The Family Next Door(18)
“Anyway,” Ange said, “can I count on you to come to the meeting?”
“Sure,” Essie said.
“Great. Well, excuse me then, I’ll go ask Fran. Fran!”
Essie headed up Isabelle’s path. Last night while nursing Polly back to sleep for the fifty-seventh time, Essie had decided she should do something nice to welcome Isabelle to the neighborhood, so first thing this morning she’d baked muffins. What could be more welcoming than muffins? She held the Tupperware container under one arm and Polly in the other as she approached her front door.
It was a brand-new door, she noticed, with a shiny knocker that seemed too modern for the house. Essie hadn’t been inside since the fire, nearly four months ago. Electrical fire, apparently, started in the roof. The flames had woken Ben. By the time they’d gotten out into the street, half the neighbors were standing outside in their bathrobes. Mrs. Harrap, the previous tenant, was visiting her daughter in Queensland (they knew this for sure because everyone had taken turns watering her plants and collecting her mail) so the neighbors were free to enjoy the drama without fear for human life. It had been exciting actually. Film crews had come down and most of the neighbors had spoken to them, but Essie, for some reason, had gotten major camera time on the six o’clock news (Ange had been devastated). Mrs. Harrap moved in with her daughter after that, and the landlord repaired the damage. A few weeks later, Isabelle moved in.
Essie was just lifting her hand to knock when the door peeled open.
“I didn’t even knock!” Essie exclaimed.
Isabelle smiled. She was makeup-free, dressed in a burgundy oriental robe. Her feet were bare and her toenails were painted a deep purplish-red. “I saw you coming up the path and it looked like you had your hands full. Here, let me help.” She opened her arms and to Essie’s surprise, reached for Polly.
“Thanks,” Essie said. “Sorry, did I wake you? I wanted to drop these off early because I thought you’d be headed off to work.”
“I’m not working today. I still have unpacking to do.” Isabelle kept her eyes on Polly, who placed her chubby little hand on Isabelle’s chin. Isabelle flickered her eyes toward the container in Essie’s hands. “What have you got there?”
“Raspberry and white-chocolate muffins. To welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“Wow.” Isabelle finally tore her eyes off Polly and reached for the container. “These are still warm. You must have gotten up early this morning to bake these.”
Essie shrugged. “Well … I have children so I’m always up early.”
Isabelle’s robe had come undone slightly, she noticed, revealing a narrow line of bare flesh down as far as her belly button. Essie quickly looked away, but she needn’t have bothered because Isabelle had turned her attention back to Polly.
“She’s sweet,” Isabelle said, clasping one of Polly’s toes between her fingers. Polly rewarded her with a huge gummy smile, which Isabelle returned. Essie watched the interaction, feeling like an outsider. When was the last time Polly had smiled at her like that? Did she ever squeeze Polly’s toes? “I love kids,” Isabelle said. “If you ever need a babysitter, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” Essie said, though she was surprised. Isabelle didn’t seem the type to go ga-ga over babies. “I’ll tell Ange and Fran. We’re always looking for babysitters around here.”
“Well, I suppose I should give you your baby back,” Isabelle said, handing Polly back. Her gaze lingered on Essie for a moment. “Your eyes,” she said.
“Oh,” Essie said. “Yeah. They’re strange.”
“One blue, one brown?”
“Both blue.” Essie pointed at her left eye with her free hand. “But this one has a birthmark over it, that’s why it looks brown.”
Isabelle’s eyes were also blue, Essie noticed, a rich deep color even bluer than her own.
“I’ll bet you get lots of comments about them.”
“Some,” Essie said, though in actual fact it was rare that anyone noticed. The odd guy had when she was younger and dating. But since she’d drifted into the married-with-kids “tickbox,” people didn’t tend to notice her at all. It felt nice that Isabelle was noticing now.
“Well, I guess I’d better keep moving,” Essie said after a long silence. She’d been hoping Isabelle would invite her in. Her own house felt so lonely during the days when Mia was at kindergarten, and Polly always seemed especially grumpy on those days. The neighbors were rarely around on weekdays—Ange worked full time and Fran, as Ange had pointed out, was constantly jogging. Essie’s mum often dropped by to keep her company, but it wasn’t the same as a friend. Essie found herself imagining them making cups of tea together, perhaps even helping Isabelle unpack a few boxes. But Isabelle just hugged the door, three-quarters closed.
“Thank you for the muffins,” Isabelle said. She reached again for Polly, this time grasping her little hand. “Bye, Polly.”
Isabelle closed the door and Essie headed back down the path toward the street. But with her hand on her front door-knob, something occurred to her.
She’d never told Isabelle her daughter’s name was Polly.
12
ISABELLE