The Neighbor's Secret(82)

“No thank you.”

Harriet appeared to her right, linked an elbow through Jen’s arm. “Did you hear? Katie Neff is the vandal.”

“Really?” Jen stopped.

“Janine found photos, selfies of Katie in the vandalism act, can you believe it, like trophies? I really did not see this coming and I hope she gets help. That’s quite the dress, dear. Va-voom! Oh! Excuse me, Athena doesn’t know yet.”

So the vandal wasn’t Abe.

Jen’s knees buckled. She steadied herself against the back of a chair, and then straightened up.

It had never been Abe.

She wished she had never asked him. How must that feel, to have your own mother doubting you, assuming the worst?

Still, she felt lighter as she walked toward Annie’s table, until she got there and everyone stopped talking.

(Because there was still the matter of Abe’s video.)

(And worse than that, the note.)

Annie turned toward Jen. She was dressed in full-on glamour, in a floor-length flowy silk thing with a geometric pattern. Her face was pale and unmade.

It was awful, the dismissive look Annie flicked at Jen.

“Jen,” Janine said. “Katie has an apology for you too after she finishes Mrs. Perley’s.”

Katie looked down at the paper in front of her.

“It was my problem,” she read. “It had nothing to do with you.” She glanced up at Annie. “It did a little. I was jealous of Laurel. Why does she get a party? She’s not even related to Mrs. Meeker.”

“Stick to the script,” Janine said.

“But I know now,” Katie read, “that it was an unhealthy way to express my anger. Although—”

Katie put down the note again, blinked behind her glasses. “It felt great to break things.”

“It did not,” Janine said with a sense of outrage.

“You didn’t hurt anyone, Katie,” Annie said with a resigned shrug. Pointedly, she said, “It’s not like you stabbed anyone.”

“Who stabbed someone?” Katie said, and from her tone, it was clear the idea intrigued her.

“Annie.” Jen held out the note card. “This is from Abe.”

“An apology note?” Annie said. She clasped her hands to her chest. “What a well-mannered community we all are. What wonderfully raised children. My daughter was going through something this year, and your son saw that and took advantage and you gave no warning, Jen. No warning that he might hurt our children, just for sport.”

“Please, just read it.” Jen placed it on the table in front of Annie.

“Should Katie and I leave you two?” Janine asked.

“Please.” Jen nodded.

“Stay,” Annie said. Her voice was commanding enough that no one dared to move as she opened Abe’s note card.

“‘Dear Laurel,’” she read in a hauntingly mocking voice. “‘I am so sorry about the video game. It was unkind’”—eyebrow raise—”‘and I would never really hurt you. I know it was wrong, though, and you’re not worth it anyway.’

“This is great stuff, Jen,” Annie said. “You must be so proud.”

“Don’t read it aloud,” Jen said.

“Are you worried, Jen, that people will find out your big secret? That your son is a sociopath?” Annie said. She lifted the note and cleared her throat. “‘You guys hurt me by going off together, even if Colin’s your boyfriend’—”

Annie stopped and frowned.

“This can’t be true.”

Jen shifted nervously.

“Katie,” Janine said in a chirp. “Let’s go find Mrs. Meeker and apologize to her.”

Jen watched Annie’s face turn ashen as she read the rest.

… even if Colin’s your boyfriend.

I thought we were all friends together, which is why I yelled when you two started locking me out of the room and why I was hurt when you guys went places on the weekends and didn’t invite me.

What I’m supposed to do is not focus on that but on the good parts, like how Colin helped me with the music for my video game.

I regret calling you both bad people and throwing your special keychain. I’m sorry it broke.

Congratulations on graduating eighth grade and thank you for inviting me to your party.

From, Abe Pagano



* * *



“Laurel.” Lena had sprinted to the fence to catch up with her. “You’re hard to catch up with.”

“Hi, Mrs. Meeker.”

There was a glow band around Laurel’s neck and several around her wrist, but even with a pink light cast over her face, how had Lena missed it?

The dimples, the brow. It was breathtaking how, from some angles, the girl was all Tim. The hair was Tim’s mom Angela’s—a weak-willed, spoiled woman—but Laurel didn’t need to hear about Angela just now.

“Thanks again for the party,” Laurel said.

“Are you having fun?”

“Yes.” And then she hesitated and inhaled, just like Rachel. “Did you know?”

“No.”

“Aren’t you mad?”

“Actually, I’m thrilled. We need to tell my daughter Rachel.”