Neighborly(87)

“Of course he’d sign! But are you OK? Like, really OK?” She’s studying me with concern.

“Sure, I’m fine.” I try to assemble my face into the appropriate expression.

“Because I saw your post.”

Shit. The GoodNeighbors post. I hadn’t exactly forgotten about it, but I have no prepared response.

Seeing how tongue-tied I am, Raquel says softly, “I know how it is. When you see your child sick, it can play tricks on your mind.”

“That’s what it was.” I agree immediately. “Everything with Sadie was so stressful, and I think I just misread some things. Read into them, I mean.”

“I have the best therapist. Do you want her name?”

I can just imagine the GoodNeighbors post about that, all the folks in the neighborhood recommending their own therapists. Who does June see? Is baby poisoning confidential? “Maybe,” I say.

“Well, you’ll let me know.” She smiles at me with something like affection. Then she tells me she’ll get Bart so he can sign, too. I’d almost forgotten I was holding the clipboard.

She goes back into the house, and when she emerges, Bart is with her.

“So sorry you went through that,” he says, “but happy to hear your little one is all right.” It’s the most I’ve ever heard him speak. His cadence is polite and formal, almost like a military man on leave.

“Make sure you print on this line”—I point—“and sign on this one.” All the notes were printed.

I figure it doesn’t hurt to get handwriting samples from the whole block, in case I’m wrong about June. In case someone else, say, put the dining room chairs in her bin to frame her. It’s a long shot, but I’ve always been cursed with hope.

“June was such a help while I was at the hospital,” I say. “I want to get her a thank-you gift. Do you know what kinds of things she likes?”

Raquel and Bart look at each other, with identical thinking expressions. Then they start to laugh, at I don’t know what. They actually seem, bizarrely enough, like a good couple.

“I’m not sure,” Bart says. “Sweetie, what do you think?”

“She’s got so much Hope drama. Maybe a massage?”

“That’s a great idea,” I say. “Do you know if her ex-husband helps at all?”

Raquel shakes her head. “Total loser.”

“Really? That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, it is. I love June. She deserved better than that guy.”

Bart casts her a sideways glance. “He was all right. He was more blue collar than the other guys around here.” So blue-collar guys stick together.

Raquel exclaims, “He was all right? June let him have everyone on the block, and then he still went and had an affair with someone he worked with! Then he left her with Hope, with no emotional or financial support! And he cancels half the weekends he’s supposed to take her!”

Bart chuckles. “OK, OK. You win.” His eyes stray across the street. “I don’t know how she gets by. I never got how they afforded that house to begin with, and she hasn’t gone back to work. It’s like she has a sugar daddy or something.”

At that, I notice that something in Raquel’s face closes off, like Bart said too much.

“We should get back to breakfast,” Raquel says. “So glad Sadie’s better and that you’re home. You just need to catch up on your sleep. That’ll make a world of difference. Hey, maybe you and June can get massages together.”

“Maybe,” I say.

Gina and Oliver are pleasant, brisk, and efficient. They sign with little fanfare, like people with nothing to hide. “We’ve got to get the kids ready,” Gina says. Then, before she turns away, “Do you want to come out for girls’ night tomorrow? Same time, usual place.”

Didn’t she see what I posted on GoodNeighbors? If she didn’t, someone must have told her. So the invitation is pretty weird. It’s like she wants fireworks; she wants a powder keg of crazy in their midst.

“You probably haven’t even had a chance to consider,” she says, “with everything that’s been going on.”

Consider? Then I realize: she means the openness. I still haven’t officially opted out.

“We’d still love to have you as a regular. Come out tomorrow night, OK?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ll have to talk to Doug. We haven’t really had a chance to think about much other than Sadie.”

She smiles briefly. I see how sad her eyes are. Oliver puts his arm around her in a perfunctory way, and then that door is swinging shut, too.

Stone and Brandon are up next. Brandon is his usual voluble self. “I wish I could have done more for you while you were in the hospital,” he tells me as he scrawls his name. “I felt like the worst neighbor in the world.”

“I appreciate how you respected my wishes. We just needed to be together as a family.”

“I can understand that,” Stone says, taking the petition from me. “See you around, I hope?”

It’s an odd question. I’m right across the street. But maybe not that odd, given the GoodNeighbors post. I smile back at him, and then he withdraws into the house. Brandon stays where he is. Perfect.