The Woman Next Door

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The Woman Next Door Page 22

by Barbara Delinsky

“Not all the time,” Georgia said.

  “Okay, maybe not, but she was there a little while ago. Does that mean Gretchen’s an okay person to be with now?”

  Hearing her daughter put it that way, Georgia felt guilty. “She’s always been an okay person to be with.”

  “You never liked her.”

  “I never got to know her. Maybe that’s what Amanda’s doing. I think that’s good. Amanda’s good about things like that. Go talk with her, honey. She’ll help you with Jordie.”

  “I wish you were here.”

  Georgia did, too. Her lawyer was with her this time around. They were working out the last of the contract terms. A deal could possibly be sealed within the week, assuming Georgia agreed to remain at the company’s helm. That was the single most troublesome part of the deal, as far as she was concerned. If she balked, they would be back at square one, starting negotiations all over with another company. After all the time and effort that she had invested in this one, she hated the thought of that.

  I wish you were here.

  Georgia felt the old, familiar tugging, and she had left home only that morning. “Me, too. But it’s a short week, Allie. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Put your dad on, would you, honey? I want to say hi.”

  ***

  “Hi,” Graham said.

  Amanda’s heart lifted at the sound of his voice. “Hi. I was wondering when you’d call. Are you on your way home?” She was making dinner, anxious to talk. She felt a need for Graham that had nothing to do with being comforted for not conceiving or failing to prevent a student’s suicide. This need had to do with the future. Their future. She couldn’t deal with a blank screen anymore.

  But Graham said, “Actually, I’m headed in the opposite direction,” and the lift she had felt vanished.

  “Providence again?”

  “No. Stockbridge.” He had landscaped a museum there earlier that spring. The project was such a plum and the design so beautiful that it was already framed on the wall in the office over the garage.

  “I thought Stockbridge was done,” Amanda remarked.

  “So did I. They’re still making noise about my fee.”

  “They approved it. It’s in the contract.”

  “I know. But they’re saying that all the other subs came in over budget, and they just don’t have the money. So I’m making my case at a meeting of the board.”

  ***

  Graham didn’t go to Stockbridge, though what he’d said about it was true. The directors of the museum were indeed making noise about his fee, which not only included designs for both landscape and hardscape, but their execution by Will’s crew, with on-site supervision by Graham. Forget expertise and a quality outcome. In time alone Graham’s investment had been substantial, which was what he had told the board in a conference call that afternoon.

  No. This night he was going to have dinner with his brother Peter, but Amanda had been so paranoid about his family lately that he preferred not to mention it. He also preferred that the rest of the family not know they were meeting either. So he had chosen a spot on neutral ground, a diner that was an hour’s ride for them both. Peter had agreed to secrecy even without knowing its cause. He was that kind of guy—which, totally aside from his being Graham’s brother, was why Graham had sought him out.

  They met in the parking lot, hugged, and went inside, where they slid into a booth at the back and both ordered meatloaf and beer. They exchanged newsy little tidbits until their stomachs were filled and the beer had mellowed them out.

  Then Graham said, “I need to talk with you about the family. I don’t know how to handle them.”

  “About the baby thing?” Peter asked, as perceptive as always.

  Graham let loose with all the frustration that had been building for weeks. “They keep talking about it. They keep asking about it. They keep talking about how Mom wants me to have a baby, like I’m deliberately letting her down. They keep making suggestions about one thing or another that we ought to do to conceive, like we’re sitting around doing nothing, like our medical advice is no good.”

  “They’re concerned. They’re trying to be helpful.”

  “Well, it’s not working. It’s coming between Amanda and me. Marriages can be wrecked by family interference. This is a tough time for us. She’s feeling pressure about the baby. Now she feels pressure about this, too. She thinks I’m taking sides.”

  “Are you?” Peter asked, just as Graham had done dozens of times in the last few days.

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to. But if she’s feeling pressure about the family, think about what I feel. The pressure’s worse on me. You all are my past. You’re where I came from. You mean the world to me. I respect your opinions. But I’m married to Amanda. She’s my present. She’s my future.” Once again, he heard the echo of her words. What if there’s never a baby? What happens to us then?

  Quietly, Peter said, “You don’t look convinced, Gray.”

  Graham opened his mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. He thought about that, thought about what was really on his mind. Finally, looking away, feeling a sense of dread, he admitted,

  “I’m worried. The whole baby thing has torn us apart. I don’t know if we can mend things.”

  “They’re that bad?”

  “No. But they were always so good for us. I don’t know if we can get back to that point.”

  “Do you love her?”

  He looked at Peter. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Why. What do you mean, why?”

  “What do you love about her?”

  Graham sat back, wondering where to begin. Without planning it, he conjured up his very first view of Amanda, six years before on that hillside in Greenwich. In an instant, he was back there in time and the image was fresh. “I love her smallness. Her delicacy. She’s so feminine.” Embarrassed, he added a quick, “I mean, it’s not like Megan wasn’t. But Amanda is feminine in a different way. Because she’s small, I feel big. Masculine.” That was one of the first things he had felt. Given his marital history, it mattered to him more than it might to another man, and he wasn’t apologizing for it. Returning to that Greenwich hillside, he felt the comfort now. “I love the way she’s petite and fragile-looking. I love her legs. I love the way her hair curls.”

  “Those are physical things,” Peter said.

  Graham disagreed. “Not entirely. There’s an attitude involved. She tries to pull her hair back so it’s neat and smooth, only it won’t stay. I love that. It’s like there’s this wild streak in her that just can’t stay put no matter how much she tries.”

  Peter smiled. “Does it come out in other ways?”

  Feeling pride, Graham smiled back. “Oh yeah. We used to go mountain climbing a lot. I mean, she’d trip over the rocks, but she’d always come up laughing. Same thing with kayaking. She’d overturn the kayak more than anyone else, but it didn’t get her down. She’s klutzy but she’s adventurous. She likes trying new things. I love that about her. But then there’s the sensitive side, y’know, with her work?”

  “I’ve seen her with nieces and nephews,” Peter said. “She’s always been wonderful with them. I’ve never seen her in action at school.”

  “I have,” Graham said, remembering those times clearly. “It’s like she knows just the right tone to set, and it isn’t always the same. Some kids need a soft approach, some need a street-smart one. She manages to convey what’s right, even if she isn’t saying much.” Being of the up-front and out-there school himself, Graham never failed to marvel at that. “She’s book-smart. But she’s also intelligent, in a commonsense kind of way, if you know what I mean. I like that about her.” He thought of something else. “The first time I ever saw her, she had a red thing around her hair in back. You couldn’t see much, just a flash now and again.” He smiled. “I like the way she looks in red.”

  Peter chuckled. “A true adventurer.”

  But Graham was back on that hillside again. The re
d thing wasn’t the first thing he’d noticed that day. Nor was it her blond hair. Or her shape or size. Frowning at his coffee mug, he tried to verbalize his thoughts. “I think,” he began slowly, because saying it aloud felt weird, “I think that the first thing I loved was the way she looked at me. There were a bunch of us planting shrubs, but she was looking at me. Even aside from the masculine thing, I felt special. Like I was the only one there. She made me feel like that lots of times.”

  He looked up to see if Peter was laughing. Will might have laughed. Same with Joseph or Malcolm. But Peter was serious, pensive.

  “You say you ‘used’ to do things like mountain climbing and kayaking. Don’t you still?”

  “We haven’t in a while.”

  “Why not?”

  “No time. We’re both busy with work. We also worry about doing something that might hurt her conceiving.” He felt his forehead tighten. “Conception has become the single most controlling thing in our lives.” He studied Peter, waiting in silence for the priest to praise him for that.

  But the priest said, “Having babies is only one part of a relationship.”

  Graham snorted. “Tell that to Mac. Tell it to James or Joseph or Will. Tell it to MaryAnne and Kathryn.”

  “I will if you want. I’ll do what I can to help. You know that, Gray.”

  Graham did. That was why he had wanted to see Peter. But it wasn’t a simple matter of talking with their siblings. “The thing is that I know they love me and want me to be happy. It’s not a malicious thing on their part. But it’s making a bad situation worse. I didn’t face any of this when I was married to Megan. You all knew her. She was family even before I married her. Amanda is so different—from you all and from Megan. There isn’t the automatic comfort level when we all get together, so I feel torn, with Amanda on one side and my family on the other. How do I find a balance?”

  Peter didn’t answer. He seemed to be thinking.

  Graham said, “The answer is that we have kids and there’s no problem. But what happens if we never have kids? Will they blame it on Amanda? Will they keep her at arm’s length? Will they let me live with that? Because if they don’t—if they keep harping on the baby thing—they’ll back me into a corner. I don’t want to have to choose between Amanda and them.”

  “I hear you,” Peter said. “What do you want me to do? Want me to talk with them?”

  “No. Not unless they bring it up.”

  “And then what?”

  “Tell them to ease off,” Graham said, then let loose with all he’d been thinking for weeks. “Tell them to mind their own business. Tell them I’m a big boy—that I know more than they do about fighting infertility—that I want a baby but that their nagging won’t help. Tell them that if they really want to help they can make Amanda feel like she’s one of us. Ah hell, Peter, tell them whatever you want. They’ll listen to you.”

  “What about Mom?”

  “I’ll handle Mom,” Graham said. He didn’t know how, but he would. That decided, he had only one more request of his brother the priest. It was probably the single most pressing reason for his seeking Peter out. “Tell me it’s okay if we never have kids.”

  “Oh, you’ll have kids. If it doesn’t happen biologically, you’ll adopt.”

  That wasn’t the point. “Tell me,” Graham specified, “that it’s okay if Amanda and I don’t have kids of our own.”

  “It’s more than okay. If children don’t come, it’s God’s will.” Peter paused. His voice lowered. “That’s my view. What’s yours?”

  ***

  Amanda was writing reports at her desk in the office over the garage when the phone rang. “Hello?”

  “Graham O’Leary please.”

  “I’m sorry, but he isn’t here. Who’s calling?”

  “This is Stuart Hitchcock calling from Stockbridge. I wanted to thank him for spending the time with us this afternoon. I’ve always been on his side, and he made his case well. I wish we could have given him an answer when he called, but seven of the ten board members had evening plans, so we could only meet until six. We’ll be meeting again next week. Will you tell him that if we have any other questions, we’ll call him then?”

  Wondering where her husband was tonight if he wasn’t in Stock-bridge, Amanda said that she would.

  Chapter Fifteen

  By the time Graham got home Tuesday night, Amanda didn’t want to know where he’d been. She heard him come in, but she was settled as comfortably on the sofa in the den as one could be when in the midst of a very private war. She knew she should get up and confront him, but she was too angry, too disappointed, too frightened.

  The best she could do was to write out Stuart Hitchcock’s message and present it to him at breakfast the next morning. He read it, then stood for a silent eternity focusing on that condemning piece of paper. Finally he raised his eyes.

  To his credit, he did look guilty. “I was with Peter,” he said quietly. “I had to talk with him. I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

  Amanda might have. Of all the O’Leary siblings, she most trusted Peter. But that wasn’t the issue. That wasn’t what was making her feel so let down. “You lied.”

  “I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

  “You always have a choice,” she insisted, because when it came to being truthful with each other, they did have that choice. Conceiving a baby was something else.

  He didn’t say anything, just stood there looking conflicted—and she was conflicted herself. Part of her wanted to hug him, wanted to tell him that it was all right, that she understood, that she loved him anyway. The other part didn’t want to bare her heart and soul without knowing first what he felt.

  When it looked like he wouldn’t tell her that, she said, “If trust is the issue, this doesn’t help.”

  “Trust? Oh, God. Are you still on the Gretchen vein?”

  “I’m on the what-do-we-mean-to-each-other vein. You still haven’t told me how you’d feel if we never conceive.”

  He looked suddenly desperate. “We’ll have a baby. Somehow or other, we will.”

  Amanda didn’t know what “somehow or other” meant, and as for that desperate look, it could have been from not wanting to give a more honest answer, which didn’t make her feel any better.

  “I have to get going,” she said, slipping the strap of her briefcase onto her shoulder.

  Between that time and the instant when she went out the door, he had more than enough opportunity to say, Wait. Let’s talk. I want to live the rest of my life with you no matter what. I’d never, ever look at another woman. You’re the one I love. But he didn’t.

  ***

  Amanda immersed herself in work with the help of a flurry of calls from parents. Sandwiched around three meetings with students, they kept her on the phone for most of the morning. One mother was worried about her daughter’s falling grades as the end of the year approached; another wanted to know whether her son’s acting out at home was normal for a senior. One was concerned about the bad influence of his son’s friends; another wanted to alert Amanda that she and her husband were divorcing and that their daughter was upset. Several still called about the suicide issue, wanting to know that the school remained vigilant.

  Amanda was the consummate professional through it all, until Allison Lange appeared at her door. It was late morning. Like so many of the students who sought her help, the girl looked unsure of what she was doing.

  In this instance, though, Amanda was immediately concerned. She was personally involved with Allison in a way that didn’t apply to the other students. She also knew that Jordie and Allison were tight, and that Jordie was suffering. She had e-mailed him again this morning, but had gotten no reply.

  Drawing Allison into her office, she closed the door.

  “Hi, cutie,” said Maddie.

  Amanda said a more direct, “You look like you need a friend.”

  Allison didn’t smile. Seeming uncomfortable, she looked at the pa
rrot. “My mom keeps saying I should talk with you. I was going to go over to the house last night, but then everyone would have seen me.” Her eyes met Amanda’s before skittering away. She approached the bird cage. “I mean, like they wouldn’t have known what I was going there to talk with you about, but I would’ve felt so guilty, y’know?”

  “I love you,” Maddie told her.

  “Guilty?” Amanda asked, joining her beside the cage.

  “Talking about Jordie.”

  Amanda tucked a long swathe of hair behind the girl’s ear and left a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m concerned about him, too. I think he’s . . . struggling with lots of things.”

  “Lots of things,” Allison said, looking at her then, seeming relieved that Amanda saw it, too, as though that gave her permission to open up. “I can hardly talk with him anymore. It’s like he’s a different person. He won’t say much of anything. Then he snaps at me when I ask what’s wrong. He walks around here like he doesn’t want anyone coming near him.” She paused, dead still now. “Except he isn’t here today.”

  That would explain why he hadn’t answered Amanda’s e-mail. “Is he sick?”

  Allison spoke even more quietly. “He wasn’t this morning. He was on the bus with all of us and got off with the rest of the high school kids. I saw him come inside. Only he wasn’t in math class last period. No one’s seen him since the end of first period.”

  “No one?”

  “I asked all our friends. They don’t know where he is. He’s been as weird with them as he’s been with me.”

  “How about you? Do you have any idea where he is?”

  The girl shook her head.

  Amanda’s first thought was that Jordie had taken sick and been sent home. It was the most benign explanation and could be easily confirmed by a call to the school nurse.

  On the other hand, if it wasn’t the case and if Allison was there when she learned it, the girl would be more upset. So, holding the phone call off a minute, wanting to ease Allison’s worry, she said a confident, “He’s probably at the nurse’s office. Or was. He may be home now.”

 

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