The Woman Next Door (16 page)

“She understood what I was feeling.”

“Then she agreed?”

Amanda couldn’t lie. “No. She would just as soon go ahead with the third try but she said that it wouldn’t hurt to wait a month.”

“I’m with her on going for the third try now.”

But the mere thought of it made Amanda’s head buzz. “I can’t, Graham. I can’t go right on. I need a break.”

“Is this about you? Or about you and me?”

“Me,” she said. But it was fast becoming the other.

Graham knew it, too. He shook his head and looked away, downed the last of his coffee, and set the mug in the sink. “I’m going back to Providence this afternoon. I may be late again.”

It used to be that late nights weren’t allowed twice in a row, but they were becoming more and more common. On this day, it was unfortunate. Amanda needed to sit over dinner with Graham and talk.

But Graham didn’t say another thing. He went out to the breeze-way letting the screen door clatter behind him. It was silent by the time Amanda reached it, but she gripped the handle nonetheless and watched while he backed the truck from the driveway and took off.

Not knowing what to think or do, she stayed there until the school bus came down the street. As soon as it headed out again with two Langes and four Cotters on board, she went outside. She intercepted Georgia, who was returning from the curb.

One look at her, and Georgia slipped an arm around her waist. “Have time for a cup of coffee?”

Amanda shook her head. “I have to get to school. I just need a sympathetic ear for a minute first.” And Georgia’s was a good one. She was a role model of sorts, having been married three times as long as Amanda had. Amanda wanted that longevity for herself and Graham.

“Is it the baby thing that’s getting you down?”

“Whose?” Amanda asked dryly. “Mine or Gretchen’s.”

Georgia smiled. “Yours. For starters.”

“Yes, it’s getting me down. Graham and I are hitting a wall on what to do next.”

“What do you mean, hitting a wall?”

“Disagreeing. We never used to do that.”

“Disagreeing about having a baby?”

“No, about how to go about doing it. And about Gretchen. I did something awful, Georgia. I suggested that maybe he was the father.”

“You didn’t.”

“I did,” Amanda said in self-reproach. “Here I try to teach students not to make accusations they’ll regret, and I went and did it myself. He isn’t the father. I know that. But I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t wonder whether he hates what sex has become as much as I do. It used to be so great. Now it’s prescribed and programmed. There are rules and regulations about where, when, and how often. Talk about lack of
spontaneity.
But Graham likes spontaneity. So, no, he isn’t the cheating kind, but I don’t know the male psyche. Or maybe I do. Lust is a big thing for men. Physical urges. Momentary highs. So maybe Graham got swept up in a moment’s passion when he was working with Gretchen last fall. Did I ever tell you that his first wife looks like her?”

“No.”

“Megan’s hair is more pecan than blond, but her features are so similar—heart-shaped face, procelain skin, wide-set eyes. Her mother became as Irish as possible when she married her father, but the woman was of strong Scandinavian stock.”

“Is Gretchen?”

“She sure looks it. I mean, rationally speaking, I
know
Graham wouldn’t fool around with her. He’s a totally monogamous guy.”

“So’s Russ, but I have to confess I gave it a thought myself last night. Karen’s right. He’s around here all day. So maybe he’s a ragamuffin. But if he turns me on, he could just as easily turn on Gretchen.”

“Russ is not a ragamuffin.”

“He isn’t exactly George Clooney”

“Right. Russ is more the norm. I like his looks. He has appeal.”

“Well, his appeal sure beats that of the electrician,” Georgia remarked. “Nathan is seventy-three and has emphysema. I can’t picture him with Gretchen. What do you think about the others?”

All four houses in the cul-de-sac called on the same servicemen. “The plumber got married last summer and is totally starry-eyed. The carpenter is a born-again Christian. Do I see either of them with Gretchen?” She shook her head.

“That leaves Lee.”

“A distinct possibility.”

“He was supposed to have turned over a new leaf.”

Amanda sent her a doubtful look. “So what do I do about Graham? I need a break from this. I’ve asked for a month. How do I convince him?”

“You know what you’d tell clients.”

“I’d tell them to talk it out. But I just
think
about talking to Graham
about this and I get tied up in knots.” She couldn’t imagine Georgia being that way. She wished she were
half
as well-balanced as her friend. “It’s depressing. I love Graham. I’ve always been able to talk to him. But this is different. Are there ever times when you can’t talk to Russ?”

“Yes. When we’re distracted. When he’s hung up on a deadline. Or when we’re both rushed. Like this week. I missed the Quinn thing. They’ve all moved on and don’t want to discuss it. Is it really over?”

“For now, I guess.”

“I worry about drinking.”

“Allie’s fine. She’s solid.”

“So is Quinn.”

Amanda was silent, judging how much to say. “Maybe not the way we thought.”

“You know more?”

“Only that he has issues.” She couldn’t say more without breaching a confidence. “You and Russ must have talked about the drinking thing before.”

“We have. We generally feel the same way.”

“Are there any things that you and Russ are uncomfortable discussing?”

“His brother. The guy is shady. He owns a car dealership in Michigan and lives way above what we would assume a car dealer makes, but any time I say that, Russ hits the roof. He says it’s his brother, and he loves him, and it’s none of our business how he pays for what he buys. I guess it isn’t. Be grateful Graham’s brothers are clean.”

“Oh, they are that,” Amanda said. “I like all of Graham’s siblings. His mother’s the problem.”

“When’s her birthday party?”

“Sunday. I’d be looking forward to it, even only to see the others, if it weren’t for this latest setback. What if we don’t ever have a baby, Georgia? If his family is on our backs now, what’ll they be like if a baby never comes?”

“Don’t worry about that. There are other ways of being parents.”

“Like adoption. I think we should consider it.”

“Does Graham?”

“He thinks it’s premature. He thinks we need to exhaust all the options for having our own first. My worry is that by the time we do, it’ll be too late ...”

***

Georgia tried to avoid end-of-the-week travel whenever possible, but this time it couldn’t be helped. Executives from the company courting hers wanted a tour of the Florida plant. The only day they could make it was Saturday.

Killing two birds with one stone, she scheduled a full day of meetings with her management team in Tampa on Friday. Such visits were standard; she was the spirit behind the company and a perfectionist, which meant that she wanted things done well at all levels. She wasn’t foolish enough to micromanage. She had staff to do that. But her physical presence made a difference, which was why she tried to visit each major office and plant once a month.

Her flight out wasn’t until late afternoon on Thursday, and there was her own office in Danbury to visit before then. Still she had lingered with the children before putting them on the bus, then lingered with Amanda before she too drove off, leaving her with the same dreadful qualms she had each day she traveled—qualms that
inevitably involved visions of terrorists opening fire while she was waiting for her plane, or the plane crashing. She was about to go in and let Russ cheer her up when the milkman came down the street, his truck creaking with age. It had been weeks since she’d heard that sound. It evoked thoughts of a simpler, safer time.

The Langes and the Cotters had been using the same dairy for years, but Pete usually came in the late morning. Georgia was surprised to see him so early, and was doubly surprised when he stopped at Gretchen’s first. He hopped out of his truck with his metal basket and ran up the walk.

The milkman. That was an interesting possibility. He was in his forties and had a family. But he certainly looked eager. When it came to the Langes and the Cotters, he customarily put their orders in the hinged box by the back door. But he went into Gretchen’s house and stayed for several minutes. Georgia watched until he reappeared before she went into her own kitchen. Russ was at the table, hidden behind the paper.

“I didn’t know Gretchen used the dairy,” Georgia said.

He lowered a corner of the paper. “Hmm?”

“Since when has Gretchen been using our dairy?”

“A while. She came over one day and asked for the number. Why?”

“He was in there a while. So maybe Pete’s the guy.”

Russ rolled his eyes.

Georgia said, “Why not Pete?”

Russ raised his brows and studied her over his glasses. “He has a full day’s worth of deliveries to make. He doesn’t have time to fool around with customers. Besides, she wasn’t using him last October. It wasn’t until January that she asked for the number.”

Georgia was bemused. “You remember that.”

“I do,” he said without apology. “I was showing her all the super things Pete brings, and I pulled the last of the Christmas roll from the freezer. We were joking about how it had to be stale. I let her have a taste.”

“She was tasting ice cream here in our kitchen?”

“For two minutes. It was snowing outside. She didn’t stay long. Didn’t do anything more than unbutton her coat. I think it was Ben’s coat. It was big.” He continued to look at her over his glasses, daring her to make something of the visit.

Instead, she was struck by how adorable he looked with his hair all messed up and his wedding band conversely neat on the long-fingered hand holding the paper. Opting for now to trust and believe, she went over, popped a kiss on the thinnest spot at the top of his head, and gave his shoulder a squeeze.

***

Karen spent Thursday morning repairing books at the elementary school library. As volunteer chores went, it wasn’t mentally demanding. She was grateful that there were other mothers working with her. They talked about this, that, and the other, nothing earth-shattering but enough to keep her from brooding.

She and Lee were barely talking. Self-righteously indignant, he claimed to have been deeply offended by her suggestion that he had fathered Gretchen’s child. He had actually marched defiantly to Gretchen’s that evening to ask who the father was. He told Karen that Gretchen wouldn’t say.

But Karen hadn’t been at Gretchen’s. She didn’t know for sure what was said or done. If Lee wasn’t fooling around with Gretchen, though, he was doing it with someone else. Karen would bet money on that.

She returned from school this day at noon and was sitting on her
front steps, soaking up the warmth of the sun as an antidote to her emotional chill, when the mailman drove his Jeep down the street and parked. He leaned sideways to sort through his tray, filled his arms with mail, and slipped from the Jeep.

He put the O’Learys’ mail in the box at the end of the drive and did the same with the Langes’. He walked the Cotters’ mail over to Karen, asked how she was, remarked about the lilacs nearing bloom, and, with a salute, continued on toward the Tannenwald house.

Karen was sorting through the pile on her lap when the mailman called out a greeting to Gretchen, who came right down the driveway to meet him. She was wearing a pretty tunic top and slacks, with what looked to be Italian sandals on her feet. Any one of the three items were fine enough to have come from Saks or Neiman Marcus. Karen didn’t shop at either store, not for herself or for the kids. But Lee had bought high-priced items at both, and not for himself. After seeing the charges on his credit card bill, she had checked labels in his closet. She had checked for cuff links that might have been new; naturally, since young techies didn’t wear cuff links, there were none. Nor was there a new wallet.

Someone was benefiting from his largesse. She wondered if Gretchen wore a necklace hidden under her tunic, or earrings under the swing of that pretty blond hair, or a sparkly bracelet under her cuff. She was holding a manila envelope as she talked with the mailman. A bracelet might easily have slipped toward her elbow and out of sight.

The mailman was shorter than Gretchen and more round than a man who lugged mail up and down walks each day should be. Of course, he didn’t always walk. Normally he drove from mailbox to mailbox, leaning out of his truck at each. Karen wondered why he had chosen to walk today. It could be that he had an abbreviated
afternoon route and therefore time to spare, or that he wanted the spring sun or the exercise. It could also be that he wanted Gretchen.

There were smiles and several minutes of a conversation that Karen couldn’t make out. Gretchen handed him the manila envelope and took a thicker one from him, plus smaller pieces. When one letter fell to the ground, Gretchen reached for it, but the mailman retrieved it first. He handed it over, smiled, and returned to his truck.

The mailman. The physical disparity between them didn’t rule it out. Karen had seen tall women with short men. She had seen slim women with chubby men. Who could account for tastes?

Lee, on the other hand, was sinfully handsome. A woman could hate his spiked hair and still see that. He and Karen had been a handsome couple on their wedding day. Then life had grown complicated, what with children and work, and Lee’s affairs had taken their toll. They made her feel inadequate and unattractive.

Turning, she went into the house and fixed a peanut-butter-and-potato-chip sandwich. She didn’t care if it was starchy. She needed comfort food.

The sandwich helped only marginally. Back in the car, she headed to the home of the woman in charge of the all-school graduation party that was thrown by the town for its seniors each year. Karen and she would work together for several hours, going through the list of local stores that could be counted on to make donations for the event. Then Karen would head home in time for the school bus to arrive.