The Perfect Neighbors

by Sarah Pekkanen

  “That’s so generous of you,” Kellie said. “But we’re the ones who should be treating you—”

  Jason’s mother held up a hand to cut Kellie off, but she was smiling. “Maybe a cruise,” she said.

  “Sounds wonderful,” Kellie said. She wondered if she and Jason would still be together when the date rolled around. Maybe he’d want to go alone with the kids. She turned her head and tossed the salad as tears filled her eyes again.

  If anyone saw her cry, there would be concern. Questions. They’d notice Jason wouldn’t be comforting her, and conclusions would be drawn. She’d ruin the family dinner, which no one deserved. And her shame would be multiplied if her in-laws deduced what she’d done.

  She felt a soft hand on her shoulder and she bowed her head, unable to look at Jason’s mother.

  “Marriage is hard,” she said. “I say we’ve been married for fifty wonderful years when anyone asks. But really, the answer is we’ve been married for forty wonderful years, eight so-so years, and two really bad years.”

  Kellie lifted her head and turned, her surprise at the revelation erasing her tears.

  “You’ve had hard times?” she asked. “You two always seem like . . . such a pair.”

  “I almost left him once,” Jason’s mother said, and Kellie nearly dropped the salad tongs. “After we were first married . . . my father was sick, he’d just been diagnosed with cancer, and I had a miscarriage.”

  “I didn’t know,” Kellie whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

  “It seemed like everything was falling apart,” she said. “Ralph tried to comfort me, but he didn’t really know what it was like. I was mad at him. Mad at the world.”

  “So what did you do?” Kellie asked.

  “I stayed,” she said simply. “It was a choice to keep on loving him, to keep on trying. Marriage is like a muscle. You have to work at keeping it strong so it doesn’t atrophy.”

  Kellie nodded and took another sip of wine, wondering how much Jason’s mother had seen. Maybe she’d noticed something amiss at Thanksgiving dinner, and had picked up how important the party was to Jason. She had to have noticed the distance between Kellie and her son Friday night. But she didn’t understand the reason, or she wouldn’t be speaking to Kellie in this soft, gentle voice.

  Jason’s mom pulled out the roast and set it on the stove. “Do you want to call everyone in for dinner?” she asked. Kellie nodded. She’d see if Jason needed another beer, and she’d cover up his quiet by chatting during dinner. She’d do whatever she could—distribute as many gestures of kindness as possible—to try to soften the terrible thing she’d done to her entire family.

  She turned to leave the room, then went back, to give Jason’s mother another hug.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and was grateful for the soft, motherly arms that gently patted her back.

  • • •

  “Is Melanie home?”

  Gigi whirled around to see Zach standing in the kitchen. It was eerie how he appeared, catlike, without making any noise.

  “No,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “I wanted to give you and Joe a heads-up about something,” he said.

  Gigi nodded. “In there,” she said, jerking her head toward the living room. “I’ll get Joe.”

  Melanie had left for school, as had Julia, and Joe was upstairs on his computer, answering emails. If everyone had been around, Gigi would have pulled Zach outside and demanded to know what was going on. His last revelation felt like a power play, and she was determined to keep him from knocking her off balance again.

  She realized her fists were clenched as she went to call Joe. He came downstairs so rapidly she knew he deduced from her tone that it was important.

  She sat on the couch next to her husband, with Zach across from them. He had a folder—of course he had a folder! The sight of it made her pulse quicken. Gigi spoke up immediately, not wanting Zach to control the tone or pace of this conversation.

  “What is it, Zach?” she asked. “I’ve only got a minute.”

  “I thought you should see this,” he said, handing them the folder.

  Gigi opened it and couldn’t refrain from gasping. She’d been expecting to have another piece of her past revealed. But Melanie was the target.

  Inside was a printout of a conservative web page; Gigi had seen the site before when its reporter—there only seemed to be one writing the stories—had published an “exposé” of one of Joe’s campaign contributions, claiming that it came from terrorists. Of course it had been a lie, but the comments section showed plenty of people believed it.

  The headline on this new story read: Family Feud!

  Beneath it was a photograph of Joe, Melanie, Gigi, and Julia. It was from the session they’d held on the front steps, but Gigi had never seen this picture before. Melanie’s face was furious as she pulled away from the woman who’d tried to cover up her pimple, and Gigi’s mouth was twisting in anger, too. Joe was staring off into space, as if bored by the scene, while Julia looked as if she were about to cry.

  Beneath the photo was another, of Melanie fleeing. The angle was particularly unflattering, and Melanie’s shirt was hiked up, revealing the top of her white underpants peeking up above her black pants and—oh no!—a hint of her butt crack. Gigi skimmed the story, wincing as she saw the words “hissy fit” and “out-of-control teenager.”

  “What the hell?” Joe said. “Who took this?”

  “Hard to say,” Zach said, steepling his fingers. “A neighbor with a grudge, an aide for one of your opponents who knew about the shoot and happened to have a camera ready at the right time . . .”

  “The right time?” Joe asked incredulously. “I will sue their asses . . . Get me the number of whoever runs that piece of shit website . . .”

  “The right time for them,” Zach said quickly. “The wrong time for us, of course.”

  He gestured to the folder. “There’s more.”

  Joe flipped the page and saw a photograph of Melanie at a park, seated on the grass next to Raven, taking a puff off a joint.

  “She’s smoking weed?” Joe asked. The venom drained from his voice; he sounded stunned.

  Zach cleared his throat. “That night, when we were watching a movie, I talked to Melanie. I figured it might be easier for her to open up to someone closer to her own age, so . . . She’s only tried it a few times. She doesn’t like it, really. She says it makes her jittery. That’s an old photo, she says it happened at the beginning of the school year. And now that she broke up with that guy, I doubt she’ll be trying it again soon. He was really into pot.”

  “You talked to her?” Gigi asked. She was grateful for the information, but she couldn’t understand why Zach had taken such an interest in Melanie. And something was off in the timeline he’d presented, but she couldn’t quite discern what it was. The photos had come at her like punches and she was still reeling.

  “So do we bring it up to her?” Joe asked Gigi. “If it was just a couple of times . . .”

  Gigi gazed down at the picture from the family photo shoot again. The date on the top caught her eye. “This was published more than a week ago,” she said. “When did you find out about it?”

  “Just a little while ago,” Zach said. “I think we should schedule a new shoot and release our own photos to offset this. Melanie can wear a nice outfit, maybe have her hair done. This will be forgotten.”

  “Not to me, it won’t,” Joe snapped. “I’m serious, Zach. I want this taken down . . .”

  Joe was still talking, but his voice seemed to fade away as Gigi remembered Melanie on the couch with Zach. That secret smile curving her lips.

  Melanie’s interest in new clothes had been too abrupt. She’d even asked for a makeover at the Lancôme counter, and had come home with tinted moisturizer, mascara, and lip gloss. Gigi had seen her that
night, experimenting with the mascara in the bathroom mirror.

  Melanie had lingered around the main level of the house in her new clothes and makeup that night, instead of retreating to her room, until after Joe had come home. She’d even helped Gigi cook dinner. Gigi had thought it was because Melanie wanted to be with her, but suddenly she realized Melanie had wanted Zach to see her new look. Her daughter had been waiting for him. She wanted his approval.

  “What did you do to her?” Gigi demanded.

  “Pardon?” Zach asked, swiveling to face her. He must’ve seen the angry expression on her face, but he was as calm as ever. This was theater to him, Gigi realized.

  “Does Melanie know about this?” She closed the folder and shook it near his face. “Is this why she wanted to go shopping right after you watched that movie?”

  “Of course not,” Zach said. “I wouldn’t say a word about it to her.”

  “So what did you say?” Gigi demanded. Her breaths were coming hot and fast now, even though her body felt cold. She turned to Joe. “The night after Kellie’s party, remember? The two of them were on the couch. Melanie asked me to go shopping the next morning.”

  She looked at Zach. “You’re not telling us everything.”

  Zach hesitated, then shrugged. “Look, I may have mentioned something about how the girl in the movie looked better with makeup, what great style she had,” he said. “You have to admit it’s embarrassing for Melanie—for any girl—to be singled out like this.”

  “You had no right—no right! How dare you try to, to . . . groom my daughter!” Gigi exploded.

  “You crossed the line, Zach,” Joe said. “You told me you just saw this article. But you talked to Melanie last weekend. You should have come to me, not my daughter. About the pot, too.”

  “She had a crush on you,” Gigi said. “Did you know that?”

  Zach lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, acknowledging it. “Obviously I’m not interested in her, I was just trying to help.”

  Gigi thought of the weight-loss book under Melanie’s bed, the way her daughter had seemed so sad until recently, but had brightened at Thanksgiving dinner under Zach’s attention. He’d used that power.

  “I’m not comfortable with you being in our house any longer,” Gigi told Zach. “You were here to work on Joe’s campaign, not to interfere with our family.”

  “Are you serious?” Zach laughed. He actually laughed. “Because your daughter has a crush on me?”

  “Joe?” Gigi turned to her husband.

  “Let me think,” Joe said. He massaged his forehead with his index finger and thumb.

  “You need me,” Zach said. “You think this is bad?” He gestured to the folder. “It’s going to get worse. They’re going to come after you hard. Wait until they have a photo of you smoking pot, Gigi. Can’t you see the headline? ‘Like mother, like daughter.’ ”

  “That’s enough,” Joe said. “Look, why don’t we all calm down and take a step back . . .”

  Gigi was staring at Zach. His eyes were bright and his cheeks were pink. He was exhilarated.

  But all he said was, “Okay. I’m sorry again for overstepping. Should we head out now, Joe, and maybe we can all continue this conversation later?”

  “Wait,” Gigi said. “What did you mean, ‘like mother, like daughter’?”

  She saw it in Zach’s eyes. He knew instantly he’d made a mistake.

  “You were in my bedroom,” Gigi said. “When?”

  Zach shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Gigi turned to Joe. “The pot I keep upstairs. Someone took some out a while ago.”

  “It wasn’t me,” Zach said.

  “He must’ve been alone in the house at some point,” Gigi said. “He probably went through everything.”

  She could see Zach with his iPhone, searching through her drawers, reading the financial information in their filing cabinet, snapping pictures . . . Creating more files, ticking bombs he could store for the future.

  She stepped toward Zach, her fingers itching to slap him, wanting to do something—something!—to get his tentacles out of their family. Then she heard Joe’s quick, sharp inhalation. She turned and saw her husband’s face transform from anger to shock.

  In the hallway was Melanie, holding a lunch bag she must’ve forgotten and come back for. The lunch she’d so carefully prepared that morning, with cut-up carrot and celery sticks and a yogurt. Weight-loss foods.

  Gigi leaped up to follow her daughter, but Melanie was running upstairs, and then came the sound of her door slamming. Gigi tore up the stairs behind her, and a moment later, Joe came thundering up, too.

  “I want him out of my house,” Gigi said. She rubbed her eyes to push away her tears. “Right now!”

  “Okay,” Joe said. “You’re right, he can’t stay here any longer.” He knocked on the door. “Melanie?”

  There wasn’t any answer, but Joe cracked open the door anyway. “Honey?”

  Melanie had pulled the covers over her head, just as she had when she’d been a little girl. The sight of that lump in the bed broke Gigi’s heart.

  She didn’t look at Joe for guidance or try to think about the next right step. She instinctively ran to her daughter, and wrapped her arms around Melanie.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

  She could feel Melanie’s body shuddering, but Melanie didn’t push her away, so Gigi held on tight. She rocked her daughter back and forth, wishing she could absorb her pain.

  * * *

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  * * *

  Before Newport Cove

  IT WAS DARK OUT when Tessa arrived at Danny’s house. She pulled into the driveway, behind his Volvo, and killed her car’s lights.

  She sat there for a moment, deciding how to proceed. She imagined seeing Danny smile as he opened the door. He’d invite her in, and she’d take a seat in the living room. She’d relay what Addison had said, using the same calm tone in which she’d conveyed the story to Harry. “I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding, but could you explain to me why you needed to touch my son’s legs?” she’d ask.

  Or maybe she wouldn’t put forth that question. Maybe she’d just repeat what Addison had said, then study Danny’s reaction. His face would reveal something if it hadn’t been an innocent act, wouldn’t it?

  She got out of her car and marched up the front porch steps and knocked on the door. She waited a few moments, then jabbed the bell with her index finger.

  The door remained closed. Tessa glanced at the Volvo in the driveway. The house appeared occupied; light poured forth from nearly every window. She knocked again, harder this time, until her knuckles stung.

  Maybe he was in the shower, she thought, feeling deflated. She started to head back to her car, unsure of what else to do. But she paused on the top step of the front porch, looking at the basketball hoop over Danny’s garage. He was sure welcoming to kids.

  The thing was, she couldn’t think of a single thing Danny could say to prove his touch was innocent. Addison could’ve just tried on the pants and reported if they were too big or too small; that’s what he did whenever she took him shopping. And why would Danny use his palm, running it along the inside of Addison’s leg? Then there was the special hug. It sounded creepy. She’d gone over and over it in her mind. It wasn’t a misunderstanding. There wasn’t a reasonable explanation.

  She’d been wrong before. But that didn’t matter. Right now, every instinct she had was screaming an alarm.

  The certainty propelled her to turn around and try the door handle. It twisted easily in her palm. It was still relatively early; maybe Danny only locked up when he went to bed at night. He lived on a quiet, pleasant street. Maybe he thought he had nothing to fear.

  She stepped across the threshold, listeni
ng intently. She could hear the distant sounds of voices, then a burst of laughter coming from a television on upstairs. She imagined Danny sprawled across his bed, relaxing, perhaps sipping from a bottle of beer.

  The television was loud; it must have masked the sound of the doorbell and her knocking. She’d go to the bottom of the stairs and call out to him, she decided as she closed the door. She’d tell Danny to stay the hell away from her son. Then she’d phone the other parents and let them know what had happened. They could question their own children and decide if they wanted to go to the police as a group.

  Tessa walked through the hallway, then paused to listen again. The television was still on. She glanced to her right, seeing a dining room with a laptop computer on the gleaming wood table. A stack of newspapers and magazines lay next to it, along with a pile of Young Ranger uniforms and the selection of binoculars and other items that Danny had mentioned. Tessa looked at the stairs to make sure Danny wasn’t coming into view, then crept over and leafed through the publications—they were just newspapers and sports magazines—and opened the laptop. It was password protected.

  Danny lived alone. Was it suspicious that he wanted to protect the information on his laptop?

  She closed the lid, then walked into the galley kitchen. It was clean and uncluttered, with a coffeemaker and a blue bowl containing apples and oranges on the counter. A single coffee mug and china plate rested in the sink.

  Tessa took in the electric bill on the counter by the phone, and the calendar on the wall with mostly empty white squares. Then her eyes landed on a door leading to the basement.

  She could still hear the television on upstairs, the tinny laugh track filtering through the walls. Noise traveled through the floors of this house; she’d have to be very quiet.

  She reached for the knob, but the door was locked. A bolt was fastened high up on the door—above the reach of a child, Tessa noted, wondering if that was significant. She slid it out of the chamber, grateful it eased away with just a small click. Then she opened the door.