Good Neighbors

by Joanne Serling

  When the kids were sent to the basement to play, the sandwiches unwrapped and the pickles still gleaming in their plastic tubs, Paige began to talk in a stream of rushed emotion. “As you know, it’s been really tough. Or maybe you don’t know. But the thing is, Winnie is not who she seems to be. She certainly isn’t the kind of child we were expecting,” Paige began, not reaching for the food, sitting at the head of my kitchen table as if she’d been invited here to give some sort of lecture. Which I did not want. I wanted a conversation!

  “We told the authorities, ‘We do not want a special-needs child.’ And guess what? The adoption agency lied to us. The social worker lied to us. The orphanage lied to us. Winnie has a lot of special needs! The lazy eye was the least of it. She doesn’t listen. She has no idea how to be part of a family. She does deliberately mean things to Cameron and blames everyone else for her behavior. We kept thinking it was us. What were we doing wrong? But guess what? It’s not us. We’re doing everything we can to love a normal, well-adjusted child. But Winnie’s not normal. She’s not well adjusted. So everything we’re doing doesn’t work for her. Get this: she has oppositional defiant disorder.”

  “What does that mean?” Jay asked doubtfully, reaching for his sandwich before anyone else had taken theirs. Which annoyed me to no end. His lack of manners. His belief that he could actually get to the bottom of things!

  “It means that at home, Winnie can’t be part of our family. She seems okay one minute, listening to music, even dancing. But in the next, she’s angry. Resentful. If I ask her to clear a plate, she’ll throw a fit, become destructive,” Paige said, unaware of Jay’s skepticism, relieved that she was being allowed to steam on. “It seems like Winnie is fine, which is why you think she’s cute,” she said, looking pointedly at me. “But it’s fake. It’s manipulative. In a house, alone with her family, she can’t control herself.”

  I nodded. I thought it strange that the syndrome would be limited to just one setting, but then anything was possible. “I was a psych major,” I said, hoping this would make Paige see I was on her side. Or could at least buy into some of what she was saying.

  “She will likely have problems the rest of her life,” Paige said gravely, as if I hadn’t spoken.

  “Have you ever heard about reciprocity theory?” I asked, pulling up a long-ago memory from a class on parenting theories.

  “She will probably be promiscuous,” Paige added, nodding her head solemnly. Gene reaching for a sandwich and nodding along with her.

  I took a deep breath and said, “Reciprocity theory is fascinating. It’s the idea that a mother and child read each other’s signals and reflect them back to each other. Like if a baby is colicky and crying and the mother reacts with irritation when she’s holding the baby, the baby will cry more,” I said. Hopeful Paige could hear me. Hopeful she wouldn’t feel judged by me. I’d purposely said “colicky.” I’d purposely made it about a baby. But Paige could draw parallels. Paige could be introspective when she wanted to be. She’d gone to a support group, hadn’t she?

  Across from me, Paige’s face was growing narrower, as if she was clenching her jaw in an effort not to talk over me. When I was through, she merely shook her head and said, “Look, there are things with adoption that you can’t understand. That we didn’t understand until we found this specialist who diagnosed Winnie’s condition. These kids who have been institutionalized are highly manipulative. They make it seem like they’re normal in public, but in private, they’re a nightmare. You can never really understand it until you’ve lived it!”

  “It’s true,” Gene said, jumping in.

  “Like if I had a birthday party for her, she’d ruin it!” Paige said.

  “When’s her birthday?” I asked, stunned that I didn’t know this. Realizing suddenly that I’d never been to a party for Winnie. She’d been here nearly two years already. Surely she’d had a birthday.

  “It was last weekend. It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t even know,” Paige said dismissively, finally reaching for the container of coleslaw and helping herself to a serving. Wasn’t she going to eat a sandwich? Meanwhile, Jay was fishing in the plastic container for another pickle, holding it up, motioning for me to get something to cut it with. Thank God he wasn’t saying anything!

  I stood up. I got the knife. I asked, “So where are you guys going for the holidays?” eager now to move the conversation away from Winnie’s disorders. Away from the narrative Paige was spinning. That the unrest at home was all Winnie’s fault. That she, Paige, had nothing to do with the situation.

  “Nevis,” Paige said, looking at Gene pointedly. “It’s the one Caribbean island I’ve always wanted to visit.”

  “Pip needs a break,” Gene said, tilting his head in sympathy toward Paige before taking a bite of his sandwich.

  “Never heard of it,” Jay commented drily.

  I shot Jay a look. I didn’t want a confrontation. Even though I knew he was thinking what I was thinking. That these people were fucked. That we were fucked for having them in our kitchen. The way they spoke about Winnie deeply disturbing. Even if it was all true.

  Jay smiled his sly smile at me, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with my unspoken edict to please behave.

  Gene said, “I booked the Four Seasons,” looking at Jay and nodding his head slightly to imply how much it had cost him.

  Jay said, “Awesome,” in a flat way that clearly meant he was judging Gene. At least to me, who knew he hated beach vacations and especially hated anyone who bragged about how much money they were spending.

  And then, before I could speak, change the topic, make things more normal, there was Cameron. He’d climbed the basement steps and now stood at the corner of the table, the sunlight falling on his golden-blond hair.

  “Hi, Cameron,” Paige said affectionately, reaching for his arm.

  “Mom, Winnie’s ruining our game!” Cameron whined, the whine of older siblings everywhere when they are used to getting their way and aren’t getting it.

  “Do you want me to go down and referee?” I offered, eager to escape the kitchen. Eager to see what the actual situation was.

  “No, no, sit. Let Pip handle it,” Gene insisted.

  “Send Winnie up,” Paige said, and Cameron raced off to the basement.

  “Mommy says to go upstairs right now!” Cameron shouted, his voice trailing up the steps behind him. In another moment, Winnie appeared. She was smiling as always, but nervous, too, her eyes darting from Gene to Paige.

  “Now, Winnie,” Paige began. “It’s not nice to interfere with other people’s games.”

  I looked down at my half eaten sandwich. This was wrong. Didn’t Paige possess even the most basic parenting skills? She hadn’t asked Cameron what specifically had happened. And she didn’t bother to find out from Winnie if it was even true.

  Across from me, Winnie nodded her head in agreement, her chin staying dipped, not looking at Paige.

  “Winnie, look at me,” Paige commanded.

  Winnie raised her eyes to meet her mother’s. Reluctantly. Nervously.

  “What do we say when we’ve done something wrong?” Paige demanded.

  Winnie started to fidget with her hands and wiggle her hips from side to side. Clearly afraid. Or at least nervous.

  “See, she’s manipulating you right now,” Paige said, turning to us. “She’s trying to be cute and make you feel sorry for her and take the focus off what she’s done wrong.”

  I wanted this to stop. I wanted Paige to leave. For Paige to cease being my friend and therefore my responsibility.

  Paige said, “Winnie, what do we do when we get fidgety?”

  Winnie continued to stand there looking at her mother, smiling faintly. Nodding in agreement like she didn’t understand what was being asked of her. Or preferred not to. I felt like crying.

  “We pray for forgiveness, remember?” Paige asked, pulling out one of my kitchen chairs and motioning Winnie to kneel on the floor, positioning her hands toge
ther on the seat. “Pray with me,” Paige said to Winnie, and together they chanted faintly, “Oh father in heaven, lead me, guide me, walk beside me. Help me find the way.”

  When they were through, Paige turned to us, Winnie’s hands still clasped in piety, and said, “They told me she’s never going to be okay, but I think prayer goes a long way.”

  I felt my mouth go dry, the taste of something sour at the back of my throat. Aware that Paige wanted me to say something supportive of her recent demonstration. I rose from the table, clearing the dirty dishes, refusing to give it to her.

  A GIFT

  JAY CAME HOME THE next day with two large rectangular gift boxes, each one wrapped and tied with a ribbon, even though it was nobody’s birthday and not even close to our anniversary. Not that Jay necessarily gave presents on holidays to begin with. Jay once surprising me with a sapphire bracelet because another guy in the office had dragged him to Fortunoff to get his wife a birthday present. Forgetting Mother’s Day two years in a row after that.

  The kids jumping up and down when they came into the kitchen to greet their father and saw the presents on the island, asking if they were for them and could they please open them immediately. Lucas going so far as to remove the yellow ribbon before Jay grabbed his hand and said, “Stop!” and “Please learn to control yourself.” Which wasn’t the mood I was going for in such a festive moment, even if I was glad Jay was stepping in for once.

  “First,” Jay said, after he’d herded the boys to the kitchen table, “I want to tell you that it’s nobody’s birthday, it’s not Chanukah, and we don’t celebrate Easter.”

  “But the Edwardses do!” Josh chimed in. His eyes serious, his full cheeks slack as he waited for Jay’s reply.

  “Yes, some of our friends do,” Jay said, cringing, I knew, at the mention of their name. The memory of the lunch like a bad odor that suddenly wafted into the kitchen. The children unaware and focused solely on the boxes.

  “Is it candy?” Josh asked, his face growing more animated.

  Jay held up his hand for silence. “The point is, it’s not a special occasion exactly, but we did have a special thing happen today.” And with that, Jay reached into his suit pocket and pulled out an orange-and-white ticket, saying, “We had a winning lottery ticket!”

  The boys started to shout, jumping out of their chairs to grab the ticket Jay was now dangling above them, my own heart starting to pound as I came close and snatched it from him, studying the numbers and squinting at the front and then the back, disappointed it didn’t say what it was worth, feeling giddy that we just might have won a seven-figure jackpot.

  “It was for five dollars,” Jay said, laughing.

  I hit him on the arm and the boys grabbed his legs and then his waist, trying to push him to the ground, to grab the ticket away from him. Jay laughing and feigning a fall and then gently peeling Lucas and Josh off of him.

  “Okay, so it’s not a lot of money,” he said, herding the boys back to their seats at the table, “but it got me thinking about the time I won five dollars at a fair once, and how I spent it right away on some model rockets. That money was the sweetest money I ever spent.”

  “Are you sure we didn’t win a million dollars?” Lucas asked. “Is this a trick within a trick?”

  “Even though we didn’t win a million dollars,” Jay said, “I left work early and went to a hobby shop in the city and bought a present for us to work on together as a family.”

  “Are both boxes for us?” Josh asked, his brown eyes growing wider.

  “And while I was at it, I got a present for Winnie, who had a birthday recently but didn’t have a party.”

  I swallowed, feeling tears rise in my throat and behind my eyes.

  “Maybe Mommy can open it with Winnie this week,” he said, not looking at me, which I appreciated. Not sure I wouldn’t burst into tears if he did.

  “But tonight, we’re going to open our present,” Jay said, lifting the larger box off the island and bringing it to the table.

  The boys pulled off the thick yellow ribbon and ripped into the royal-blue wrapping paper. Inside was a model sailboat, a picture of the finished product in pale balsa wood on the cover. There was silence as the boys considered it, then Lucas said, “Oh.”

  “Boys?” I prompted. “What do you say?”

  “Thank you,” they both said. Weakly. With no enthusiasm. Both of them staring glumly at the box. The cover said there were more than two hundred pieces, and they’d never so much as built a LEGO spaceship before. But I knew Jay wanted to teach them this thing that he had so enjoyed doing as a kid. Aware that our little tête-à-tête with the Edwardses over lunch had no doubt triggered something deep within him. Even though he would deny it.

  In another moment, Jay got out the scissors and carefully opened the box, showing the boys the instructions and pointing out the different steps they’d have to take. Josh leaning over to examine the tiny paint bottles and brushes, excited, I could tell, that the finished product might include some decorative touches. Lucas silent, focused on the manual, more focused than I’d ever seen him. Studying the blueprint for the ship, nodding his head and looking at the pieces like he wanted to understand something about them.

  “Should we start tonight?” Jay asked. The boys nodding solemnly. I was relieved to escape and leave them to their building.

  “We can’t let Mommy go, can we?” Jay asked, causing me to roll my eyes and keep walking toward the living room. Desperate to relax.

  “Do you guys think I’d buy something for everyone and not for Mommy?” Jay asked loudly as I was just about in the hallway.

  I turned around and went back to the kitchen, hands on my hips, smiling, asking, “Where is it?”

  Jay going out to the mudroom and coming back with a giant white box with handles attached, the box heavy when I tried lifting it.

  “You got me a bowling ball?”

  Josh and Lucas jumping up and down, desperate to open another present, which I let them. The boys disappointed when they couldn’t lift the machine out of the box and then confused by what it was when we set it down on the island.

  “It’s a Mixmaster,” I explained, beaming at the red color, the splash of brightness in our otherwise brown and gray kitchen.

  “But we have a mixer,” Josh said.

  “This is the one Mommy wanted,” Jay explained. Which shocked me. That he’d remembered my hesitation from that long-ago day of our gift registry. That he knew I still wanted one.

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching up to hug him, resting my face against his neck and breathing in the musky smell of his skin. The kids coming in to hug our legs, all of us locked for a moment in an awkward, many-limbed embrace.

  A STORM

  AN ICE STORM DESCENDED over the holidays: high winds, sleety rain, the branches covered with slick, icy remains. We couldn’t go out. The kids couldn’t play. Power was out for three days and we all bemoaned the fact that we hadn’t gone away. The holiday party canceled. Nela claiming she had a family conflict, no one eager to get together given our misgivings about one another.

  The absence of company leaving me too much time to think about the situation just down the street from me. My mood shifting violently whenever I thought about the Edwardses—which was often. My head full of ideas about what I could say or do to help improve things. My conviction strongest in the gray light of dawn, when I couldn’t sleep, my body turning ceaselessly, my heart beating wildly.

  And then, toward the end of winter vacation, the Edwardses due home any day, the roads finally cleared, Lorraine stopped by after work to tell me she’d spoken with Paige. Lorraine always adamant that everyone keep up with her, even while they were away. Hurt and insulted if you didn’t call her at least once, which clearly Paige understood.

  “She said the hotel was worth every penny. They have waiter service on the beach and a private plunge pool in their room,” Lorraine reported as soon as her car had rolled to a stop in front of my drive
way. Lorraine’s face in shadow inside the dark interior of her Range Rover.

  “That’s great,” I said listlessly, leaning into the car with my neck and shoulders so that I could see Lorraine more clearly. Lorraine wearing her customary black suit, a strand of pearls resting on her silk collar.

  Lorraine nodding. Lorraine saying, “She said Winnie loves the ocean. She’s taking swimming lessons at the kids’ camp every morning.”

  I smiled. Happy for Winnie. Happy for Paige. Happy they were enjoying their time as a family. Lorraine eyeing me carefully. Waiting for me to say something. What was she expecting?

  “She told me she had a great lunch with you and Jay before they left,” Lorraine said. Obviously fishing. Obviously peeved I hadn’t told her about the date to begin with. Lorraine interested in everyone’s get-togethers. Especially this one, apparently. Convinced I’d hidden it for a reason. Which wasn’t false, exactly.

  “Yeah. We invited them for sandwiches,” I said, not sure I felt like getting into my true intentions, aware that I’d failed. Aware I’d quite possibly been misguided to begin with.

  “She said that it was a relief to tell you guys everything. That they feel so much better that you’re not like Nela and Drew. That you listen!”

  I felt a sudden shakiness in my body, my adrenaline rising. Disturbed that Paige was spinning this story for me. Disturbed that I’d been weak enough, or uncertain enough, not to share it with anyone else.

  “It was okay,” I offered, feeling the shaking growing stronger.

  “Did she seem good? Did Gene?” Lorraine pressed. Obviously wanting my answer to be hopeful. Conciliatory. Wanting, no doubt, for me to tell her that next year we’d definitely have our holiday party again. That everything was moving in the right direction.