The Good Neighbor (26 page)

I knocked and waited. I knocked again. I unclenched my fists when I realized I was digging my nails into my palms. I had lied, but I had also confessed. Publicly. And I apologized. Privately. The least Andrew could have done was acknowledge the effort. Say okay. Say thanks. Say go to hell. Say anything.

The door opened.

“Hey.”

All of a sudden, I had nothing to say.

“I was in the neighborhood…”

“Okay…”

“Can I come in? I won't take much of your time.”

“Okay.”

The waiting room looked like a living room. One that'd had a woman's touch.

“Sorry I knocked so loud.” There I go lying again.

“I lock the door if I don't have any appointments scheduled. Which I don't.”

“Who is it, Daddy?”

A little girl with long brown hair slinked out of a back room. She was more tween than toddler.

“Paige, this is Ms. Lane. Would you give us a few minutes? You can play on the computer.”

She smiled at me with a mouthful of braces before turning away.

“She's adorable,” I said.

“Thanks.”

“She looks too old for a booster, though.”

Andrew cocked his head.

“I saw them in your car. The booster seats?”

“Oh, no. Paige is eleven. The boosters are for the twins. They're three and a half.”

“Boys or girls?”

“One of each.”

“Three kids. Wow.”

“No, four kids. Zoe's eight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, it usually gets that reaction. Widower, dad, four kids. We also have a dog, a snake, a turtle, and many stuffed animals, along with a vast assortment of sports equipment and art supplies. The dot paints are my personal favorite, which really makes me a chick magnet.”

“I'm sure it does.” I nodded and my throat burned. Andrew was not just a good dad, he was a great dad. His ocean-deep loss did not drown his soccer sensibilities and playdate priorities. Or his sense of humor. If that didn't make a guy attractive, what did? Jade had known all along. I swallowed, and the heat traveled to my ears and then hijacked my body from the top down.

“Truly, Elizabeth? I was being sarcastic. Is there something in particular you wanted?”

“Sorry. I just wanted to say … I was thinking … I just wanted to say I was sorry. In person. I didn't know if you got my voice mail. Or my e-mails.” Oh, how I had rambled in those e-mails.

“I did.”

“Did you read the e-mails?”

“I did.”

“Did you listen to the voice mail?”

“I did.”

“You didn't answer them.”

“No, I didn't.”

I shrugged. Eloquence had left the building. “I guess I thought—I hoped—that we were friends. Or that maybe we were becoming friends. That maybe you could forgive me. I guess I was wrong. I won't bother you again.”

I almost turned to leave through the open door, but Andrew put his hand on my shoulder. Even through my trench coat, the pressure rooted me. I wanted him to ask me to stay, to talk, to explain myself, to apologize again. “I liked you, Elizabeth, but how I felt doesn't matter. You lied to your best friend for months, not to mention to me and everyone else. I don't have the time or the energy for games.”

“I lost my best friend and I humiliated myself in public. Believe me, I don't have the time or energy for games either. I've said I'm sorry a thousand times, and I've meant it every time. Now I'm done.” I looked at him. We were eye to eye. I looked right in and through. Andrew wasn't as short as I'd thought.

“I believe you're sorry and I wish you the best. If we ever bump into each other, I hope it won't be awkward.”

“Absolutely not.” Another lie. I looked away.

“Good.” Both his hands gripped the door handle, ready to close it behind me, shutting me out the way I deserved.

“How
is
Jade? She won't return my calls or e-mails either.”

“She's fine. She's angry and hurt, but she's fine.”

“I saw the new Web site. And the advice column. I'm glad it worked out.”

Silence.

“Why did you let me in?”

“I'm not sure.”

 

Chapter 27

Olly Olly Oxen Free

T
HE LOBBY AT
S
HADY
Forest Retirement Village smelled like bleach and scalloped apples. It wasn't a bad smell, just more institutional than residential. Until we walked into Mrs. Feldman's apartment. Then it just smelled like home.

In the two months since she'd moved to Shady Forest, I had stopped asking about her Elizabeth. She had stopped asking about Jade. I knew we both still thought of them all the time.

Mrs. Feldman's gaze shifted from me to her shelves, which were filled with photos and displayed the pirate box. “Let's take a walk. I want to show you something.”

Noah pushed the elevator button and we rode down to the second floor. The community room was dotted with card tables. The library had books and CDs, DVDs, and computers. Mrs. Feldman opened the door and led us inside.

“I love having these computers right downstairs. Hi, Marv.”

A man with his back to us raised his hand in a wave. “Hi, Deeny.”

“Deeny?” I raised my eyebrows.

“Oh, never mind Marv. He's a big flirt.”

We settled Noah at a table with a stack of children's books, intended for just such a purpose. Then Mrs. Feldman sat in front of a computer and pulled out the drawer with the keyboard. She typed with an ease that erased any notion of arthritis. Mrs. Feldman had made friends. Flirty friends. She was busy and happy. Ray had been right. About more than his mother.

I scooted a chair close. I half expected Mrs. Feldman to click on my new blog, cleverly titled
Izzy's Blog
. This was the one I started just for me, without fanfare or a fake name. I'd shown it to her in case she wanted to read it. She had. To date, Mrs. Feldman and Ethan were the only people to comment. That was okay. I was writing it just for me, as I should have been doing all along. I even showed it to Noah, although he didn't read it. No secrets or lies.

I'd learned my lesson. Deeply. I'd apologized. Sincerely. Now I'd transform my life. Purposefully. I'd do it without Mrs. Feldman next door, without contempt for Bruce, without Jade as my best friend. I wished some things were different, but I not only needed to move forward, I wanted to.

“I wish I'd gotten to know Andrew better,” I said.

“Where did that come from?”

“Just thinking out loud.”

“Maybe you should stop thinking so much. You'll find someone, Elizabeth. Or someone will find you. Probably where and when you least expect it.”

I was tired of the when-you-least-expect-it and lid-for-every-pot clichés, but just nodded. Then an unfamiliar Web site appeared on the oversize monitor.

“Look. These are all women who gave up babies at the Lakeview Home. Some of us are looking for our children; some just want to know other girls who gave away babies. We share photos and stories. Some just want to talk about these difficult things with strangers.” I could relate
.
“We started an online support group.” Mrs. Feldman tapped her forefinger to her chest. “I'm the moderator. You see, Elizabeth? The Internet can be used
for good
.”

*   *   *

I didn't know who was writing Pop Philly's new advice column, but it didn't matter. I had to send an e-mail of my own. To a stranger. An e-mail to a stranger that might end up public.

Well, it wasn't like I had to save face.

From: Izzy Lane

To: Ask Anything

Subject: Desperately Seeking Jade

Dear Ask Anything,

Your editor, Jade, was my best friend for more than twenty years. I don't know if you'll publish this letter, or even respond, but I do know that Jade is likely reading all or most of the letters that come in. She's hands-on that way, until she trusts you completely. The way she used to trust me.

And that's why I'm here.

I made a mistake when I allowed Jade and my cousin to believe something—someone—and none of it was true. Then I took it further, way off course, by perpetuating the lie online. Crazy, right? I know.

The thing is, sometimes we get lost in our own pity, and it's hard to see through the muck. That's when we do things we never thought we'd do, things we said we'd never do, things we've judged others for doing.

I have to admit that aside from the fact that my best friend has cut me off, I have gained a lot from this experience, through my grave error in judgment. I have realized that I often don't give the people closest to me enough credit. Had someone come to me with the same story—anywhere along the way—I'd have tried to understand. Why didn't I know that others would do the same, especially Jade? I have also learned that it's much harder to lie and keep secrets than it is to tell the truth. Even when the truth causes big, ugly problems.

With those lessons learned, and apologies made, I just don't know what else to do to prove to Jade that this will never happen again. If she doesn't talk to me, how will she know? At least I can move forward knowing I've apologized again. Please tell Jade I keep buying Goldfish crackers, which I don't like, and my son eats too many of, because I'm hoping that she will show up at my door. For the record, when she's angry or upset, she eats them by the handfuls.

I'm reading Pop Philly every day, and as always, I am very proud of Jade. Maybe I don't have the right to be proud anymore. Pride connotes some kind of propriety; it's felt by someone who's emotionally invested. I guess I always will be.

Thanks for your time.

Sincerely,

Izzy Lane

My weeks without Noah started to pass more quickly, until the day he was coming home. Now Bruce would be dropping off Noah in half an hour, so it was crunch time. Literally. I had never been a fitness freak, but I figured forty was the time to start introducing my body to exercise. Plus, I was moving to a walk-up in a walkable neighborhood. I didn't want the neighbors to think I was unfit in any way. I lay on my back on the floor, knees up, hands behind my head. One, two, three, four. Take a break. Five. Five sit-ups. Five was a good number to start with, I was sure of it.

The doorbell rang. I'd missed hearing Bruce pull up and didn't care that he was early. Noah was home with me for the next week.

“Coming!” I yelled to the front door, but always forgot to ask if the person on the other side had heard me.

“Welcome home!” I said as I pulled open the door. It wasn't Noah. “Jade?”

“Is this a bad time?”

“No, no. Come in. I was just exercising.”

“That's new.”

And so much more.

I stepped aside and Jade walked in. Her steps were tentative, but they were steps nonetheless.

“I read the letter you sent to
Ask Anything
. I read most of them.”

“I figured.”

“But that's not why I'm here.”

“It's not?”

“No, I'm here because of Drew.
Andrew
.”

I gulped. I'd tried so hard to place him to the side of my thoughts, back behind the lessons learned, opportunities missed, and packed boxes. Now was she coming to tell me that I'd been right all along? That they were together? “What did he say?”

“That I needed to think long and hard about what happened to decide if it was really worth ending our friendship over.”

I couldn't speak.

“And my answer was no.”

No, she didn't want to be friends—or no, she didn't want to end the friendship? My mind jumbled with anticipation, fear, delight, and worry. Jade looked at me and shook her head, releasing me from my trance.

“Earth to Pea—you mentioned something about
Goldfish
?”

I ran to the pantry. “Yes! I have pizza, cheddar, and Parmesan, and even those new chocolatey ones.”

“I'll take my old favorite.”

I tore open a bag of pizza Goldfish and handed it to her. “So—we're okay?”

Jade tipped back her head, then stopped before lifting the bag to her lips. “Not yet,” she said. “But we will be.”

*   *   *

It was mid-July, the first time the temperature had poked above ninety with humidity to match. It was also moving day. Noah, with a snorkel mask perched on his head, walked with me through each empty room one more time. We pointed to each corner and counted one, two, three, four, as if we could inadvertently have packed one into a box. I memorized the outlines on the carpets and the walls made by furniture and photographs. I'd snapped pictures with my phone before the movers arrived, most photobombed by Noah, which would one day seem the perfect memento of our year. At the end of August, Matthew would move in for his internship at Jeanes Hospital. My nephew, the doctor, would continue the Lane tradition on Good Street, at least for a year or so.

My new neighborhood beckoned louder than a smoke alarm. The Art Museum, Boathouse Row, the Barnes Foundation, and Kelly Drive, not to mention the Oval and Fairmount Park. Bruce had moved into his loft in May. My apartment was four blocks away on a tree-lined side street, a half block from Noah's new elementary school. He already knew the fastest route between Dad's house and Mom's—in a car, on a bike, and by foot. A horn sounded and Noah's eyes grew wide. His expectations held no melancholy. How glad I was for that.

“Time to go,” I said.

We walked downstairs, and I held open the screen door all the way and blew a kiss to Maya and Ethan. Noah hustled into the backseat with his cousin.

“Are you sure you don't want us to stay?” Ethan yelled.

“I'm sure.” I needed to do this alone.

One last time, I walked into my parents'—my—bedroom. Something onion-tasting—chive cream cheese maybe, from the night before, stopped at the base of my throat and then went back where it belonged.