The Neighbor's Secret

by L. Alison Heller

  “I don’t remember,” Rachel said. Her chin had receded into her neck. “I’m sorry, I just don’t remember.”

  * * *

  When Lena snatched back her phone, there was mild surprise in Annie’s eyes.

  “I’ll call you when we’re done,” Lena said to Rachel. She smiled reassuringly—you did just fine.

  “Okay,” Rachel said in a meek voice.

  “She seems great,” Annie said hesitantly, after Lena hung up. “Was it … okay that I picked up?”

  “Fine,” Lena said. “She’s always been a little shy.”

  Annie seemed to accept the fabrication, but Lena recognized Rachel’s behavior and it wasn’t shyness.

  After the funeral, during Rachel’s final weeks at their house, she’d run upstairs when cars pulled into their driveway, freeze at the doorbell rings of people dropping off their casseroles.

  She’d been so petrified of exposing Lena. I’m worried the truth will spill out of me, she’d said.

  After all of this time and distance, Rachel was still scarred by how Lena forced her to lie. And obedient enough to continue to do it.

  It was heartbreaking, but more than a little reassuring, too.

  FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER, 1:42 A.M.

  Gary meant for Lena to show up just as she was, but Lena was vain enough to take the time to change into her silk pajamas, blot off her night cream, swipe on some mascara, pinch her cheeks.

  On her way downstairs, she paused before Rachel’s door for a moment, decided against leaving a note.

  There was no point. Lena would be back before Rachel woke up, and no one ever needed to see her parent like this, so free and elated.

  When Lena walked into the kitchen for her car keys, the oven clock said 1:52. They were by the fridge, right where she’d tossed them after a last-minute errand to buy extra white rum for the party.

  She scooped them up, slid on her flip-flops, and opened the door to the garage.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Jen couldn’t get comfortable. She kicked off the covers, pulled them back on. Paul, snoring lightly next to her, turned onto his side.

  She had texted Colin to ask what happened between Abe and Laurel. Abe hadn’t been in the best mood, he replied, but he didn’t think anything too dramatic had occurred. Did Jen want him to cancel his doctor’s appointment? No, Jen replied. Nothing is more important than that.

  Tomorrow morning, she’d call Dr. Shapiro, who might have some ideas of how to proceed: apology notes, or group therapy sessions, or an amendment to the point system.

  This time will be different.

  Jen repeated it until she started to drift off. A door slammed. She opened her eyes. Had it been real, or part of a dream?

  What popped into her head was that quote everyone misattributed to Einstein, about how the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

  This time will be different.

  But her brain stuck on something that didn’t lie flat:

  Laurel Perley is a lying little brat.

  The thought was a dissonant chord. Embarrassed by her indecency, she stared at the dark ceiling.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Janine’s texts started at seven fifteen on Monday morning.

  Jen, making the coffee, recognized their rhythm: the single chime, then a trickle, finally a deluge of overlapping alarms, like blue jays sounding their frantic warnings.

  The vandal has struck again!

  Out of the kitchen window, Jen could see her neighbors’ rooftops. She imagined the breakfast scenes beneath them—worried clucks over coffee mugs. Lined brows, can-do brainstorming about security gates and cameras. They all thought they were invested, but no one felt the news as deeply as Jen did.

  Paul had already left for the airport, which meant that Jen was alone with Abe in the kitchen. He sat behind his laptop at the banquette, cereal bowl untouched. There were circles underneath his eyes as he typed. He wore the same dark T-shirt and ankle-baring track pants that he had worn last night.

  Jen hadn’t asked him whether he’d done it. If he said no, could she believe him? If he said yes—

  “Abe, I thought I heard a door slam last night?”

  He continued typing.

  “Abe.”

  “Huh?”

  “Did you slam the front door last night?”

  “What?” He blinked.

  “The door. Did you go out late?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded. “I took out the trash.”

  Was that a metaphor?

  “When?”

  “Midnight. I dunno. Why? You’re always saying that we can’t wait until morning because the trucks come super early.”

  She was always saying that. The trucks did come early.

  “But that’s all you did?”

  “Yep.”

  With effort, Jen kept her voice steady. “Because the vandal broke one of the windows at Laurel Perley’s house last night. Was that your plan for justice, Abe?”

  “My plan’s more sophisticated,” he said with a shrug. “But it does sound kind of like justice.”

  * * *

  “They think it’s a disgruntled student,” Annie said with an eye roll. She swigged the latte Jen had bought her from the espresso cart, the fancy one on Main Street. “Oh, this is delicious.”

  “A student?” Jen said.

  There was something going on with Jen’s hair, which was normally glossy and pin-straight but this morning clumped in irregular waves. She wore stained striped pajama pants and a holey T-shirt and—although Annie was trying not to examine too closely—didn’t seem to have bothered with a bra.

  “Or a former student. They saw something similar a few years back,” Annie said, “and when the police realized I work at the school, they kind of seized on it. Don’t worry, though, I told them alllll about how Multi-Culti Night will stop anything like this from ever happening again. Although now I’ll have to miss it because tonight is the only time the window guy can come.”

  Annie paused for Jen’s laughter.

  She’d been pretty pleased with her joke about Multi-Culti Night, which seemed the type of dry snark Jen would appreciate, but it hadn’t even registered with Jen.

  “Do you have any disgruntled former students?” Jen said.

  “It’s not a student,” Annie said. “It’s the vandal, obviously, and it sucks but I suppose it was our turn. Between you and me, we’ve had so much drama this year, with, you know, Fall Fest and Laurel, that this doesn’t seem like such a big deal.” Annie shrugged. “Maybe I should be more worried.”

  “Do they know anything?”

  “Not really.” Annie took another gulp of the latte. The taste was so complex, rich and layered. “Is it the beans or the machine?”

  Jen stared at her blankly.

  Everyone seemed almost disappointed that Annie wasn’t in hysterics about the window, and maybe if the kids had been in the den when the rock sailed through, she would have been.

  The impact hadn’t even been loud enough to wake any of them, or even Yellow, who apparently lacked basic watchdog skills. They had woken up to the peaceful but surreal scene of a wren hopping around their living room, and a neat pile of glass on the floor.

  “The coffee,” Annie said. “What makes it so good? I can’t thank you enough. It’s a toss-up whether I’m more grateful for this or for Deb’s window guy. He’s doing the job for free, you know, because he owed Deb a favor. She’s a little vague on why, though.”

  Jen didn’t even smile. Her gaze drifted over Annie’s shoulder to the broken bay window.

  “Are you okay?” Annie said.

  “Did Laurel say anything about last night?”

  “No, but she had an early graduation rehearsal this morning and then a bunch of her classmates are having a goodbye-to-Sandstone picnic.”

  “Apparently Abe asked her to leave last night, and I think they had a bit of a fight? I know he can be rude, unintenti
onally, he doesn’t intend to be—”

  “Was she mean to him?” Annie asked. “She was so moody this year, and although it’s gotten better, you know what I think it’s been this whole time?”

  Jen shook her head.

  “Perfectionism. Yesterday I saw one of those vision boards, do you remember those? I had sort of an epiphany and I think because Laurel’s driven and quite intense, she can take it out on the rest of us, so for a kid who…” Annie trailed off because Jen had never opened up about Abe’s being on the spectrum. “… who’s a little younger, like Abe? Maybe it gets confusing?”

  “Oh, well”—Jen’s smile was wan—“I wasn’t there.”

  Annie wondered if it would be inappropriate to hug Jen. The way her thin cotton T-shirt exposed the undercurve of her breast made Annie want to bundle her in a sweatshirt.

  Jen’s eyes blinked full of tears. “Maybe we should sit out the party.”

  Annie reached out and placed her palms against Jen’s goose-bumped upper arms. “Laurel will be heartbroken if Abe’s not there and Lena and I will both be heartbroken if you’re not.”

  “Do you mean that?” Jen said quietly. The tears had spilled over her lower eyelids. She didn’t even bother to swipe them away.

  “Yes.” Annie squeezed Jen’s shoulders reassuringly. “Promise me you’ll be there.”

  “Okay.” Jen gave a small, grateful smile. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  “I know Annie Perley.”

  Rachel had called Lena from her future in-laws’ house on the Cape. She wore sunglasses and a big floppy sun hat. Behind her was a brilliantly blue sky. “And she acted like she knew me too.”

  “She was just surprised.” Lena’s hands were sticky with fondant for Laurel’s cake, so she wiped back her bangs with her forearm. “Because you seemed so surprised.”

  “Mom,” Rachel whispered urgently.

  “I get paranoid sometimes too, Rachel, but Annie was just being friendly.”

  Rachel looked over her shoulder warily. “What if she knows something?”

  “Annie trusts me with her children. She doesn’t know anything.”

  “Shh,” Rachel said.

  “Babe.” Lena heard Evan’s voice. “My mom wants to know which bike you want to go into town?”

  “I usually use the one with the flower basket,” Rachel said brightly. “Babe, I’m videoing my mom.”

  “Oh, hello dear!” Evan pushed his face into the frame next to Rachel’s, straw hat against straw hat. “You look very blue over there. Is it an art project?”

  “It’s cake fondant,” Rachel said.

  “Wonderful!” Evan said. His fedora was a size too small. It sat atop his head like a fez.

  “Does it look like the color of the ocean to you?” Lena held up the fondant. “Baja blue?”

  “What will Laurel Perley know about Baja blue anyway?” Rachel said. “She’s in a landlocked state.”

  “She wanted a beach theme.” Lena had kept things restrained, though: beach themes could so easily veer tacky.

  “Awesome!” Evan said. “Who’s Laurel Perley?”

  “A neighborhood kid,” Rachel said. “For some reason my mother is throwing her a massive party.”

  Lena watched Evan’s face for a flinch or a protective glance. She often wondered what, if anything, Rachel had told him.

  Not the truth: Evan wouldn’t be able to muster so many “dear”s for Lena if he knew that.

  “Remember,” Evan said. “The whole point of a party is fun! So have fun!”

  “Smart boy,” Lena said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Jen, wobbling on her tiptoes on the stepstool, reached a hand into the top cabinet, blindly felt for the edges of the large serving platter.

  Janine had banned takeout containers. She wanted the food to appear, she had instructed the group, as though it had been homemade with love.

  The restaurant that Jen had ordered from, on the other side of the city, didn’t even have the roast pig that Jen barely remembered from childhood barbecues at her uncle’s house.

  In a panic, she had rattled off a few unfamiliar names from the menu in front of her—lumpio, sure, and one of the bulalo and throw in a sisig, please. The women would stuff their faces on these dishes that meant nothing to Jen, to—what—prove how accepting they were?

  It was a total farce.

  They wouldn’t really be accepting once they found out Abe was the vandal.

  If.

  If Abe were the vandal.

  Maybe they would be accepting. Not every parent was like Jen, a Canada goose, ready to attack.

  Although she was certainly passive enough when it came to challenging Abe. This morning, on the drive to school, she’d kept the questions raging in her head, hidden behind her regular cheery Have a good day.

  She had just set down the platter on the counter when her phone rang with a call from an unfamiliar number.

  Jen answered it with a curt “Yep.”

  “Jen, it’s Nan Smalls. I want to schedule a chat. About Abe.”

  Jen saw right through her gentle tone: this was how it started, how it always all started, with Dutton and the entire parade of others before him.

  “Now?”

  “I’m in Eagle County for a faith-based educators’ conference this weekend, but I’m back tonight. Maybe first thing tomorrow?”

  “Paul’s out of town until tomorrow afternoon.”

  Pause.

  “That’s unfortunate, but this won’t wait. The cleaners are doing their year-end sweep at the school, and I’d like us to not be interrupted by vacuuming. Would you consider meeting at the Village Bean on Main Street? Around nine?”

  There was probably an underground network on which the principals could warn each other: When you expel Abe Pagano, do it in a public place. The mother is batshit.

  “Of course.”

  “See you then,” Nan said, and hung up.

  Where was her psalm? Was Jen so beyond hope she didn’t even get a psalm?

  How many of these school principals pretended to love kids but in truth, only had time for the ones who were cookie-cutter perfect, a neat fit into whatever box—

  Stop it, Jen.

  Who understood the painful impossibility of protecting your child more than Nan? If Nan couldn’t handle Abe—

  Jen lifted the platter above her head and let it go. A million sharp slivers all over the kitchen floor.

  For a second things felt better, but soon after came the exhausted realization that no one else was going to clean it up.

  * * *

  The late-spring night was so lovely that Annie decided to wait for the window guy outside on the front steps. To the west, the setting sun streaked an electric orange-pink across the sky, and while it was a beautiful sunset, Annie’s mind was on that video call with Rachel Meeker.

  Next to her, Yellow barked and ran to meet Laurel, who was skipping down the hill. Skipping! No more hunched shoulders—she was back to her old self. It had all been a phase, something to get through, like when three-year-old Hank had refused to wear pants.

  Annie decided that Rachel Meeker was probably doing just fine now. She might have caught Rachel at a bad time, or maybe she was rough around the edges. Either way, the woman on the phone didn’t seem too far a stretch from the awkward girl behind the bar fifteen years before.

  People were who they were, after all.

  But that vision board! That silly Proustian vision board had transported Annie back to her early twenties.

  Years ago, Annie would have made one just like it. Not the sports part: what resonated with her was the naked dissatisfaction. Happy people didn’t make things like that.

  Given a stack of magazines and some glue, what would Laurel create?

  Deb and Priya spoke about their youth as a golden time of selfishness and possibility. If Annie tried to commiserate, they’d wag their heads. Talk to us after you turn forty.

  But
looking at Rachel’s dang vision board had confirmed what Annie had momentarily forgotten: youth sucked.

  You were powerless. And maybe, yes, you had options ahead of you, especially if you grew up in a place like Cottonwood, but they overwhelmed. So many possible futures, and no idea how to use your brain or body to get there. Fuckups were unavoidable.

  Annie should have recognized what everyone had been trying to tell her: Laurel’s behavior at Fall Fest had not been about alcoholism or DNA time bombs, but about youth and all of its frustrated want.

  It had been an epic parenting fail, how Annie had rushed in all scorched-earth, assumed it was about her and her own demons. Luckily, Laurel seemed to have largely worked things out for herself in the simplest of ways: a new friend, a new hobby.

  “I’m coming from up there because Haley’s mom dropped me at Sierra’s,” Laurel said quickly as she plopped down on the step next to Annie. “And before graduation, I’m going for a long run. I’ve been slacking on my training.”

  Annie chose not to point out that Laurel’s training schedule was entirely self-imposed. “Did you hear it’s supposed to snow?”

  “Yes, and fear not, Mrs. Meeker is prepared. They’re putting a giant tent in her yard.” Laurel tugged at her shoelace. “Thank you for keeping it just us tomorrow.”

  “There’ll be a couple of hundred people at Lena’s.”

  “I meant the graduation lunch. I really didn’t want any big soppy Perley family thing.”

  “I get it.”

  Haley was excellent with hairstyling, so it must have been she who created the elaborate braid in Laurel’s hair, heads of dandelions woven through. Absentmindedly, Annie reached out and patted it. That Laurel didn’t even flinch felt like a gift.

  Laurel checked her watch. “Don’t you have book club tonight?”

  “This is the only time the window guy can come and Dad is working so he can be free tomorrow.”

  Laurel glanced back, at the cardboard.

  “People have been so supportive,” Annie said. “Abe’s mom stopped by this morning with coffee. Did you guys have a fight?”