The Neighbor's Secret(45)

“The pregnancy wasn’t planned,” the therapist said. “You were young and unmarried. You had other choices, but you didn’t even deliberate. Why?”

Annie looked down at her still bulging lap. “Love?” she said.

The therapist snorted.

“What?” Annie had wiped her wet cheeks with the back of her wrist.

“It’s okay to want to be the parent you wished you had, Annie. There are worse child-rearing techniques.”

Sometimes when Annie took stock of what Hank and Laurel had—big family, loyal neighborhood friends, packed schedules—she understood that the secret of life was seeing your children take for granted what you had once ached for.

Laurel was surrounded by security and love, and Annie was certain that this would be enough to keep her anchored. It had to be.

“Oh,” Mike said. He reached into his pants pocket. “My mom gave me the necklace for Laurel. I promised my parents that we wouldn’t put it under the tree, though. They haven’t told my sisters yet and there will be drama when they find out they’re not getting it.”

His jeans were flung over the desk chair, and he reached into their pocket and pulled out a jewelry box in worn navy velvet. The hinges opened with a creak.

Annie touched a finger to the small gold circle on a delicate chain. Saint Nicholas’s face, etched into the pendant, looked slightly creepy, bare as a skeleton.

“It’s beautiful,” Annie said. “She’ll love it.”

“I know.” Mike snapped shut the box and tucked it back into the pants leg. “So. We’ll save it for eighth grade graduation?”

Annie nodded.

There were light footsteps in the hallway. The bathroom door creaked open. Over the sound of the running faucet, Annie heard the toilet flush once, then again.

Mike hiked his eyebrow.

After a third flush, Annie went out into the hall, knocked lightly on the door. “Everything okay in there?”

“Fine.”

“Laurel?”

The door opened a crack.

“I thought you were asleep,” Laurel said. Her eyes were puffy and her breath smelled like toothpaste.

Annie pushed open the door. Laurel had on sneakers and a vest.

“Where are you going?”

“I need some fresh air.”

“It’s eleven o’clock.”

“These people are just a little much,” Laurel said. She scratched at her sleeve jerkily. “And I’m not grounded anymore.”

“These people?” Mike said. “It’s your family, Laurel. They came all this way to see you.”

“I’ll come with you,” Annie said.

“No. I need space.” Laurel shook her head stubbornly. “And it’s not that late.” She dragged her fingers down her face. “Please. You have to start trusting me again.”

“Take a breath,” Mike said. He put a hand on her back, traced a circle, and she leaned away.

“I’m going to go crazy,” Laurel said. “You two are going to drive me crazy.”

Mike frowned, looked at Annie for a long moment. “Bring your phone,” he said. “If you see the vandal, run straight home.”

“Thank you,” Laurel said. There was a horrible crack of desperation in her voice. “Oh god, thank you.”

After she slipped out the front door, Annie and Mike stood at the bay window and watched Laurel be enveloped by the darkness.

“It’s weird,” Mike said. “But running is better than going out there to get wasted.”

When they looked at each other, it was clear that both Annie and Mike were imagining that exact scenario.

“I’m going to follow her in the car,” she said.

“Don’t. She already feels suffocated.”

“Then I’ll call Lena,” Annie said. “I’m pretty sure she’s home.”



* * *



“I see her,” Lena said. She was on the upstairs balcony peering through a pair of opera glasses to the street below.

“Where?” Annie said.

“The hill on Coyote Lane. She’s keeping to the shoulder, don’t worry, and running up the hill and walking down. I’ll pretend I’m out for a walk and just happened to bump into her.

“Are you sure?” Annie said. “I feel like we’re ruining your Christmas Eve.”

“I’m putting my jacket on,” Lena said.

“But—”

“I’ve had years to consider this, Annie,” Lena said, her voice tight and neat. “Better to intervene than have regrets.”



I think it started a few months before the party.

I was up late one night with my nose in a book and heard muffled voices from outside. When I peered through the blinds, I saw movement: shadows darting through the blackness.

It must have been them.

Although I didn’t hear anything that sounded like violence, I sensed danger, or at least its potential. I’ve always been one to trust my hunches, but that night, I chalked the feeling up to the thriller I was reading.

If only I’d turned on the patio lights, used their illumination to drive away the dark, it might have changed everything.