The Woman Next Door

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Is this about Quinn?”

  “Nuh-uh,” the girl said, scooping her hair back with the thumb-and-forefinger gesture that all the girls used. “The prom. Mom, there’s going to be an all-night party. Can I go?”

  “All-night party? This is the first I’ve heard about a prom. What prom?”

  “The freshman-sophomore one. You knew there was one.”

  “Yes, but last I heard, you refused to go.”

  “I changed my mind. A bunch of us are going.”

  “With whom? I mean, with dates?”

  “Kind of, but not really, if you know what I mean.”

  Georgia didn’t, but she could guess. “A group of you—mixed group—not paired up.”

  Allison lit up. “Yeah. But we want to spend the night at Melissa’s.”

  “Just girls?”

  “No. All of us.”

  “I thought Melissa and Quinn were a number.”

  “They are. The rest of us aren’t.”

  “And Quinn’s parents are letting him go to an all-night party after what happened yesterday?”

  “What happened yesterday doesn’t have anything to do with anything. It was the coach getting hot under the collar.”

  “Because Quinn showed up drunk.”

  “He wasn’t drunk. He’d had one drink.”

  “Sloshed. That was the word you used last night.”

  “I was wrong. Can I go, Mom?”

  “No.”

  Allison’s face fell. “Why not? Everyone else is going. Do you know how humiliating it’ll be if I can’t?”

  “You mean to say that Alyssa’s mom okayed this?”

  “Well, not yet. But she will.”

  “Uh-huh. She will if you say I okayed it. But I can’t, Allie. You’re fourteen. That’s a little young for an all-night prom party, especially with what happened yesterday.”

  “There won’t be any drinking.”

  “Why do you need to spend the night? What’s wrong with coming home at midnight? I’d even give you until one. Dad or I could pick you up then.”

  Allison looked horrified. “We’re taking a limo, Mom. We’re not having parents drive us.”

  “Who’s paying for a limo?”

  “We’re splitting it. There are ten of us. It won’t come to much.” The phone rang. She snatched it up. “Hello?” She listened, then covered the receiver and said to Georgia, “I have to take this call.”

  “Is your homework done?”

  “Almost. I’ll finish right after this.” Her eyes grew wide, her voice urgent. “Please, Mom.”

  Feeling that she’d been dismissed by a child too young to be dismissing anyone, but trying to respect her daughter’s right to privacy, she said, “Okay. But no all-night party. I may give on the limo. I’ll have to talk with your dad. But no all-night party.”

  She left the room and looked in on Tommy. He was sprawled on his bed sound asleep. She used to be able to rearrange him, but he was too big now. So she settled for turning off the light, and went off in search of Russ.

  He was in his office, typing the last of his column. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she read from the computer screen: “The trick is knowing when you’re beat. Sometimes all the lint-picking in the world can’t right the wrong you did, so you go back to square one. Start over again, even when it galls you, even when you don’t have the time or the hot water, even when you’re low on soap.” She eyed him sideways. “What’s the problem?”

  “A tissue goes through the wash cycle and shreds all over the clothes,” he murmured as he continued to type.

  “No problem there,” she said. “You just run the wash through again.”

  “... wash through again,” he finished with a flourish and grinned at her. “I did learn that this week. Knowing when to cut your losses is Life Lesson Four-twenty-two. Goin’ to bed?”

  “I thought I would.”

  “I just have to proof this and fax it in. Go ahead. I’ll be quick.”

  She took a bath, powdered herself, brushed her teeth and hair, lightly moisturized her face. Dimming the bedroom lights, she stood at the window and looked out just as Graham’s truck came down the street.

  “Hi ya, cutie,” Russ called from the door. Closing it carefully, he crossed the carpet, slipped his arms around her from behind, and nuzzled her neck.

  “Did Allie mention a prom to you?” Georgia asked.

  “No,” he murmured against her nape. “Mmm, yes. I think.”

  “She wants to go to an all-night party.”

  Russ turned her around. “Shh,” he whispered and took her mouth. “Not now. I want you now.”

  She could feel that, and she wasn’t immune. Slipping her arms around his neck, she gave him her mouth, then, in bits and snatches, the rest of her until they were naked in bed with their limbs entwined. He had always been an avid lover. Sixteen years of marriage hadn’t diminished his need. Her own had become refined. She liked the emotions involved in making love with Russ, just as much as the physical act. She liked knowing that this was her husband, her anchor, her home. She liked restaking this intimate claim.

  As “welcome homes” went, it was a good one. He was hungry and easily satisfied, and if she failed to climax, that was fine. He was asleep within minutes. She took pleasure in that. Watching Russ sleep, seeing the small smile on his face, the looseness of his features, the utter limpness of long arms and legs, was as satisfying to her as an orgasm.

  Russ was even-tempered. He was calm and serene. Looking at him now, she could see all of those things. He was content with his life—so much so that there were times when she wondered whether he missed her when she was gone. He said he did, but only at her urging.

  “Did you miss me?” she’d ask.

  “You bet.”

  “I have to leave again Monday.” She always half hoped that he would tell her he was tired of that routine.

  But he hadn’t yet. Instead, he smiled. “I’ll keep the home fires burning.”

  “I don’t like being gone so much.”

  “But you love what you do.”

  She did love what she did, but it struck her now that Russ loved what she did, too. He might miss her, but he managed quite well while she was gone. He had adapted quite nicely to running the house, making daily decisions, reading the newspaper at the kitchen table in the middle of the morning or lying out in the yard with a paper and pen, doing his work that way. With the kids in school all day, he had freedom and flexibility. Take this day. He had gone to lunch with his editor and returned late, though Georgia would never have known that if she hadn’t come home when she had.

  So how many other things didn’t she know? How many other times was he gone from the house with no one to answer to? Was he fooling around with Gretchen? Was he spending his afternoons in the comfort of her house? Worse, was she spending her afternoons here?

  Georgia didn’t think so. There would be signs. Besides, Russ was too hungry for her when she returned from a trip to suggest he was getting that elsewhere.

  He was her husband. He didn’t cheat.

  Not now, at least. But if she stayed on the road, what would be in five years? Allison would be away at college. Tommy would be driving himself around. And Russ? When the custodial demands of parenthood eased, and he didn’t have things like tissue shreds in the wash to fill his time, would he be lonely and bored? She wasn’t quite sure.

  ***

  Karen always let out a sigh of relief when the house settled down for the night. Julie had been asleep for an hour, but the twins, who were far worse in the noise department, had finally dropped off. Jordie was still awake, but it was only ten. He wouldn’t think of going to sleep at ten. His door was closed, but she could see the light underneath.

  She knocked quietly, then opened the door and looked in. Jordie sat on the floor with his back to the wall, his knees bent, and his headphones on. He didn’t look up, obviously hadn’t heard her.

  Grateful for the moment, she studied him
. Looks wise, he had taken after Lee from the start. Now adolescence was giving him length before breadth, which meant that he was ropy and lean. But he had the same chiseled features as his father—the same square jaw, straight nose, blue eyes. He also had the same thick hair. Jordie’s was sandy and long; Lee’s was blond and spiked. Karen didn’t care for either style, but hair was the least of her worries. Jordie frowned too much. Here he was, doing it again now.

  He looked up, stared at her for a minute, then freed up an ear. “What?”

  She smiled. “I was just looking in. It’s getting late.”

  “Is Dad home?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Where is he?”

  “At the office. They’re moving files and machines into the space they just took over. He had to supervise. I thought I explained that at dinner.”

  “But what’s taking so long?”

  “I don’t know. I guess there’s lots to move and set up.”

  Jordie looked like he didn’t buy that—and Karen didn’t either, but what could she do? As alibis went, it was a plausible one. She knew that Lee had taken new space, expanding into the offices that a small law firm had recently vacated. He had been complaining about the noise and dust for weeks.

  “Have you called him?” Jordie asked.

  “No. I figure the less I disturb him, the sooner he’ll be home. Did you want him for something special?”

  “Me? No.” He returned the headphone to his ear.

  She raised her voice. “Jordie?”

  Scowling, he moved the headphone away again.

  “Is everything okay with Quinn?”

  “What’s okay? He’s off the team for the year.”

  “How’s he handlng it?”

  “Fine. He always handles things fine.”

  “Are you angry at me?”

  “No.”

  She waited for him to say more. Something was definitely eating at him. But she couldn’t get him to talk if he didn’t want to. So she said, “Okay. I’ll let you get back to your music. Is your homework done?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good night.”

  He returned the piece to his ear.

  Feeling useless, she backed out and closed the door. Lee should have been the one to talk to him. Boys that age needed their fathers. But Lee wasn’t good at talking. Lee was only good at playing.

  Back in her own bedroom, she got ready for bed, turned out the lights, and opened the front windows wide. Then she climbed into bed and lay in the dark wondering where Lee was, listening for his car. She heard Graham’s truck as he drove in. It had a distinctive sound. She heard the chirp of a cricket and the snapping of underbrush in the woods behind the houses. Night creatures were at play, though whether human or animal, she didn’t know.

  Then Lee’s Miata came purring down the street, and in a split second, she imagined his having parked on the far side of the woods, hiked through to Gretchen’s, then hiked back and driven around. Granted, the woods were deep, and the timing of the sounds she’d heard was wrong. Still, given the growing list of questionable calls made from his cell phone, she figured he could be devious.

  Turning over, she pulled up the sheet and closed her eyes.

  Lee stayed downstairs for a while. When he came up, he got ready for bed and climbed in. “Karen?” he whispered as he always did, testing to see if she was awake and aware of when he’d come home.

  As she always did these days, she remained silent.

  Chapter Eight

  Graham was gone from the bathroom when Amanda went in the next morning. The shower door was wet, the towels askew. She opened his closet with her heart in her throat, fearful that he might have packed up and taken his things, infinitely relieved when she found everything there.

  She showered, dressed, and did her makeup and hair, all the while assuming he would be gone from the house by the time she was done, and wondering how she felt about that. When she went downstairs, though, he was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his ankles crossed. Despite the pose, there was nothing relaxed about him. His knuckles were white around a mug of coffee. His hair was damp, his eyes dark.

  “Hi,” she said with a cautious smile.

  “You didn’t come to bed last night. That’s the second night in a row.”

  The gauntlet thrown, she said, “I fell asleep. You didn’t wake me.” She had woken several times on her own, wondering, waiting, fearing. She needed a sign from him that he didn’t blame her for their not having kids. She needed a sign that he loved her and wouldn’t dream of going to another woman.

  At this moment, though, all she wanted was peace between them. The tension was starting to fester. It was so like the charged atmosphere she had grown up with—and so unlike what she thought she had with Graham—that she couldn’t deal with it.

  So she asked, “How did your meeting go?”

  “It went fine. Did you talk with Emily?” His voice was tight. Apparently he wasn’t going for peace.

  “Yes. I told her I’d call her in a month.”

  “What did she say?”

  “She said that was fine.”

  “Did she agree with you about taking a month off?”

  “She understood what I was feeling.”

  “Then she agreed?”

  Amanda couldn’t lie. “No. She would just as soon go ahead with the third try but she said that it wouldn’t hurt to wait a month.”

  “I’m with her on going for the third try now.”

  But the mere thought of it made Amanda’s head buzz. “I can’t, Graham. I can’t go right on. I need a break.”

  “Is this about you? Or about you and me?”

  “Me,” she said. But it was fast becoming the other.

  Graham knew it, too. He shook his head and looked away, downed the last of his coffee, and set the mug in the sink. “I’m going back to Providence this afternoon. I may be late again.”

  It used to be that late nights weren’t allowed twice in a row, but they were becoming more and more common. On this day, it was unfortunate. Amanda needed to sit over dinner with Graham and talk.

  But Graham didn’t say another thing. He went out to the breeze-way letting the screen door clatter behind him. It was silent by the time Amanda reached it, but she gripped the handle nonetheless and watched while he backed the truck from the driveway and took off.

  Not knowing what to think or do, she stayed there until the school bus came down the street. As soon as it headed out again with two Langes and four Cotters on board, she went outside. She intercepted Georgia, who was returning from the curb.

  One look at her, and Georgia slipped an arm around her waist. “Have time for a cup of coffee?”

  Amanda shook her head. “I have to get to school. I just need a sympathetic ear for a minute first.” And Georgia’s was a good one. She was a role model of sorts, having been married three times as long as Amanda had. Amanda wanted that longevity for herself and Graham.

  “Is it the baby thing that’s getting you down?”

  “Whose?” Amanda asked dryly. “Mine or Gretchen’s.”

  Georgia smiled. “Yours. For starters.”

  “Yes, it’s getting me down. Graham and I are hitting a wall on what to do next.”

  “What do you mean, hitting a wall?”

  “Disagreeing. We never used to do that.”

  “Disagreeing about having a baby?”

  “No, about how to go about doing it. And about Gretchen. I did something awful, Georgia. I suggested that maybe he was the father.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “I did,” Amanda said in self-reproach. “Here I try to teach students not to make accusations they’ll regret, and I went and did it myself. He isn’t the father. I know that. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t wonder whether he hates what sex has become as much as I do. It used to be so great. Now it’s prescribed and programmed. There are rules and regulations about where, when, and how often. Talk about lack of sponta
neity. But Graham likes spontaneity. So, no, he isn’t the cheating kind, but I don’t know the male psyche. Or maybe I do. Lust is a big thing for men. Physical urges. Momentary highs. So maybe Graham got swept up in a moment’s passion when he was working with Gretchen last fall. Did I ever tell you that his first wife looks like her?”

  “No.”

  “Megan’s hair is more pecan than blond, but her features are so similar—heart-shaped face, procelain skin, wide-set eyes. Her mother became as Irish as possible when she married her father, but the woman was of strong Scandinavian stock.”

  “Is Gretchen?”

  “She sure looks it. I mean, rationally speaking, I know Graham wouldn’t fool around with her. He’s a totally monogamous guy.”

  “So’s Russ, but I have to confess I gave it a thought myself last night. Karen’s right. He’s around here all day. So maybe he’s a ragamuffin. But if he turns me on, he could just as easily turn on Gretchen.”

  “Russ is not a ragamuffin.”

  “He isn’t exactly George Clooney”

  “Right. Russ is more the norm. I like his looks. He has appeal.”

  “Well, his appeal sure beats that of the electrician,” Georgia remarked. “Nathan is seventy-three and has emphysema. I can’t picture him with Gretchen. What do you think about the others?”

  All four houses in the cul-de-sac called on the same servicemen. “The plumber got married last summer and is totally starry-eyed. The carpenter is a born-again Christian. Do I see either of them with Gretchen?” She shook her head.

  “That leaves Lee.”

  “A distinct possibility.”

  “He was supposed to have turned over a new leaf.”

  Amanda sent her a doubtful look. “So what do I do about Graham? I need a break from this. I’ve asked for a month. How do I convince him?”

  “You know what you’d tell clients.”

  “I’d tell them to talk it out. But I just think about talking to Graham about this and I get tied up in knots.” She couldn’t imagine Georgia being that way. She wished she were half as well-balanced as her friend. “It’s depressing. I love Graham. I’ve always been able to talk to him. But this is different. Are there ever times when you can’t talk to Russ?”