already had plans. Thursday night was family night, and they always stayed in. She was feeling a tickle in her throat that might turn into the flu.

But her talk with Susan and the phone call with her old friend Cindy had ignited something in Tessa, a hunger for the easy, supportive camaraderie of other women. She'd be careful, she promised herself. She'd have one glass of wine, then she'd switch to seltzer water. She wouldn't slip up.

“I'd love to,” she found herself saying, surprised by how much she meant it.

“Seven thirty at Sidecar?” Kellie said. “That way we can get the kids settled after dinner before we head out. Maybe we should take cabs, just to be safe. These days if I have even one drink I feel tipsy.”

“Clearly you haven't been drinking enough, you lightweight,” Susan joked.

“So let's remedy that!” Kellie said. “Thursday night at Sidecar!”

•  •  •

The plan was everyone would gather at Susan's house around seven p.m. and they'd all pile into a cab together. But Kellie's exit from her home was delayed because Noah had sloshed water over the side of the tub, and it was leaking through the cracks in the floors and dripping through the dining room ceiling.

“Jason!” Kellie called. She was in the kitchen, finishing the dinner dishes, when she heard a patter that sounded like raindrops against the floor. He didn't answer so she hurried upstairs to find her husband watching TV in the bedroom.

“I thought you were giving Noah a bath,” she said. “He's making a mess.”

“Sorry, babe,” he said.

It seemed like Jason was glued to the television lately. Had he always watched this much?

She exhaled loudly and went into the bathroom, putting a few towels on the floor to sop up the water that had sloshed over the edge. Noah was still splashing around, a crown of bubbles on his head.

“Give me a kiss, sweetie,” she said and leaned over—­directly into the spray of water Noah aimed at her.

“Noah!” she cried. “Why did you do that?”

“Because you were a bad Transformer,” he said. His eyes filled.

“Be more careful next time,” she said, softening her tone. “Aim for the side of the tub, okay?”

“I'm sorry, Mommy,” he said.

“It's okay,” she said, feeling guilty. He was such a sensitive boy, tough on the outside, tender within.

She looked in the mirror. She'd taken the brunt of the splash on her left side—mascara streaked from that eye down toward her nose, and half of her bangs were flattened and damp. She glanced at her watch, saw it was ten minutes after seven, and reached for the phone.

“I'm running late,” she said. “You guys can go ahead and I'll meet you there.”

“No worries,” Susan said. “We already opened a bottle of wine since we're not driving. Take your time.”

Kellie fixed her hair and makeup, then went downstairs again to grab a coat, feeling her irritation at Jason mount. Why hadn't he stayed in the bathroom and supervised Noah? She'd cooked dinner and though he'd cleared the table, she'd also prepared the school lunches for tomorrow and had started a load of laundry. And it wasn't like Jason never went out; he played poker every week with a group of friends, and he regularly attended football and baseball games, sitting in the stands and drinking beer with his dad. She was about to call upstairs to remind Jason to take Noah out of the tub
when she heard the floorboards creaking under Jason's footsteps.

“Hey, buddy,” he was saying. “Let's get you dry and into some pj's.”

Kellie breathed in, then out. Her shoulders relaxed. Mia was reading a book on the couch, so Kellie went over and dropped a kiss on her head. Mia didn't even look up, she was so engrossed in the story, which made Kellie happy. Mia had been a late reader, but she was making up for lost time.

“Bye!” Kellie called.

“Have fun!” Jason shouted.

•  •  •

It was too early for the bar to be crowded, and Kellie, Tessa, Susan, and Gigi commandeered a booth. U2 blared from the speakers, pool balls clacked together in the background, and a bartender shook a stainless steel mixer high in the air.

“Let's get fun drinks,” Kellie said as she opened the menu. “This place has the best cocktail names. Ooh, I want a Happy Ending.”

“Don't we all,” Gigi said dryly. “I'm going to try an Angry German.”

Tessa ran her eyes down the ingredients of different cocktails, trying to find one that didn't have too much liquor. “Set 'Em Up Joe looks good,” Tessa said.

The waiter was at their table. “Ladies?” he said. They placed their orders and he committed them to memory.

“I used to be able to do that,” Kellie said. “I could remember stuff before I had kids. Now? My brain is a sieve. The other day I couldn't think of the word for mitten. I was convinced it was early-onset Alzheimer's, so I Googled it. Turns out that the symptoms of motherhood mimic those of brain degeneration.”

“You made that up,” Susan said.

“Yes, but I think it's actually true,” Kellie said. “We should
come up with a name for the syndrome. Mommy Brain doesn't sound severe enough.”

“Chips and guac to share?” Gigi wondered as she looked at her menu.

“Not for me,” Kellie said. “And by that I mean you order them and I'll stare at them longingly until you tell me to help myself, and then I'll eat half.”

Gigi smiled. “Tessa?” she asked.

“My answer's the same as Kellie's,” she said.

“Two chips and guacs, please,” Gigi told the waiter when he returned with their drinks.

“You look great, by the way,” Gigi said to Kellie. “Did you do something different with your hair?”

“I got highlights last week,” Kellie said. She touched her hair. “And layers. I've been wearing the same style since before the kids, so I felt like something different. Plus it was my reward. I just sold my first house!”

“Congrats!” Susan and Tessa said in unison. Gigi raised her glass. “Cheers!”

“Thanks,” Kellie said. She took a swallow of her drink and Tessa saw a shadow pass over her face. “It was a little sad, actually. The house was so ugly, but the family loved it. The parents passed away, and the kids wanted it to be sold to a new family. But a builder bought it for the land. He's going to raze the lot.”

“Seems like that's happening more and more these days,” Gigi said.

“Yeah,” Kellie said. She looked down at her drink. “The daughter cried when I told her it was the only offer we had. She said that house was her childhood. Her dad built this miniature lighthouse for her in the backyard because she really loved them. It was a gift for her tenth birthday. She said she was a really awkward kid and she didn't have any friends, and her happiest memories were of sitting up there and reading. I didn't know that. I just thought he was nuts for building it . . .”

Susan put an arm around Kellie's shoulders. “Are you crying?”

“No!” Kellie wiped her eyes and gave herself a little shake. “I'm celebrating. Miller—he's this guy I work with who has been really helpful—said it's better to have the house sold than to just have it sitting there. That way the kids can move on, Miller said.”

“The daughter will still have all those memories, too,” Susan said. “No one can ever take them away. That's what I tell a lot of my clients when they have to move to an assisted living center. Possessions are just stuff. They don't represent who we are.”

Tessa nodded. “It's true. We left a lot of stuff behind when we moved. The kids had a great tree house and I finally had my dream kitchen . . .”

Kellie turned to her. “You know, I don't think we ever got an answer to Mia's question. Why did you decide to move, if you don't mind my asking?”

The guacamole arrived then, giving Tessa a few crucial seconds to compose herself. She took a chip and broke it in half but didn't put it in her mouth.

“A lot of reasons, really,” Tessa finally said. She wanted to stick close to the truth; it felt important to be honest. “Something about this neighborhood seemed special. It just felt safe to me. It felt . . . right.”

The other women were nodding.

“And even though we had lots of happy memories back at home, there were some unhappy ones, too,” Tessa said.

Susan put a hand over Tessa's and gave it a little squeeze. It was the look on Susan's face—pure compassion—that told Tessa it was safe to open up. She wouldn't reveal everything. But maybe she could share a small part of herself.

“I had two miscarriages before we had Bree,” she said. She swallowed hard before continuing. “And Harry and I created a flower garden in honor of those babies. It was in our backyard. We had butterfly bushes and a hummingbird feeder and a little angel statue . . . it was hard to leave that behind.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Gigi said. “I'm so sorry.”

Tessa nodded. “I didn't know if we'd ever be able to have kids,” she said. “The first one—I found out at the doctor's office. They couldn't find a heartbeat at twelve weeks.”

A tear dripped down her cheek. Susan reached into her purse, came up with a tissue, and handed it to Tessa.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Did you lose the second baby at around the same time? Twelve weeks?” Susan asked.

“We were almost at sixteen weeks, so I thought . . . Well, I guess I thought we were okay. Harry was away for work so I drove myself to the hospital,” she said. “I hadn't bought much for the baby, because I was superstitious. But I'd seen these little yellow corduroy overalls that I couldn't resist. I still have them, tucked away in a box. Bree and Addison never wore them. I always thought of them as belonging to my other baby.”

The waiter's cheery tone intruded, breaking apart the moment: “Ladies, another round?”

“I think we definitely need one,” Gigi said. She gave Tessa a sympathetic smile.

“Anyway, it happened a long time ago, and I have Bree and Addison now, so . . .” Tessa said.

“But it still hurts,” Susan said. “It's
allowed
to still hurt. You can be sad about what happened and grateful and happy for the family you have now.”

Tessa nodded. “Yes.” Somehow Susan had put into words exactly what Tessa had needed to hear. She'd felt like she was being greedy, mourning those babies when she had two perfectly healthy children now.

She took another sip of her drink. It was cold and sweet against her tongue. “I think it just . . . messed me up a little. I was so fearful with Bree and Addison. I kept worrying they'd get hurt, that I'd lose them, too. I was a little nuts when they were younger. I kept seeing danger everywhere. I felt like if I
let down my guard, then something might happen again. And Harry was traveling so much, and Bree had colic and never slept . . .”

“Honey, being alone with two young kids is enough to drive anyone nuts,” Gigi said. The other women were nodding in agreement.

“But I wasn't working!” Tessa said. “And I had a housekeeper once a month!”

“Yes, you
were
working,” Susan corrected her.

“You had a colicky baby and a husband who traveled?” Kellie said. “That must've been so hard.”

Tessa looked around at their faces in wonderment. She'd always thought she'd somehow messed up as a mother—failed because she'd struggled with the kids when they were little, and it seemed to come so easily to others. But the faces of her new friends contained only sympathy, no judgment.

“And now they're wonderful, healthy children,” Susan said. “You did a good job, Mama. They're thriving.”

“They are, aren't they?” Tessa said. She wiped her eyes. “Thank you. I knew we were right to move here.”

“We've got a lot to celebrate tonight,” Susan said. “Tessa moving here. Kellie's new career. And Joe's victory! How's he doing, Gigi?”

“You'd have to ask him,” Gigi said. “He's off campaigning all the time. He sets aside a few evenings for family time, and he does make it home for dinner then, but that's about the only time I can count on seeing him these days.”

“It's temporary, though, right?” Kellie said. “Just until the election?”

“Yes,” Gigi said. “Then we'll get him back on weekends, at least. Meanwhile, I've got his campaign manager living in my basement.”

“Is he the guy with the floppy blond hair who was ordering around the camera crew on election night?” Susan asked.

Gigi nodded. “Zach. I don't think he sleeps. The other night
I had insomnia and I went into the kitchen to get some chamomile tea. I heard this weird pecking noise coming from the basement so I looked down there and saw a blue light. Then I realized Zach was typing something on his computer.”

“Is it odd to have a virtual stranger living with you, though?” Kellie asked. “Even a hot younger guy?”