Joe had shot her an imploring look.
“Call an ‘n,’ you idiot,” she’d said. “Fine, but I’m drawing the line at Mason.”
“He probably won’t come anyway,” Joe had said, backing out of the room.
“You didn’t invite him, did you? Joe? Joe! Get back here! I know you can hear me!”
Now Gigi made slow progress toward the dining room, where she’d heard voices. She recognized one as belonging to Joe’s press secretary, Devon, a slight young woman with a pixie haircut who’d just graduated from Dartmouth with a degree in political science. Gigi was continually amazed at the credentials of the people who’d volunteered to work for Joe. Zach had a double major in political science and world studies. Their faith in Joe, more than anything, made her realize what had seemed like an impulsive idea a few short months ago was rapidly becoming a very real possibility.
“Where should I put the extra brochures?” Devon was asking.
Gigi had almost reached the room when she heard Zach answer: “Right here on the dining room table. No, move those flowers. Just stick them on a chair.”
“Hi,” Gigi said from the doorway. She saw Devon’s eyes flit up to the top of her head and Gigi reached up to tame her spiky bangs. Why had she ever allowed herself to be talked into this haircut?
“Actually,” Gigi said, “those flowers were just delivered this morning from Joe’s parents. Can you put them back and maybe just put the brochures over there?” She gestured to a little table under the window.
Zach frowned. “The thing is, it would be great if people could pick up a few pieces of literature. That way they’ll have them on hand if anyone needs to know more about Joe. They can pass them out at the supermarket.” Zach made a little gesture with his arm, as if he were giving someone a brochure. It reminded Gigi of Vanna and she bit back a giggle (oh, those muscle relaxants were gorgeous).
“I understand,” Gigi said. “It’s just that this is a thank-you party. I don’t want to seem pushy when everyone has already done so much for us.”
“Yeah,” Zach said. “Except if we win tonight—”
“When we win!” Devon interrupted spiritedly, pumping her fist in the air. Zach didn’t even look at her and Gigi realized from the red flush spreading across Devon’s cheeks that the young woman had a crush on him.
“—we’re going to need to go full speed into getting ready for the general election,” Zach continued. “Max Connor is going to get the Republican nomination; he’s sewn it up. So it’s going to be him against Joe. Both parties are going to want this seat, bad. All the predictions are that Congress is going to be nearly evenly split after the election tonight. So we’re going to get an infusion from the DCCC, and we can allocate those funds . . .”
Zach talked until Gigi was reduced to nodding. By then she could not have cared less about the flowers. Maybe that was his strategy.
“I’ve got to get back out,” Zach said. “We’ve still got a few hours before polls close and I need to check on our volunteers at the library and elementary school—they’re going to see a lot of traffic tonight and I have to make sure everyone’s on message. Could I grab a sandwich or something? I’m starving.”
“Sure,” Gigi said. Wait—Zach wasn’t going to expect her to put together meals for him when he lived here, was he? It would only be until the general election, she reminded herself. And if Joe lost the primary, Zach would be back on his friend’s couch within days, but Gigi wouldn’t let herself hope for that outcome.
“Help yourself,” she said. “Food’s in the kitchen.”
She glanced at her cell phone and realized Melanie hadn’t come directly home after school. She sent her daughter a text: Are you okay? Don’t forget the party tonight for Dad’s campaign!
Needy. She sounded far too needy. But it was too late to erase the text and the embarrassing smiley face she’d added at the end of it.
Devon was looking down at her own cell phone. “Someone from the Channel 6 news wants to be here to get live footage when the returns come in,” she said. “This is awesome. I have to go tell Zach!”
She hurried off, slamming the door behind her.
“Um . . . okay,” Gigi said. It would’ve been nice if Devon had at least checked to see if it was okay to bring in a camera crew. This was her home, after all.
But then another thought struck her. If a TV station was sending a cameraman, it might mean early reports from the polls were tilting in Joe’s favor. They wouldn’t waste all that time and personnel on someone who was destined to lose, would they?
It wasn’t that Gigi had thought Joe would fail.
It just hadn’t truly hit her until now that he was probably going to win.
• • •
Susan and Cole climbed the front steps to Gigi and Joe’s home, both carrying heaping platters of her special buffalo wings. “You’re our guest,” Gigi had protested when Susan had offered to bring some food. “You’re bedridden,” Susan had countered.
Susan gave a little knock on the front door, but suspected no one would hear, since it sounded like the entire neighborhood was packed inside. She eased her way through the door, apologizing for bumping into Frank Fitzgibbons, who’d been animatedly chatting with one of the neighborhood au pairs, a comely twentysomething from Brazil (seriously, that man was trouble).
“Hey, Susan! Hiya, Cole!” Kellie said as she approached. “The other kids are in the living room scarfing down cookies,” she told Cole, who handed Kellie his platter and took off like a rocket.
“This is amazing,” Susan said, looking around as she followed Kellie into the kitchen, where they deposited the wings on the counter. “Everyone’s here.”
Joe swooped in, cutting through the crowd, and greeted Susan with a kiss on the cheek. The color was high in his face and his eyes were bright. He still wore a suit, but he’d loosened the knot of his red-and-blue-striped tie. “Thanks for everything,” he said.
“My pleasure, Mr. Congressman,” she joked.
“Oh, don’t call me that,” Joe said. “Sir Congressman is fine.”
A young woman was tugging on Joe’s sleeve. “The TV crew wants a shot of you watching the early returns come in,” she said.
“Sorry,” Joe said to Susan and Kellie. “Gigi’s over there—I know she wants to see you.”
Kellie waved him away. “Go, go, Your Excellency. I know you’re busy tonight. Just give us a tax break to make up for it.”
Susan poured wine into a small plastic cup, then watched as a cluster of neighbors formed a half circle behind the television camera as it filmed Joe. Joe was staring at the television set, watching numbers pop up on-screen.
“Shepherd is putting Joe Kennedy ahead of Rich Sappiro by five percentage points with forty-six percent of the precinct reporting,” a newscaster was saying.
A cheer went up and someone began leading a chant: “Joe! Joe! Joe!”
“He’s really going to do this, isn’t he?” Susan said.
“Looks like it,” Kellie said.
Susan felt a hand lightly touch her shoulder from behind and she looked back, a smile already forming on her face, expecting to see Gigi.
But Daphne was standing there.
“Hi,” Daphne said. “I saw you come in. I just thought I should, um, say hello.”
Susan took a step back. She felt the air rush out of her lungs.
“What are you doing here?” Susan asked.
“Joe invited us,” Daphne said. That voice. How Randall must love hearing that low, sexy voice late at night when they were in bed. “Sue, I know Randall told you about the baby—”
Susan felt, rather than heard, Kellie’s gasp, as her friend moved closer to her.
“—and I just thought maybe we could go out for a cup of tea. Or talk. It’s been so long since we’ve talked. I wish . . .”
Susan shook her head. She felt tears pooling in her eyes.
“Will you think about it?” Daphne asked. “It would be good for Cole if we tried to reduce the tension between us.”
Fury swelled in Susan. “Are you telling me what’s good for my son? What gives you any right—any right at all—”
Daphne swallowed and lowered her eyes. Her face grew pinched and she blinked a few times.
“I’m sorry,” Daphne said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
Susan’s body began to tremble. “You were my friend,” she said, her voice cracking. “You were my friend first!”
She was aware of Tally White edging closer to watch, and a few other neighbors turning around, picking up on the uncomfortable new undercurrent churning through the party.
“I know,” Daphne said softly. “Please. Will you just talk to me?”
Susan shook her head. She had to get out. The night was ruined. Her life was ruined.
Kellie was there, stepping between them. “Susan said she didn’t want to talk right now,” Kellie said, her voice low and firm. “I think you should leave her alone.”
Daphne nodded, just once, and walked away, her head low. As she turned and Susan saw her profile, she realized Daphne was already beginning to show, just a tiny bit. Her stomach was swollen with Randall’s baby. An ache pierced the middle of Susan’s chest and she released a small, involuntary sound.
“Oh, honey,” Kellie said. Her hand was warm on Susan’s shoulder.
“I need to go,” Susan whispered.
“Are you sure?” Kellie said. She must’ve read the answer in Susan’s eyes. “Okay. Do you want me to come with you? Or should I bring Cole home for you later?”
“Can you bring him later?” Susan asked. Kellie nodded and Susan pushed her way to the front door. She needed to be outside, where she could fill her lungs with cold air.
Just before she reached the front door, she saw Randall. He was about to bite into one of the buffalo wings—her buffalo wings!—as he talked to a neighbor. He looked up and saw her expression and dropped the wing back onto his plate.
• • •
Tessa was walking toward Gigi’s house when she saw someone burst out the door and run down the walk. She could tell it was a woman, but she didn’t realize it was Susan until they’d nearly crossed paths.
Susan ducked her head, but not before Tessa realized her lovely face was streaked with tears.
“Are you okay?” Tessa asked instinctively. Dumb question—anyone could see Susan was in terrible pain.
“Here,” Tessa said. She reached into her purse and pulled out a little pack of Kleenex. “What can I do? Do you want me to call someone?”
“I’m fine,” Susan said, but she wrapped her arms around her stomach and bent over.
Tessa reached out and patted her back while Susan’s shoulders shook.
“Want me to walk you home?” she asked.
Susan straightened up and blew her nose. She hesitated, then nodded.
• • •
They were settled in the kitchen at Susan’s house, a bottle of Baileys and two steaming mugs of decaf coffee on the table before them. There was a reason the kitchen was called the heart of the house, Susan thought. How many confessions had been aired in snug little spots like this, while a teakettle whistled or a cork was coaxed out of a bottle? It felt so cozy to be sitting here on two stools, the rectangular knotted rug beneath their feet, the dishrag hanging on the sink, the little window by their table steamy from the contrast of cold outside and warmth within.
“Okay,” Susan said. She sighed. “Here’s what happened.”
• • •
Newport Cove’s manager, Shannon Dockser, was the one who’d brought Susan and Daphne together. She’d cornered Susan during a weak moment and had convinced her to sign up for the neighborhood welcoming committee.
Two weeks later, Susan had knocked on Daphne’s door.
Daphne had opened it, wearing cutoff jean shorts that revealed her long legs and a red bandanna tying back her dark curls. She had the best cheekbones Susan had ever seen. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, but her face compelled your gaze.
Susan had handed Daphne a basket containing a warm coffee cake, paper plates, a bowl of hulled strawberries with mint, a bottle of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and two packets of instant Starbucks coffee.
“The morning after a move is always so awful, when you can never find anything you need,” Susan had said. “So here’s breakfast. Consider yourself officially welcomed to Newport Cove.”
“This is so nice of you. Come in!” Daphne had urged.
“No way,” Susan had said, laughing. “You’ve got enough to do without having an uninvited guest pop by. But my phone number’s on the card. I live just a few blocks away. If you need anything, please call.”
“Mmm,” Daphne had said, inhaling the cinnamon coffee cake. “It smells divine. Did you make this? I’m a horrible cook . . . Would it be wrong if I ate this with some wine for dinner?”
“So wrong it’s right,” Susan had said, instantly liking her new neighbor. So technically, Susan had fallen for Daphne’s charms first.
• • •
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her,” Tessa said.
“You’d remember,” Susan said. That supple, reedlike body. That voice. Those cheekbones, which Susan later learned were an inheritance from her half-Cherokee grandmother. Daphne made quite an impression.
But Susan had never thought Daphne would be Randall’s type. He liked busty, darker-skinned women. Randall was just five foot nine, and he didn’t even like it when Susan, who was five foot six, wore heels. But Daphne stood as tall as Randall in her bare feet. It made no sense at all.
Susan wiped her eyes. “Can you pour me another drink?”
• • •
A week later, Susan had run into Daphne while she was out walking Sparky.
“Hi, Sue!” Daphne had called, and for some reason, the nickname Susan had never before liked sounded good in Daphne’s throaty voice. They’d chatted for a few minutes, then Susan had impulsively invited Daphne to lunch.
“Do you like sushi?” Susan had asked. It was her favorite but Randall hated it.
“Love it,” Daphne had said. “How about we go tomorrow?”
By the end of that meal, they’d talked about everything: Why Daphne had moved (a divorce). How she was adjusting to the new neighborhood (very well, the people were so friendly here). How much unpacking was left (quite a bit; did anyone ever get to the boxes they’d stuck in the basement? Did anyone even know what was in the boxes?).
There was one topic they didn’t cover, though. Susan didn’t say much about her husband at all.
She didn’t tell Daphne that she hadn’t made love with her husband in nearly four months.
Four months!
They’d hit an impasse in their relationship, and Susan didn’t know what to do. Randall wanted more kids—maybe two. Susan had been an only child, and it felt right to her to have just one. Even if Susan could imagine going back to those early days of fractured sleep and exhausted arms from carrying around a ten-pound baby, she didn’t want to risk it.
They’d learned when Cole was born that she and Randall both carried the gene for sickle-cell disease. Disproportionately common in African-Americans, the disease—named for misshapen red blood cells that prevent oxygen from traveling through the body—can cause health problems throughout a lifetime, including incidences of severe pain, organ damage, stroke, heart attacks . . . Had Cole inherited the gene from both of them, he would have required careful management. But he hadn’t; like Susan and Randall, he had just one gene, which meant he was only a carrier.
Another child, though . . . Randall, the perpetual optimist, thought the risk was worth it, especially with the promise of medical advances.
She didn’t.
Besides, Cole was starting school and her business was taking off and her days already felt full to bursting. She’d heard that some people knew without a doubt that they didn’t want to be mothers. There had to be other women like her, who definitively wanted a child but just one. Sweet, spectacular Cole, who’d inherited Randall’s smile and her eyes, was all she needed.
She couldn’t have sex with Randall because she’d had a bad reaction to birth control pills. She had a diaphragm, but the last time she’d slipped out of his arms to go to the bathroom and put it in before lovemaking, he’d asked what she was doing. When she told him, he’d grabbed a pillow and quilt and had stormed off to the couch.
So Susan had begun to work late into the night instead of cuddling with Randall while they watched HBO. It was easy to avoid him now that she had so much work to do. She’d crawl into bed after he’d begun to snore, and she’d slip out from under the covers the instant the alarm sounded, before his arm could snake around her and pull her close.
She knew Randall was upset, but he’d refused to go to counseling when she’d suggested it. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” he’d said.
“I’m not saying that, honey,” she’d said, her tone reasonable, because she knew Randall hated to be yelled at. His father had done so much of it while Randall had been growing up that Randall carried permanent scars; he even turned down the volume on the television when the football announcers got excited about a play and began screaming.
She kept hoping that Randall would come around, that he’d realize their little family was exactly the size it should be.
Susan had given him a beautiful, perfect son. They had a wonderful life.
Of course he’d come around.
• • •
“So she swooped in?” Tessa said, sitting up straighter and frowning. “Like a vulture?”
Susan shook her head. “No,” she said. “It was more complicated than that.”
“My ex and I were married for ten years before we got divorced,” Daphne had said with a sad smile over their lunch. “What about you? Have you been married long?”
Susan had looked down at her plate, toying with her chopsticks as her gold wedding band gleamed in the overhead light. “It’s a little complicated now,” she’d said. “We’re going through a rough patch.”
The Perfect Neighbors Page 11