Neighborly

by Ellie Monago

  For the first time, it occurs to me: Tennyson is sort of narcissistic. She doesn’t seem to feel what other people feel. She’s not malicious; she’s simply unaware. She’s got her spreadsheet, and the block orbits around her, and she’s perfectly happy.

  “I don’t know who it is,” I say. “That’s why I put the post up. Do you have any ideas?”

  She cocks her head and gives me a coy smile. “Depends. Who’ve you been sleeping with?” Then she lets out a big laugh. “Just kidding! We’re still waiting for you to give us an answer. Are you in or are you out?”

  “Doug and I have been kind of busy. We haven’t really made a decision.”

  “Which way are you leaning? No, wait, don’t tell me. Just give us another chance to convince you. Tomorrow night we’re going back to Hound for another girls’ night.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  She winks. “That’s right, play hard to get!”

  I start to head down her front steps, looking up and down the street, debating my next destination.

  I don’t see Yolanda’s car, but Wyatt’s is there. The last thing I want is for word to get back to her that I was interacting with Wyatt alone. I feel like Yolanda and I are at a détente after our talk last night, and I don’t want to jeopardize it.

  I also want to avoid Andie’s house, but I can’t anymore. I need to get that handwriting sample and rule her out. Or in.

  I knock on the door of their immense Tudor, remembering how intimidated I once was by her, for an entirely different reason. I recall that first dinner, and her awe-inspiring kitchen ceiling, and her breathtaking dining room, and all that talk about Fisher’s adoption that felt both spontaneous and intimate. Did she know then that she wanted Doug? Did she already know she was going to betray me?

  “Here,” I say coldly. I shove the petition at her. “It’s for Children’s Hospital. Print and sign.”

  “How is Sadie adjusting to being home?” Her tone is sweet, like she won’t even dignify my rudeness. She takes the clipboard and signs quickly, like she has nothing to hide. “You must be in heaven having her back!”

  I can’t make pleasantries with her after everything. “Is Nolan here? I need all the signatures I can get.”

  “He is, but he’s upstairs in his office, in the middle of a conference call.” She signed, but she doesn’t seem very eager for him to do the same.

  “I’ll wait and catch him on his way out. What time does he leave for work?”

  “He’s working from home today.”

  I stare her down. She needs to know I’m not just some pushover. I’m Sadie’s mother and Doug’s wife, and both of those mean something. “I’m passionate about this, Andie. I’m going to get that signature. So when will he be available? I’ll keep coming back.”

  She splits my eardrums with a sudden yell. “Nolan! Come here!”

  He appears relatively quickly, a piece of half-eaten toast in his hand. She lied. He wasn’t upstairs on a conference call; he was in the kitchen.

  “How are you, Kat?” I realize that he’s the first person who led with that, rather than asking about Sadie. He seems like he genuinely wants to know. If our spouses are sleeping with each other, that’s got to be a certain kind of bond.

  “Just happy to be home and to have Sadie home.”

  “What do you have here?”

  I hand him the clipboard, and he’s the first one to read it. He hesitates, the pen in hand, and then he looks at me curiously. I get the funny feeling he knows it’s a bunch of hooey. I gaze back at him, like a woman with nothing to hide. He prints and signs, then returns the clipboard. “Seems like a worthwhile measure,” he says. “I hope it makes the ballot.”

  Andie is standing a little bit behind him. She seems subdued. Chastened, I hope.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  “No, thank you,” Nolan says, and I don’t know what he means, but he sounds friendly and sincere, so I’ll take it. And run.

  I’ve saved June for last. Her car is there, and so is her daughter’s. Yet I bang and bang, and ring and ring, and no one answers. Strange that she’d avoid me, since as far as she knows, I think she’s my AV soul mate. That’s what I told her, back when I meant it.

  Maybe they’re just heavy sleepers. I’ll go back later.

  Inside my own home, Doug and Sadie are still asleep. I linger an extra minute in Sadie’s room, stroking her hair with the lightest of touches, like a present I’m giving myself. Then I force myself to leave. I can’t risk disturbing her. She needs her rest.

  I go back downstairs. Since I can’t get the most likely suspect’s handwriting sample yet, I might as well inspect what I do have. I lay the one remaining note out in front of me and hold the petition in my lap.

  At first glance, none of their handwriting matches. No one’s printing is neat enough. But the notes are block letters, and no one printed their name that way. Also, they could be writing in a different style to throw me off.

  I Google forensic handwriting analysis and try again. I’m looking for differences first, at the amount and degree of slant, at the spacing between letters and words, and at the shapes.

  Still nothing.

  That could just mean, by process of elimination, that June wrote all the notes.

  She acted alone, that’s all. Everyone else is in the clear, which is good news. It’s just one bad apple.

  But somehow I don’t think so.

  Because she didn’t even check who was at her door. I know she’s an early riser because she told me that during our very first conversation, when she mentioned how early the trash pickup is, and because she welcomed me to GoodNeighbors before sunrise. She’s up; I know she is.

  Someone must have texted her and told her not to answer the door. They might have told her I’m onto her, that I’m coming for her just like I posted on GoodNeighbors. Because normal people don’t ignore someone that insistent. Normal people are, at least, curious as to who needs to see them that badly at 7:40 a.m.

  I go to the window and look out at the street, hoping for some inspiration, willing the next step to come to me, and that’s when I see Hope heading for her car.

  I don’t like the idea of manipulating someone’s child, but June may have poisoned mine. Besides, Hope’s a teenager. A rebellious one, I’ve heard, and I’ve got to try to use that to my advantage.

  “Hi,” I say as Hope’s hand is on the driver’s door of her Audi. “We’ve never officially met. I’m Kat, your neighbor.”

  “I know. I’m Hope.” She doesn’t make eye contact or smile. Her hand’s still on the door, but she hasn’t opened it. So that’s something.

  “Good to meet you. Your mother’s told me all about you.” Actually, June’s said practically nothing about Hope in all our time together, and next to nothing about herself. I didn’t even realize how solipsistic all our conversations had been. “She said when you were little, you were in the same hospital as Sadie.”

  Hope makes a noise of obvious contempt. “What doesn’t she lie about?”

  “You were never in a hospital?” I glance up at the house to see if June’s by a window, watching us. We seem to be in the clear, but I still have to act fast.

  Hope shakes her head, disgust splashed across her features.

  Those features. They’re strangely familiar. I’ve never seen Hope up close before, and I peer at her, trying to see beyond the mime-white face paint, and the heavy eyeliner, and the red lipstick. I know this girl, don’t I?

  I stare at her, and she stares back, with bold annoyance. It’s the first time I’ve really looked into her eyes, and now there’s no mistaking it. I looked into those eyes a million times when I was growing up. Those are Ellen’s eyes.

  Then I’m seeing June’s face in my mind, despite all the times she shifted so that her hair was partially covering it. I can see Ellen’s face—with some sort of time-lapse photography like she’s on a milk carton—and I superimpose and cross-reference and, yes, there’s been some surgery (
definitely her nose and probably her chin, and could they have done something to her cheekbones, or is her face just that much thinner?) and colored contacts, but some essential Ellen-ness remains. I was just too self-obsessed, and too Sadie-obsessed, to see it.

  Yet I must have sensed it. Because when I sat with June at the hospital, there was this feeling of comfort right away. We were capable of companionable silence of a sort that usually takes years to achieve. And I opened up to her so easily, in a way I never would have ordinarily. I thought it was just the circumstances, but it was something else, something more. Some part of me felt like the woman in front of me was someone I’d known forever. Because I had.

  After all these years, Ellen and I found each other.

  “Are you, like, having a seizure or something?” Hope asks. She looks like she really wants to get the hell away from me, but she’s making sure I’m OK first. So there’s some decency in her. She might be wayward, but June raised her better than everyone thinks.

  “Sorry. It’s just . . . I was knocking on your door a little while ago. Did you hear it?”

  “Yeah. Mom said not to answer it. She said it was someone trying to sell us something. But then, she’s always ridiculously nervous about things like that. Stranger danger!” Hope is clearly mocking her mother. Does she know anything about Ellen’s history? Does she know her mother’s real name? Who her grandfather is?

  “I wanted your mom to sign a petition for funding for Children’s Hospital. They took such good care of Sadie.”

  “So Sadie’s OK now?” Hope’s concern proves she’s not a bad kid at heart.

  I smile. “She’s better than OK.” I can’t forget my purpose here. “When I was your age, I was really good at forging my mother’s signature. For when I got a bad grade or something. Are you, by any chance, good at that?”

  She gives me an honest-to-God smile. “I’m excellent.”

  “I’m only asking because I have to get the petition in later this morning, and I want to have as many signatures as possible. I’m sure it’s something your mom would support.”

  “Why don’t you just text her? Tell her you were the one at the door.”

  I’m trying to think of some other way to trick Hope, which feels kind of wrong and dirty but unavoidable, and that’s when she says, “Have you already tried my uncle?”

  CHAPTER 36

  It’s not easy, biding your time, nerves jangling, everyone drinking except you. Inhibitions being lowered, laughter becoming more bawdy and raucous, and you’re just waiting. Just hoping you can finish this, tonight.

  Watch your back. No, watch your front. Someone just might stab you in the heart.

  It was a new e-mail address, another series of numbers. I forwarded it to the police, but they said it was untraceable. Big promised that he and Little would start interviewing my neighbors tomorrow and that a squad car would drive by my house several times a day. So the threat is getting a little more real, from their perspective.

  Then there are the other AV threats: Andie and openness. I’m upset with Doug for lying to me about where he was when he should have been at work, but I realize I haven’t yet given him the chance to explain himself. It’s not like I haven’t kept secrets from him, after all. The reality is, people have affairs. They get caught up in things they shouldn’t. It doesn’t mean the relationship is irreparable. In Europe, they keep the family together and turn a blind eye.

  No, I don’t think I could do that. But we could go to therapy. All the love we’ve had for each other doesn’t just vanish in a puff of smoke. Marriage is not a magic trick. It’s about putting in the time and the effort when things are hard. It’s about tough conversations and forgiveness. Isn’t it?

  I want a drink so badly right now.

  Yet I have to be stone-cold sober if there’s going to be any chance of turning the tables on them tonight.

  It’s a smaller group than the last time. Yolanda won’t be here. Andie’s running late. June is dealing with some Hope-related emergency but will arrive shortly.

  Now that I’ve met Hope, I wonder if all the stories about her are exaggerated or even made up entirely, if June just likes to have a ready-made excuse to rush off, maybe to be with her sugar daddy. I mean, obviously lying is in June’s wheelhouse. Even her own daughter thinks so.

  That leaves Raquel, Gina, Tennyson, and me. None of them questioned my decision to stick with club soda, and they’ve suspended the ban on talking about kids, just for tonight, for me.

  “It must be hard for you to be away from Sadie,” Raquel says. “I remember Meadow got really sick one time—not sick enough to need the hospital, but we were on the fence about that; we almost took her to the ER—and when it was all over, I just wanted to hold her tight. Like, for days and days.”

  “You think how it can all vanish in an instant,” Gina says, succinctly, unemotionally. She wants to get on to the next conversation, you can tell. Back to the fun. Even fun has to keep to a strict timetable.

  I tell them I don’t mean to be a killjoy, and I’m sorry that I’m not myself, not that they actually know me. They assure me it’s absolutely fine. “You can’t always be the life of the party,” Tennyson says.

  Then June/Ellen breezes in. She says, “It’s always so dark in here; it took me forever to find you guys!” She kisses everyone on the cheek, including me. She takes the farthest seat and avoids looking at me.

  Her energy is off. She’s already got a drink—a rum and Coke, from the looks of it—and as she sits down, she knocks it over. She’s a bundle of nerves, clearly.

  I study her face for the first time since learning who she really is. It’s amazing that I could ever have missed it. The changes now seem shockingly superficial—just her nose and chin and a thinner face and auburn hair instead of dark brown and bright-blue contact lenses over her nutmeg irises. No one could blame her for wanting a new face and a new name. But once you really look, she’s so fundamentally Ellen.

  Now I can see it in her mannerisms. It’s unmistakable. And watching her, even knowing all I know, all she’s capable of, something inside me gives way. This is Ellen, my best friend. I loved her deeply. She loved me, too. I know she did. Her father is the one who ruined everything. He brainwashed her, got her to think I was a liar, that all the kids were, and she thought I’d betrayed her family after they took me in and treated me like one of their own.

  Of all the awful parts—having to share every terrible detail on the stand chief among them—losing her was the worst. I didn’t have a confidante through it all. But more than that, I didn’t have anyone to take my mind off things and make me laugh. I didn’t have anyone to just plain get me.

  But it never occurred to me that she’d become my enemy. A small part of me thought that one day, she’d have to realize who her father really was: a wolf in sheep’s clothing, the worst bogeyman of all because he was disguised as everyone’s favorite teacher. But he also disguised himself as the best father. He stole my best friend from me, and he stole me from his own daughter.

  He told me he loved me. And I believed him. I didn’t even think the things he was doing were wrong, not for the longest time, but I knew that it was a secret I was supposed to keep from everyone, including Ellen. “She’d be jealous,” he said.

  I’m hit by a wave of nausea. Layton brought us here, pitted us against each other. We were just children. Damaged children who became damaged adults. We both feel like we have to fight for what’s ours, fight for the families we’ve created. He made us loyal to him over each other. Now we’re adversaries when we should be best friends. When we understand each other better than anyone. We’re both victims.

  When she talked to me at the hospital, did she feel it, too? That I’m still me, Katrina. Did she feel a connection? Did she ever waver in what she was trying to do? I feel like she had to.

  I want to believe her brother is her accomplice, and that he’s the one who poisoned Sadie, and that Ellen didn’t know, not until it was too late. The
re’s just no way she’s a good enough actress to have pulled off those tears at the hospital. She hated seeing Sadie in that state. I know she did.

  Or had Ellen actually tried to poison me? Could she really be her father’s daughter, after all?

  The conversation has been flowing all around us, bubbles on a champagne sea, but Ellen and I aren’t a part of it. She’s nursing her new drink, stirring it slowly. Her eyes are faraway and full of pain. I’m probably her mirror image.

  Whatever I’m feeling, though, I’m going to finish this tonight.

  The boys show up together: Oliver, Nolan, Vic, and (to everyone’s surprise) Wyatt, who’s looking grim. Bringing up the rear is Andie. Impossible as it seems, somehow, I’d forgotten about her, just for a little while.

  The women protest flirtatiously. Nolan says, “We thought it would be fun to crash!” but there’s nothing fun in his delivery. His being here is intentional. It’s deadly serious, and I have the feeling that it’s about me.

  So I won’t be confronting Ellen/June alone. She called for reinforcements.

  I never really knew Ellen’s brother, Mark. He was years older and always off playing sports. Back then, I didn’t think he looked like his father, but he must, a little. I mean, that first night at Andie and Nolan’s house, I saw some resemblance. Sensed something. So Mark became Nolan, Ellen became June, and they both tried to start over in the AV where no one knew about their family’s disgrace. Then I showed up.

  There are greetings all around. The boys are finding another table that they can carry over and put next to ours, and Andie is doing her rounds, her lips lightly grazing my cheek.

  That’s what does it, what pulls me out of my grief-stricken inertia. Whatever’s happening between her and Doug, she thinks she’s untouchable. I need to take care of this and get out of here. This ends now.

  I’m on my feet, everyone looking up at me in surprise. Except for two people, who came prepared. Good thing I am, too. They don’t know my secret weapon. “Could I talk to you outside?” I say, looking at June and Nolan.