The Woman Next Door (28 page)

Peter chuckled. “A true adventurer.”

But Graham was back on that hillside again. The red thing wasn’t the first thing he’d noticed that day. Nor was it her blond hair. Or her shape or size. Frowning at his coffee mug, he tried to verbalize his thoughts. “I think,” he began slowly, because saying it aloud felt weird, “I think that the first thing I loved was the way she looked at me. There were a bunch of us planting shrubs, but she was looking at me. Even aside from the masculine thing, I felt special. Like I was the only one there. She made me feel like that lots of times.”

He looked up to see if Peter was laughing. Will might have laughed. Same with Joseph or Malcolm. But Peter was serious, pensive.

“You say you ‘used’ to do things like mountain climbing and kayaking. Don’t you still?”

“We haven’t in a while.”

“Why not?”

“No time. We’re both busy with work. We also worry about doing something that might hurt her conceiving.” He felt his forehead tighten. “Conception has become the single most controlling thing in our lives.” He studied Peter, waiting in silence for the priest to praise him for that.

But the priest said, “Having babies is only one part of a relationship.”

Graham snorted. “Tell that to Mac. Tell it to James or Joseph or Will. Tell it to MaryAnne and Kathryn.”

“I will if you want. I’ll do what I can to help. You know that, Gray.”

Graham did. That was why he had wanted to see Peter. But it wasn’t a simple matter of talking with their siblings. “The thing is that I
know
they love me and want me to be happy. It’s not a malicious thing on their part. But it’s making a bad situation worse. I didn’t face any of this when I was married to Megan. You all knew her. She was family even before I married her. Amanda is so different—from you all and from Megan. There isn’t the automatic comfort level when we all get together, so I feel torn, with Amanda on one side and my family on the other. How do I find a balance?”

Peter didn’t answer. He seemed to be thinking.

Graham said, “The answer is that we have kids and there’s no problem. But what happens if we never have kids? Will they blame it on Amanda? Will they keep her at arm’s length? Will they let me live with that? Because if they don’t—if they keep harping on the baby thing—they’ll back me into a corner. I don’t want to have to choose between Amanda and them.”

“I hear you,” Peter said. “What do you want me to do? Want me to talk with them?”

“No. Not unless they bring it up.”

“And then what?”

“Tell them to ease off,” Graham said, then let loose with all he’d been thinking for weeks. “Tell them to mind their own business. Tell them I’m a big boy—that I know more than they do about fighting infertility—that I want a baby but that their nagging won’t help. Tell them that if they really want to help they can make Amanda feel like she’s one of us. Ah hell, Peter, tell them whatever you want. They’ll listen to you.”

“What about Mom?”

“I’ll handle Mom,” Graham said. He didn’t know how, but he would. That decided, he had only one more request of his brother the priest. It was probably the single most pressing reason for his seeking Peter out. “Tell me it’s okay if we never have kids.”

“Oh, you’ll have kids. If it doesn’t happen biologically, you’ll adopt.”

That wasn’t the point. “Tell me,” Graham specified, “that it’s okay if Amanda and I don’t have kids of our own.”

“It’s more than okay. If children don’t come, it’s God’s will.” Peter paused. His voice lowered. “That’s my view. What’s yours?”

***

Amanda was writing reports at her desk in the office over the garage when the phone rang. “Hello?”

“Graham O’Leary please.”

“I’m sorry, but he isn’t here. Who’s calling?”

“This is Stuart Hitchcock calling from Stockbridge. I wanted to thank him for spending the time with us this afternoon. I’ve always been on his side, and he made his case well. I wish we could have
given him an answer when he called, but seven of the ten board members had evening plans, so we could only meet until six. We’ll be meeting again next week. Will you tell him that if we have any other questions, we’ll call him then?”

Wondering where her husband was tonight if he wasn’t in Stock-bridge, Amanda said that she would.

By the time Graham got home Tuesday night, Amanda didn’t want to know where he’d been. She heard him come in, but she was settled as comfortably on the sofa in the den as one could be when in the midst of a very private war. She knew she should get up and confront him, but she was too angry, too disappointed, too frightened.

The best she could do was to write out Stuart Hitchcock’s message and present it to him at breakfast the next morning. He read it, then stood for a silent eternity focusing on that condemning piece of paper. Finally he raised his eyes.

To his credit, he did look guilty. “I was with Peter,” he said quietly. “I had to talk with him. I didn’t think you’d appreciate that.”

Amanda might have. Of all the O’Leary siblings, she most trusted Peter. But that wasn’t the issue. That wasn’t what was making her feel so let down. “You lied.”

“I didn’t feel like I had a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” she insisted, because when it came to being truthful with each other, they
did
have that choice. Conceiving a baby was something else.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there looking conflicted—and she was conflicted herself. Part of her wanted to hug him, wanted to tell him that it was all right, that she understood, that she loved him anyway. The other part didn’t want to bare her heart and soul without knowing first what he felt.

When it looked like he wouldn’t tell her that, she said, “If trust is the issue, this doesn’t help.”

“Trust? Oh, God. Are you still on the Gretchen vein?”

“I’m on the what-do-we-mean-to-each-other vein. You still haven’t told me how you’d feel if we never conceive.”

He looked suddenly desperate. “We’ll have a baby. Somehow or other, we will.”

Amanda didn’t know what “somehow or other” meant, and as for that desperate look, it could have been from not wanting to give a more honest answer, which didn’t make her feel any better.

“I have to get going,” she said, slipping the strap of her briefcase onto her shoulder.

Between that time and the instant when she went out the door, he had more than enough opportunity to say,
Wait. Let’s talk. I want to live the rest of my life with you no matter what. I’d never, ever look at another woman. You’re the one I love.
But he didn’t.

***

Amanda immersed herself in work with the help of a flurry of calls from parents. Sandwiched around three meetings with students, they kept her on the phone for most of the morning. One mother was worried about her daughter’s falling grades as the end of the year approached; another wanted to know whether her son’s acting out at home was normal for a senior. One was concerned about the bad influence of his son’s friends; another wanted to alert Amanda that she and her husband were divorcing and that their daughter was upset. Several still called about the suicide issue, wanting to know that the school remained vigilant.

Amanda was the consummate professional through it all, until Allison Lange appeared at her door. It was late morning. Like so
many of the students who sought her help, the girl looked unsure of what she was doing.

In this instance, though, Amanda was immediately concerned. She was personally involved with Allison in a way that didn’t apply to the other students. She also knew that Jordie and Allison were tight, and that Jordie was suffering. She had e-mailed him again this morning, but had gotten no reply.

Drawing Allison into her office, she closed the door.

“Hi, cutie,” said Maddie.

Amanda said a more direct, “You look like you need a friend.”

Allison didn’t smile. Seeming uncomfortable, she looked at the parrot. “My mom keeps saying I should talk with you. I was going to go over to the house last night, but then everyone would have seen me.” Her eyes met Amanda’s before skittering away. She approached the bird cage. “I mean, like they wouldn’t have known what I was going there to talk with you about, but I would’ve felt so guilty, y’know?”

“I love you,” Maddie told her.

“Guilty?” Amanda asked, joining her beside the cage.

“Talking about Jordie.”

Amanda tucked a long swathe of hair behind the girl’s ear and left a gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’m concerned about him, too. I think he’s . . . struggling with lots of things.”

“
Lots
of things,” Allison said, looking at her then, seeming relieved that Amanda saw it, too, as though that gave her permission to open up. “I can hardly
talk
with him anymore. It’s like he’s a different person. He won’t say much of anything. Then he snaps at me when I ask what’s wrong. He walks around here like he doesn’t want anyone coming
near
him.” She paused, dead still now. “Except he isn’t here today.”

That would explain why he hadn’t answered Amanda’s e-mail. “Is he sick?”

Allison spoke even more quietly. “He wasn’t this morning. He was on the bus with all of us and got off with the rest of the high school kids. I saw him come inside. Only he wasn’t in math class last period. No one’s seen him since the end of first period.”

“No one?”

“I asked all our friends. They don’t know where he is. He’s been as weird with them as he’s been with me.”

“How about you? Do you have any idea where he is?”

The girl shook her head.

Amanda’s first thought was that Jordie had taken sick and been sent home. It was the most benign explanation and could be easily confirmed by a call to the school nurse.

On the other hand, if it wasn’t the case and if Allison was there when she learned it, the girl would be more upset. So, holding the phone call off a minute, wanting to ease Allison’s worry, she said a confident, “He’s probably at the nurse’s office. Or was. He may be home now.”

Allison shook her head. “I called. Twice, in case he was in the bathroom. There’s no answer.”

“Then it may be that the nurse kept him here until she could locate his mom.” She paused. Allison was every bit as sharp as Georgia, every bit as thorough. “Tell me you’ve been to the nurse’s office.”

The girl’s guilty look said that she had. “Just to the door, but I couldn’t see inside. The bell rang, and I didn’t dare hang around.”

“Where are you supposed to be now?”

“Study hall.”

Amanda wrote out a pass. “Give this to the proctor, so that you don’t get in trouble.”

“What do I say if someone asks why I was here?” Allison asked.

Amanda was used to the question. Students liked her. They just didn’t want to be seen with her.

In this instance, though, she didn’t see why a simple version of the truth couldn’t work. “Your friends know I live next door, and they know that your mom’s out of town. So just say that you talked with her last night, and that she asked you to give me a message.”

Allison took the pass. “What are you going to do about Jordie?”

“First, I’ll check with the nurse.”

“What if he isn’t there?”

“I’ll try him at home. He may have just arrived.”

“What if he hasn’t?”

“I’ll try to reach his parents.”

“I don’t want him getting in trouble because of me. It’s just that... I worry about. . . the other, y’know?”

Amanda nodded. She worried about the other, too.

The “other,” of course, was Quinn’s suicide. Jordie had been Quinn’s friend, though they were more different than alike. Quinn had been a top student; Jordie struggled. Quinn had been starting shortstop on the baseball team; Jordie usually warmed the bench. Quinn had been president of the sophomore class; Jordie was an apolitical freshman. If Amanda had to put her finger on the one friend who might copy Quinn, Jordie was it.

***

Jordie wasn’t at the nurse’s office. The nurse hadn’t seen him at all.

He wasn’t at home. Or if he was, he wasn’t answering the phone.

Amanda enlisted Maggie Dodd’s help in quietly making sure he wasn’t elsewhere on the grounds of the school, without alerting the students to the problem. They checked the boys’ locker room. They
checked backstage in the auditorium. They checked every last study carrel in the library.

While Maggie continued to look, Amanda tried Karen’s car phone, but the best she could do was to leave a message. Same thing at Lee’s work number.

Suffering visions of a bloodbath at home, Amanda cleared the next few hours, got into her car, and drove to the cul-de-sac. Neither of the Cotters’ cars was there, which meant that they were away from the house as opposed to being dead inside. Appeased on that score, though now envisioning a nightmare of things Jordie might have done to himself alone, she sought help.

Graham wasn’t there. But Russ was home—or supposed to be. His car was in the driveway and the back door was unlocked, but when she went into the kitchen and called his name, even went into his office, he wasn’t there. That left Gretchen. Thinking only that she wanted backup should something be dreadfully wrong, Amanda went across the street and rang the bell.

Gretchen looked pleased to see her, though puzzled.

Amanda was in the process of explaining the situation when Russ appeared behind Gretchen. He wore his usual T-shirt and shorts, and was only as disheveled as he normally looked, for which reason Amanda didn’t give his presence there much thought. Besides, whether or not Russ was fooling around with Gretchen wasn’t a first-priority worry right now. Finding Jordie was.

Russ went to the Cotters’ house with her. They tried the bell first, then knocked. When no one appeared, Amanda took a key from the hiding place that Julie had shown her and unlocked the door.

“Jordie?” she called from the front hall. “Jordie? It’s Amanda!”

In the echoing silence, she shot Russ a frightened look, then followed him in a fast search of the house. He seemed to understand
that time was of the essence. If Jordie had done something to himself, minutes might make the difference.