The Woman Next Door Read online

  The three younger children were barely seated when Jordie came in. Again—still—Karen was startled when she looked at him. At fifteen, he was finally shooting up, seeming suddenly to be making up for lost time. He was now taller than she was. Between that and the change that puberty had made in his features, he was starting to look so much like a man—like Lee, actually—that Karen never failed to be jarred. Then again, the jarring was likely because he was in his usual rush, reaching for bread and digging into his lasagna as though he was late. No doubt he had evening plans.

  She was losing him. It was so clear to her that he wanted to be anywhere but here, doing things that she couldn’t see, and it made her nervous.

  But she couldn’t make him stay home. Boys his age needed to be with their peers. That didn’t mean she was comfortable with how much he was gone from the house, however.

  She asked about his day. He mumbled an answer between mouthfuls. She teased him about sounding like the twins, who protested in a way that was perfectly articulate because they chose it to be. When they lapsed into murmurs, she returned to Jordie, but she had barely gotten out a question about baseball practice when Julie howled. She had touched the hot lasagna pan and burned her finger. Karen rushed her to the sink, held the finger under cold water, gave her an ice cube to hold, and guided her back to her chair. By then, Jordie was wolfing down seconds.

  She told him to slow down. He said that the guys were already at Sean’s house. She asked what they were up to. He said they were listening to a new CD. She asked if he had finished his homework, and he said he would finish it there. She said she wanted him home by ten, and, with a look of dismay, he asked her why. When she said it was a school night, he said he never went to bed before midnight, so why did he have to be home so early. He insisted that Sean’s parents would be there, that no one was leaving to go anywhere else, and that he hated that she didn’t trust him.

  Then Lee walked in, all sandy-haired and handsome, long-legged and oh so smooth, and with a genial smile asked what the argument was about.

  Annoyed at her husband for being late without a call, for giving her cause to wonder where he was all the time and then showing up with that innocent smile, she cut a slice of lasagna, shoved it onto a plate, and pushed back from the table to heat it in the microwave. The conversation behind her was increasingly lively, which annoyed her all the more. She was the one who spent her days doing things for and with the children. It was unfair that they were so obviously pleased to see Lee.

  To his credit, he was good when he was with them. He listened and teased and played good cop to her bad cop. Even now, as she returned to the table, wasn’t he telling Jordie that he could stay at Sean’s until ten-thirty just this once? Wasn’t the smile Jordie shot her a defiant one? Wasn’t that her own faithful little Julie, sitting on Lee’s lap with an arm around his neck?

  Setting the plate in front of him with a thunk, Karen returned to her own dinner, but she didn’t join in the talk, only listened, and with half an ear at that. Her mind was on other things. She kept seeing Gretchen’s belly and wondering when Lee might have been with her. There were dozens of opportunities, of course. Karen always marked her own meetings on the large calendar by the kitchen phone. Lee would know when she was out, where she was, and how long she would be gone. He would know when the kids would also be gone, when there would be no one to see if he ran next door. There had been times—at night, no less, in the dark, when no neighbor would see either—times when he had pleaded one work-related excuse or another and skipped an event involving Karen and all four kids. Several of those times, they had returned home to find him there.

  “Just walked in,” he always said with a big smile, tousling the twins’ hair and catching Julie when she catapulted into his arms.

  Well, he might have just walked in. But whether he had walked in from work or from Gretchen’s was anybody’s guess.

  Grinding her teeth in a way that the dentist had warned her about but that she simply couldn’t help, Karen pushed away from the table and took her plate to the sink. The plate was empty. She had eaten everything without tasting a bite. Rinsing it now, she yanked the dishwasher open and dropped it inside, swearing, swearing that if Lee was the father of Gretchen’s baby, it would be one affair too many. Seventeen years of marriage would go right down the drain. They would be done. Finished. If he was the father of that baby, Karen didn’t want to feed him again, sleep with him again, wash his socks again. If he was the father of that baby, she didn’t want to see him again.

  Yes, she was being emotional about this. Given his late nights at work, the phone calls he took but never identified, the expenses on their credit card bill that she couldn’t explain—and couldn’t ask about, because she wasn’t supposed to be seeing them, since Lee insisted that paying the bills was his job—she couldn’t be objective. She just couldn’t. At that moment, chafed raw by Lee’s history of infidelity, she couldn’t imagine that the baby’s father could possibly be anyone but him.

  The phone rang. Pushing a last piece of bread into his mouth, Jordie jumped for it. “Hey,” he said in his new deep voice to whomever was at the other end, likely a friend, to judge from his tone. He listened, frowned, and listened more.

  Drawn to his silence, Karen looked back at her son just as his color drained away.

  Chapter Four

  Georgia Lange sat alone in her San Antonio hotel room, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. After spending so many nights of the last few years in hotel rooms, one blurred with another. She rarely unpacked other than to hang up wrinkled clothes; as odious as living out of a suitcase was, it felt better than making herself at home in a place that wasn’t. Likewise, she had taken to pretending that the rest of the house she loved was right outside her door. That helped ease the isolation—until she found herself waiting for Russ and the kids to come in, which was usually at the hour when their dinner was done and the evening began settling in. That was when she picked up the phone and called home.

  This evening the line was busy on her first few tries, which meant that her daughter was using call waiting to switch back and forth between calls. Sure enough, when the phone finally rang, Allison picked up in a rushed voice. “Hello?”

  “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Mom,” the girl said with the deep-voiced awe she typically used to suggest something big afoot, “Quinn Davis is being kicked out of school.”

  “He’s what?”

  “He went to baseball practice totally sloshed. His parents are having meetings with Mr. Edlin right now, but Melissa, Quinn’s girlfriend? She said they’re gonna expel him. Melissa called Brooke, who called me and Kristen. They want me to call Jordie, because he may know something, but Alyssa’s on the other line. Hold on, let me get off.” There was a click, then silence.

  Drunk? Georgia felt a chill.

  Allie returned. “They can’t expel Quinn. He’s the president of the class.”

  “Was he really drunk?”

  “Staggering.”

  “Why?”

  “Why was he drunk? Why does any guy get drunk? I don’t know. But if they expel Quinn, they could expel anyone.”

  “Well, they should. Where was he drinking?” Georgia pictured Quinn alone at his house, while his parents were off championing their latest cause. Worse, she pictured their garage, where a boy could drink himself silly, not unlike two boys destroying everything in sight before going to school and opening fire with shotguns. “Was it beer? Hard stuff? Where’d he get either?”

  “Come on, Mom. If you want it, you can get it. This’ll totally screw up the baseball season. I mean, we were up to win the division—”

  “Allison, forget baseball. What possessed him to drink?”

  Allison sighed. “Kids drink, Mom. It isn’t the first time Quinn’s done it. And he doesn’t stop at booze.”

  “What else is there?” Georgia asked, holding her breath.

  “Pills.”

  “Quinn?”

 
; “He’s not a saint. He isn’t all that different from the rest of us.”

  “You don’t drink. Do you?”

  “God, no. We’ve talked about that. You know I don’t. But guys do. Look, Mom, I’m sorry I said anything. It’s not that big a deal.”

  “Big enough,” Georgia said. Allison was fourteen and young for the grade. Most of her friends were fifteen. A few were even sixteen and driving. “I wish I was there.” Her daughter was growing up too fast. “Where’s your dad?”

  “Downstairs. Don’t worry. He knows about this. But I can’t stay on now. I have to go see if Jordie knows anything more than we do. Want to talk to Dad?”

  Georgia did. Definitely. “First your brother.”

  “Okay— Tommy! Bye, Mom.”

  “Allie, call me later. My number’s on the board.”

  But the dead silence said that Allison had already gone, and within seconds, Tommy picked up. “Hi, Mom. Everything’s okay here, but I’m IM-ing with the guys, so I can’t talk long. When’ll you be home?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.” She figured that either he didn’t know about Quinn, or he was too young to care, which was probably all for the best. She wanted to talk him through things like this herself. “How was school today?”

  “Good, but I can’t talk now, so can I tell you tomorrow?”

  “Is there something to tell? Did something happen?” She waited, but all she heard were computer keys clicking in Tommy’s typical hunt-and-peck style. “Tommy?”

  “School’s school, school’s always school, but I can’t type and talk at the same time, and the guys are waiting, Mom.”

  “Are you ready for the math test?”

  “I guess. Will you be here when I get home from school?”

  “Definitely. I love you, Tommy. I miss you.”

  “Me, too, Mom. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.” He hung up, just as Georgia was about to ask for Russ. Closing her mouth, she stared at the receiver, then punched out the number again.

  When Russ answered, she felt instant relief. He was her anchor. She could never do what she did professionally were he not at home in her stead. She couldn’t begin to imagine what it would be like if Russ went to work in the city and the kids spent their afternoons alone. If she was worried now, she would be a total basket case then.

  “Russ,” she said with a sigh. “Allison told me about Quinn. Was he actually drunk? In the middle of the day? In the middle of the week?”

  “Looks that way,” Russ said calmly.

  “It doesn’t fit the image.”

  “Nope.”

  “Allison was at the same party as him two weekends ago. This doesn’t give me a good feeling.”

  “She’s okay, Georgie.”

  “Does she understand that what he did was wrong—unhealthy —dangerous?”

  “She will. This is still hot off the press. No one knows the facts for sure. Right now, the girls are just into gossip.”

  “Do you think Allison drinks at those parties?”

  “She comes home sober. We know that. We see her.”

  “Not always. Sometimes she goes to Kristen’s house. Or Alyssa’s. We don’t know if other parents look for things like that—and anyway, soon these kids will be driving. What happens if there’s drinking then?”

  “I’ll write a batch of columns on designated drivers.”

  “I’m serious, Russ.”

  “So am I. I don’t want them drinking any more than you do, but so many of them do it at some point that we’d be fools to bury our heads in the sand. You agree with me on this. You’re just feeling removed right now.”

  “I’m feeling hamstrung. I liked it better when we took our kids everywhere, so we knew that they arrived safe and sound. I want those days back.”

  “You wouldn’t say that if you were the primary chauffeur,” Russ remarked. “It’ll make my life a whole lot easier when Allie can drive herself around. I trust her.”

  “So do I,” Georgia said. “It’s her friends I worry about.”

  “They’re good kids.”

  “So’s Quinn.”

  “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

  Maybe she was. But it was hard not to, being several thousand miles away. Was this only Tuesday night? She had been home yesterday morning, but yesterday morning felt at least a week away. “Is Tommy ready for his test?”

  “As ready as he ever is. I checked his homework. He did it right.”

  “He was in a rush to get off the phone. I thought he might be hiding something.”

  “Nah. He’s just chatting on the computer. He probably figures he can tell you everything when you get home. What time are you due?”

  “Three, give or take.”

  “At home? Or are you stopping at the office first?”

  “Home.” She felt a yearning deep in her gut to be there. It was coming more often lately, and stronger. “I don’t like this life, Russ. I feel like I’m missing too much.”

  “I’m on top of things.”

  “I know. But I want to be there, too.”

  “You wanted to work. You can’t have it both ways.”

  Coming from someone else, the comment might have sounded snide. But Russ said it gently. Besides, he was the first to admit that her working eased the pressure on him. He had juggled many more balls, professionally speaking, when he was the sole breadwinner. He made no bones about preferring the life he had now.

  And what was there not to prefer? He was home with the kids, involved with their lives in ways that she used to be—and wasn’t now, and missed. “What else is happening?”

  He made a dismissive sound. “Not much.”

  “Did the lawn guys come?”

  “This morning.”

  “Are the tulips up?”

  “More for Gretchen than the rest of us. She has a green thumb.”

  Georgia didn’t doubt it. Gretchen also had a big bust and a bad attitude, but Georgia didn’t want to discuss either with Russ. He saw things from a male point of view—be it Gretchen or drinking —and she’d had enough for now. “Anything else new?”

  “Not since we talked yesterday. Except that Amanda isn’t pregnant.”

  “Oh, God.” Georgia felt the pain of that. “Poor thing. She must be discouraged.”

  “She is.”

  “What’ll they do next?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

  Georgia would have, but that was because in the last four years Amanda had become a close friend, and they often discussed whens, whys, and what ifs. It was one of the perks of being a woman. Russ might be a marvel at most every aspect of raising kids and taking care of a house, but he would never be one of the girls.

  “I’ll ask tomorrow,” she said, thinking that here was another reason why she needed to be home. She missed spending time with friends. “How’s Graham taking it?”

  “I don’t know. It’d be a good topic for a column—the male side of all that— Be right there,” he called. “I have to go, hun. I’m driving Allie to Brooke’s house. They’re doing a history paper together.”

  “A history paper? Really.”

  “Okay. They’ll talk about Quinn. But that’s fine. Coming, Allie! Georgie, I gotta go.”

  “Nothing else new, then?”

  “Nah. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “What’ll you do after you take Allie to Brooke’s?”

  He sighed. “Watch the news looking for an idea for my next column, then get Tommy ready for bed, then go pick up Allie. Just think. If she had her license she could do this for herself. Bye, hun.”

  Georgia hung up the phone only because he had. She would have liked to linger. But the kids were in a rush to get her off. Russ was in a rush to get her off. How could she not feel shunted aside?

  It hadn’t always been that way. Not so long ago, she had been the hub of their daily lives.

  She tried to remember those days—in particular, tried to remember the negatives, so that she could appreci
ate being alone now. She tried to remember feeling tired, harried, and bored. She tried to remember the frustration of endlessly washing clothes, picking up toys, scheduling the kids into playgroups, music lessons, and soccer games. She tried to remember the long, hard struggle to admit that she needed something besides child care to give direction to her life.

  But the negatives eluded her. She could only think about how nice it had been.

  That said, she wouldn’t turn back the clock. Seven years had passed since she started the business, and, to this day, she was amazed by its growth. If she were to give a motivational talk on the key to success, she wouldn’t know what to say. She had stumbled into something. Luck probably had as much to do with it as anything else.

  Vegetable juice wasn’t a new thing. It had been around for ages. But it never had been dubbed Beet Beer before, or been smartly packaged, with five varieties beyond beets, each one as delicious as the next. At first, it was a cottage industry housed in the commercial kitchen of a local caterer, with sales to a handful of local stores. Now, it had processing plants on both coasts, produce coming from a dozen different states and half a dozen different countries, and sales in every major supermarket chain.

  People called her an entrepreneurial whiz, but she wasn’t. The business had taken off on its own, and she’d been pulled along in its wake. Yes, she knew how to get things done; motherhood had trained her for that. But had she begun with a vision? No. She had targeted her product for the workout crowd. To this day, she didn’t quite know how mothers had taken to the drink for themselves and their kids.

  She did see the big picture now, though. A major food manufacturer was courting her in hopes of buying the rights to her product and its name, and the figures being tossed out were mind-boggling. That kind of money would pay for the childrens’ educations and a lot more. It would pay for family vacations for years to come, plus a beach house, plus a comfortable retirement. Not that retirement was imminent. Georgia was barely forty. Her suitor wanted her to stay on as CEO. It was part of the deal.