The Woman Next Door Read online

  ALSO BY BARBARA DELINSKY

  The Vineyard

  Lake News

  Coast Road

  Three Wishes

  A Woman’s Place

  Shades of Grace

  Together Alone

  For My Daughters

  Suddenly

  More Than Friends

  The Passions of Chelsea Kane

  A Woman Betrayed

  Barbara Delinsky

  The Woman Next Door

  A NOVEL

  Simon & Schuster New York London Toronto Sydney Singapore

  SIMON & SCHUSTER

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  New York, NY 10020

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2001 by Barbara Delinsky

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  SIMON & SCHUSTER and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Designed by Jeanette Olender

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Delinsky, Barbara.

  The woman next door : a novel / Barbara Delinsky.

  p. cm.

  1. Married people—Fiction. 2. Pregnant women—Fiction. 3. Infertility—Fiction.

  4. Friendship—Fiction. 5. Widows—Fiction. I. Title.

  PS3554.E4427 W665 2001

  813’.54—dc21 2001020834

  ISBN 0-7432-0469-7

  ISBN 0-7432-2214-8 (International Edition)

  eISBN-13: 978-0-7432-1751-4

  For information regarding special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 or [email protected]

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Some of my books require extensive research. The Woman Next Door did not. Years of watching people, of observing their interactions, and of talking with friends about their lives’ quandaries prepared me well for this book. That said, I am not a professional counselor. If school psychologists existed when I was a student, they were a well-kept secret. I was therefore particularly fortunate, during the writing of The Woman Next Door, to have the help of Ann Cheston. A school psychologist at the Fay School in Southborough, Massachusetts, she helped me wade through the quagmire of day-to-day dealings with teenagers in a small school setting. I thank her for her time and expertise. My thanks also to Bonnie Ulin for talking me through the basics of landscape design.

  What about infertility? you ask, and rightly so. I learned about this subject for The Woman Next Door by reading books and working the Web, which means that I have dozens of nameless, faceless women (and men) to thank for teaching me the basics. For those of you currently dealing with fertility issues, please know that the scenario encompassed in The Woman Next Door is but one of many—and that my heart and hopes are with you!

  As always, my family was wonderful. I thank my son Andrew, who listened through hour after hour of plot twists and turns, and then, using his own experience as a teacher, offered the most insightful of advice. I thank my son Eric for feedback on bluegrass music, and my son Jeremy for feedback on corporate names and business dealings. I thank Eric’s wife, Jodi, and Jeremy’s wife, Sherrie, for sharing their thoughts with me as part of my target audience. And my husband, Steve? Poor guy. During dinner after dinner each night after work, he suffered through the growing pains of this book. For that, he deserves a literary medal of honor!

  I thank my friend and fellow writer Sandra Brown, who gave me invaluable writing advice. I thank my agent, Amy Berkower, and my editors, Chuck Adams and Michael Korda. Mostly I thank you, my readers, for your undying support. You have never let me down; I promise to do my best to return the favor.

  The Woman Next Door

  Prologue

  Given their druthers, Amanda and Graham would have eloped. At thirty and thirty-six, respectively, all they wanted was to be married. But Amanda’s father insisted that his only child have a big wedding, her mother delighted in spending his money, and Graham’s family loved a party.

  So they had a lavish June wedding at the Cape Cod country club to which Amanda’s father belonged. The ceremony was held overlooking a salt marsh, with willets, terns, and three hundred guests bearing witness. Then, led by the bride and groom, who walked arm in arm, those three hundred guests trooped across the eighteenth green and around the clubhouse for a buffet dinner in the garden. The place was lush with greenery, vivid with lilacs and peonies, scented with roses, all of which was appreciated far more by the bride’s guests, who were into form, than the groom’s, who were into fun. Likewise, the toasts ran along party lines, starting with that of the best man.

  Will O’Leary was the next older brother to Graham, who was the youngest of eight siblings. Champagne glass in hand, he directed an O’Leary grin at his wife and four children before turning to the groom.

  “No matter that I’m the older of us by a year, you’ve been a tough act to follow, Graham O’Leary. You always did better in school. You always did better in sports. You were always the one elected class president, and boy, there were times when I hated that.” There were chuckles. “Not now, though, because I know something you don’t.” His grin turned mischievous. “You may have gotten the family’s looks and brains, but that doesn’t mean much in the dark of night. So. I wish for you and Amanda everything I’ve had these past fifteen years.” He raised his glass. “To you both. May your lives be filled with sweet secrets, hearty laughter, and great sex.”

  There were hoots and cheers, the clinking of glasses, the downing of drink.

  When the noise subsided, Beth Fisher stepped to the microphone. One of three bridesmaids dressed in elegant navy, she spoke softly. “Amanda was single a long time, waiting for just the right guy to come along. We used to commiserate about that, she and I. Then I met my guy, and Amanda got busy with work and put her own search on hold. She wasn’t looking when she first saw Graham, but that’s how some of the best things in life happen.” She lifted her glass. “To Amanda and Graham. May you love each other forever.”

  ***

  Amanda hadn’t put her search on hold, so much as despaired that she would find a man she could trust enough to love. Then, one unsuspecting August afternoon, she sought refuge from the heat of Manhattan by visiting her former thesis advisor in Greenwich, and there Graham was, stripped to the waist and sweating beautifully as he planted junipers on a hillside by the woman’s home.

  There were six men at work. Amanda had no idea why her eye was drawn to Graham rather than to one of the others.

  No. That wasn’t true. She knew very well why her eye was drawn to him. He was riveting with his dark hair and close beard, taller than the others and more finely muscled, though she later learned that he didn’t often do the digging. He was the brains of the operation. She claimed to have been drawn by that, too.

  And how had she known anything about brains from the distance of a hundred feet? His eyes. They had found hers over the slant of that dug-up hillside, and had held her gaze in a way that suggested either total brashness or supreme confidence. Both were foreign to her experience with men, and one as titillating as the other. Then, barely fifteen minutes into her visit, he knocked on the door with a drawing of the landscape plans for another part of the yard.

  The interruption was deliberate. He admitted that right from the start. He had wanted an in
troduction, and he got it.

  ***

  The groom’s oldest sister, MaryAnne O’Leary Walker, came to the mike wearing a green suit that had fit her better before the last three of her five children were born. Undaunted and confident, she turned to Graham, who stood surrounded by friends, an arm around his blond-haired, white-laced-and-beaded bride.

  “I was twelve when you were born,” MaryAnne blurted out, “and changed more of your diapers than either of us cares to admit, so it’s your turn now.” She raised her glass. “May you have lots of babies, and lots of patience!”

  “Hear, hear!” chorused the crowd, echoing itself in diminishing degrees until another bridesmaid in navy stepped up to the mike.

  “Amanda and I met in graduate school,” said Gail Wald, her tone genteel. “We were psychologists in neighboring schools in New York before Graham stole her away, and I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him for it. But the fact is that Graham has been a smile in Amanda’s eyes since the day she met him. In a world where smiles often come hard, that means a lot. When you do what we do for a living, you understand this. You know how precious smiles can be. You also know how to spot a real one, and that’s the kind my friend wears.” Holding her glass high, she faced the beaming couple. “To Amanda and Graham. You may have happened fast, but you’re the real thing. Here’s to thousands and thousands more smiles, and a life filled with health and prosperity.”

  ***

  Amanda didn’t usually like things happening fast. She far preferred to explore, ponder, and plan. When she dated, she wanted to know almost everything about a man well ahead of a first kiss, because she was seriously jaded. She had seen the downside of mismatched couples in her own home, long before she began hearing tales complaining about parents from the students she counseled, and she certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight. Lust, perhaps, but not love. The therapist in her wanted reason and rhyme.

  Her attraction to Graham O’Leary made a mockery of that. He turned her into a sushi lover on their first date the day following their meeting in Greenwich, and when they went dancing the night after that, she was lost. Graham was an incredible dancer. He led with fluidity and grace, and she—independent soul though she was—followed his lead. One song became the next, and then the next. When he tucked her hand close to his heart, she felt the rest of her being drawn closer as well.

  For Graham, that was a defining moment. He didn’t need a woman who fit the image of his mother or his brothers. He’d already been there. This time, he needed a woman who fit him. Something about the way Amanda settled into his body said she did—and it went beyond the physical, just as he needed it to. He was thirty-five. He knew what physical attraction was about, but there was more to Amanda than just physical appeal. She was a pedigreed lady, classy and reserved, but she seemed to feel the spark between them as strongly as he did. The surprise he saw in her eyes when he drew her close, seconds before she sank into his body, said that though she didn’t trust easily, she trusted him.

  He would remember that moment until the day he died. He had felt strong. He had felt unique. He had felt needed.

  ***

  Dorothy O’Leary, mother of the groom, didn’t raise her glass in toast. Her smile was wooden, her eyes glazed. She stood off to the side with her brother and his family, seeming distant from the party until her third oldest son approached the mike. Only then did her eyes clear and her features soften.

  Peter O’Leary was a Jesuit priest. Possessed with a remarkable charisma that was only enhanced by the Roman collar he wore, he easily quieted the crowd. To the bride and groom, he said, “I might’ve worried when you chose a country club wedding over a church one, had I not spent so much time with the two of you these last couple months. If ever a relationship seemed right, this is it.” Leaving the mike, he approached the newlyweds. With a hand on Graham’s shoulder, he lifted his glass. “Love shines from your faces. May it always be so. May you live long, may you give more than you take, may you serve our Lord in wondrous ways.” He paused, let a twinkle enter his eye, and succumbed to the O’Leary in him. “And, yes, may you reproduce well!”

  ***

  Amanda didn’t sleep around. She’d had two lovers before Graham, had dated each for several months and given due thought to time, place, and precautions before shedding her clothes.

  With Graham, everything was different. He had suggested they go hiking, which sounded wonderfully adventurous to Amanda, who envisioned a day trip, only to have Graham show up with sleeping bags, food and drink, and the key to a friend’s cabin, four miles up in the woods.

  It never occurred to her to say no. She wasn’t a hiker, hadn’t owned a sleeping bag in her life—at least, not the kind that could insulate a body in the chill of a mountain night, which was the kind Graham had brought. But he was capable and coordinated. He liked explaining things to her and did it well. He had no qualms about asking questions when they got to talking about things she knew more about than he, and then there was his smile. It was relaxed, wholehearted, and wide enough to cut a crease through his beard on either side. All told, being with him was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her.

  The mountain they hiked was lushly green, with clear streams, sweet birdsongs, and breathtaking vistas making it a heady climb from the trailhead on up. He knew where they were going, leading as skillfully as he had on the dance floor, and she put herself in his hands as she had done then.

  They didn’t make it to the cabin. They had barely finished lunch when he stretched her out in a sheltered glen just off the path and made love to her, right there, in broad daylight. They were sweaty and dusty and—she thought—tired, but once started, they couldn’t stop. She remembered thinking that if he hadn’t taken the responsibility for birth control, she would have done without. She needed him too badly for caution, felt too whole when he was inside her to care.

  ***

  “My family is incorrigible,” declared Kathryn O’Leary Wood from the mike. Her eyes touched briefly on Megan Donovan, Graham’s childhood sweetheart, first wife, and still a dear family friend, before settling on Graham and Amanda. “This message is from me and Megan. Amanda, my brother is the best. In addition to being positively gorgeous, he is smart and sensitive and special. It looks to me like you’re all of those things, too.” She paused and smiled. “So we can expect gorgeous babies that are smart, sensitive, and special. I wish you and Gray all the happiness in the world.” Her eyes narrowed on the groom, her junior by three years. “As for you, Graham O’Leary this is the very last time I’m doing this for you!”

  The applause was long and loud, ebbing only when Amanda’s maid of honor came to the mike. Tall, slim, and shy as she looked over a sea of faces with their wide O’Leary smiles, she said a soft, “I don’t have children, or brothers and sisters like you. But I do have a history with the bride. I know her parents, and would like to thank them now for such a beautiful party.” She lifted her glass to Deborah Carr on one side of the room and William Carr on the other, and waited for the applause to end before speaking again. “I’m Amanda’s oldest friend here. We met in kindergarten and have stayed close all this time. Amanda has been there for me over the years in ways only she and I know. She is the best listener, the clearest thinker, the most loyal confidante. It’s no surprise to me that she’s so good with teenagers. I’ve often envied those kids. Now I envy Graham.”

  ***

  Graham would have envied himself, if that had been possible. He knew what it was like to stand at an altar and look down a flower-strewn aisle toward the back of the crowd at the moment when his bride appeared. What he didn’t know was what it was like to have everything else . . . totally . . . fade away. He wasn’t prepared for that, or for the little catch deep in his chest that actually brought tears to his eyes.

  He was that taken with her, felt that privileged to have her. She was smart and cultured and fine—everything he had always admired but never felt that he was, coming from the family
he did. For all their differences, though, he and Amanda had yet to have an argument. They liked the same furniture, the same food, the same music. They wanted the same house, the same big family. From his first sight of her back on that Greenwich hillside, he’d had the absurdly sentimental belief that the single, best reason for the demise of his marriage to Megan was that Amanda was waiting for him.

  This day, all else had indeed faded. He had seen only her, walking toward him down that grassy path, and when his heart shifted in a way that he knew would be permanent, he let it be.

  ***

  Concluding her toast, Amanda’s maid of honor caught Graham’s eye. “My friend is precious. Take good care of her, please.” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you both. Let the wait have been worth every minute.”

  There were sighs and soft words of assent, then a deep-voiced, “Speaking of the wait...” and the inevitable approach of Malcolm O’Leary to the mike. The oldest O’Leary sibling—proprietor, along with the second oldest, James, of their late father’s hardware store and father of five himself—raised his glass. “I have one piece of advice for my handsome brother and his beautiful bride. Go to it, Amanda and Gray. You’re starting late.”

  ***

  Amanda and Graham celebrated their first wedding anniversary by looking at a house. They had seen others before it, but none as large or as handsome, none in as upscale a community, and none that excited them as this one did. The asking price was definitely a reach. But Graham’s work as a landscape architect had grown enough for him to hire a full-time assistant, and Amanda had just been appointed school psychologist in the same town as the house.

  That town was Woodley. Prosperous and pristine, it lay in a cluster of rolling hills in western Connecticut, ninety-some minutes by car from New York, and counted among its fourteen thousand residents half a dozen CEOs of Fortune 500 companies, innumerable lawyers and doctors, and a growing list of the Internet-riche. The population was increasingly young. As new, large homes sprang up on wooded lots, or older residents retired and moved south, the town’s streets were seeing a growing parade of Expeditions.