The Woman Next Door (12 page)

***

Graham didn’t wake her up. He was waiting in the kitchen Wednesday morning, though, his mouth a hard line, his large hands wrapped tightly around a coffee mug. Grave green eyes locked on her the minute she appeared.

Before either of them could say a word, the phone rang. Though Amanda was closer, Graham pushed back and reached it first.

“Yeah,” he said. Seconds later, his face lit up. “Hey, how’s it goin’?”

Amanda shoved her hands into her pockets. She knew that look, knew that tone. She hadn’t seen much of either lately. She missed them.

“What’s up?” he asked, the light in his eyes already dimmed. He turned away and said a quieter, “Not now. . . . Yeah. . . . How about noon?” He listened, lowering his head. “I can’t. I have an appointment then. One? . . . Okay.” He hung up the phone and turned back. His eyes held a challenge.

Who was that?
Amanda wanted to ask when he didn’t look like he was about to say. But asking would have made her sound suspicious. And being suspicious was her mother, not her.

So she ignored the call and said instead, “You should have woken me. I would have come to bed.”

“Just as well you didn’t. I was annoyed. Still am. I don’t like being accused of things, Amanda, particularly not things like that. I don’t cheat.”

“I know.”

“Could’ve fooled me last night.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was your mother’s tone of voice. Honest to God, it was. I’ve never heard that from you before. It scared me. I didn’t marry your
mother. I married you. I don’t
want
your mother. If you’re going to be like her, we have a problem.”

“We have a problem anyway” Amanda said, because her mind was clearer after a night’s sleep. In the few minutes she had just spent in the bathroom, she’d had an overview of things.

“Yeah,” Graham muttered. “Infertility.”

“No. How we’re dealing with it. This is the first problem we’ve had to face together. We’re not handling it very well.”

“I am. You’re the one who wants out.”

She bowed her head. Taking a bolstering breath, she looked up. “Not out. I just want to pull back from constantly thinking about a baby. We need to focus on
us
again for a few weeks.”

He stared at her. She tried to identify his expression, but it was one she didn’t know. It might easily have been anger, or disappointment or disdain.

“I’m not giving up on having a baby,” she insisted softly, urgently. “All I’m saying is we need to give it a rest for a bit.”

Graham put his hands on his hips. “So what do I tell my family? I was hoping to bring good news to my mother’s party.”

“Me, too. But we can’t. And frankly, I feel worse for us than for them. This isn’t their life. It’s ours.”

“They want this baby for us.”

“Yes, but they’re not us.”

“They are. They’re me. I can’t separate myself from them.”

“No,” she said pointedly. “You can’t.”

He gripped the counter flanking his hips. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, none of us can separate ourselves from where we came from. Not completely. If I sounded like my mother, it wasn’t voluntary. I didn’t mean to do it, Graham. You know how I feel about her.”

“Yeah, but I thought I knew how you felt about me, too—you used to trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“You accused me of fathering Gretchen’s baby.”

Amanda sighed. “I’m sorry. I was upset. Look at it from my point of view. Sex has been work for us for months now. It’s not inconceivable that some men going through something like that would be tempted to find fun elsewhere.”

“I’m not some men. I’m your husband. I’m insulted that you’d even
think
I’d cheat.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Do you know how that made me feel?”

At that moment she only knew that he was making her feel like a heel. “Can we get
past
this, Graham? Good
God,
injured innocence doesn’t become you.”

“What does
that
mean?” he asked, indignant now.

“It means I’ve apologized more than once, I’ve said I trust you, and you’re
still
going on about it. If you’re innocent, drop it.”

Graham drew himself straight. His eyes were cold. “If?” Holding both hands up, he set off. “I can’t deal with this.” He was across the room and out the door before she could think of what to say.

***

Several minutes later, sitting in her hotel room, with a pot of coffee on a tray on the desk and a warm cup of it in her hand, Georgia called home. She imagined the scene when the first ring came— Tommy spooning up milky Froot Loops, Allison all but choking on her wheat toast in her rush to get the phone, Russ beating her to it by putting out a leisurely hand from where he stood at the stove, frying eggs.

“Hello?” he said.

She smiled. “Hi. I knew you’d get it. Who’s having eggs?”

“Me. Not that I didn’t offer a little protein to our progeny— No,” he said to the side, “they do
not
kill you, Allie, not according to the latest studies.” He listened to something Georgia couldn’t make out, then chuckled.

“What did she say?” Georgia asked.

“She said to wait a week. The next study will say something else. Smart kid.”

“Cynical kid,” Georgia said. “What happened last night?”

“Not much.”

“About Quinn.”

“Lots of talk.”

“Is she okay?”

“Sure is.”

“How about you? Did you have a good evening?”

“Sure did. Aren’t you supposed to be at a breakfast meeting?”

“They moved it back half an hour. I can still make my plane. If there’s a problem, I’ll call.”

“I may not be here. I’m meeting Henry for lunch.” Henry Silzer was Russ’s editor.

“Oh. I didn’t know.”

“Me, neither. He called last night. He had an urge to get out of the city and give his expense account a workout. He loves having lunch at the Inn.”

So did Georgia. “I’m jealous. Have a nice lunch. Can I talk to Allie?”

“She’s shaking her head. Ooops, there she goes, out of the room.
Why can’t you talk?
” he called, waited, said, “She says she has bedhead and needs to fix her hair.”

“Then Tommy.”

“Sorry, he left before she did. He was pressing his mouth. I hope that wire didn’t pop out of his braces again. I’d better go check. Can’t wait to see you, sweetie. Fly safe.”

Hearing nothing then but the silence of her hotel room, Georgia hung up the phone.

***

Karen cooked pancakes for breakfast. She added a cup of fresh blueberries to the batter, not so much because blueberries had been on sale at the market, or because the children loved them, but because Lee didn’t. He liked his pancakes plain.

Yes, and she liked her men trustworthy. People didn’t always get what they liked.

“Where’s the face?” Julie asked from her elbow, sounding and looking totally dismayed as she stared at the cooking pancakes.

“No face today,” Karen replied. “No time.”

“You never have time anymore.”

“I do.” She had time. What she lacked was patience. Arranging blueberries to make a happy face with eyes, a nose, and a mouth took more than she had.

“You didn’t do faces last time, either. Can I do that?”

“They’re a little tricky to flip. But okay. Here.” She manipulated the child’s hand around the spatula and helped her flip a few. “Good job. Now eat. Yours’ll be getting cold. What’re you guys doing?” she asked the twins, who were reaching syrupy hands into each other’s plates.

“Trading blueberries,” Jared said. “His are bluer.”

“His are fatter,” Jon added.

“Be careful. You’ll make a mess. Agh,” she cried when a glass of
juice went over. Grabbing a dish towel, she mopped up the spill. While she was at the table, she glanced at Jordie. He had his head buried in the sports section of the paper.

“Anything interesting?” she asked.

He grunted something she couldn’t make out.

With a frustrated sound, she returned to the stove. Moments later, Lee came in. He was dressed for work in a sports shirt and khaki slacks, which still made him more dressy than most of his employees. His hair, though, reflected his need to be a part of the group. It was newly lightened, so that it was more blond than sandy. He had gelled it, finger-combed it, left it.

“Morning, morning . . . morning, morning,” he said, passing the children en route to his own seat. Once there, he tugged the sports section from Jordie, who promptly picked up his plate, put it in the sink, and left.

Karen poured Lee’s coffee and, with a thud, set it down behind the paper. “Are you guys gonna want more pancakes?” she asked the twins, who mumbled what sounded enough like a “no,” meaning that everything left in the pan was for Lee. She filled a plate and, with another thud, set it down behind the paper.

“Jon, Jared, wash those hands before you leave this room. Hair time, Julie.” She gestured toward the bathroom.

She brushed the child’s hair, pulled it into a ponytail, and tied on a blue ribbon to match the blue dog on her shirt. From the foot of the stairs, she called up to remind the twins to put the permission slips for the class trip in their backpacks. “All set?” she asked Jordie when he ran down and past her. “Have a good day.” The only answer she got was a nod on his way out the door.

“Thanks, Mom,” she murmured under her breath. “Good breakfast, Mom. Have a nice day yourself, Mom.” Feeling a wave of despair, she returned to the kitchen.

Lee was engrossed in the paper. She stared at him for a minute of pure annoyance, thinking that if something was amiss with Jordan it was his fault, given the example he set. Lee thought about Lee. When he wanted a section of the paper, he took it, whether or not someone else had it first. He might be warm and fun with the children, but he did it at his own convenience. When he wanted silence, he got it. When he wanted out, he went. Jordie was taking after him, all right.

She took the batter bowl from the stove to the sink and glopped what was left down the drain. Setting the bowl down none too gently, she ran water into it. It was full by the time she was back with the pan and spatula. She thrust them under the water and began to scrub.

“Something wrong?” Lee asked.

“No.” She poured elbow grease into the work.

“What are your plans for the day?”

She had no intention of telling him her plans. Some were on the calendar. If he was planning mischief, let him worry about the others.

“Karen?”

“The usual.” She rinsed the pan. “Will you be home for dinner?”

“Yes.”

She’d heard that before, with every bit as much conviction, but he had no compunction about changing his plans. Her efforts to provide a family dinner weren’t high priority for him. Dropping the rinsed pan on the draining board, she glanced over her shoulder at his plate. It was still half full. “Are you done?”

He pushed shreds of pancake around with his fork. “I wish you’d left blueberries out of mine. You know I hate them.”

Before he could say another thing, she whisked the plate out from under him and dropped it in the sink.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked, and for an instant, she wanted to deny that anything was. She was a peacemaker by nature. Rocking the boat wasn’t her way.

But lately she had noticed things about Lee that were all too familiar—such as wearing a new cologne to cover up the scent of a woman, and working out at the gym to have an excuse for coming home newly shampooed. He was missing dinner at least once a week, and had shown up at the twins’ Little League game late with no excuse at all. Worse, he was both happier lately and less demanding sexually. Those two things didn’t fit, unless he was having an affair.

That thought alone was bad enough. But if he was having an affair with Gretchen—their
neighbor
—it would be one indignity too many for Karen.

Holding the dish towel tightly, she turned to face him. “Gretchen’s pregnant. Do you know anything about that?”

“Gretchen? Gretchen next door?”

Karen held her temper. Gretchen wasn’t a common name. They didn’t know any other Gretchens. At least, Karen didn’t.

“Gretchen’s
pregnant?”
Lee asked.

He did look genuinely surprised, though that didn’t give her any comfort. Gretchen had said that the father didn’t know. She had said that he had other obligations. Lee certainly fit that bill.

He frowned. “Since when is she pregnant?”

“Since October.”

“Wow. No kidding.” He was frowning at Karen now. “Why are you angry?”

“I’m not angry. I’m worried. Tell me the truth. Did you touch her?”

“Me? She’s
Ben’s
wife.”

“Susan was Arthur’s wife. Annette was Don’s wife. Besides, Ben’s dead. That makes Gretchen fair game.”

He pushed back his chair and stood. “Are you accusing me, Karen?”

“No. I’m just asking.”

“Well, the answer is no. I didn’t touch Gretchen. What in the world would make you think that I did?”

She would have apologized and shrugged off the suspicion if she hadn’t smelled that new cologne even now. But even
aside
from that, there were other hints. “You’re always talking about her. You’re always running over there to see what she needs.”

“She’s alone. And we’re neighbors. You ladies have treated her like a pariah, when her only crime was marrying someone whose first wife died. I don’t think that’s a crime. I feel bad for her. So I help her out. There are certain things women can’t do by themselves.”

“Like making babies.”

He raised his voice. “Like fixing leaks under sinks. Or unstopping toilets. Come on, Karen. I do those things for you. Do you think she ought to struggle to do them herself?”

“Can’t she hire someone?”

“Why should she if she’s in a neighborhood with men who can help? Russ and Graham have helped her out, too. Are you asking them?”

“No. You’re the one I’m married to. You’re the one whose kids I worry about.”

“The kids have nothing to do with this.”

She thought about that. With measured words, she said, “They sit here listening, while you rave about that painting on her wall.”