The Woman Next Door

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

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.

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IMON
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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]

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

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 introduction, 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.