The Good Neighbor (19 page)

Noah shifted on the bed, and his foot pushed out from his blankets and dangled in front of my face. As I slid his foot back to warmth and coziness, my disparate thoughts came together.

I claimed I'd moved back to Good Street because of what I'd lost and labeled it an act of surrender. I thought nothing could be as good as the life I'd planned with Bruce, so why even bother? But perhaps my divorce was not a defeat. Perhaps it was a challenge.
To be better. Do better. Have better.
Perhaps I'd moved back to Good Street not because of what I'd lost, but because of what I
had
. Mrs. Feldman. Familiarity. Memories. A house that was already a home. Maybe what I
had
was the chutzpah to make it on my own. The comfort and safety of this house, this street, this life, didn't have to be cop-outs, they could be catalysts.

I tiptoed out of Noah's room and into mine. Mrs. Feldman's box was on my nightstand. The box needed safekeeping away from a little pirate's prying eyes and hopeful hands.

In the living room I sat on the sofa with my laptop, and Googled
Lakeview Home for Jewish Unwed Mothers
. I found one message board with a half dozen men and women looking for birth mothers. None of the information corresponded with Mrs. Feldman's. It was not my job to look for her Elizabeth, or whatever this woman's name was now. I repeated this inside my head. It was just my job to hold on to the box, to hand it over if someone came looking for it.

But do people look for treasures they don't know exist? Even pirates follow maps.

For now I tucked Mrs. Feldman's secret into the bread drawer with my Phillies cap and pushed both aside in my thoughts as my cell phone lit up with Rachel's face and ringtone.

“Hey.”

“I'm sorry. Seth and I started talking … it just wasn't the right time to leave.”

“Okay.”

“How about I bring dinner tomorrow? Just a quick one with the kids? At your house after work?”

“I've heard that before.”

“No, really, Iz. I need to talk to you in person.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, of course I'm okay. Actually, I'm better than okay.”

Rachel made me dizzy. “I'm always here for you, Rache. But you have to show up.”

“Oh my God, Iz. Let it go. I get it. You're
busy
.”

I imagined Rachel rolling her eyes. Yes, I was busy. Busy envisioning my cousin snapping seductive selfies and posting them on Facebook. Busy worrying I was tarnishing my best friend's business. I was also busy juggling students and parents and paperwork at Liberty. And I was busy trying to ignore Mrs. Feldman's secret.

*   *   *

The next day I didn't emerge from my office until lunchtime, avoiding any impromptu encounters with Dr. Howard. Since Donna's warning, I'd arrived by eight- fifteen at the latest, although Helen always seemed to be on her second cup of office coffee by then.

Today, for four and a half hours, a parade of graduating seniors marched into my office needing help with FAFSA, college applications, recommendations, and graduation requirements. One freshman, three juniors, and a sophomore handed in both real and fabricated paperwork proving they lived in the district. And a Ukrainian translator waited for the arrival of the Tkachenko family so that Dennis Tkachenko's parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles could discuss his college options.

Still, I needed sustenance and a change of scenery, just for five minutes. Without looking into the waiting room or toward Dr. Howard's door, I hurried to the empty office that used to belong to another counselor, a bagel with cream cheese clutched in one hand, a Styrofoam cup in the other. The door was ajar so I tapped it with my hip and flipped on the light with my elbow.

“Hi, Miss. Lane.”

I flinched and water spilled as I set down the cup. “Donna, why are you in here? I mean, why are you in here in the dark?”

“Sorry, I just had to answer a quick personal phone call. I didn't think I'd get the chance to take a real lunch break today, so I brought my lunch in here.” Donna's face drooped, and her eyes widened. I hadn't meant to reprimand her, yet I had. I noticed her lit cell phone and a half-eaten cardboard-box lasagna.

“Eat, talk.” I waved my hand as if shooing her away. “I'll go back to my office.” I peeked back out into the waiting room I'd sneaked past. Every chair was filled except the broken ones. Kids' heads hung to their chests, fingers twiddled, pencils twirled.

“Thank you.” Donna typed on her phone as she talked to me.

“Is everything okay?”

“It's my mother—” Donna didn't look up.

I cringed. That morning I'd waved at Donna as I beelined to my office, still buzzing from Mrs. Feldman's news and Rachel's abandonment. I hadn't even poked out to say hello or to ask about Donna's weekend. “Do you need to go home?”

“It's her hip. She'll be fine. But thank you for asking.”

“Please give her my best.”

“Do you mind if I sit here for a minute? I just need to catch my breath before I go back out there. Organizing those students while I'm dealing with the doctors and my sisters is not easy. They don't always understand what I do, and that I can't always talk.”

I could relate. “Of course you can stay here. Do you mind some company?”

Before Donna could answer, I unwrapped my bagel. Donna said nothing. She just stared at her phone. Scrolled with her index finger. Shook her head. Scrolled some more.

“Is everything else okay with your mom?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, yes. She'll be fine. She's tough.”

“Oh, I just thought…”

Donna held up her phone. “This?” She tapped the screen and turned it to me. “My guilty pleasure.”
Philly over Forty.
“Not that I haven't tried not to be single, but since I am…” She laughed louder than she should have. “Nothing new on here today, though. Which is strange.”

Nothing new on
Philly over Forty,
that was absurd. It was Monday. My weekend flashed though my mind. All those comments on my Valentine's Day post, written in anticipation—in fear—of “the big day.” Then there was CD. Ethan and Maya. Mrs. Feldman and Elizabeth. Rachel and … Oh, no. I forgot to upload my Monday post. No, I forgot to
write
my Monday post! And I could do nothing about it until tonight.

I stopped chewing and just swallowed. The bagel clump lodged in my throat. I reached for my cup and forced down my bite with a swig of water.

“You look pale, Miss. Lane. Do you need the Pepto?”

Donna was a devotee of placing a definite article before a proper noun, as was my mother, who always shopped at
the Ac-a-me
when I was growing up. I took classes at Penn to rid myself not only of the Northeast Philly burr, but its syntax. Yet Donna's colloquialism warmed me. Comfort lurked deep within its renounced familiarity.

And, yes, at this moment,
the Pepto
was just what I needed.

*   *   *

I sat in my car in the parking lot outside the JCC, where Noah attended his after-school program. Where I'd paid this month's bill on my own. Jade hadn't even tried to contact me, and she was always the one who blinked first.

Ripe with apprehension, I called her.

“Hello?”

“I'm sorry.” That apology had more layers than she knew.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was worried about you, but I didn't want to bother you, considering.”

“Considering what?” Was something wrong with Noah? With Bruce out of town, Jade's third emergency contact rank had been bumped to second.

“I know about Mac, Pea.”

The Pepto
crept to the back of my throat. “I'm so sorry, I should have told you, it wasn't right, but I didn't know what else to do. I promise I'll make it up to you.” I held the steering wheel so tight my hand cramped. This was finally over. The bad, the good, the lying.

“Make it up to me? I should be making it up to you. My best friend breaks up with her boyfriend and doesn't tell me? You think
Philly over Forty
is more important than you are?”

“What are you talking about?” Now five minutes had passed and I had to get Noah or pay overtime. I left my car, cell to my ear, and walked through the parking lot. “I honestly have no idea.”

“When you didn't post today, Holden checked your drafts. Pea, you should have told me you broke up with Mac.”

Oh my God. My breakup post! Holden had accessed it. Of course he had. When there was no new post by nine this morning, he tapped and snapped and wiggled his nose and saw my draft.

“There's more to it. But I'm picking up Noah now.”

“Of course there's more to it. We can talk about it Friday night.” I walked through the JCC doors and smiled at the parents and kids leaving the building. “Pea? Friday night? Dinner? You, me, Andrew?”

“Right.”

“Look, I'm sorry about this, but it will all work out. For you and for us. Do you want Holden to publish the post?”

If I let Holden push the magic
PUBLISH
button, my troubles would end. Although new ones would likely begin.

“No! Don't publish it. It's not what you think.”

“You'd be surprised what I'm thinking, Pea.”

Maybe not.

 

Chapter 20

Monkey in the Middle

R
ACHEL ARRIVED WITH FOUR
kids and two pizzas. We settled all the kids in the kitchen and ourselves in the living room.

“Sit with me,” Rachel said, patting my sofa.

Had Jade told her I'd broken up with Mac?

“I have to tell you something,” she said.

This wasn't about me at all.

“I met Jeremy for coffee.”

“Okay,” I said softly and evenly, while my heart rate increased. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means having coffee!” Rachel twirled a curl near her ear with one finger, her eyes cast toward the front window. “I don't know what to do.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. But I wanted something to happen.”

“Wanting is different from doing. But you're sure nothing happened?”

Rachel nodded. “I'm sure. But does that matter?”

“Of course it matters.”

“I'm not sure how to stop.”

“No more Facebook photos. No more talking or texting. If you have to see him, you better have a lot of other people around. Whatever's wrong, this isn't going to help you fix it.”

The past had wriggled through a crack in the universe called the Internet and landed where it didn't belong. In the present.

“It was so easy. So fun. So innocent. Until it wasn't.”

I did not want details. “I understand.” Rachel was right. It
was
easy and innocent when everything was contained online—or it seemed so—but then the online life seeped into real life.

She sat up, looked at me, and waited. “What did you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you understand.
What did you do?
”

It was now or never. Plus, telling her would alleviate some of her guilt. Not all of it, I hoped, but some.

“I made Mac up. To Bruce, on my blog, to you, to Jade, to everyone.”

“Yes, I know. His name's not Mac. At this point I'm figuring I'll never know his real name—”

“No, listen to me. I haven't been on a date in months.”

“Sure you have. Just last week—”

“I didn't. I lied.”

“Where
did
you go?”

“No, pay attention. There was never any Mac.”

“So you didn't break up?”

“No! There was no one to break up with!” Jade
had
told her about the breakup. Could this get any more complicated? Stupid question. Of course it could.

“So you never really dated this guy who's name isn't Mac?”

This version of Who's on First wasn't funny. “He's imaginary, Rache.” Then I knew how to make her understand. The only thing that held no ambiguity. “Mac is like Tiny Maggie.”

I watched as realization settled over her. I watched as her chin dropped; her mouth opened as wide as it could. Tiny Maggie was Rachel's one-inch-tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed imaginary friend who lived under her bed in a shoebox and slept on a bed made of dominoes until Rachel was six.

I said nothing and cupped my hand, the way Rachel insisted upon every time she'd “handed me” Tiny Maggie.

“Wow.” It wasn't the good kind of
wow
. “I need a minute to wrap my head around this. I was so
happy
for you. And you know, Jade's really worried about you.”

I felt smaller than Tiny Maggie.

We chased the kids from the kitchen, but didn't clean the dishes or wrap the leftovers. Instead, I stared out the window and talked, while Rachel listened. Then I sat at the table. Rachel talked and I listened. It was past everyone's bedtime when we were finished.

“We're a mess,” she said.

And now it was time to clean up.

*   *   *

I buckled myself into the passenger seat of Jade's BMW, while looking up at my living-room window. Inside, Darby corralled Valentine's-candy-charged Noah. My guilt was assuaged by heated leather seats.

“They'll be fine,” Jade said. “It's like a mutual admiration society in there.”

“What's up with that?”

“That kid of yours is pretty great.”

“That's not what I meant and you know it.”

“Darby has a bunch of younger brothers and sisters. I think she's just one of those kid people. Like you. She reminds me of you, actually.”

I shuddered. The few times I'd been in Darby's company, I'd felt picked on, even bullied, and even in my own home. Noah seemed to think she was okay. Plus, Darby was babysitting on Valentine's Day, simply at the request of Jade. I wondered how Holden felt about that.