Good Neighbors
Page 22
“He did. He was supposed to meet them afterwards to say good-bye, but I guess he couldn’t go through with it.”
Both of us silent. Both of us contemplating what this meant. If it was an admission of guilt or just a lack of good coping skills.
“Paige passed out little packets at the funeral. She wanted people to hear about the rehoming from her, and also understand what they’d been going through,” Lorraine said, pulling a long white envelope from her purse. The envelope reminding me for all the world of the envelope we’d received when the Edwardses had first adopted Winnie. The promise of being her forever family. The careful way they wanted us to refer to her and think of them.
Lorraine opening the envelope and showing me what Paige had written. I glanced through it, clutching my throat, as I read about how it was common for neighbors to be unsupportive in these situations. Common for adopted parents to feel judged and misunderstood. Had we really been that naive? That unsupportive? Or were Gene and Paige different? Their circumstances unique to them, not the norm? Was there even a norm?
“I think Winnie really had problems,” Lorraine said softly, no doubt still smarting from the time I’d chided her for liking Gene.
“But Paige admitted that she was struggling to do better,” she added quietly. I opened my mouth to say something but merely swallowed, no words coming out.
“She told me that she used to get down on her hands and knees every night and pray to God that she could be a better mother to Winnie.”
“So did she threaten Winnie? Is that why she ran through the glass?” I asked, my tears flowing more freely now.
Lorraine shaking her head. Her eyes downcast. “I have no idea. Maybe. Maybe Winnie gets really wild sometimes and that was the first time we saw it. We’ll never know.”
It was true, we could never know. Which was so exasperating even now, after all that we’d been through. All we’d tried to uncover.
“How do you think Winnie will do with her new family?” I asked, upset that she’d been abandoned again. Upset that now I’d never see her again.
Lorraine swallowed, shifting from foot to foot.
“What?” I asked, aware that she was hiding something from me.
“I asked Paige the same thing.”
“And?”
“And she said it’s the wrong question. To think of Winnie the way we think of our own children. That Winnie’s too damaged.”
I closed my eyes and squeezed them tight. Pained that Winnie might never have the life I wanted for her. When I opened them, I saw that Lorraine had begun to cry, leaning her shoulder against my glass door, her body heaving. I knew I should ask her in. Comfort her. Say something half-true and reassuring about Winnie’s future, the future of our neighborhood group. But it was too late for that, for me. The desire to quickly move on the same as the desire to cover up. To blur the lines of what you knew and wished you didn’t have to. And so we merely stood on my porch in the February cold, neither of us speaking, turning to stare at the end of our cul-de-sac. The Edwardses’ Tudor forever outlined against the sky: handsome, stark, and terrifying.
EPILOGUE
What We Knew
WE KNEW WE WOULD never enter Paige and Gene’s magnificent home again. Would never welcome the new owners with cupcakes and brownies, never walk under the coffered ceilings or run our fingers down the polished wood banisters. Gene’s suicide like an odor that would emanate always from every window and doorway, forever charging the brick facade with menace and horror.
We knew we’d never tell our children the full story about Winnie, why she’d been given away, the exact nature of our misgivings.
We knew we would always wonder what became of Winnie. Whether her new family loved her. Whether she was happy, well adjusted, able to move confidently into the future.
We knew we would always wonder how Winnie would have turned out if she hadn’t been adopted by the Edwardses. If she lived with people in Oregon or in Tennessee. Or if she hadn’t been adopted at all, but still lived as she had begun, a daughter of parents who decided to keep her. The future as impossible to know for her as it was for our own children. Our own children growing taller and more confusing with each passing year. Our own children shocking us with their strange and mysterious behaviors. Lucas claiming to hate cooking and even building once he discovered the pleasures of football. His frame growing bulkier, his talent as a lineman undeniable. Lorraine’s son Gabe beginning to lie about everything. Whether he’d taken a shower. Had done his homework. Was invited to so-and-so’s party. Lorraine and her ex fighting constantly. A counselor finally brought in to “fix” Gabe, even though her main focus seemed to be Evan and Lorraine as parents. Sebastian Guzman-Veniero emerging as the surprise genius—not even close to disabled. A hearing test employed to reveal severe hearing loss, most likely as an infant; two hearing aids installed, his test scores and language skills soaring.
We knew we would never be the kind of friends we’d imagined we’d be when we’d first set out to know each other. Unblemished. Without frustrations and petty arguments, fears and suspicions. The tragedy of the Edwardses forging an intimacy among us that made us both more familiar and uglier than we’d ever planned on being with one another. That made us exactly the thing we set out to be when we so naively started. Good neighbors. Like family.
Author’s Note
This book is a work of fiction. While I have been blessed to know many friends, family members, neighbors, and acquaintances who have adopted children from all parts of the globe, none of these people are described in this novel—nor has anyone I know been faced with the devastating choices and consequences described in these pages. Rather, I chose to write about the themes of community, parenting, and adoption as a way of discovering my own beliefs about family, the ones we create and the ones we inherit. All of the characters described in these pages are born out of my imagination, as are their struggles, triumphs, and tragedies.
Acknowledgments
This book would not have been possible without the wise and generous support of my family and friends—and of the talented publishing professionals at Aragi and Twelve. I owe a profound debt of gratitude to the following:
Duvall Osteen, my thoughtful and perceptive agent, whose incisive edits made the book stronger and richer.
My editor, Libby Burton, who embraced my vision and then seamlessly made it clearer.
Sean Desmond and Rachel Kambury for their peerless editorial direction; Laura Cherkas, Bailey Donaghue, Yasmin Mathew, Brian McLendon, Lisa Rivlin, Paul Samuelson, Jarrod Taylor, and all the folks at Twelve who championed my work and made sure it was the best it could be.
My wise friends and fellow writers who read the manuscript multiple times without complaint and never failed to offer valuable insight and suggestions: Chris Costanzo, Therese Eiben, Pamela Erens, and Tamar Schreibman.
Liz Carey, who provided geographic background and reference.
Beth Lorge and Mara Posner Metzger for being my tireless sounding boards.
My faithful writer’s group, who insisted this short story was a novel and patiently read this book in installments for many years: Philip Moustakis, Lynn Schmeidler, Pamela Erens, and Therese Eiben.
Kate and Arnold Schmeidler, who generously lent their pied-à-terre to the pursuit of writing and art.
My mother and father, who have always believed in me and bragged about me, making it so much easier to believe in myself.
And my husband and children, the loves of my life, who were with me every step of the way. Thank you.
About the Author
JOANNE SERLING’S fiction has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and has appeared in New Ohio Review and North American Review. She is a graduate of Cornell University and studied and taught fiction at The Writers Studio in New York City. She lives outside of New York with her husband and children and is at work on her second book.
Mission Statement
Twelve strives to publish singular books, by
authors who have unique perspectives and compelling authority. Books that explain our culture; that illuminate, inspire, provoke, and entertain. Our mission is to provide a consummate publishing experience for our authors, one truly devoted to thoughtful partnership and cutting-edge promotional sophistication that reaches as many readers as possible. For readers, we aim to spark that rare reading experience—one that opens doors, transports, and possibly changes their outlook on our ever-changing world.
Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Hachette Digital.
To receive special offers, bonus content, and news about our latest ebooks and apps, sign up for our newsletters.
Sign Up
Or visit us at hachettebookgroup.com/newsletters