Good Neighbors

by Joanne Serling

  In another moment I got up and went into the bathroom, my pale skin splotchy, my blond ringlets wild and frizzy. Smoothing the flyaway pieces and staring at my face in the mirror, looking for something I wanted to understand about myself. My green eyes staring back at me in the weak light from the moon. I took a deep breath, then pulled my sweater lower on my wrists, carefully hiding the ugly red marks before I made my way out of my bedroom and through the blackened house, the merriment of the living room rushing up to greet me.

  SELECTIVE HEARING

  THE SNOW MELTED AND the skies darkened. Long, rainy torrents soaked our yards and pounded our thinly mulched gardens. The sky finally clear and the ground just starting to harden when Paige and Gene invited us to their country club for a spring scavenger hunt. Pink and green goody bags, hand-printed maps, the promise of fresh air and sunshine, wholesome good fun. I waved at Paige as I approached from the parking lot, Jay, Josh, and Lucas trailing behind me.

  “I’m so excited!” I called to Paige as we got closer, thrilled for the warm April weather, thrilled to not be on the phone with my sister, who was possibly sober but still not fully functional. My own life slipping away from me as I listened to her long litany of problems: a leaking roof, insomnia, eczema that refused to retreat. Bob’s absence like a canker sore Penny touched over and over again while I tried to reassure her it was for the best. That she was beautiful and had an enviable figure. That she was a talented pianist and a very good music teacher. Even as I worried over her loneliness. Her lack of a steady job. Uncertain whether she was even attending AA. The truth confusing and hard to unwrap. The truth swirling around me like a mist whenever I tried to grab hold of it. Confused and depressed myself by the time I got off the phone with her.

  But now here I was, heading toward Paige and Gene’s stately brick clubhouse, eager to indulge my fantasy of a perfect country club Sunday. The dining room no doubt decorated with pretty porcelain pots and tall, elegant flowers. The patio dotted with couches and club chairs for lounging. All of it filling me with envy and desire before I’d even seen it. Pretending to not know what had probably transpired before we arrived. Paige in charge of the decorating committee. Paige short-tempered and easily frazzled. Paige no doubt yelling at the help all morning as they prepared.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Lorraine and her boyfriend, Jeffrey, appear on the walkway in matching golf shirts and freshly pressed khakis. Jesse holding Jeffrey’s hand while Gabe ran wildly between parked cars, Lorraine oblivious. Lorraine already waving and saying something I couldn’t hear to Nela and Drew, who had come up behind me. Turning to see Nela in her fleece jacket with something on her feet that looked like slippers. Drew in ripped jeans, a flannel shirt, some sort of faded gray motorcycle jacket. For a country club brunch! The Edwardses kind enough to not say anything as we entered the club’s main dining room, all of us exclaiming over the lovely food spread, the deviled eggs and mini quiches, the asparagus tarts and chocolate-covered strawberries.

  We fed the kids. We fed ourselves. We tried to clean our kids’ fingers lest they threaten the club’s French country furniture with smeary deviled egg remnants. The scavenger hunt imminent. The kids clamoring for it as they raced around their tables, barely listening to Paige as she sternly explained the rules from her microphone in the corner. About no pushing. About no trampling the bushes or going on the golf course. About lining up at the French doors from shortest to tallest. Cameron interjecting in a loud stage whisper to point out what his friends already knew. That it was his club! That he already knew where all the treasures were hidden! The rest of us starting to roll our eyes at each other. Drew murmuring, “Get the gong,” when after five minutes, Paige was still talking about the rules, completely oblivious to the commotion her son was causing.

  “One more second,” Paige said to the assembled crowd. “Then you can get the hook in the closet,” she teased. “Finally, most importantly, kids five and under get a head start!” she announced. Winnie spontaneously taking the twins’ hands in hers, which caused Nela to beam with pleasure as the three of them skipped toward the club’s French doors. Winnie so lovely in a lavender dress. Sebastian and Matias in purple bow ties as if they’d planned it. Drew reaching for his video camera as I snapped my own photo. And then, the doors opening into the sunshine and fresh air, the spring smell washing over us, filling the room with a certain expectation and happiness.

  After a few moments, the rest of the kids released and already squealing, I took my mimosa outside, ready to be part of this magical day—the children laughing and running as they knelt to scoop up their treasures. I’d done something similar with my father and his girlfriend Tracy once. Even though it wasn’t similar, not really. All of us huddled around Tracy’s small kitchen table making Easter eggs for a hunt in her parking lot, the curtains drawn against too much sun. Against any sun. My father’s girlfriend loved it that way. Dark. At twelve I found it mysterious. And slightly glamorous. And then I found it ugly. And slightly tawdry. The memory shifting back and forth over time as I grew older. As I tried to come to terms with the truth about Tracy. Things I realized later, or that were eventually told to me. Her drinking and her sketchy employment. The way she never had any food in the house. And yet, even now, my heart still clung to what it knew then. That Tracy was beautiful and fun to be with. The past impossible to write off, even when you knew that you should.

  I shook my head slightly, dismissing the memories, walking across the patio and out toward the hunting grounds, trying to find Lucas. To make sure he was discovering some treasures, not getting frustrated. Aware that Lucas was a terrible looker. A worse sport. Someone who insisted on getting his own way and was impossible when he didn’t. Which I hated about him. His temper. His inability to be flexible. Which I worried about constantly, despite everyone telling me it would get better with age and good parenting. Which seemed so exhausting. Waiting for it to go away. Knowing I was responsible for fixing it. Afraid that if I wasn’t vigilant, he’d become some sort of addict. Which was ludicrous and farfetched but always present, just beneath the surface.

  I found Lucas near the side of the clubhouse, a half dozen toys in his polka-dotted goody bag, his mood seemingly fine or at least oblivious to my presence. Leaving me free to watch Winnie nearby, silently darting between the tennis courts and the low row of holly bushes alongside them, her hands quickly ferreting out the colorful plastic toys and dropping them in her bag.

  I was surprised by it. Pleased by it. Embarrassed to not have imagined it! That a Russian orphan could be so graceful. So athletic. I watched her skip toward the flower beds and gently scoop up two foil-wrapped chocolates from alongside the peonies.

  “You have so many prizes,” I said to her, pointing at her nearly full bag, smiling even though I doubted she could fully understand me. Winnie stopped her hunting and turned toward me, her lazy eye making it hard for me to know where to train my gaze. Making me all the more astounded by her skills. Could she see fully?

  “You are so good!” I told her, pointing at the bag but really meaning her.

  Winnie nodded once, a hesitant smile on her face, clearly unsure what the words meant. I gave her a squeeze around her narrow shoulders, then said, “Go, go!” pointing toward the other kids and smiling encouragingly.

  Winnie quickly turned and raced away toward the farthest corner of the green, where none of the children were looking for hidden treasure. Gene suddenly beside me, watching Winnie as she skipped off.

  “She’s so good at this,” I told him. “Did you see how many items she’s found?” Wondering if Gene was as proud of her as I was.

  “It’s on account of the orphanage,” Gene offered, shrugging. “She’s used to battling it out to get her fair share.”

  I thought this was terrible. I thought this was probably true! But I wished he hadn’t said it. Hadn’t given her this label that set her apart from the other kids.

  “But she’s so smart!” I insisted, eager for him to see th
at she was special, unique, not a misfit they’d picked up from the unwanted clothing bin.

  “Definitely,” Gene said, starting to back away from me. Obviously not interested in my assessment of Winnie. Or in my assessment of him. Which was so annoying. My annoyance immediately replaced by embarrassment. That he wanted to get away from me so quickly. That he clearly didn’t like me all that much.

  * * *

  When the masses of brightly colored toys and foil-wrapped candies were collected, heaped in bags, and spilling out clumsily from pockets, the children gathered in the shade of an oak tree to compare their findings while the rest of us lounged on the country club terrace. The air too cool for sunbathing but luxurious in our newly purchased spring clothing. Lorraine teasing Gene about his monogrammed socks while Drew described a cache of old baseball cards he’d found at some yard sale. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Lucas, laughing. Thick, smeary chocolate remnants visible in his teeth as he reached into Winnie’s bag to take a handful of candy. I desperately wanted to say something. To stop him from embarrassing me. Was tempted to shout at him, but knew it would backfire. In another moment Gabe reached in to steal some of Winnie’s toys, then so did Sebastian and Matias. Sophia starting to slap at her brothers’ hands, the boys shouting that she was hurting them. Nela finally noticing and saying to all of them, “Stop taking Winnie’s things!”

  “Winnie says we can have them. She doesn’t mind!” Lucas shouted back at Nela, the chocolate on his teeth so noticeable. So embarrassing!

  “It’s true!” Gabe added, reaching into Winnie’s bag to boldly grab a bouncy ball.

  “She did not,” Lorraine said. “Winnie doesn’t even speak English!”

  I cringed. Why did she say that? Why did she have to call attention to Winnie’s differentness? And so loudly.

  “She actually understands everything,” Gene said, sitting on one of the terrace’s stone walls to face us. “She’s just never seen so much candy in her whole life. She doesn’t care if they take it.”

  Next to me on her chaise, Paige sighed. Loudly. As if she were already tired of the subject or simply didn’t want to get into it. Lorraine, who never caught a cue or simply didn’t believe they applied to her, refused to let the subject drop. She sat up in her own chaise and leaned toward Paige, asking, “So Winnie understands English now?” Her muscled forearms on her knees like she was getting ready to negotiate something.

  Paige combed her fingers through her fine silvery hair before saying softly, “Winnie understands, but she pretends not to.”

  Jay laughed at the table next to me.

  “Selective hearing!” Drew added.

  Lorraine said, “I honestly thought Gabe was deaf. I had his hearing checked when he was four.”

  All of us cracking up except for Paige and Gene. Gene looking at Paige seriously before coming to stand behind her lounge chair. “It’s different when you adopt a child. Right, Pip?” Using her pet name in case we missed the fact that he had her back, in case there was any doubt whose side he was on.

  We waited. We wanted an explanation. Paige reaching down to hug her knees under her dress, turning toward us with a face more tired than we had realized earlier. Which made me immediately feel sorry for her. And worried.

  “Her speech is a lot more delayed than we thought. Which is something the agency didn’t really reveal to us,” Paige said, sighing. “They basically lied to us.”

  “Lucas couldn’t speak till he was five!” I jumped in. Hoping to make Paige feel better. Lucas far away enough that I doubted he could hear me.

  “He could, too!” Jay protested.

  “Not intelligibly!” I argued. “We got him tons of speech therapy,” I went on, insistent that Paige understand this fact, even if Jay couldn’t. Even if Jay still believed Lucas would have talked normally regardless of what we’d done to help him. Which seemed like an odd and risky way to live your life. To believe that things either worked out with your kids or they didn’t. That there was very little you could do to influence them. Even though I secretly suspected Jay was right, their basic temperament was out of your control, which frightened me.

  “The eye surgery will help,” Gene said smoothly. His salmon-colored golf shirt like an expensive flag. A colorful promise.

  “It will?” I asked, excited and confused. What did her eye have to do with her language skills?

  “Not directly. Not immediately. But she’ll have better vision afterwards. She’ll be more likely to read. She can progress,” Gene said, sounding for all the world as if he were quoting a social worker. Which was strange coming out of his mouth, but not unwelcome. I was pleased he and Paige were getting help. Taking advice.

  “When are you having her eye fixed?” Lorraine wanted to know, eager to put a cap on this conversation, to no doubt start planning the group gift we would get for Winnie post-surgery. Mylar balloons with a “Get Well” teddy bear. Flowers. Something sent to the hospital during her recovery.

  “As soon as she doesn’t have a cold,” Paige said. Obviously peeved. “Have you noticed she’s always sick?” Paige asked no one in particular.

  How would we have noticed? Winnie had just gotten here. We hadn’t seen her since the welcome dinner. Or at least I hadn’t. And everyone had a cold in the winter, didn’t they?

  “Assuming Winnie doesn’t get sick again, we have something on the calendar for next month. Early May,” Paige said. Still sounding aggrieved. Still sounding for all the world like Winnie was a burden she’d inadvertently been stuck with. I told myself I wasn’t hearing this. Nobody else seemed disturbed by her tone, which I told myself was proof that I was reading too much into things.

  We offered congratulations. We offered to help with anything Paige needed. To babysit Cameron. To drive carpools.

  Paige declined. Paige thanked us. Paige hugged her knees tighter and told us we meant the world to her! But no, she had everything covered. An old school friend was taking Cameron. They would only be in Boston for a couple of days. Maybe fewer.

  I felt disappointed. I felt left out. I wished Paige would let me do something, if only so that I could be part of this transformative process. The surgery the thing that would assure Paige that she had nothing to worry about. The surgery was the thing that would allow Winnie to catch up to the other kids. Especially if Winnie really understood English like Gene said she did! Even though it gnawed at me. That this was what Paige seemed to require in order to love her new daughter.

  A MISUNDERSTANDING

  IT WAS EARLY AFTERNOON. Sunny. Not hot. I was leaving Paige’s front door, crossing under her cherry blossom tree, the May sun pleasantly thick on my neck, when I heard it. Someone begging. Then an adult voice. Mean. Low. Insistent. A door slammed followed by miserable crying from somewhere deep in the throat. It was Winnie. Somewhere behind the boxwood hedge. Of course it was Winnie. But I couldn’t look. I couldn’t peer between the bushes that guarded Paige’s backyard, my face pressed against the greenery. What would Paige think if she saw me? I shouldn’t have come over unannounced. Shouldn’t have rung the doorbell in search of some baking soda. I started to walk faster, at an angle, heading for the sidewalk, off her property, away from the commotion and noise, the sadness and fear. But before I could fully escape, I heard her voice. Paige’s. Calling after me. Desperate. Insistent.

  “Nicole? Nicole?”

  I turned and tried my best to look friendly. Normal. Not alarmed. Paige emerging from her front door, walking fiercely toward me in a boldly patterned wrap dress. Her face narrow and pinched.

  “I’m so glad I saw you there,” Paige insisted, her upset shimmering just below the surface.

  “I ran out of baking soda,” I said, desperate that she know I wasn’t trespassing. Not spying.

  “Winnie’s had her eye fixed,” Paige said, ignoring my statement or else simply not hearing me.

  I nodded. I said, “I’m so happy!” clasping my hands together for emphasis, to show her how supportive I was
. Eager to go. To get away.

  “She has to wear socks. Over her hands. So she won’t scratch and pull off the patch,” Paige said, looking at me like she was asking permission. Like she was asking to be excused. For what, I couldn’t tell yet. I didn’t want to know.

  “I may have to tie her to a chair. So she won’t scratch!” Paige said.

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this,” I said, transferring my weight from one foot to the other, not looking at her. I didn’t want to hear more. Already I was certain I had misheard her. It was important that I leave before she clarify. “Josh is home alone,” I said more loudly and enthusiastically than it made sense to.

  Paige opened her mouth as though she wanted to say something else, but I merely turned and started to sprint down the middle of our road, shouting again over my shoulder that Josh was home alone. As if his being alone in front of the TV were a desperate thing that needed attending to. Not something I had planned for and calculated so that I could borrow baking soda, knowing full well that five-year-olds shouldn’t be left alone. Which meant I wasn’t a perfect mother, either. Bursting into my kitchen out of breath, feeling guilty and remorseful about an accident that hadn’t happened, hugging Josh close and telling him I loved him.

  * * *