Right Next Door

by Leah Montgomery

  Marcy is disappointed, too. Not just because she had high hopes for Cheyenne and Caroline hitting it off, but because she wanted to get to know Jill as well. She hasn’t made any friends since moving to South Carolina, and Marcy is of the mind that every woman needs a girl or two to gossip with and vent to.

  Impulsively, she replies.

  Marcy: Why don’t you come over for a glass of wine around 4? Let hubby take care of Cheyenne for an hour or two. We can have some quiet girl time.

  Jill: That actually sounds great. Are you sure it’ll be okay with Caroline since I won’t have Cheyenne?

  Marcy: Caroline won’t even notice. It’ll be fine. I’ll see you at 4.

  Jill: Sounds great. See you then.

  Marcy’s day feels brighter already. Before moving to South Carolina, she didn’t spend summers cooped up in the house with Caroline all day, every day. Caroline’s continual withdrawal makes the days seem endless. And increasingly hopeless. Marcy keeps hoping something will work, something will break the ice and engage her, but so far nothing has. A glass of wine and a friendly face feel like just what she needs to decompress a little. Not that John isn’t a friendly face, but men don’t relate to problems the same way women do. Marcy needs an ally, and she suspects Jill does as well. All women do, especially those who are married or have children. And those who are married and have children? Without a doubt.

  Marcy finishes up the last of the towels then replaces them inside the basket to carry upstairs to the linen closet. When they’re stacked neatly on the second shelf, each towel coupled with its matching washcloth, she closes the door and steps over to the next room to check on Caroline.

  The door is halfway open, so Marcy peeks inside before she announces herself. She doesn’t make any sound at first. She merely watches her daughter as she plays. Or at least what Caroline’s version of “play” is.

  Caroline is pushing a silver Barbie sedan in a circle. Round and round and round. The night she presented Caroline with the big doll splurge, Marcy sat on the floor with her and dressed the first doll. She made up a story about how that particular Barbie worked, but how she loved taking her child for rides in her car after school. Marcy pushed the sedan from Barbie’s Dream Home to a gray crate she’d designated as a school. Marcy explained that while she was at work, her daughter was at her own school, and that Marcy’s favorite time of the day was when she went to pick up her little girl and take her for ice cream afterward, just the two of them. At the time, Caroline hadn’t seemed to relate to the story at all, but since then she had played almost exclusively with that car. Even now, it warms Marcy’s heart as much as it concerns her. She’s equal parts hopeful and terrified.

  “How was Barbie school today?” Marcy pushes open the door and steps inside. Caroline doesn’t even bother turning around. Another parent might wonder if their voice had been heard, but this is par for the course with Marcy’s child. She keeps waiting, keeps hoping for improvement. But things only seem to be getting worse.

  Marcy makes her way over to the colorful mat. Caroline is sitting on it, cross-legged. As always, she’s neat as a pin. Not a hair out of place. These days, Caroline never plays hard enough or moves vigorously enough to get mussed, much less dirty. Unless something upsets her, then she moves plenty. Erratically and frantically. There never seems to be a middle ground.

  Folding down onto the floor beside her daughter, Marcy grabs another doll, one that likely hadn’t been touched since the last time they attempted to play. This one has long dark hair, which is perfect for her demonstration. “We have a new neighbor. Do you remember me telling you that?” Marcy strokes the doll’s hair, hair almost the exact shade as Jill’s, and awaits some kind of response. When there is none, she continues. “She’s coming over this afternoon. She has a little girl, too, but she’s sick and can’t come over today. Would you like to meet her?”

  Marcy’s fingers twitch. She wants to reach out and touch Caroline’s shoulder, but she thinks better of it. Instead, she leans forward and puts her head as close to Caroline’s line of sight as she can get without lying on her back and letting Caroline drive the Barbie car over her face.

  “Would you like to meet the neighbor’s little girl one day? Maybe have her over to play?”

  Dark eyes shift to Marcy’s for a few seconds, and Caroline stares. She doesn’t say a word, only stares. Marcy can’t help wondering what’s going on behind those beautiful orbs. Her daughter is still in there, somewhere. There has to be a way to reach her. Has to be. She just has to find it.

  Before she can do or say anything else, Caroline looks away, back to the car she’s so fascinated with. She starts pushing it again, round and round and round. And Marcy knows that, for all intents and purposes, she’s been dismissed.

  For the space of a single heartbeat, Marcy has the urge to yank the silver sedan out of Caroline’s hand and demand that she look at her, that she answer her. But Marcy knows from experience this tactic will only cause Caroline to panic. She’ll clamp her hands over her ears, run to the corner at the foot of her bed where the wall and the door meet, and wedge herself in until she feels calm and safe enough to emerge. And that could be hours later.

  No, Caroline is not the kind of child one can lose their patience with and just apologize to later. Each time she has a spell like that, she seems to regress a little further. Marcy’s afraid that one day her daughter will disappear into the dark and she’ll never be able to find her again.

  Marcy forces her lips into a gentle smile and resists the urge to tuck Caroline’s long, tawny bangs behind her ear. “Well, if you’d like to come down and meet her, come on down. I’ll make some peanut butter and jelly crackers for you. They’ll be in the kitchen.”

  There is a slight pause as the car slows, but then it resumes its previous pace. Round and round and round. PB&J crackers are Caroline’s favorite. If there’s anything that might lure her downstairs, those might work.

  Back downstairs, Marcy opens a bottle of wine early and helps herself to a glass. John left for another trip Friday night. His last long one for a while, he promised. He has an appointment next week with a big fish potential client near the coast in Virginia. It’s the farthest part of the region John now covers, but one of the reasons he wanted the area was because his brother lives in Virginia Beach and he knew he’d get to see him when he was in town. So he left to drive up and spend a couple of days deep sea fishing with Will before his meeting.

  With one glass of wine in her belly, and the muscles in her neck much less tense, Marcy pours herself another and heads to the kitchen to spread peanut butter on crackers and top them with a dollop of strawberry jelly. She lines them up on a plate in two neat rows, just like Caroline likes, and sets them on the counter. If she could, she’d fan the aroma up the stairs and wait for her daughter to be carried back down on it, like on the cartoons Marcy grew up watching.

  If only it were that easy.

  The doorbell rings at five minutes before four. Marcy is on her third glass of wine when she greets her neighbor. She pulls her in for a hug before closing the door and looping her arm through Jill’s, and escorting her to the couch in the living room.

  “I hope red is okay.” Marcy hears no slur in her words, so she’s satisfied she can handle another glass or two. If nothing else, she’ll steal a couple of Caroline’s crackers to help soak up all the wine in her stomach.

  “Anything is fine. Can I help?”

  Marcy waves her off. “Oh, no. I’m just going to pop the cork and bring your glass.” She holds her hand up to one side of her mouth, as though spilling a secret. “I’ve already used mine.”

  Jill smiles. “The kind of week I’ve had, it’s a miracle I didn’t spike my coffee this morning.”

  Marcy dashes off to the kitchen and returns with a bottle of Pinot Noir and two clean glasses in one hand, and a coffee mug in the other. She hands Jill the mug then tends to the pouring of each of them a generous portion of wine. Jill laughs outright and hold
s up the mug.

  “I love this! Where did you get it?”

  The mug is stamped with big black letters on the front that read THIS MAY BE VODKA. “I ordered it. I saw one online and thought I had to have one.”

  “That’s great. I won’t say whether it’s accurate or not.” She places her hand on the side of her mouth like Marcy did and whispers, “Sometimes it is.”

  They both laugh. “You keep it. I can get another one.”

  “Oh, no, I couldn’t do that.”

  “You absolutely can. Consider it a housewarming gift.”

  Jill tips her head to one side. “Well, thank you. How nice of you.”

  Marcy waves her off. “That’s what friends are for.”

  They fall into a companionable silence as they sip their wine. Jill is the first to speak. “It’s so quiet over here. My house seems like an asylum compared to all this peace.”

  “It’s not always this way. John is away on business and Caroline is playing in her room.”

  “Wow, she’s well behaved. Cheyenne never plays this quietly.”

  “Caroline…well, she’s had a hard time with the move. She’s not as outgoing as she used to be. She’s…I don’t know. Kids are resilient, though. I’m hoping she’ll snap out of it soon.”

  “We moved a lot when I was younger. And we’ve already moved twice just since Cheyenne was born, but she’s doing much better with this move. Your baby will come around, too. They all do.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “Are you on vacation? Or do you stay at home with your daughter? You said she’s four?”

  “Yes, she’s four. She’ll be five in a few months.”

  “You said you’ll be teaching here. What grade?”

  “First.”

  “So you really need a vacation by the time summer rolls around?”

  “Pretty much.” The women have a good laugh about that.

  “I can’t imagine a roomful of six year olds. Actually, that might even qualify as one of my worst nightmares.”

  “It’s definitely not for everyone. Some days I wonder if it’s for me.”

  “You seem like you have the right temperament for it. I’m too…I don’t know. I just know it wouldn’t be a good fit.”

  “I knew right away that you’re a sweet person. That’s why first grade isn’t for you. Even at that age, they can be manipulative. And believe me, if you have any soft spots, they’ll take full advantage.”

  “Since having Cheyenne, I’m not surprised by that at all.”

  “She’s your only child?”

  Jill nods. “And Caroline is yours?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any have plans for more?”

  “I’d love to have more kids, but Caroline… We didn’t think we’d even be able to have her. My mother lost six pregnancies before she had me. Some issues run in my family, so we were lucky to get one beautiful baby girl. She’ll be it for us. How about you two? Any more on the horizon?”

  Jill’s smile falters almost imperceptibly. Almost. “If it were up to me, I’d…I’d like to have more, but…” She trails off, and Marcy can see how much she’s struggling not to cry.

  “I shouldn’t have asked,” Marcy says, reaching across the cushion between them to pat the hand Jill has resting on her knee.

  Jill’s laugh is tremulous. “Of course you should have. I’m the one who brought it up.”

  “Sounds like we both have some heartache in that area.”

  “Mark is…” Jill studies the wine in her glass, and Marcy waits. The longer Jill remains silent, the bigger whatever she was going to say seems to get. It’s as though there’s a direct correlation between the hesitation to confess and the actual confession— the longer the hesitation, the bigger and more important the confession must be. So when Jill shakes her head and changes the subject, Marcy’s curiosity—and suspicion—is piqued to a mindboggling degree. “I told you Mark is in I.T. and you said it probably saves on child care, but it doesn’t. He travels. A lot. He’s gone more than he’s around and we move pretty often. Not exactly the best environment for small children.” Marcy can tell Jill is trying to keep her expression casual, but Marcy isn’t fooled. You can’t fool the neighbors.

  “I know how that goes. John travels a lot with his job. Hopefully less so after this move, but I get it. It’s hard. Fortunately, teaching puts me on the same schedule as Caroline when she starts kindergarten in the fall, but if it weren’t for that, I don’t know what we’d do.”

  Jill sniffs. “That’s one good thing about my job. It’s really flexible. I mean, I can bring work home if I need to. It’s not ideal, but I can do it in a pinch.”

  “You said you work for an accountant.”

  “Yeah. A CPA. I do payroll.”

  “Oh, that’s interesting.”

  Jill gives Marcy a knowing look. “That’s the nicest lie anyone has ever told me.”

  They both laugh.

  “I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

  “It’s okay. Not a glamorous job by any far stretch of the imagination.”

  “If you love what you do, that doesn’t matter. Besides, nothing is less glamorous than being a first grade teacher.”

  “I think all men have teacher fantasies, so they’d probably disagree.”

  “Ha! I doubt those teachers look like me.”

  Jill leans back, her brow pleated. “What’s that supposed to mean? You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m cute at best, but I learned to be okay with that a long time ago. As long as John doesn’t complain, I don’t care.”

  “He seems to adore you.”

  “He does. I’m a lucky, lucky woman.”

  “Yes, you are.” There’s a wistful note to Jill’s voice, but Marcy doesn’t comment. She thinks again of what John would say about her reading too much into everything. Maybe sometimes he’s right. But sometimes he’s not. In the case of their neighbors, time will tell. Marcy will unearth their secrets before it’s all said and done, then she’ll make up her mind. For the moment, though, she’s certain she can detect some tension in what Jill says, but even more in what she refuses to say. Marcy is adept at reading between the lines.

  Rather than bombarding Jill with all the personal questions she’s dying to know the answers to, Marcy takes a different tack and plunges them into lighter conversation. No sense scaring her off with a premature inquisition. “So, what do you think of Todd Bellingham, across the street and two houses down? Have you met him yet?”

  “Just briefly.”

  “It’s a rug, isn’t it?”

  “Pardon?”

  “His hair. It’s fake, right? Either a toupee or some really bad plugs. What do you think?”

  Jill stares blankly at Marcy for a few seconds before her lips twist up into a mischievous grin. “I’m going with a toupee. I think I saw it move when he was walking to his car the other morning.”

  “Oh my God, I knew it! And he’s such a peacock. I wonder if he really thinks women don’t know.”

  “Apparently not. He’s like that guy. What is his name? ‘The Situation’?”

  Marcy throws up her hands. “Yes! That’s exactly what he’s like! People like that kill me. They think they’re so hot and they really have no clue that they’re so not.”

  Jill wholeheartedly agrees and, like two teenagers, they name off celebrities who they believe act like they’re hotter than they are. The change in subject is a success. The women finish their wine—and the rest of the bottle—while laughing over everything from old high school boyfriends and arch rivals, to celebrities and people on their street. By the time Jill announces it’s time for her to leave, Marcy is pleased with the inroads she’s made into their friendship.

  Marcy walks Jill to the door and opens it, impulsively hugging her again. “It’s so nice to have a great neighbor.”

  Jill laughs. “How do you know I’m a great neighbor?”

  “I just have a feeling.”

&nb
sp; “Well, I’m glad. I have a feeling about you, too.”

  Movement over Jill’s shoulder draws Marcy’s eye. “I hope I didn’t keep you too long. It looks like your company is leaving.”

  Jill turns toward the deepening twilight just in time to see red taillights disappearing down the street. “Company? I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Oh. I thought I saw that car pull away from the curb in front of your house. Maybe they were visiting someone across the street. So many in here are new to the subdivision, it’s hard to keep track of who drives what kind of car.”

  “I’ll ask Mark when I get home. Thank you again for the wine. I had a great time. This was just what I needed.”

  “We need to do it again. Regularly even. I have to make the most of my summers.”

  “Call me and we’ll set something up. For now, I’ve got to run. Mark will be getting ang- anxious.”

  Marcy nods and smiles, shooing her out the door with the promise of calling her early next week. She doesn’t mention the way Jill stammered over the word anxious, but it didn’t get past Marcy. She can’t help wondering if she was about to say angry instead.

  Chapter Seven

  I woke with cotton candy in my head. My thoughts were slow. Sluggish. I felt addled. But unlike my first awakening, I had a very clear memory of my most recent past.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Someone, or something, was in the room with me.

  I bolted upright. Immediately, I was reminded of my reaction.

  I’d injured myself.

  Gently, I tested my shoulders. Surprisingly, they moved. Stiffly. But they moved.

  I worked them in their sockets. They were incredibly sore. I knew it would take weeks for the soft tissue to heal completely, but at least they were in place. Back in their sockets where they should’ve been. The question was: how? And who?

  Someone had come in while I was passed out. Or maybe it was the person who was already in here. Whoever touched my leg. They’d probably drugged me again. In fact, I was almost sure of it. My head weighed a hundred pounds again, and I was as fuzzy as a cashmere sweater.