She was out in her yard, pretending she was watering, holding the hose like it was a dirty sock. Water was barely coming out of the nozzle, and she was staring at the Cushings’ door as if she wanted to be inside that house, getting the latest update, finding out what leads the cops had. I was sure they wouldn’t stop asking me questions until Brittany was back home, and it was Taylor’s fault.
The cops already wanted a list of my friends, and it made my skin feel like ice to think of them asking those questions of everyone I knew. I had a sick feeling the cops were going to ask all the neighbors for dirt about me. I took a sip of Red Bull and looked at my phone, trying to think what I wanted to say to Ms. Stanwick. Mostly, I wanted her to tell the cops she was wrong about me. Whatever she told them, she was wrong. She needed to apologize and she needed to get them off my back.
She dropped the hose on the ground, went to the corner of the house, and turned off the water. She moved down the walkway, glancing at all the houses in the cul-de-sac, trying to make sure she knew everything that was happening, which was nothing, as usual.
I stood and stepped out of the gazebo. I waved like seeing her was the best thing that had happened to me all day. “Hey, Ms. Stanwick!” I knew that would get her. She likes to be called Taylor. My mom raised me to call people Mr. or Mrs. or Ms., but every time I do that, people say, oh no, call me this, and announce their first name. Every time someone says that, it makes me think about dragging my tired brain through Moby-Dick during junior year of high school. Call me Ishmael.
She waved back. She walked to the curb and called out, “How are you? Ready for school to start?”
I put my hand to my ear like I couldn’t quite hear what she said.
She stepped into the street and walked toward me. We met beside my car parked between our house and the Hayeses’. Like she hadn’t ratted me out at all, she gave me a huge smile. “Are you already back in school?”
“Not yet. Classes start September tenth.”
“What are you taking this quarter?”
“A bunch of stuff. More European history, statistics, a computer class, and maybe a business class.”
She smiled. “That’s great. Have you decided what you want to do?”
I shook my head. “Not yet…hey, I wanted to ask you…”
She tipped her head to the side, looking somewhat wary.
“…did you tell the cops I was…uh…staring at Brittany?”
She didn’t answer right away, so I knew. No matter what she said next, I knew.
“I don’t think I said that. No, that’s not what I said.”
“But you told them something about me?”
“Just that Moira thought you might have a romantic interest in her.”
The idea of romance didn’t enter either one of their minds at all, I was sure of that. I was sure that word had never been used. What a liar. I guess she didn’t want to sound ridiculous using the word lascivious either. I laughed.
“Is that funny?”
“Why would you tell them that?”
“They need a full picture of her life. If you know anything, even something small, the police need to know. It’s important to be honest about every little detail.”
“Well, saying that I was interested romantically isn’t being honest. I never thought of her that way, and you made it sound like I did. Or worse.”
“I don’t think I—”
“I’m not a pervert.” My voice was kinda loud. I glanced around me, but no one was out in the street. I wasn’t sure why I spoke so loudly, yelled, almost. I guess I was more upset than I realized. Lately, I felt like everyone was staring at me, like they were just assuming I knew something, that maybe I was the one who did something to her.
“No one said you were.”
“You told the fucking cops I was looking at her weird!”
She jerked her head back slightly. I wasn’t sure if I spit in her face or my voice was even louder.
“Don’t shout at me, please. We’re just trying to find Brittany. No one thinks you’re a pervert, but if you know something you’re not saying, you need to cut that out right now. Every second she’s gone gets more…” She took a deep breath as if she’d just swum to the surface of a lake.
“Thanks to you, the cops keep asking me questions, implying I am a sex offender or some shit like that. If it was just, oh, maybe you know something, it would have been a lot different. Instead, they keep asking if I was looking at her. They wanted to know if I had the hots for her. And the next time they haul me into their little room, the first question will be Did you attack her?”
“Don’t overreact.”
“How would you like it if your husband was asked those questions? Then you might not think it’s overreacting.”
“Luke, please stop shouting.” She moved closer. “We just need everyone to pull together to make sure all the information that’s available can be used to find her.”
I didn’t know why I was shouting. I guess the pressure was getting to be too much. School, trying to find a job, Ashling, thinking about Brittany at all. I did not like being in this situation, and I did not want to think about that kid and whatever issues she had. I didn’t even know her. I’d worked hard to put her out of my head, but she kept popping out like a zit that you think is gone, but it’s not. It swells up red and hard all over again.
“The police are simply asking questions. Gathering information. They aren’t out to get you.”
She clearly had very little experience with police if she honestly believed that.
“If my mom knew you turned them on to me, she’d have a few words for you.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business? Brittany isn’t your kid.”
“I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not helping when I have cops making me answer the same questions over and over, treating me like a fucking pervert! So tell them you were wrong. Whatever. Tell them you made it all up. And if Brittany’s mom is telling them shit, tell her to back off too. She doesn’t know me at all.”
I turned toward the gazebo, done talking with her.
Next door, Kelly Hayes was standing in her driveway. When she saw me look at her, she took several steps back. She put her hands up to her mouth and stood looking at me as if I was some kind of monster. Now I hated all of them. Taylor, Freya, Kelly, probably even Sofia, Brittany’s mom… A bunch of women worried about a missing kid and wanting some guy to blame, just because I didn’t have a job and was trying to take it easy at the end of my summer vacation.
37
Taylor
When Luke scurried into his gazebo, I stood for a moment looking at Kelly Hayes. She shook her head slowly, then went inside. The look on her face was disgust, or fear, I wasn’t sure which. Sometimes you read things into other people that you’re feeling yourself. It’s rarely possible to know what someone is thinking just by looking at them, but we always think it is.
I still didn’t believe he’d sent that threat, but when he shouted at me, I started to wonder whether I knew him as well as I thought I did. I couldn’t believe he would threaten my life. He never seemed like that kind of person, even now. Besides, the threats suggested the person who sent them had abducted Brittany. There was no way I could believe Luke had taken her and was holding her captive in his house, twenty feet away from me. I laughed thinking about it.
I put him out of my mind. I needed to deal with the more urgent matter of Crystal.
When Crystal announced she was coming, I didn’t know what to say. Before I could think, she signed off. I messaged her back anyway and told her it wasn’t a good idea for her to come to California. She didn’t respond. I sent her several more messages, but I knew she wouldn’t answer. The only other message I’d received from her was her flight information, as if she expected me to pick her up.
I needed to tell Moira.
I hated being stuck in the middle of Crystal and Moira.
Anxiety crept through me constantly now. I was drinking more wine than usual, mixing it up with vodka tonics when it was too hot for wine. Duncan didn’t say anything, but the expression on his face, the way his gaze failed to connect with mine, told me he was upset.
We weren’t talking much at all. The regular school year had started. He was busy with the extra workload at the beginning of the new year, communicating his lesson plans and expectations to parents, getting kids used to his teaching style, grading the flurry of papers he liked to assign right away so he could get a good sense of the abilities of each student for the upcoming year.
He didn’t want to talk about Brittany, didn’t want to be involved in any more neighborhood get-togethers. He felt we were putting strain on the Cushings more than we were helping. I had no idea what led him to that conclusion. He thought everyone else wanted to return to their own lives, and it wasn’t fair to lay guilt trips on them. I was not laying guilt trips on anyone. If they felt guilty, maybe it was for a good reason, because their higher selves were suggesting they do all they could, reminding them to put themselves in the Cushings’ position and try to feel their relentless pain.
I walked up the path to Moira’s front door and rang the bell. A moment later, we were sitting in her living room. Alan had gone to San Francisco to meet with a potential client. The atmosphere was even more silent without him. It seemed as if the house was slowly shedding people, and once it was rid of them all, there would be no sound whatsoever.
When I spoke, my voice was too loud and forceful. I thought I sounded angry. “Crystal is coming to California.”
“She can’t do that,” Moira said.
“She is.”
Moira looked into the backyard, her face paler than usual, her jaw so tight a knot had formed at the joint. Her lips trembled as she gazed at nothing. When she finally spoke, her voice was a hoarse whisper. “She doesn’t belong here.”
“I know.”
She whipped around to face me. “Why didn’t you stop her?”
It was completely unfair of her to say that. I realized she was a wreck inside, that my feelings weren’t even a consideration as she struggled for air in an ocean of fear and grief. But it wasn’t right to expect me to stop someone from doing whatever she wanted. Crystal was a stranger; I had no influence over her.
“Didn’t you tell her Brittany is not her daughter? That she’s confused?”
“Of course.”
“Then why is she doing this?”
“She doesn’t believe me.”
“What did you say? Tell me exactly.”
“I don’t remember. We’ve exchanged a lot of messages.”
“I can’t believe you let this happen. You’re the one who set up that ridiculous page. And it hasn’t done a thing except attract attention we don’t need.”
“It’s not my fault. I lied for you. I think I’ve done the best I could.”
“How did you lie?”
“I told her the girl who’s missing doesn’t have a birthmark.”
She stood and went to the window. She placed her palms on the glass and leaned forward, resting her forehead there. It surprised me she wouldn’t think about the smudges her skin would leave on the glass. Their house was spotless, almost as if they didn’t even generate dust. Every surface was smooth and the floors were free of even the smallest piece of fuzz or bit of dirt from the bottom of a shoe.
Moira whimpered. “You have to make her go away.”
“I don’t see how I can.”
She made a fist and slammed it against the glass.
I jumped, startled by the violent expression of her anger.
“She doesn’t belong here.”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
She turned. “Figure something out. She’ll cause all kinds of trouble. We don’t need a junkie creating drama. If Brittany is found while Crystal is here, she’ll be confused. We can’t have it like this.”
I wished she would stop saying that. She was behaving as if there was something I could do to prevent it. “Maybe she has a right…”
“She does not have a right! She gave up her rights when she left a vulnerable little girl playing in the front yard at night. When she forgot to feed her child. She disgusts me. All those drugs. Couldn’t you tell by talking to her what a mess she is?”
I couldn’t. It had surprised me. Her messages were coherent. Yes, she was aggressive and angry and had some rough edges to her speech, but that was it. There was nothing in her messages that quite lined up with what Moira had told me. Yet how could I tell Moira that? I felt like the worst kind of friend.
“You have to tell her she can’t come.”
“I think it’s too late.”
“How do you know?”
“She said she bought a ticket.”
“I don’t believe that. When is she coming?”
“Thursday.”
“She actually booked a flight?”
“Yes.”
“When? What airline? She lies all the time. You can’t believe a word she says.”
“She sounded serious. It’s all set up. She’s flying into San Jose. Early Thursday afternoon. It sounded pretty definite.”
“Does she even know where we live?”
“I-I’m not sure.”
“Did you tell her? Silicon Valley is a big place.”
“It’s easy enough to find from news articles.”
She thudded her head against the glass. She tightened her fists again. “How can she possibly fly across the country? She needs to shoot up every two hours.”
“Maybe she got clean.”
“Hah!” Moira barked. “No way. She couldn’t even clean up for her little girl. She abandoned that child. Brittany begged us to keep her safe.”
Our conversation continued in this circular fashion for nearly an hour while we grew increasingly angry with each other. She thought I should have told more solid, believable lies. I could have said they’d moved away. I could have told her the police would be after her for drug use and child neglect and abandonment. I should have been firmer that Brittany was not her child. It had been ten years. It wasn’t possible to know at this point. I could have threatened Crystal.
I wasn’t sure how I would have done that, but it didn’t matter. I would never threaten anyone.
Finally, I told Moira I needed to leave. She was angry at that too. She wanted me to stay until we figured out how to keep Crystal from causing problems. She demanded to know if I truly supported her, if I was going to start believing Crystal was a viable caretaker. I tried to reassure her, but she hardly seemed to hear me.
At home, I threw the ingredients for a box of macaroni and cheese into a pot. I didn’t feel like cooking or doing much of anything. I sliced Italian salami to accompany the mac and cheese and cut an apple into wedges to add some solid nutrition to the flimsy meal. I wasn’t hungry. While Duncan ate, I sipped wine.
That night, we made love. Although it didn’t breach the chasm between us, it felt good. It took my mind away from everything, from the defeat, the unrelieved despair of knowing Brittany was out there and no one had any idea where or what she was suffering or whether she was even alive. Duncan’s hands on me pulled the tension out of my skin, making it supple, once again resting comfortably on my body.
I almost cried in his arms, not sure what was going to happen after this or where we were all headed. I’d had such hopes for our small neighborhood coming together and accomplishing something good. I truly thought with the effort of everyone pulling together, our sheer force of will would help us find that poor missing girl. I shoved my conversation with Luke to the farthest corner of my mind, as if I could hide it under a pile of rags.
It was highly likely there was going to be a dramatic confrontation and the people I’d known as her loving, devoted parents were going to wind up charged with a crime, sentenced to prison. It was such a horrible thought it made me think everything was crumbling and Brittany, if she was found, w
ould be destroyed.
38
Brittany: Before
Luke and Ashling were so nice to let me hang out with them and their friends. They made me feel like a real person, like I was someone separate from my parents, not a robot with their ideas programmed into my brain. I’d never seen myself that way at all. I thought my ideas and beliefs and feelings were mostly my own, but the more I talked to Luke and Ashling, the more I felt it was the truth that I only believed what my parents wanted. I thought what they thought, talked about the things they said were worthwhile, and I went where they wanted me to go.
After I’d hung out with Luke and Ashling a few times, I felt like I should give them some money for the weed they shared with me. My mother always said you shouldn’t be a freeloader, and I was turning into one. It wasn’t that I smoked a lot, only a few puffs, but offering them some cash seemed like the right thing to do. They always had snacks and drinks, and I couldn’t bring anything to share. For sure my mother would notice if a bag of chips went missing from her carefully organized pantry.
My father had gone to San Francisco to meet clients. My mother was peeling carrots and grating cabbage to make coleslaw to go with our broiled chicken and wild rice. Usually I did the peeling and chopping and shredding, but I had a headache, so I was resting in my bedroom.
Going into their room to look for money was a scary thing. I was not allowed in their bedroom alone. They said everyone needs some private space, and that was theirs. It had always been that way. They weren’t two-faced about it either. They knocked before they came into my bedroom when I was in there, and as far as I knew, neither of them ever went in there without telling me. Of course, I was almost always around, so it wasn’t really possible for them to go in there without me noticing.
The Good Neighbor Page 19