“So your son,” the taller one said slowly, setting his glass down on the narrow dining-room table, drawing out the pause as if she might fill in the blank, blurt something out. He swallowed and frowned, considering his next words—or hers. But she waited, raising her eyes in anticipation.
“He’s coming home on the bus, is that right?”
She was annoyed they knew this but quickly realized they had probably just assumed. Since she clearly wasn’t leaving to pick him up and was here, working.
“Yes.”
“He was with you this weekend?”
“Yes.”
“Not with his father, here?”
Now it was her turn to take a deep breath. What the hell had Hillary told them? That she was divorced, that she had a kid, what else? They’d obviously interviewed her sister earlier, and she felt once again the second born’s annoyance. The older sister always went first, always had power over her. Could she have given her a few minutes’ heads-up, at least?
“Yes.”
“He didn’t leave for any sports practice or go to a friend’s house?”
“No.”
“No hikes in the woods?”
“No,” she said firmly, her face reddening. Jesus, they had a lot of nerve!
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We were unpacking, not…perambulating.”
They exchanged a glance.
“It means strolling,” she said quietly.
“We know what it means,” Thompson said.
“I have a lot of work to do,” she said. Which was exactly what she would have said to the Jehovah’s Witnesses or to the kid from the Clean Air Committee or anyone else who’d knocked at her door. She told herself she was not being uncooperative, just practical.
“Before he gets home,” Carelli said.
“What?”
“You want to finish your work before your son gets home.”
“Yes, yes I do.”
They finished their water and took a final sweep of her living room.
“Do your bedrooms face west or…south or north?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your bedrooms. Are the windows only to the west? Or is there a corner window? Just so we understand the configuration here,” Carelli said.
She blinked.
“Configuration means the layout of the house,” Thompson said, barely containing the smallest smile.
“We just moved in,” she said, setting down her glass. “All we’ve seen were some balloons. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m on deadline.”
“Journalist?”
“Depends on the day.”
“Gig economy, amirite?” Carelli said.
Ah, an attempt to cozy up to her, understand her predicament. If it had come from a person at a coffee shop or bus stop, it would have meant one thing: commiseration. But what did it mean coming from a cop? That she was underpaid, desperate? That some days she would do anything for money?
She forced her lips into a weak smile that she hoped made her look friendly enough but not desperate. And not stupid, not lonely, not any of the things that would make a divorced woman confide in a cop about her financial instability.
They walked to the front door, and she stood back, watching them open it and step onto the porch.
Thompson looked at her through the screen, cocked his head.
“Just to be clear,” he said, “the Harris family didn’t come over and welcome you to the neighborhood? The little girl didn’t run over to see if someone her age moved in?”
“No,” she said.
“What about the other neighbors? Anyone bring cookies or—”
“No.”
“Wow,” Carelli said. “Not very friendly.”
“Or maybe they’re all on deadline,” Thompson said.
They gave her a business card and said to call if she remembered anything else, even small, like the balloons, and she nodded. She stood at the door and made sure their car turned around and drove away, made sure they didn’t wait to see her son. They’d probably started at the top of the street and worked their way down. There was only one more property below her, before the main road. She hadn’t met that family yet, but Hannah had said they were quiet and kept to themselves. Which was exactly what everyone in the world said when their neighbor went to prison. Go talk to them, she thought. Go have a drink of water with the quiet people, not here with the loud, angry, busy people.
It was only when she sat back down at her computer that she found even more sting in what they’d said. Did they think she was faking being on deadline? Did they think she was an idiot for mentioning the balloons?
Or did they merely want to rub it in that dozens of people had seen a moving truck unloading and hadn’t bothered to come up and say hello to her and her son?
She thought of her old neighborhood in Narberth, twenty minutes away, but it couldn’t have been more different. The parade of neighbors the day they’d moved in. Casseroles, bottles of wine, cookies. She thought of how close the school had been, how the kids walked there in clusters. Now she’d moved to a place where the kids ghosted another kid on her birthday. And no one welcomed the new kid either. The crimes against kids were adding up daily.
As she settled down to work, she remembered, suddenly, sharply, that Miles had gone outside the night they’d moved in, walked down to look at the swollen creek. He’d been gone, what, five minutes? Seven? But that could hardly be called a walk. That was more of a glance. And it was Friday, not Saturday. They wanted to know about Saturday. She continued working for an hour or more and then looked at her watch.
The bus was late. One day, and their little system was already unreliable.
Six
Eva
Should I take it as a snub that once again, I wasn’t invited to the neighborhood book club? That my own daughters didn’t think to ask if their mother could attend?
I suppose not. After all, I don’t read that much, never have. The girls both know that. Seems wasteful somehow, my hands too idle. I’d rather knit or play cards. And besides, if I started socializing as much as they did, who would babysit? Hannah had been included after being in the neighborhood only a week, so that boded well for her fitting in. I was happy for her.
I came at the appointed hour—six. Hillary and Hannah had agreed that the kids would stay at Hillary’s because she had the elaborate finished basement with video games, Ping-Pong, air hockey. Sometimes I wondered if they weren’t more for Ben and his poker buddies than Morgan. And of course there was the pool, but the evenings were getting too cool for that. And the kids were at an age when they still did kid things with their grandmother. They’d bake cookies; they’d play a few rounds of kings in the corner. They’d show me cat videos they found amusing. Adolescence hadn’t hit them full force yet, but it was coming, and my daughters weren’t ready.