The Woman Next Door (27 page)

Amanda tried to calm her. “No. It just means that they don’t have any leads.”

“What about fingerprints?”

“They dusted. But too many other people had handled the doors.”

“How does Gretchen feel about that?”

“No suspects? Not happy.”

“Is she going to push it?”

“Push the police? I don’t think so. She’s just heartsick about the painting.”

“So do you think she’ll move?”

“Because of this?” Amanda asked in surprise. “She didn’t mention it.”

“What does she mention?”

“The baby” Amanda said, because it seemed a positive thing to discuss.

Karen put a negative spin on that, too. “She talks about the baby, knowing what you’ve been through? That’s selfish. And you keep going back for more? You’ve been there three times in two days. How come? Do you like her?”

As she put the veggies in the refrigerator, Amanda tried to verbalize what she felt. “I don’t dislike her. I never disliked her. I never got to know her much. I thought she was aloof.”

“Are you becoming friends?” Karen asked, sounding as though that would be a betrayal of the highest order.

Amanda understood where Karen was coming from. If she was married to Lee, she might agree. But she was married to Graham. Graham didn’t have a history of cheating. Taking the high road— the one that her mother would not have taken—Amanda was working under the premise that nothing had happened between Gretchen and him.

“I’m not sure we’re friends,” she told Karen. “But there may be more to her than we know.”

“Yeah. Husband stealing.”

Amanda had actually been thinking about the fact that the woman was learning French. The idea that she did something like
that in her spare time was far different from the idea that she sat around watching talk shows on TV

But she didn’t want to tell Karen about the French stuff. She didn’t want Karen to find something negative about that, too. So she simply said, “Gretchen’s a human being. She’s a woman. She’s been through a hard time. She could probably use our support.”

Karen made a disdainful sound. “And you don’t think her being vulnerable is an act?”

“Why would it be?”

“Because she may want allies. God, Amanda—wouldn’t you do the same thing if you were in her shoes? What better way to put the wife off the scent than by getting so close that she simply takes the scent for granted?”

Amanda was totally put off. Yes, she wanted to be compassionate, but she didn’t like Karen very much just then. “That’s a cynical view,” she warned as lightly as she could while still making her point.

“Well, she still won’t say who fathered the baby. Why’s she keeping it such a secret? If it was just anyone, wouldn’t she say?”

Amanda took napkins and paper towels from the bag. “I don’t know. She may have reasons. She may be protecting someone.”

“That’s correct.”

“Karen, that someone may be a man we don’t know at all. There may be a whole other set of circumstances revolving around this baby’s conception.” She paused, thinking about what Gretchen had said about her family in Maine, wondering if there was more that she hadn’t said. But Amanda wasn’t telling any of this to Karen, either. “She may be keeping it a secret to protect herself. For all we know, she was threatened.”

Karen looked as though she didn’t buy that. “I’d be careful of her, if I were you.”

“On the other hand,” Amanda reasoned, reaching for the big brown grocery bag, “if I get to know her, she may confide in me.”

“She may tell you lies, too.”

Amanda folded the bag and sighed. “Well, it feels like the right thing to do, showing her a little compassion. She didn’t ask for someone to ruin that painting.”

“Are you doing this to please Graham?”

“No. I’m doing it to please me. Lately, all I seem to feel is helpless. Like I have no control. With Gretchen, it’s like I’m
doing
something. Taking control of something. Reaching out.
Helping
someone. That’s refreshing. Y’know?” She thought about Quinn. She had felt totally useless in his instance. Then she thought about Karen’s own son and the appointment he had missed that day. Appointment? Meeting. They were keeping it informal. Quiet. Certainly confidential. “How’s Jordie?” she asked gently.

“He’s fine,” Karen said, but those facial lines deepened. Her voice held an edge that went beyond simple conversation. “Why do you ask?”

“He was Quinn’s friend. Lots of the others have dropped in to talk. They’re having a tough time getting back to routine.”

“Jordie’s fine. He’s upset. But he’s fine.”

***

Calling home from Kansas City a short time later, Georgia knew that Allison was feeling down the instant she heard her voice. Just that morning, she had been with her daughter at home. They had talked, and talked well. Given the events of the past week, though, her imagination went wild. “What is it, honey? Did something else happen?”

“I just had a fight with Jordie. He says that everyone’s gone back to the same old same old, and it’s like nothing ever happened, only

Quinn is gone. But what’re we supposed to do, Mom? No one’s forgetting Quinn. Kids are still talking about him. But we still have classes, and there’s other stuff going on. You can’t talk about death
every
minute.”

“Did you tell him that?”

“Yes. He said I was cold. Am I cold?”

“No. You’re one of the warmest people I know.”

“Jordie is so out of it. Like, you talk to him sometimes, and he doesn’t hear. He thought Quinn was the greatest thing in the world. But the guy
killed
himself. Would the greatest thing in the world kill himself?”

“No.”

“Like, Quinn was a nice guy, okay? I’m the first one to say that. He was smart. He was a great baseball player. But he wasn’t perfect.” She snorted. “So how do I get that across to Jordie?”

“Have you tried just telling him outright?”

“Sure. He says I don’t know what I’m talking about. Then he turns around and walks away. I mean, like, we’re all suffering, but he just walks away. How can you be friends if he isn’t there when you need him? Isn’t that what friends are about—
being
there when times are rough?”

“I’d say so,” Georgia acknowledged with more than a little guilt. She wanted to be there for Allison, and not only as a mother. Allison was on the verge of womanhood. Georgia wanted them to be friends. Yet here she was, away again.

“Dad says that there’s a pride thing involved with men, and that I have to come at it from the side, but I don’t know what that means, and if I don’t know what it means, how can I do it?”

“Talk with Amanda. She’ll know what to do.”

“Well, I would, but lately she’s over at Gretchen’s all the time.”

“Not all the time,” Georgia said.

“Okay, maybe not, but she was there a little while ago. Does that mean Gretchen’s an okay person to be with now?”

Hearing her daughter put it that way, Georgia felt guilty. “She’s always been an okay person to be with.”

“You never liked her.”

“I never got to know her. Maybe that’s what Amanda’s doing. I think that’s good. Amanda’s good about things like that. Go talk with her, honey. She’ll help you with Jordie.”

“I wish you were here.”

Georgia did, too. Her lawyer was with her this time around. They were working out the last of the contract terms. A deal could possibly be sealed within the week, assuming Georgia agreed to remain at the company’s helm. That was the single most troublesome part of the deal, as far as she was concerned. If she balked, they would be back at square one, starting negotiations all over with another company. After all the time and effort that she had invested in this one, she hated the thought of that.

I wish you were here.

Georgia felt the old, familiar tugging, and she had left home only that morning. “Me, too. But it’s a short week, Allie. I’ll be back tomorrow night. Put your dad on, would you, honey? I want to say hi.”

***

“Hi,” Graham said.

Amanda’s heart lifted at the sound of his voice. “Hi. I was wondering when you’d call. Are you on your way home?” She was making dinner, anxious to talk. She felt a need for Graham that had nothing to do with being comforted for not conceiving or failing to prevent a student’s suicide. This need had to do with the future. Their future. She couldn’t deal with a blank screen anymore.

But Graham said, “Actually, I’m headed in the opposite direction,” and the lift she had felt vanished.

“Providence again?”

“No. Stockbridge.” He had landscaped a museum there earlier that spring. The project was such a plum and the design so beautiful that it was already framed on the wall in the office over the garage.

“I thought Stockbridge was done,” Amanda remarked.

“So did I. They’re still making noise about my fee.”

“They approved it. It’s in the contract.”

“I know. But they’re saying that all the other subs came in over budget, and they just don’t have the money. So I’m making my case at a meeting of the board.”

***

Graham didn’t go to Stockbridge, though what he’d said about it was true. The directors of the museum were indeed making noise about his fee, which not only included designs for both landscape and hardscape, but their execution by Will’s crew, with on-site supervision by Graham. Forget expertise and a quality outcome. In time alone Graham’s investment had been substantial, which was what he had told the board in a conference call that afternoon.

No. This night he was going to have dinner with his brother Peter, but Amanda had been so paranoid about his family lately that he preferred not to mention it. He also preferred that the rest of the family not know they were meeting either. So he had chosen a spot on neutral ground, a diner that was an hour’s ride for them both. Peter had agreed to secrecy even without knowing its cause. He was that kind of guy—which, totally aside from his being Graham’s brother, was why Graham had sought him out.

They met in the parking lot, hugged, and went inside, where
they slid into a booth at the back and both ordered meatloaf and beer. They exchanged newsy little tidbits until their stomachs were filled and the beer had mellowed them out.

Then Graham said, “I need to talk with you about the family. I don’t know how to handle them.”

“About the baby thing?” Peter asked, as perceptive as always.

Graham let loose with all the frustration that had been building for weeks. “They keep talking about it. They keep asking about it. They keep talking about how Mom wants me to have a baby, like I’m deliberately letting her down. They keep making suggestions about one thing or another that we ought to do to conceive, like we’re sitting around doing nothing, like our medical advice is no good.”

“They’re concerned. They’re trying to be helpful.”

“Well, it’s not working. It’s coming between Amanda and me. Marriages can be wrecked by family interference. This is a tough time for us. She’s feeling pressure about the baby. Now she feels pressure about this, too. She thinks I’m taking sides.”

“Are you?” Peter asked, just as Graham had done dozens of times in the last few days.

“I don’t know. I don’t want to. But if she’s feeling pressure about the family, think about what I feel. The pressure’s worse on me. You all are my past. You’re where I came from. You mean the world to me. I respect your opinions. But I’m married to Amanda. She’s my present. She’s my future.” Once again, he heard the echo of her words.
What if there’s never a baby? What happens to us then?

Quietly, Peter said, “You don’t look convinced, Gray.”

Graham opened his mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn’t come. He thought about that, thought about what was really on his mind. Finally, looking away, feeling a sense of dread, he admitted,

“I’m worried. The whole baby thing has torn us apart. I don’t know if we can mend things.”

“They’re that bad?”

“No. But they were always so
good
for us. I don’t know if we can get back to that point.”

“Do you love her?”

He looked at Peter. “Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why. What do you mean, why?”

“What do you love about her?”

Graham sat back, wondering where to begin. Without planning it, he conjured up his very first view of Amanda, six years before on that hillside in Greenwich. In an instant, he was back there in time and the image was fresh. “I love her smallness. Her delicacy. She’s so feminine.” Embarrassed, he added a quick, “I mean, it’s not like Megan wasn’t. But Amanda is feminine in a different way. Because she’s small, I feel big. Masculine.” That was one of the first things he had felt. Given his marital history, it mattered to him more than it might to another man, and he wasn’t apologizing for it. Returning to that Greenwich hillside, he felt the comfort now. “I love the way she’s petite and fragile-looking. I love her legs. I love the way her hair curls.”

“Those are physical things,” Peter said.

Graham disagreed. “Not entirely. There’s an attitude involved. She tries to pull her hair back so it’s neat and smooth, only it won’t stay. I love that. It’s like there’s this wild streak in her that just can’t stay put no matter how much she tries.”

Peter smiled. “Does it come out in other ways?”

Feeling pride, Graham smiled back. “Oh yeah. We used to go mountain climbing a lot. I mean, she’d trip over the rocks, but
she’d always come up laughing. Same thing with kayaking. She’d overturn the kayak more than anyone else, but it didn’t get her down. She’s klutzy but she’s adventurous. She likes trying new things. I love that about her. But then there’s the sensitive side, y’know, with her work?”

“I’ve seen her with nieces and nephews,” Peter said. “She’s always been wonderful with them. I’ve never seen her in action at school.”

“I have,” Graham said, remembering those times clearly. “It’s like she knows just the right tone to set, and it isn’t always the same. Some kids need a soft approach, some need a street-smart one. She manages to convey what’s right, even if she isn’t saying much.” Being of the up-front and out-there school himself, Graham never failed to marvel at that. “She’s book-smart. But she’s also intelligent, in a commonsense kind of way, if you know what I mean. I like that about her.” He thought of something else. “The first time I ever saw her, she had a red thing around her hair in back. You couldn’t see much, just a flash now and again.” He smiled. “I like the way she looks in red.”