The Perfect Neighbors (7 page)

Susan had blinked. “Hire me?”

“To be another daughter to my father, too,” the woman had said. “Just for a few months. Please. I'll pay you whatever you think is fair.”

Well
, Susan had thought,
I'm coming here anyway . . .

Soon the nurses began recommending Susan. It made their jobs easier when they had happier patients who weren't ringing their bells every ten minutes. Within a few months, Susan had so many clients that she needed to hire an assistant, and she'd given her notice at the law firm.

She delivered homemade mac and cheese and hot pot pies and milkshakes from Ben & Jerry's. She brought in e-readers and chenille bathrobes and decks of cards and needlepoint sets. She carried her laptop into the hospitals and rehab centers every time she made rounds, letting patients Skype with their far-flung families. Sometimes she brought Cole with her on visits. Seeing his little face seemed to cheer up some of her patients. During her second year of work, Susan added therapy pets. She had a volunteer who brought in a sweet golden retriever and cuddly guinea pig for patients who seemed in danger of falling into a depression.

Most of her work was short-term, focusing on patients with repairable injuries, but soon Susan expanded to include permanent clients. She had a steady roster of people who were determined to stay in their homes. Hiring Susan was often a compromise that appeased worried sons and daughters who lived too far away to look in on their parents regularly. So Susan made sure the food in refrigerators was fresh, and that front walks were promptly shoveled in the winter. She called families whenever she noticed something worrisome—a ninety-­year-old man who'd begun to repeat himself; an eighty-five-year-old woman who'd started to shout, which could indicate hearing loss; an ammonia smell in the home of another couple, which could mean incontinence and required a ­doctor's checkup. She hired a third employee, then a fourth.

Within a year, she was out-earning Randall. Within two, she was making triple his salary.

Was that when their problems had begun?

He'd seemed proud of her, at least in the beginning. She'd commandeered the guest room in their old house for her office, installing a top-of-the-line computer, printer, and fax machine. She'd gotten a second cell phone devoted solely to her business.

Susan had always loved to cook, but the dinners she'd once enjoyed making—slow-cooked ribs and savory three-bean chili and turkey Bolognese—gave way to simpler meals. Sometimes Randall would come home after work, wander into the kitchen, and sigh when he discovered another foil-wrapped plate of a prepared meal Susan had picked up at Whole Foods.

If you want ribs so badly, cook them yourself
, she'd think, pushing away a stab of guilt.

If his shoulders had slumped a little when she'd told him she needed to work some Saturdays, if he'd eaten more takeout, if there had been more nights than not when he'd stayed downstairs alone watching television while she'd caught up on paperwork in her office—well, that hardly justified what Randall had done. Plenty of men would love the fact that their wives were successful! She was pumping up their 401(k) plan, saving for Cole to go to college, paying off their cars.

Randall's fortieth birthday, though . . . she did feel guilty about what had happened that night.

Chapter Twelve

A PIECE OF CAKE
was the perfect spot for a casual meeting. It was warm and cozy, with little round tables forming a half circle around the bakery's floor. Vanilla and melting butter perfumed the air.

The two women wearing white aprons and working behind the counter were busy kneading dough and transferring loaves of French bread from heavy metal trays to the display racks; they took no notice of Kellie after she said she was waiting for someone and would order after he arrived.

Kellie was early, so she chose a seat by the window and watched people pass by. One guy staring at the screen of his iPhone walked directly into a parking meter, winced and rubbed his chest, then quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed. No one had; most of them were on their phones, too. A pretty girl sauntered by, her sheaf of red hair swaying as she walked. For a moment Kellie thought the girl was staring back at her, then she realized the girl was admiring her own reflection in the glass.

Kellie had once looked that good, two children and fifteen years ago. Her hair was shorter now and not quite as bouncy (sadly, the same could be said for her boobs), but she'd lost
eight pounds since starting work and her waistline had recently emerged after a long hibernation. She'd felt charged up lately; invigorated. In her knee-high boots and blue wraparound dress, she felt pretty for the first time in a long time. No—an even more exhilarating sensation. She felt young again.

Miller was coming down the street.

Kellie sat up straighter, gripped with indecision about whether to smile at him or pretend she was engrossed in something fascinating in the display case and hadn't noticed his arrival. She opted for the smile; she was a terrible actress (something put to the test in the weeks after every Halloween, when her children accused her of dipping into their candy stashes and she tried to deny it).

Miller's long strides brought him to the doorway of the bakery quickly, and just before he pulled the door open he caught her eye and smiled back. She dropped her head, feeling her cheeks grow warm, and reached for the yellow legal pad and pen she'd slipped into her shoulder bag. If she took notes, this meeting would reek of professionalism.

“Hi,” he said as he sat down across from her. He must've been meeting with clients today; he always wore a suit on those occasions. On days when he just came in to the office to make calls and catch up on paperwork, he wore jeans and a button-down shirt.

“Thanks so much for meeting with me,” she said. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “This house . . . well, I emailed you the photos. I need all the help I can get.”

Miller winked. “You need more than that; you need a miracle.”

“Can I get you a coffee or something?” Kellie offered.

Miller shook his head. “I'm okay, but you go ahead if you want something.”

“No, no,” Kellie said. So this would be a short, brisk meeting. She'd better get right to it. “So, I thought about having
the lighthouse torn down, but that'll be expensive, and then there'll be this gaping space in the yard. I could fill it in with more pebbles, but that seems ridiculous.” She gave a little laugh. “Who wants a yard filled with rocks?”

Miller leaned back in his chair, resting his right ankle on his left knee so that his legs formed a triangle.

“The land is valuable,” he said. “It's a tear-down.”

“That's what I thought at first, too, but my clients are the kids of the couple who lived there,” Kellie said. “Their father just died, and they inherited the house, and they don't want to see it destroyed.”

“So they say now,” Miller said. “But they're in mourning. They're attaching a lot of emotions to the house.”

“So you think I should give it a little time to let them come around to the idea of it being a tear-down?” Kellie said.

“Here's what you do,” Miller said. He put both feet on the ground and leaned forward, putting his arm on the table between them. His hands were large and well shaped, with a few dark hairs on the spaces between his knuckles, Kellie noticed, before yanking her gaze away. “Don't do a thing to fix up the place. Talk to the kids who own it, tell them you understand their feelings. Then hold an open house next weekend. See what happens. My bet is you won't get a single bidder.”

“That's a safe bet,” Kellie said.

“So then you put out a call to a few builders,” Miller said. “Ask them to bid on the property. Bring the bids to the clients.”

“You think they'll change their minds that quickly?” Kellie said.

“Maybe not immediately,” Miller said. “But when they see an actual offer, the seed will have been planted. It's hard to walk away from money on the table. You can talk them through it, make them understand that a new house will be built and a family will live there again. That'll be better than
the place staying empty. Real estate isn't just about selling; you have to be a little bit of a counselor, too. Buying a house is as big an emotional decision as a financial one.”

Kellie nodded. She wished she hadn't taken out the legal pad. She hadn't written down a single thing and it seemed silly now.

“You're right,” she said. “That's exactly what I'll do.”

“And within a month or two, you'll have your first commission,” he said.

“You make it all sound so easy,” Kellie said. More than that, he made her believe in herself. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Miller said. He glanced at the bakery case, then leaned toward her with a grin. “Have you ever tried their brownies? They're addictive,” he said. “I've sworn off junk since I'm training for a half-marathon, but how about we share one? And maybe I'll grab a coffee after all.”

“Absolutely,” Kellie said. As he started to stand up, she motioned for him to stay seated. “It's my treat this time,” she said. “I'm the one who asked for your help.”

She walked up to the display case to order, thinking of how much Jason had loved the brownies she'd brought to the family dinner. He'd eaten two and had gotten a smudge of chocolate on his chin. Jason had always been a slightly messy eater; she'd grown used to wiping down the table around his plate after dinner.

Later that night, she'd gone into Noah's bedroom with a load of fresh laundry and she'd seen that Jason had fallen asleep while reading to Noah. His arm encircled their son, their heads with matching sandy-colored hair close together on a single pillow. The tiny smudge of chocolate was still on Jason's chin.

Thinking of it now, she felt strangely like she might burst into tears.

•  •  •

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*It's Halloween!

Please join your neighbors at our annual Halloween party 'n parade starting at 4:30 p.m. at bottom of the cul-de-sac on Daisy Way. We'll have a caldron of witches brew (simply red Kool-Aid, you can explain to your little ones in case they're prone to nightmares), tasty treats, a moon bounce, fortunes told by “Opal,” and a parade down the street! Remember that tonight after dark our little ghosts and goblins will be out trick or treating, so drivers beware! Remember: Don't be the “driving force” behind traffic accidents! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager

*Need Jump Start

Our minivan's battery is dead again. Would someone mind popping over and giving me a jump start? I swear I'll teach my kids to close their doors . . . someday. —Reece Harmon, Daisy Way

*Re: Need Jump Start

Be there in a jiff! —Jenny McMahon, Daisy Way

•  •  •

Halloween was Tessa's very favorite holiday. It was easy to feel like a failure on Valentine's Day, which was fraught with expectations (candlelight dinners and roses and sex!). Thanksgiving just felt like an elaborate meal with grace, since she wasn't a fan of either turkey or football. And Christmas was exhausting—Harry's parents always wanted to come visit that week, which stirred the competitive juices of Tessa's mother and older sister, Claire, who wanted Tessa's family to travel out to Colorado to be with them (though somehow Claire and Tessa's mother weren't quite so keen on packing up and traveling to visit Tessa). Tessa was always trying to juggle school break days and airline tickets to be fair to both sides. She usually ended up disappointing everyone and bursting into tears of exhaustion on Christmas Eve, right around midnight
when she was stuffing stockings, though thankfully she always recovered enough to enjoy Christmas itself.

But Halloween was magical. What Tessa loved most was that it celebrated imagination. Kids got to choose their own costumes and decide exactly who they wanted to be—pop star or physician, princess or pirate—and everyone had to play along, at least for a single night. It was the one time of year when adults had to conform to the world of kids, rather than the other way around.

On the Sunday before the holiday, she and Harry had taken the kids to a farm to pick pumpkins and go on a hay ride. Addison had gotten his face painted, and Bree had convinced Tessa to buy a giant sack of Granny Smith apples to make a pie. They'd wandered around for hours, sipping hot cider, munching salty-sweet kettle corn, petting barn cats, and feeding cups of grain to greedy goats. When they'd returned home, Tessa had gone into the basement to retrieve the giant Tupperware bin of Halloween decorations: wispy ghosts to dangle from the pillars on their porch, cardboard tombstones for the yard, an orange lightbulb for the porch lamp, a black witches' caldron to hold the candy.

She and the kids had decorated the yard while Harry had made a giant pot of black bean chili, then they'd all watched
It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown
. At bedtime, as Tessa was brushing her teeth, she suddenly stopped and gripped both sides of the sink basin as a realization had struck her: it had been the first entire day that had felt normal since they'd moved. She'd experienced the same dizzying sensation a few years after her father had died of a heart attack, when she'd been sipping her morning coffee and had realized with a start that she hadn't woken up with a terrible ache in her heart, the sensation that something deep and vital was missing in her life, for the first time since his funeral.

Time didn't heal all wounds, but at least it layered buffers around them.

She'd believed—hoped, anyway—that their day at the farm had marked a turning point. Maybe this house, this neighborhood,
was
magical. She'd felt it the first time she'd driven down the street with the flowering dogwoods and pink and white crape myrtles arcing overhead like a canopy. Their Cape Cod was much smaller than their last home, which had boasted three expansive levels after their renovation, but Tessa was glad to downsize. Here, everyone in the family was within calling distance of one another at all times. They were snugly tucked away, safe and protected.

On the morning of Halloween, Tessa walked her Ninja Turtle and her veterinarian to the bus stop. Kellie was already there with Mia, who was dressed as a cheerleader with a megaphone (a prop that seemed more dangerous than the swords some of the boys were wielding), and Noah as an Angry Bird. A few minutes later Susan came along with Cole, who was a Transformer, and Sparky, who was wearing a hot dog costume he kept trying to wiggle around and bite. The Ninja, Angry Bird, and Transformer immediately began to argue about which one of them would prevail in a to-the-death battle while Mia and Bree turned cartwheels on the sidewalk.

“Are you coming to the parade this afternoon?” Kellie asked Tessa.

“Definitely,” Tessa said. “We're really looking forward to it.”

“It's a lot of fun,” Kellie said. “Jenny McMahon makes this incredible iced pumpkin bread and brings a huge pot of cider. And Mason puts up string around his yard with stakes so that kids don't trample his grass. Last year he took down a few parents who stumbled off the sidewalk. He's got a BB gun, and he uses the tipsy parents for target practice, too.”

“She made that up,” Susan said. “At least the part about the BB gun. And the stumbling parents are totally Kellie's fault. She brings along a flask of rum for adults who want their cider with a little kick.”

“It's my own special contribution,” Kellie said. “It makes trick-or-treating a lot more enjoyable.”

Tessa laughed. “So what's the plan for tonight? Do all the kids go trick-or-treating together after the parade with us parents following along behind, or . . . ?”

She saw Kellie glance at Susan before answering. “It usually starts off that way. You guys are welcome to join me and Jason and the kids.”

Susan appeared to take a deep breath. “Cole's going trick-or-treating with his father,” she said, enunciating each word crisply.

“Ah,” Tessa said, feeling herself flush. First she'd called Randall Susan's husband, and now she'd put her foot in it again. Figures that she would embarrass herself in front of Susan, who was one of the most impressive women Tessa had ever met. Maybe it was something in Susan's posture; she always stood up straight, her neck in perfect alignment with her spine, and when she gestured, her long fingers moved with the graceful fluidity of a conductor's baton. She had the stance of a ballerina. Tessa hadn't realized how often she'd slouched until she'd met Susan; every time she bumped into her neighbor, she instinctively stood up taller.

“I keep telling Susan to join us,” Kellie was saying. “We'll make it a party.”

“Thanks, but I'm going to stay home and hand out candy,” Susan said. “And probably eat one mini Snickers for every one I give out. I always hate myself every November first.”

The bus approached, groaning and lurching toward them as it did every morning, and the parents began calling out good-byes and instructions, as usual—“Don't step in that puddle!” “Let Emma get on the bus first; she's smaller!”—which the kids ignored, as usual.