The Woman Next Door (7 page)

“Home and hearth?”

“Mm.” She went to the door. She was suddenly feeling guilty about having walked out on Graham. He was suffering, too.

“I could run over and ask Gretchen,” Russ offered. “Maybe I’ll do that after the kids are fed and settled in. I haven’t talked with her in a while. You don’t see people in winter the way you do in summer, and summer was eight months ago. Besides, I’m always inside working, then taking care of the kids, and romancing my wife when she stops in at home.” The phone rang. “It’d be really interesting if Gretchen’s pregnant.”

Having mixed feelings about that, Amanda went out the door but had barely reached the bottom step when Russ stuck his head out. “That was Graham. He wants you home. You have an emergency call.”

She nodded, setting off just as Karen Cotter came across the grass carrying a foil-covered tray.

Karen was of average height and weight, a woman who rarely bothered with makeup and routinely used headbands to keep her brown hair off her face. On all physical counts, she was more neutral than bright, but that had been secondary once. When Amanda had first met her, what she had lacked in appearance, she had more than made up for in energy. Back then, she rode the perpetual high
of a busy life, buoyed by running yet another of a series of successful charity events—and still she’d had time for the occasional night out with Georgia and Amanda. They hadn’t done that in a while, and through no lack of interest on either of the other women’s parts. On each proposed evening, Karen either had a meeting, a sick child, or a headache. Lately, all that remained of her smiles were lines that left her looking tired and tense.

“There’s a bake sale at the school tomorrow,” she explained now. “I told Russ I’d save him the worry and make extra cookies for Tommy to take in.”

“You’re a good soul,” Amanda said in what was probably the understatement of the year. Karen was the designated driver of the parent community, as well as perennial room mother, yard sale chairman, art-day coordinator, PTO head. What with handling all that, plus four children between the ages of fifteen and six, she worked as hard as any woman Amanda knew. Amanda looked up to her for that. She hoped that as a mother she would have half the stamina Karen had—or used to have.

“How are the kids?” Amanda asked.

“The twins’ asthma is kicking up because of the pollen, but otherwise we’re fine. How are you?”

“Not bad.”

Karen raised her brows, inviting news.

Amanda shook her head. “It didn’t take.”

“Oh, Mandy I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. Getting pregnant is so easy for some people. Speaking of which, have you talked with Gretchen?”

“Talked? Not quite. We wave when we pass. That’s about it.”

“I think she’s pregnant.”

Karen recoiled. “Pregnant? Oh, no, I don’t think so. She can’t be
pregnant. She isn’t seeing anyone. She doesn’t
go
anywhere. She’s still mourning Ben.” Her voice went lower. “What makes you think she’s pregnant?”

“I saw her earlier, and she looked it. She’s always had great breasts, but her stomach used to be flat.”

“Yeah. Like a model. Lee tells me not to compare myself to her, but how not to? Our men drool when they look over there. They fall over themselves volunteering to help her with chores. Is that because she’s a riveting conversationalist?” Slowly she shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She looked suddenly worried. “I’ve never seen a car there overnight, but someone might have parked in the garage.”

Possibly, Amanda reasoned. “But wouldn’t one of us have noticed a car coming or going?”

“Maybe not. Maybe he parks elsewhere and sneaks in.” Looking a bit pale, Karen insisted, “Gretchen can’t be pregnant. She really can’t be.”

“Mandy,”
Graham hollered across both yards.

“Emergency call,” Amanda explained and gave Karen a quick hug. Her heart went out to this woman who was so unappreciated by those she catered to most—her husband, Lee, being the major offender.

But Karen insisted that he had his good points, and Amanda could do nothing but give her support. Just then, though, a hug was all she could spare. Graham sounded impatient.

She would have jogged home if her stomach hadn’t been cramping again. She didn’t often get calls at night, though between the tension of upcoming exams and end-of-the-year transition issues, the time was ripe for it. And then there were the usual family traumas—domestic violence, parental separation, even death. Affluence
didn’t exempt Woodley from those. If anything, their presence in such a privileged population was all the more stark.

She went up her back steps and into the kitchen; Graham was leaning against the counter, not far from the phone. The look on his face said that he hadn’t appreciated her running out on their conversation—at least, that was the reading her guilty conscience gave it. He seemed upset. He was uncharacteristically idle, as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. She would swear he had been standing in the same spot the whole time she was gone, grappling with their problem, waiting to continue the discussion.

“So is she?” he asked.

It was a minute before Amanda followed. She had been thinking of her own pregnancy, not Gretchen’s. But Gretchen was indeed where they’d left off.

“No one knows for sure,” she said and glanced at the slip of paper in his hand.

He held it out. “It was Maggie Dodd.”

Maggie was the vice principal of the school, but the number on the paper was for the office of the principal himself. Lifting the phone, Amanda punched it in. After barely a ring on the other end, a male voice said a low, “Fred Edlin.”

“Fred, it’s Amanda Carr. Maggie just called.”

“Here she is. I’ll let her explain.”

Maggie came on the line. “I hate interrupting your evening, Amanda, but we have a problem here. There was an incident at baseball practice this afternoon. Quinn Davis was involved.”

Amanda’s insides twisted—guilt telling her she should have more actively followed up on his e-mail, sought him out, stayed longer at school.

“Quinn Davis?” she repeated for Graham’s benefit. He would
know the name. Hard not to, living in a town whose weekly paper loved a hero, and Quinn was currently that. It helped that his family was so visible. One Davis or another was mentioned in the paper each week.

“He and a little group of friends showed up at practice drunk,” Maggie said.

Amanda let out a breath. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes. The coach marched them right over here. I’d have called you sooner, only it was a while before we reached Quinn’s parents. They were at the statehouse canvassing for wetlands regulations and weren’t pleased to have been called back. They’re in the other room arguing with the coach and Fred about what the punishment should be. We need your input. His parents want the thing hushed up. They say that their son does too much for the school to allow him to be used as an example. The problem is that the whole team saw him drunk. If there’s no punishment, what message does that send to the others?”

Amanda knew what message it sent. She didn’t want to give that message to them, any more than she wanted to give it to Quinn. He had to be responsible for his actions, all the more so for the exalted position he was in.

That said, she had to wonder why he had contacted her that day—had to wonder what was going on with him that he would drink after school.

“Have the others been punished?” she asked.

While Maggie gave her the peripheral information, Amanda held Graham’s gaze. He was struggling to be patient, but barely succeeding. Many times he had indulged her in student emergencies; this wasn’t one. His eyes were ink green and intense, demanding equal time. The conflict was tugging at her. There was a crisis right here
in this house that needed tending. He wanted her to deal with their own problem first.

But she had her period. No amount of “dealing” would change that, and she didn’t know where to go from here. She hated what the medication was doing to her, hated living life on a closely timed schedule, hated the agony of the wait each month. She hated going to the clinic and feeling like a machine that wasn’t working right, hated feeling like a failure yet again. She was sick of the whole thing. She wasn’t ready to think about the next step.

She needed to feel useful. Working with Quinn and his parents would give her that. Besides, given the notes he had sent, she wanted to see the boy. His being with his parents was all the better.

“I’ll come down,” she told Maggie.

Graham set his jaw and looked away. When Amanda hung up the phone, he looked back with clear reproach.

Wanting him to understand, she filled him in on the immediate situation. “The other boys were suspended from the team for the season. Quinn’s parents don’t want him missing one game, much less six. My worry is why. They may be taking a stand for reasons that have nothing to do with Quinn.”

“They’re his parents,” Graham argued. “They should be able to take whatever stand they want.”

“True, but someone has to take the stand that’s best for the boy.”

“Can’t Maggie do that?”

“They need an arbiter.”

“Do you know what’s best for him?”

“No. I can’t know until I get there and hear more.”

“Those are powerful parents. They’ve spearheaded drives that have run teachers out of town. We’ve both read those stories. Edlin and Dodd may be using you as the bad guy. You’re putting yourself in an untenable situation.”

“But what choice do I
have,
Gray? Quinn’s the important thing here.”

“Tonight? Right now? Can’t it wait until morning?”

“They want it settled now. The parents don’t want rumors floating around.”

“What about us?”

“I won’t be long.”

He shot her a doubting look.

“I won’t,” she insisted, reaching for her purse. Confiding in Graham as she often did, if for no other reason than that he would know to get her quickly if one of her clients called the house, she added, “Something’s up with Quinn. He was trying to reach me this morning, but we missed each other. I need to see if I can help him now.”

“He’s a strong kid. My Lord, look at all he does.”

“Maybe the image is weighing heavy. He also has two superstar older brothers in whose footsteps he has to follow, and parents with egos the size of Texas. I’ve met those two. They’re tough. We don’t know, Gray. It could be that life at home is a nightmare for that boy.”

“And you know how that is.”

“I do,” Amanda conceded, choosing to believe that he wasn’t mocking her. “My situation was different. I was caught in the crossfire. Right now, Quinn
is
the crossfire. He’s his parents’ current cause. That isn’t fair.”

“Lots of things aren’t fair,” Graham muttered, turning away again, and suddenly she did want to talk about it. She wanted to talk about what was fair and who deserved what, what it took to be a good parent, and the fact that she and Gray would be the best parents ever. She wanted to talk about the things that could ruin relationships and how to nip them in the bud. She wanted to talk about dreams that seemed to be going up in smoke.

But she didn’t have the strength. It used to be that talking with Graham was as easy as breathing. Now it involved greater thought and heart. It also involved greater time than she had just then, what with a student in need.

“I won’t be long,” she repeated and went out the door.

Amanda had barely driven away when Karen walked out the back door of her own pretty Victorian, this one white with gray trim. She held another foil-covered plate of cookies, but not for the bake sale at school. This batch was for the widow, and while a peace offering would have been in order, it wasn’t that, either. It was a bribe.

Karen wanted information. She had to know if the widow was pregnant, and, if so, by whom.

Russ claimed ignorance. Karen had grilled him, but, if he knew anything, he hadn’t cracked. He maintained that Amanda’s mention of Gretchen’s pregnancy was the first he had heard of it, and that even if it was so, out of respect for Ben he wouldn’t begin to speculate on the identity of the father. His response was a cop-out if ever there was one, which made Karen fear that his refusal to speculate had less to do with the dear departed Ben than with Russ’s friendship with Graham and Lee. Of course, he would protect them. It was a male thing.

Gretchen Tannenwald’s Victorian, very similar in design to the other three houses on the cul-de-sac, was pale blue with white trim. It had the same wraparound porch as the others, the same gaslights, the same dormers and eaves. Unlike the others, Gretchen’s had a widow’s walk at the top. Karen, Amanda, and Georgia had occasionally wondered about the significance of that. Ben and June used to go up there. After June died, Ben had gone there alone from time to time. It struck the others as a quiet, contemplative place. The fact
that they had never seen Gretchen there, with or without Ben, was another strike against the woman.

The house was the fourth and last circling the cul-de-sac, which made Gretchen the Cotters’ immediate neighbor. It took no time for Karen to cross from one yard to the next and hook onto the bluestones that led to the back door. She climbed the steps and knocked, thinking of the many talks she’d had with June on this porch. June had been a mother figure for the three other women. She was dead three years now. Karen missed her.

When no one answered, she rang the bell, then shaded her eyes and peered through the mullioned glass. While June’s kitchen had a country feel, with patterns and prints and grandchildren’s drawings, Gretchen’s was stainless steel and sleek. The same was true of Gretchen herself, as far as Karen was concerned. She was cool, state-of-the-art chic, and standoffish.

Karen was about to ring the bell again when Gretchen appeared. She was wearing leggings, a loose man’s shirt that was spattered with paint, and a look that became guarded when she saw who was at her door. The two women had never been exactly close.

Crossing the kitchen without hurry, she opened the door.

Karen extended the dish. “Double chocolate chip cookies. To celebrate the coming of May.”