The Perfect Neighbors (8 page)

“Good-bye, Addison,” Tessa called. “Have a great day, Bree.”

She caught a last glimpse of her children's small, pale faces through the panes of glass as the bus pulled away and she
stood there until the vehicle was out of sight, feeling a familiar crimp twist her stomach. It never loosened until the afternoon when the bus reversed its route and her children were safely back home.

“So, the parade!” Tessa said too brightly, to make up for her earlier misstep. “We'll see you there.”

Later she'd wished they'd skipped the parade. Why had Tessa ever thought they could start over simply by moving to a new town? You couldn't outrun your past. It was like sprinting on a treadmill—as soon as your legs faltered, you'd discover you were in the precise place you'd been trying so hard to escape.

Moving to Newport Cove was nothing more than putting on a Halloween costume. Tessa had been swept up in the imagining, in the pretending to be someone else. But once the disguise was off, you no longer fooled anyone, least of all yourself.

Chapter Thirteen

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*Headless Barbie?

Did someone misplace a Malibu Barbie doll? I found one—along with its head a couple of feet away—in my front yard. There was also a mustache drawn on Barbie, and what appear to be tattoos on her knuckles. —Jenny McMahon, Daisy Way

*Re: Headless Barbie

My daughter lost her Malibu Barbie yesterday, but its head was still attached and she was mustache and tattoo-less. —Savannah Nichols, Daisy Way

*Re: Headless Barbie

My sons will be delivering a new Malibu Barbie to your daughter, along with an apology, tonight. —Reece Harmon, Daisy Way

•  •  •

Susan and Randall's custody agreement had been hashed out in a mediator's office during a half dozen sessions. They'd met in a space that was designed to look like a living room, with a cozy couch, leafy plants, and abstract artwork on the walls.
Perhaps the theory was that pleasant surroundings would inspire similar emotions in their clients.

Their mediator, Judy, had a low, soothing voice, and she repeated Susan's and Randall's names constantly, which was probably a psychological device to ensure that everyone felt heard.

“So, Susan, what you're saying is it's important to you to spend as much time with Cole as possible,” the mediator would say, frowning earnestly, before turning to Randall. She was a pleasant woman in her sixties who looked like she did a lot of yoga. “And Randall, what you're saying is that you want to be an important presence in Cole's life, too.”

Judy would take a sip of soothing chamomile tea and write something down on a pad of paper while Susan sat on the couch, as far away as possible from Randall, clutching a throw pillow in her lap, her fingers convulsively twisting the fringe.

Maybe it would have been better if they'd met in a courtroom, letting out the ugliness like steam from a kettle as they screeched accusations at each other. She could've hired a female lawyer with a jutting chin and flinty eyes, one who'd seen the worst and thought all men were scum, instead of Judy with her CD of Tibetan monks' chants. It could have been cathartic. And then maybe she would've been out on a date instead of sitting down the street from Randall's house, her Mercedes headlights switched off, her dog Sparky on the seat beside her, when Randall called to discuss Halloween plans at six p.m. on a Saturday night.

Cole was at a classmate's birthday party, which Randall probably knew, since he'd seen Cole that day. He'd probably planned this call accordingly. Susan took a perverse satisfaction in knowing that she could watch Randall's new home during the entire call. Maybe that figure passing in front of the window was him pacing as they talked. She heard the rattle of dishes in the background and imagined Daphne in
the kitchen, sliding silverware into holders in the dishwasher, shooting Randall a sympathetic look:
Is she being difficult again? You're doing great, sweetheart!

“I know Tuesdays are technically my nights with Cole,” Randall said. “But you're welcome to come trick-or-treating with us. Cole would probably love to have both of his parents with him.”

“Please don't use our son to manipulate me,” she said, but she knew Cole
would
like it. Randall would probably like it just as much if she came along, though. He'd love for them to all be pals, for people to see him and Susan laughing together at school functions as they co-parented their amazing son.
What a good guy he is, that Randall Barrett!
they'd say, smiling.
He's even friends with his ex!
Other people's opinions of him had always been too important to Randall—probably the result of growing up with a father who was impossible to please.

Randall sighed, a long-suffering sound that annoyed her.

“Look,” she said, tempering her voice. “Is she coming, too?”

“Daphne is coming trick-or-treating with us, yes,” Randall said.

“I'll drop Cole off around six,” she said.

That recommendation for Randall as an accountant on the listserv had really annoyed her. It had popped up on her iPhone when she'd been lying in bed in the morning, still drowsily scanning through her emails, awakening her with all the jarring force of a slap in the face.

“Fine,” Randall said. He cleared his throat. “There's one more thing.”

Did anyone ever reveal good news by starting off, “There's one more thing”? It seemed like the kind of phrase designed to make your abdominal muscles tighten. She looked at Randall's house, hoping for a clue.

“Daphne is pregnant,” Randall said. “Cole's going to be a big brother this spring. We're going to try to get married before the baby comes, Susan.”

It was like being at the beach, wading out into the icy water, and seeing a huge wave about to bear down on you. In a moment, it was going to hit you hard, and there was absolutely nothing you could do.

“Susan? Are you okay?”

She couldn't breathe. She was floundering, the wave pushing her deeper into the darkness, pressing all the air from her lungs, churning her around in circles.

“Do you want me to come over so we can talk?”

“No!” She held the phone away so he couldn't hear her gasping. When she put it back to her ear he was still talking. “. . . probably should have told you in person, but I wasn't sure how to—”

“It's fine,” she said.

“I can hear in your voice that it's not,” he said gently.

Don't
, she thought.
Don't use that sweet voice with me.

“I'm just glad you didn't knock her up while we were still together,” she said. She was shaking. “Good thing our divorce came through two months ago. You got this in just under the wire.” Let him try to play the good guy. They both knew better.

“Maybe we should talk more later,” Randall said.

Daphne was probably coming over to stand beside him, putting a sympathetic hand on his shoulder while her other hand rubbed slow circles on her belly.

Susan needed to get off this call now, before she started to sob. The mediator had suggested that if one of them was becoming irrational or upset, the other should calmly find a way to end the conversation. What were the exact words she had modeled for them?

“I'm going to hang up now, but I'll talk to you soon,” Randall said, and she nearly screamed.
Those
were the words!

She was still holding the phone, still shaking, when she heard the click that meant Randall was gone.

A French bulldog puppy. Another child. In less than a
year, Daphne had given Randall everything he'd ever wanted. Meanwhile, she was left living in a house where reminders of Randall were everywhere.

She rolled down her window and took a few deep, bracing breaths of the night air and then, because she couldn't think of anything else to do, she put her car in drive and headed home, where she could cry.

•  •  •

Newport Cove Listserv Digest

*Leftover Candy

If you have any leftover candy, I'll be happy to swing by and pick it up and add it to the box I'm preparing to ship overseas to children in an impoverished village in Africa. —Jenny McMahon, Daisy Way

*Halloween Party

Thanks to all who came out to make our annual Newport Cove Halloween Party a big success! And a special thanks to Bob Kilpatrick for thinking so quickly and dumping a bottle of water over “Opal's” head after her wig caught on fire from a jack-o'-lantern! Whew—that was a close call, but “Opal” asked me to let you know that she's just fine and will be back next year! We're lucky to live in such a friendly neighborhood where we all look after each other! Happy November, everyone! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager

*GNOME!

Whoever STOLE my garden gnome bring it back TODAY or ELSE! —Mason Gamerman, Daisy Way

•  •  •

What in the world had happened to Harry at the Halloween parade?

Kellie had thought Tessa was the nervous one in their relationship. Kellie had invited Addison over a few times to play with Noah, assuming Tessa would drop him off, but Tessa had
hung around the entire time. It wasn't that Kellie minded—Tessa was perfectly pleasant and Kellie was happy to make a pot of coffee and sit down for a talk. But she did feel a little judged. Was Tessa checking out her house—checking out Kellie herself—before deciding if she would leave Addison there unsupervised?

As for Harry, he had always been in the background, like Muzak in an elevator. No, no, that was unkind. It was just that Harry didn't stand out. He reminded Kellie of an absentminded professor. Sometimes in the morning, when he walked the kids to the bus stop, he'd look right through Kellie until she gave a little wave, at which point he'd snap to attention and smile.

Once you broke through his fog, Harry was pleasant enough. He'd even tried to convince Jason and his father to install computers at their hardware store rather than the old-fashioned cash registers they insisted on using (both Jason and his dad had recoiled, as if Harry had suggested hiring strippers to lure in customers).

At the Halloween party, she almost didn't recognize Harry. He was wearing a silly cap with long braids spilling down the sides. She complimented him on it when they bumped into each other by the line for the moon bounce.

“Thanks,” he said. “I like your
Sharknado
hat.”

She grinned and rolled her eyes. Jason had ordered them matching hats that made it look like a shark was about to take a bite out of their foreheads. They were ridiculous, but Jason was a fan of the campy movie—she'd come home just the other night to catch him watching it for the fourth or fifth time—so she'd given in.

“Have you gotten your fortune read yet?” Kellie asked, motioning to where Shannon Dockser had set up her little booth with a purple curtain.

Harry shook his head, his braids swinging.

“She'll probably tell you that you're going to come into a
lot of money,” Kellie said. “Either that or to beware of a dark-haired stranger. I'm not sure if Opal is capable of telling any other fortunes.”

Harry laughed, and after Noah and Addison finished bouncing, Kellie and Harry went their separate ways, and she hadn't given him another thought. Kellie had been trying to keep Mia from doing yet another cheer (really, was it normal for such a dainty little girl to have such a loud voice?) when she heard a man's panicked voice floating above the noise of the assembled neighbors.

“Addison! Addison!”

It was Harry. He was running after a little boy who was Addison's size and who was also wearing a Ninja Turtle costume. But Kellie knew that little boy wasn't Addison—Addison was dressed up as Donatello and the boy Harry was chasing was Leonardo (the two Ninja Turtles looked alike, but they had different-colored masks, a detail Kellie had absorbed from one of Noah's frequent lectures on the subject). Besides, that little Ninja Turtle was holding the hand of Fred Dutton of Crabtree Lane, which meant it was Fred's son Daniel.

As Kellie watched, Harry ran over to Daniel's side and grabbed his shoulders, trying to pull him away from his father. “Addison!” he yelled. “Let go!”

“Dad?” Daniel's high, quavering voice must have pulled Fred out of his shock, because he stepped toward Harry.

“That isn't Addison!” he said. “Please take your hands off my son!”

Harry released Daniel then, and Fred put his arms around his child and backed away. Harry looked around, scanning the crowd, his eyes wide. Kellie saw his face contort in terror beneath his hat with the long braids. His breath came in loud, ragged gasps.

“Addison!” he howled.

The scene was so bizarre it paralyzed Kellie; it was like watching a car accident unfold and knowing you were help
less to prevent it. Suddenly Tessa ran up to Harry's side, dragging little Donatello by the hand. “Harry!” she said, grabbing his arm and shaking him.

Harry seemed to regain his focus as he stared down at his wife. “Addison's right here,” she said. Harry looked at his son as Addison pushed the mask off, revealing his face. “Dad?” Addison said. “What's the matter? I was just getting some popcorn.”

“It's okay, Harry,” Tessa said, her voice shrill. “Everything's fine!”

Kellie heard someone ask, “What happened?” And another answered, “I don't know. Is he a veteran? It seemed like a flashback.” People moved back to make space around Tessa's family, leaving them alone in the center of a circle.

“We need to go now, Addison and Bree. Come on!” Tessa gathered up her kids and hurried off, ushering her family toward home. Kellie could hear her urging them on: “Hurry, hurry!”

“Well, that was certainly odd,” Tally White said from behind Kellie. “Was he worried Fred was trying to kidnap that little boy? Doesn't he know we live in one of the twenty safest communities in the country?”

“I don't know,” Kellie said. She excused herself and went over to Susan. “Whoa.”

Susan shrugged. “Yeah.”

They both stared at the retreating figures of Tessa's family. Tessa was almost running now, yanking Harry along by the hand.

“I thought something was a little off with her when they first moved in, but then she seemed to relax,” Kellie said. “Maybe Harry's the one with the . . .”

She fumbled for the word. “Issues?” That didn't seem severe enough. Whatever Harry was dealing with was bigger. He'd been in a full-fledged panic at a neighborhood Halloween party on a sunny afternoon.

Kellie felt a tug on her shirt and looked down to see Noah. “Can Addison still go trick-or-treating with us or is he in trouble?” Noah's lower lip was trembling.

“Oh, honey, Addison didn't do anything wrong,” she said, kneeling down to give Noah a hug. “His daddy just got scared when he couldn't find Addison.”