The Neighbors Are Watching

by Debra Ginsberg

  “Kevin—” Dick warned.

  “No, listen to me,” Kevin said. Dorothy noticed for the first time how tall her son had become. Of course she’d known his height, but she hadn’t realized what it meant in relation to other people. He had both his father and Joe by several inches. But standing there, preparing to deliver his announcement, he seemed smaller and slighter than both men. His face was splotchy and dotted with acne. He looked like what he was—a boy. Dorothy wanted to say something that would soothe him, make him stop whatever he was going to say, but at that moment she had no body, no mouth, and no words.

  “Diana …” Kevin began again. He looked over at her, still standing in the shadows, swaying back and forth with that squalling baby. “Me and Diana have been together for a while now,” he said. “She’s a beautiful person and we love each other. We want to be together and we’re going to get married.”

  “Oh Jesus, Kevin, don’t be ridiculous,” Allison said. Dorothy’s eyes widened. She didn’t know what surprised her more, the alcohol she could hear in Allison’s voice or her casual blasphemy.

  “No, this is real.” There was something in his voice that worried Dorothy although she couldn’t identify it. It sounded like a buzz or a hum, some kind of weird vibration distorting his words ever so slightly. She thought about what Joe had said about drugs and felt panic clutch at her throat. “This baby needs a father and I am going to be one for her.”

  “Kevin, shut up,” Dick said. Dorothy thought she’d never heard him sound quite so disgusted.

  “The baby doesn’t need you for a father, Kevin—it needs two parents to give it a good home, which is where it should be right now. This was your brilliant idea, right? To keep the baby?” Allison choked on a laugh.

  “Allison, please.…” Joe sounded very tired, but still angry. Dorothy almost felt sorry for him.

  “No, Joe. This is the reason she backed off the adoption. This, right here.” She gestured toward Kevin.

  “I don’t think so,” Kevin said, staring at Allison. “She never wanted to give her baby away—that was your idea. She told me about it so don’t try to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  “You don’t know anything about anything,” Allison said.

  “Don’t you talk to him that way,” Dick interjected. “As far as I can see, you have no right to judge anybody.”

  “Listen to me,” Joe said, inching closer to Dick, “I’m going to tell you one more time—”

  “Go home, Kevin,” Dick commanded. “Now.”

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “What are you gonna do, Dad? You can’t make me do anything. I’m almost eighteen.”

  “This is a private family matter,” Dick said through clenched teeth, “and while you are living in my house, eating my food—”

  “Have you even heard anything I’ve said?” Kevin said. Dorothy could hear the beginning of that childhood wail in his voice now. He looked over at Diana, who was standing still at the edge of the room. By some miracle the baby had stopped crying. But Diana had started. Dorothy could see the shine of silent tears on her face. “We’re going to be together,” Kevin said, “and there’s nothing any of you can do to stop us or take the baby away.”

  “Kevin, I said NOW!”

  “Mom?” Kevin looked over at Dorothy, an expression of naked pleading on his face. She hadn’t even thought he knew she was there. “You want to say something about this?”

  Dorothy looked at all the eyes turned on her and wanted to shrink away into nothing. What did Kevin imagine that she could say or do to help him, or anyone? She was surprised by the flash of anger that hit her then. Kevin had received so much more nurturing than she had—so much more parenting. He’d been provided with everything, had wanted for nothing, and yet he couldn’t stop taking. This time he was asking too much.

  “You need to listen to your father, Kevin. Go home.”

  The room seemed to contract then, Dorothy remembered, and everything got much brighter—almost painfully so. The baby started up again, that knifelike newborn scream, and Allison shouted at Diana that she needed to feed it. Dick threatened that if Joe didn’t keep Diana away from his son he would make sure that the authorities were contacted. Joe became very quiet and threatened to do the same if Dick didn’t leave his house at that very moment. But it was Kevin who left, striding out the front door, without so much as slamming it closed for punctuation. Then Allison walked over and opened it wide. “Go,” she said. “This is over.”

  Wishful thinking, thought Dorothy, because that night was only the beginning.

  • • •

  “Dorothy Werner?”

  Dorothy jumped, clutching at her purse, a tiny grunt of fear escaping from her throat. She’d forgotten where she was. The nurse in lavender scrubs was back, still looking at her clipboard. Dorothy sprang from her seat.

  “I’m here,” she said, making sure her name wasn’t called a second time.

  october 21, 2007

  Sunday dawned clear and warm. The forecast called for heat and anxiety. Before noon, exactly as predicted, the Santa Ana winds began blowing hard across San Diego, raising red-flag warnings all the way to the coast. Visibility was sharp and bright with twinkling dust; the air buzzed with electricity and crackling nerves. Then again, this time of year always made Southern Californians apprehensive. The Santa Anas, those arid devil winds, drew every bit of moisture from skin, lips, and hair and set allergies raging. People cursed, felt like crap, and made dark jokes about “earthquake weather.” Psychics did a booming business, reading cards for nervous patrons wanting a glimpse into a better future, and chiropractors adjusted more backs than they had all summer.

  Prescriptions for antidepressants increased as soon as the wind starting whipping through the canyons, due, some theorized, to positively charged CO2 ions produced by the Santa Anas that literally altered brain chemistry and threw serotonin levels out of whack. The local news stations advised staying hydrated. Just make sure to get enough water, the sentiment went, and you’ll do fine. But despite all these precautions and incantations, the unease persisted. Because what everyone really meant when they talked about the wind and the weather was fire. Fire had its own season in this part of California; a season that was becoming longer and more treacherous every year. By the time the wicked wind cut across the Mojave and rushed toward the Pacific, the entire county had become particularly flammable. The local newspaper used words like scary and danger to describe the outlook for the hot, parched week ahead.

  Campers in Harris Ranch, just north of the Mexican border, paid heed and tended their illegal campfire carefully, making sure to extinguish the embers they left behind. But those hot bits of char were lovingly caressed back to life by the fire-loving Santa Ana wind. As San Diegans sat down for their Indian summer brunches in kitchens, on patios, and in outdoor cafés, the dead campfire became a major conflagration, burning north, burning west, incinerating everything in its path.

  The wind continued on its dash from east to west, racing across the Anza-Borrego, picking up pollen and tiny particles of desert debris, which it showered on Julian, a quaint town known for its homemade pies and homegrown artists, and its western neighbor Ramona, a rustic enclave with an overworked fire department. Residents sniffed the air, shook their heads, and checked the conditions of their garden hoses. Between those two towns and slightly to the north was the community of Witch Creek, home to a small but growing vineyard and acres of chaparral dryer than bleached bones.

  By noon, the temperature was well into the eighties and Witch Creek was a box of angry matchsticks. The wind tossed brush and trees and slapped at power lines. Excited currents sizzled, arcing in temperatures hotter than the surface of the sun.

  The wind was the only witness to the inevitable first spark and hungry flame. Within minutes the new fire had gorged itself on tinder and exploded. The blaze expanded, stoked with ready fuel, scorching the air at sixty miles per hour. The billowing white smoke of burning brush f
anned westward, signaling the fire’s advance. By early afternoon, it was a monster named the Witch Fire and it was headed into the heart of Ramona. Photo albums were gathered, pets marshaled, and cars loaded with items that couldn’t be replaced. By late afternoon, the smoke was a hundred-mile cloak over the landscape, swirling in doorways and blowing soot through open windows. And by dinnertime, ash was raining into the ocean.

  chapter 10

  Allison was anxious. She held the remote control in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other, alternating sips and flips. One channel to the next, all were covering the fires. On-the-scene reporters gestured to shelters and fire trucks, smoke blowing through their hair, the sound of wind in their microphones. In the studios, the anchors seemed to have made a pact to dress for disaster. The men had taken off their jackets and loosened their ties. The women wore yesterday’s makeup and pulled back their hair. “We’ll be here all day,” they said, “bringing you this story as it develops.”

  There were fires every year. This time of fall there was always at least a hint of smoke in the air. And four years ago—“almost to the day,” as the newscasters kept repeating—there was the Cedar Fire, an inferno that had qualified several counties as major disaster areas. Allison remembered the pall of smoke. School was closed for an entire week owing to the un-breathable air. Allison had been edgy then, but calm. There were evacuations happening everywhere, some only a few miles to the south, and so Allison made sure that all the important documents were in a fireproof box and ready to go. She might have mobilized more, but Joe was completely unconcerned. Wildfires never made it all the way to the ocean, he told her. His biggest worry was that business at the restaurant was taking a dive because everyone was in a panic. So, although she couldn’t avoid paying attention to it, the Cedar Fire hadn’t caused Allison that much anxiety.

  But this was different.

  The wind had started yesterday, whipping up dust and swirling leaves. Sometime in the afternoon, she noticed that the entire house smelled like an ashtray and that there was black soot accumulating in the doorsills. She closed the windows, but the smell remained and the air inside was thick and heavy. Still, that was nothing compared to what happened after sundown. The wind … Allison had never heard anything like it. Palm trees smacking the house, howling gusts finding every available corner to scream through. She couldn’t remember ever being so frightened by wind. She’d grown up with it, after all. The Santa Anas were a fact of life—an excuse to buy expensive moisturizer and an annual topic of conversation.

  Can you believe how dry it is? It’s so hot too. Do you remember it being this hot? Sure is pretty out, though, isn’t it?

  But those winds had never felt like this before—wrathful and insane. Last night she’d paced around downstairs at first, trying to watch television. Then Diana appeared in the living room with the baby and proceeded to feed her on the couch. Allison tried not to look when Diana pulled down the straps of her dress and began struggling with her breasts and blankets, but it was impossible to ignore the baby’s frustrated cries. She turned her head and saw Diana, half naked and wild-haired, moving the baby from one side of her body to the other. The baby’s arms flailed, tiny fists shaking.

  “I can’t do this,” Diana said. There were tears shining on her face. Allison held back the words that sprang to her mouth. What did this girl expect? She could have been back in school by now, all of this behind her. It was impossible to feel sorry for her. It didn’t matter that she was so young—she’d had no trouble making her own decisions and ignoring the advice of everyone around her. Now she had to live with the consequences.

  “She doesn’t want to nurse,” Diana said, a note of pleading in her voice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

  “Maybe she doesn’t want the breast,” Allison said. “Or maybe you’re not making enough milk. I’ve heard that happens sometimes when—”

  “When what?” Diana snapped. “Why don’t you just say it?”

  Allison waited a beat and then two. The baby cried louder, the shrieks piercing Allison’s brain. “Just give her a bottle,” Allison said. “She needs to be fed.”

  Diana looked at Allison with a mixture of anger and helplessness. She shifted the baby, wiped her eyes with her free hand, and pulled her dress back up. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.” She got up off the couch, dragging and dropping a pink receiving blanket on the floor, and walked over to Allison. “Can you please …” she began and thrust the baby toward Allison, “Can you please hold her for a minute? I’m going to get her a bottle.”

  Allison bristled, her back stiffening, but somehow her arms reached out. Diana placed the small, struggling weight there and ran to the kitchen. Allison clutched the baby, trying to contain her small limbs. The baby worked her tiny red mouth, her chest heaving from the effort of all that crying. Allison repositioned her, her hand under the baby’s sweaty head, and held her close. For a moment everything stopped—the wailing, the wind, and her own breathing. But there was no peace in the silence. All Allison could think was that this was not her baby, not her life, and not what she had asked for. By the time Diana returned with a small bottle of milk, the baby was squirming again and Allison was desperate for a drink or for sleep or for anything that would turn off her brain. She handed the baby back to Diana without a word and practically ran upstairs to her own bedroom.

  At two in the morning, she was still awake and listening to the wind rage. And Joe, who’d been gone all night, was still missing in action. He’d said he’d be working late, something about supervising inventory. At least she thought that’s what he’d said when he’d left sometime in the afternoon. Lying in the dark, she struggled to recall his exact words, wishing that she’d paid better attention. Something about him had been off. As the picture formed in her mind, she remembered thinking that it was his clothes—more casual than his usual work attire. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and tie as he always did when he worked dinners. He was wearing slacks and a short-sleeved rayon shirt. It was an outfit just this side of lounge lizard. He’d said something about it too.… That was when the explanation about inventory came in, she recalled. It was odd, because Allison hadn’t said a word about how he looked. She was already distracted by the wind and the threat of fire it was bringing. But something about the vaguely sleazy overall impression he left her with set off some faint alarm in her brain.

  Allison put her cup down on the coffee table and switched the channel. Evacuations were being called for. East County was burning. A reverse 911 system was in place. People were being called and told to get out now.

  What time had she fallen asleep last night?

  It had to have been close to dawn and she couldn’t have been out for more than a few hours. She’d woken up perspiring and disoriented. She couldn’t remember now whether or not she’d dreamed that Joe had come home. He wasn’t sleeping next to her, but his side of the bed was rumpled as if he’d been in it. It was light outside, but hard to tell what time it was. She rolled over and looked at the clock. It was 9:00 AM. She got out of bed, went downstairs, and put on a pot of coffee. The view from the kitchen window was frightening. The air was orange and thick with smoky grit. Leaves and palm fronds everywhere. She looked in the garage. Joe’s car was gone. Diana’s door was closed. Quiet.

  The news was showing aerial shots of the fire consuming everything in its path. There were two fires, they said, and both had names. The Witch Fire was the one heading straight toward them, jumping freeways and roaring into canyons.

  Maybe Joe was having an affair.

  Allison took the thought out and looked at it for a moment, wondering how she felt about it. It wasn’t as if, over the years they’d been married, she hadn’t speculated. He had plenty of opportunity at work between cute little waitresses and lusty patrons. Allison had spent some time at the Luna Piena bar and she knew what went on. Joe flirted, an occupational necessity, and got plenty of response. And he’d met her at the restaurant, after all. There had be
en times when it had crossed her mind, when she thought about how easy it would be to give in to the right amount of coaxing, which, face it, didn’t need to be much at all for almost any man. But either she was stupid or just not a jealous enough person because Allison never seriously entertained the idea that Joe was seeing someone else.

  No, it wasn’t stupidity, it was trust. Until July, they’d had a happy marriage. Not too happy, not falsely happy, and not unrealistically happy either. And because of that, theirs was a more solid marriage than most, Allison thought. But there was something else as well. Joe was a dozen years older than Allison. He’d lived a whole adult life full of women and affairs when he met her. He knew who he was and hadn’t been stuck in a marriage that he’d grown out of or been ditched by a wife who stopped loving him at some point. He’d waited. And when he met Allison he was ready and he knew what he wanted. He was honest about telling her when he found a woman attractive and she never minded. So, no, she never really worried about him wandering. She trusted him.

  Had trusted him.

  But obviously there was plenty about Joe and the women in his past that Allison hadn’t known—or bothered to find out. Why not an affair now then? Allison still didn’t know how she felt about this. It was as if her capacity for emotion related to Joe had been surgically removed or at least delayed until Diana left. Joe had promised Allison that would happen. She was still waiting—her entire life on hold—but he had told her to be patient. Now that they were embroiled in this nastiness with the Werners, they’d moved a fraction of an inch closer in purpose. United was way too strong a word, but at least they were both in agreement about their distaste for the Werners and their desire to put an end to the ugly situation they’d been caught in. And ending it required Diana leaving for good. Allison hadn’t thought much beyond that single point, but she knew that it would involve deciding whether or not she and Joe still had a salvageable marriage.