A smile broke across his face, transforming it.
“Hi, Charles,” she said.
“Miss Susan.” He struggled to get up while she silently waited. She’d learned long ago that it was an affront to his dignity to suggest that he stay seated when a woman entered the room. When he had straightened up as much as his curved back would allow, she crossed over to him and kissed him on the cheek, breathing in a whiff of Old Spice.
“I brought you treats,” she said. She reached into her sack for a tin of cookies and set the novel atop a stack on the table next to his chair.
“You spoil me,” he said.
“My granddaughter doesn’t bring me treats,” Garth said mournfully.
“It would be my pleasure to share,” Mr. Brannon said.
Garth made a swift emotional recovery, taking a surprisingly large handful of cookies for a man who had arthritis. Susan made a mental note: Next time, bring two tins.
“Shall we?” Mr. Brannon said, offering Susan his arm. She walked with him to the elevator, then through the doors of Sunrise Assisted Living. She’d parked right in front of the entrance so he wouldn’t have to go far to reach her car, and she helped him into the front seat of her Mercedes.
“It’s so pretty out,” she said as she settled into the driver’s seat. “I thought I could get us some tea and we could go for a drive.” Those lines were part of their charade. Earlier on during her weekly visits, she’d taken Mr. Brannon places—to restaurants, movies, and bookstores. Then one day she’d driven past Newport Cove high school and she’d seen something transform his face, a naked yearning. She’d slowed for a stop sign, and he’d stretched out his hand against the glass pane of his window.
“Did you go to school there?” she’d asked, but he hadn’t answered.
“Would you mind . . . Could you . . . ,” he’d begun, the words seeming to take a great effort. She’d pulled over and turned in to the entrance to the school.
“Thank you,” he’d said as she’d driven slowly down the winding driveway, past the athletic fields and bleachers. They’d sat in the parking lot while she’d wondered about the school’s pull on Mr. Brannon. Maybe he’d met his wife here. Maybe he’d been a star football player, or a shy band member, while she’d been in Home Ec class. Something had told her not to ask, though.
“We can go now, dear,” he’d said after a few minutes, and as she’d driven away, he’d released a soft sigh.
Later, Susan discovered other places that exerted a similar gravitational effect on Mr. Brannon: a casual pizza restaurant, a nondescript redbrick house about a mile away from Sunrise Assisted Living, and the local hospital. She and Mr. Brannon talked before and after their drives, but not while he sat vigil outside his four spots. Those moments felt sacred.
Now Susan steered into the order lane for a drive-through Starbucks and bought two Chai Tea Lattes, then she set off, following the trail of Mr. Brannon’s emotional landmarks.
Maybe, she reflected as she took a sip of hot, sweet tea, she never questioned him because she had secret pilgrimages of her own. What would the people who called in to her radio show, seeking her sage, calm advice, think if they could see Susan stripped of her pride and restraint? Would they still respect her if they glimpsed her at her lowest moments? At least once a week, Susan lurked outside the house where Randall now lived with Daphne and his French bulldog puppy. Her vigils usually occurred on the nights Cole was with Randall, when Susan was alone and memories pressed in on her until she clutched her head, feeling nauseous from the swirl of her thoughts, from the recognition of all she had lost.
Susan had assumed she’d been drawn to Mr. Brannon because he had no family left. Because he needed her. But maybe that wasn’t it.
Maybe the reason was because he seemed broken inside, too.
* * *
Chapter Ten
* * *
Before Newport Cove
BREE WAS A LITTLE more than a year old when the next incident occurred.
Harry had been away on another business trip. He’d been traveling more lately. Sometimes Tessa wondered if he wanted to escape their messy home, his unhappy wife, their strained life. She’d thought about asking him, but she was afraid of his answer.
That afternoon, she’d spent an hour trapped on the couch while Bree had dozed on her chest. Bree resisted sleep with the fervor of an escaped convict being dragged back to prison, so it had felt like a victory when she’d nodded off in Tessa’s arms after her bottle. Tessa hadn’t been able to transfer Bree to her crib, though, because it would have woken her. So even though Tessa had needed to flip the laundry from the washing machine into the dryer, and straighten the living room, and bundle up all the newspapers and magazines for the recycling truck that would come through tomorrow, she’d lain on the couch, her head at an uncomfortable angle, letting her daughter rest.
When Bree had finally awoken, Tessa had a kink in her neck and an uneasy mix of agitation and boredom churning through her body. She’d needed to get out of the house. She’d packed some cold drinks, since the day had been warm, bundled Bree into the stroller, and had taken her daughter to the park, thinking fresh air and the swings would do them both good. There was an elementary school nearby, and school had just let out, so the playground should have been empty.
As she’d approached the park, Tessa had noticed a group of kids at T-ball practice. The children were adorable; their team T-shirts must have been ordered in a size too large, making them resemble Charlie Brown and his gang. Tessa had settled Bree into a bucket swing. The gentle motion was one of the few things that soothed Bree, but it had to be a real swing. Naturally, the mechanical one Tessa had bought for their living room, the one that had cost a hundred dollars—and would free up her hands—only irritated Bree.
She’d been thinking about Harry, wondering what he was doing in California at that exact moment. It was late afternoon on this coast, which meant it was lunchtime there. Perhaps he was eating in a nice restaurant. Sushi, maybe. Tessa hadn’t had sushi since before she’d gotten pregnant. It had always been her favorite splurge—the dash of searing wasabi, the tangy crunch of seaweed, the soft rice. After a good meal and then an afternoon of meetings, Harry would head back to his hotel room, where the newspaper would be crisp, the minibar filled with tempting treats, and the sheets on his bed snowy white. Perhaps he’d take off his shoes and flop on the bed and watch a little television, or sneak in a catnap. Maybe the maid had left him a minty piece of chocolate.
Sometimes she almost hated her husband.
Out of the corner of her eye, she’d seen a man coming from the direction of the parking lot. He was maybe in his sixties, with graying hair. He’d been moving slowly, weaving through the trees as he headed toward the T-ball field.
But then the man had stopped a few dozen yards away from the field. He’d positioned himself behind a tall, thick tree, leaning against it with his left hand while his right hand slipped into his pocket.
“Ma!” Bree had yelled at that moment.
Tessa would’ve liked to pretend that Bree was calling her, but she knew it was Bree’s way of saying, “More!”
She’d reached out to give her daughter another gentle push, then she’d swiveled to fix her eyes on the man. He was a little disheveled-looking, now that she was getting a closer look. He wore a battered baseball cap, khaki pants, and a plain blue T-shirt.
There had been something in the hand that was coming out of his pocket. Something shiny that had glinted as the sun caught it.
A cell phone? No. A small video camera.
Tessa had glanced again at the children. A dozen or so little boys and girls, about five or six years old. The man had lifted the video camera to his eye as a little girl in a skirt walked to the batting tee.
The little girl’s skirt hiked up, revealing her small, chubby thighs, as she swung for the ball and missed. Why wa
s that creep hiding behind a tree, filming a little girl as she bent over?
A nanny had been pushing a child on the swing next to Bree’s.
“Do you see that?” Tessa had asked. She’d pointed at the man. His hand was back in his pocket now.
The nanny had squinted and frowned. “What is he doing?”
“He’s taking videos of those kids! He’s a creep!”
“Is he a grandfather?”
“No!” Tessa had said. “Why would he be hiding? The parents can’t see him because he’s behind that tree.”
The nanny had shaken her head. “That’s no good.”
“Can you watch her?” Tessa had said, gesturing to Bree. “I’m going to talk to him.”
The nanny had nodded and taken over pushing Bree. Tessa had moved three long strides toward the man before she’d frozen. What would happen if she confronted him? He might attack her. More likely, he would simply walk away. She’d never know where he came from, or who he was. He’d go prey on other children.
She’d reached into her pocket for her cell phone and had dialed 911.
“I’m at a playground and there’s a strange man lurking around here,” Tessa had said, her voice sounding official. It was her job to protect her child—to protect all children. She was part of the village! “He’s taking videos of a little girl. He doesn’t seem to be with anyone.”
“Address, please?” the emergency operator had said, and Tessa had given her the name of the park and the precise location. She’d described the man and said she’d wait by the swings until a police officer arrived.
She’d kept a close watch on the man. He’d put the video camera away, but he was still staring at the children, hiding behind that tree, one hand resting on it as his face peered around the side. His other hand was still in his pocket. Tessa hadn’t been able to see his face clearly, but she’d committed his general height, weight, and hair color to memory.
The police came within five minutes, the squad car’s tires grinding against gravel as it pulled in to the parking lot. The lights and siren were off, but a male and female officer had gotten out quickly and walked toward the swings. Tessa had pulled a protesting Bree out of the bucket seat, settling her daughter on her hip as she went to meet them.
“I’m the one who called,” Tessa had said. She’d felt a little thrill of excitement—finally, something was interrupting her dull existence!—as she pointed to the man. “He’s right there.”
“Please stay back here, ma’am,” the female officer had said. She was young but had a competent, no-nonsense air about her. The two officers began walking toward the man, spreading apart slightly, which Tessa had suspected was so that they’d be able to cover more angles in case he tried to bolt. He didn’t even notice them until they came up beside him.
Tessa hadn’t been able to hear what they said, but after a moment she’d seen the man spread out his arms, palms up. I didn’t do anything! the gesture had seemed to say.
Check his video camera, Tessa had thought with satisfaction. You’ll see exactly what he did.
She’d edged a little closer, despite the officer’s warning. Most perverts were cowards; he wouldn’t dare do anything to her now. Let him try! She’d sock him in the nose. The officers were still talking, and now the man was pulling his video camera out of his pocket and holding it up for them to see.
Tessa had stopped moving when she saw a woman running toward the pervert. The woman had put a hand on the old man’s arm as she talked to the officers. Then the officers had stepped back, their posture relaxing. The woman had spoken to them for another minute, then looked over at Tessa. She’d shaken her head, her expression grim, and begun to walk over. Tessa’s stomach had plummeted.
“Are you the one who called the police?” the woman had asked. Tessa had nodded mutely, her throat dry.
“My father fought in the first Persian Gulf war,” the woman had said. Her eyes were bright and her voice sharp. “He has an old injury. There wasn’t anywhere for him to sit down and his leg was stiffening up so he leaned against the tree for support.”
Tessa had swallowed hard, feeling blood rush to her face. “I’m so sorry . . . ,” she’d begun.
“Look, I appreciate you trying to protect our kids, but you really jumped to conclusions,” the woman had said. Her voice had a little quaver in it and she was clutching her hands together tightly. By now the other parents at practice had all been looking toward the officers. “Why didn’t you just ask my dad what he was doing? You embarrassed him.”
“I’m sorry,” Tessa had whispered again. She’d looked at the nanny for support, but the nanny had quickly averted her eyes.
The little girl in the skirt had run over to the man, and he had bent over to give her a hug, and yes, Tessa had seen as he took a few steps, he was favoring his right leg with a limp. She hadn’t noticed it when he’d been walking to the tree line.
The woman who’d confronted Tessa had walked away without a word. The grandfather had reached out to politely shake the hands of the police officers, a gesture that sealed Tessa’s misery. He didn’t look her way, not even for a moment.
Maybe one child was enough, Tessa had thought as she tried to get Bree into the stroller. She and Harry had discussed the possibility of another child, now that Bree was over her colic and most of her teething, but Tessa obviously had trouble managing just one. Bree had begun screaming because she wasn’t ready to leave the swings, her arms and legs sticking out stiffly, and Tessa had to force her into the stroller. Now everyone who’d been staring at the old man was watching her. Judging her. She wasn’t a natural as a mother; she was a crazy lady who couldn’t comfort her baby and rushed her to the hospital when it wasn’t necessary and called the police on an innocent grandfather. She wasn’t any good at this!
They should just stick with one child, and hope they didn’t mess her up too badly, Tessa had thought miserably.
The next month, Tessa discovered she was pregnant.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
* * *
Newport Cove Listserv Digest
*Re: Neighborhood Halloween Party & Parade
A cheery reminder that Halloween is right around the corner and there are still plenty of open slots for the activities committee and food committee for our neighborhood party! Please email Shannon Dockser to sign up—let’s get all hands on deck! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager
• • •
Early one Friday afternoon, Joe came home unexpectedly and announced that he wouldn’t be campaigning at all that Sunday so they could have family time. “Maybe Chinese food and a movie?” he suggested. Then he handed Gigi a pint of salted caramel ice cream, which was her favorite.
“So,” she said after hiding the carton in the freezer, behind the frozen spinach, where the kids would never find it. “Are you planning to tell me what’s going on?”
Joe tried to give her an innocent face, but she just arched an eyebrow. She’d seen him talk his way out of speeding tickets. She knew his innocent face.
“I know you’re not going to like it,” he began, “but it would just be for a few months.”
“Go on,” Gigi said. This sounded like it was worth more than a measly pint of ice cream.
“Remember my new campaign manager?” Joe asked. He loosened the knot on his necktie and began to unravel the piece of silk.
Gigi thought back to the day of the photo shoot. “The young guy who looks like a surfer?”
“Yeah,” Joe said. He slung his tie over the back of a chair and Gigi automatically reached to straighten it out. “His name is Zach.”
“Right,” Gigi said.
“So even though he’s been working for me for the experience, he can’t do it for free much longer. He’s been crashing with a buddy but the friend’s girlfriend is sick of it. I was thinking about our b
asement. It’s empty.” Joe began speaking more quickly now that he’d released the request. “You’d hardly even know he was here.”
“Oh, Joe,” Gigi said, folding her arms. “Really?”
She hated the idea of having a stranger in the house. And Joe’s political campaign had already taken over so much of their lives. Already she’d tamed her hair and become the kind of woman who folded her arms when she was displeased with her husband. Did the campaign have to take over their home, too?
“It would just be for a little while,” Joe said. “Look on the bright side, if I lose the primary he’ll be gone even sooner.”
“We’ll have to ask the kids,” Gigi said.
“C’mon, you know Melanie’s going to freak out,” Joe said. “She blows up when we tell her we’re out of cereal. We can’t present this as her choice. We either decide to do it and tell her, or we don’t do it at all.”
“Okay,” Gigi said. “What if we don’t do it at all?”
Joe exhaled. He looked exhausted. His eyes were red-rimmed, and the skin beneath them sagged, Gigi saw as her heart softened. He was juggling two jobs now, since he was still working full-time for the environmental company, and the strain was showing. It was only going to get worse in the coming months.
“He’s good, Gigi. There are a lot of races around the country. He could leave tomorrow and join another one,” Joe said. “I feel like I could actually win this thing. People are starting to recognize me.”
“So how long are we talking, exactly?” Gigi said.
“Just through the general election, max,” Joe said.
A few months, then. Definitely worth more than a pint of ice cream.
“Fine,” she said. “But you have to be the one to tell Melanie.”
Joe jumped up and came over to stand behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Thank you,” he whispered in her ear. He began to knead her shoulders, his thumbs seeking out knots of tension and digging into them. Joe could have another career as a masseuse; the man gave world-class back rubs. That reason alone could have cemented her decision to marry him.
The Perfect Neighbors Page 6