The Good Neighbor Page 11

  I assumed people in all time zones and with all varieties of internal clocks were meeting on Facebook for the camaraderie I had on Pop Philly, the camaraderie I sought for my true self. But the pages stood still. Nothing new was on Rachel’s profile, I didn’t see any banter with Jeremy, and no matter how hard I tried, the inspirational quotes in colorful boxes did nothing to inspire me. And I couldn’t talk to cute-cat videos; Felix would be jealous.

  Maybe that was another thing about being married that I missed. Someone to talk to when everyone else was asleep. Although Bruce had been known to zonk out before the Tonight show, he was there. I could poke him with a “Hey, you know what?” and he’d open his eyes and pretend to listen. There had been a lot of pretending in our five-year marriage, but during the good times, which I tended to forget, there was also a lot of talking.

  I knew hundreds of comments awaited on Philly over Forty but I hesitated. I yearned to banter with words that came out of my mouth and not my fingers. I wanted to talk and just be myself. Use my name. It was too late to call anyone, even Jade.

  I opened the blog and scanned the page, ready to read comments at random, like a game. Click on page four, read comment fourteen. Click on page twenty-two, read two comments in a row. I was nothing if not creative. Just then, on page eleven, one comment jumped out with all capital letters.

  YOU HAVEN’T WRITTEN ABOUT MAC IN DAYS. WELL, HE SEEMED TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE ANYWAY.—CD

  My make-believe world had just gotten very real.

  Chapter 14

  Chinese Jump Rope

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT I FOUND a parking spot on Bainbridge, only a half block from Jade’s house. Noah seemed impervious to the cold. He clapped away breath clouds between his mittens during his gallop to the door.

  Before Noah’s finger touched the doorbell, Jade opened the door. She crouched and opened her arms, as if she’d been waiting all day for him to arrive. Noah flung himself at her. She looked up at me after opening her eyes, as if to say, Thank you for sharing him with me.

  “Hi, handsome. Let me get a look at you.”

  She said that even when she’d seen him the day before. Taking Noah’s hand, Jade stood and they walked inside. I stayed in the foyer for an extra second, as if by following I’d have interrupted something private.

  When I closed the door behind me, Noah was already sitting on the kitchen counter collecting slices of apple from a tray.

  “How about dinner?”

  “This is just my first course, Mommy. Right, Aunt Jade?”

  “Pizza won’t be here for another forty-five minutes, and I knew little dude would be hungry.” Jade lifted Noah down from the counter and transferred him to a chair at the kitchen table. Then she turned on a small flat-screen TV and Nickelodeon sprang to life.

  “Thanks.”

  “No thanks necessary. He’ll be fine for a while, right?”

  Noah was eating an apple slice like an ear of corn. At this rate he’d be fine for an hour. “Sure.”

  “Great, everyone else will be here any minute.”

  The doorbell rang. No one was late for a meeting with Jade.

  I waited on the sectional in Jade’s office while Jade ushered in the Web-site troops. I stood, smiled, and nodded. Holden’s two-handed handshake allowed me to relax. Our e-mail rapport was flourishing. I could ask him about the person who commented that Mac was too good to be true, but since there had been no repercussions, and no more mysterious comments, it wasn’t an emergency. Even seeing Darby in her fitted sweater dress and tights reminded me that this was business, not just a hobby for her or Holden or any of the others I could have given birth to if I’d started at fifteen.

  Andrew Mann walked in last, a graying head shorter than the sports blogger, Zach, who stood next to him. Jade smiled. She liked Coat Guy. Maybe more than she was willing to admit.

  As the “kids” sat down on the sofa and the floor, pulling out tablets and laptops and talking in jargon, Jade crooked her finger at me. She laid her hand on Drew’s back. The three of us walked to the great room.

  “Have a seat,” Jade said.

  I chose the one lone overstuffed chair, as opposed to the ones that looked pretty but uncomfortable. Jade and Drew sat next to one another, half a cushion between them on the midcentury modern sofa. I only knew that it was midcentury modern because Jade had told me.

  “Drew wants to talk to you about Mac.”

  My mouth fell open. Did Jade and Drew know? Was Drew the one commenting that Mac was too good to be true? Was it Jade? Was this her way of allowing me to confess so she didn’t humiliate me completely? I would rather they just come out and say it, chastise me. Fire me.

  “I’m sorry. Mac’s not up for discussion.”

  “He needs to be,” Jade said.

  My pulse slowed.

  Drew leaned closer, his elbows on his knees. “You’ve stopped writing about him. And those posts brought the most traffic. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. If I were Mac, I’d be flattered.”

  If you were Mac, you’d be invisible.

  “You seem to be in a really good place with him. Why not let him know how much you appreciate things like when he put the glass in your screen door? Or how much you enjoyed just watching movies when Noah went to bed? I mean, I’m sure you tell him, but reading about it would boost his ego.”

  What did Andrew Mann know about needing an ego boost?

  “I’m glad you like what I’m doing. Both of you. I really am. But I can’t have anyone knowing who I am on Pop Philly. Mac included.” I had not yet addressed Drew by name. Did I call him Drew, or was that Jade’s name for him? Andrew? Mr. Mann? It was the internal awkwardness of having Coat Guy on the tip of my tongue.

  “I think people do know exactly who you are. They just don’t know your name—Elizabeth Lane.” Then Andrew Mann stood.

  “Izzy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You called me Elizabeth.”

  “Elizabeth is your name.”

  “Yes, but only one person calls me Elizabeth.”

  “Your mother?”

  “No, my mother chose my nickname before I was born. I was named after my father’s aunt.” Why was I telling him something personal?

  “Mac?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Your boyfriend? The one we’re talking about, the one you won’t tell about P-O-F, the one who you’re supposed to be writing about? Is he the one who calls you Elizabeth?”

  “No!” They knew. They were waiting for me to crumble into a confession. But I wouldn’t topple. My façade was sturdier than the truth. “I’m sorry.”

  “What are you sorry about exactly?” Jade asked.

  I felt pushed and prodded and poked. “I don’t know. I assume I’m doing something wrong or you wouldn’t have pulled me aside here with Mr. Mann and then not said two words to me.”

  “Please don’t call me Mr. Mann. That’s my father. You can call me Drew. Or Andrew. Just don’t call me Andy, because that’s what my mother calls me.” He smiled to match his bus-stop posters.

  Charming was not going to get me to say more about Mac.

  “Look,” Andrew said, “we don’t have a problem with the questions and the banter you’re generating. People peruse dating information and online dating sites long before they get divorced. Like window-shopping before you need something. And sometimes couples going through divorce need to change lawyers.”

  “That’s horrible!” I was cultivating a client base for a lawyer keen on spurring divorces. I was horrible.

  “We just need to make sure you’re still writing those posts about you and Mac and not just asking questions. The Mac posts spike traffic.”

  Jade nodded. “The psychology behind that is that the readers want relationship stories as much as or more than they want dating advice, but you’ve stopped talking about Mac. So we need a way for you to really get under the skin of your readers. If you’re not going to do it with Mac, then we need you to spur some c
ontroversy.”

  “What if I don’t have anything like that to say?”

  “We’re not asking you to lie,” Drew said. “Just add a little attitude.”

  Too bad, because lying I could do.

  “Would you excuse me for a second, ladies?” He headed down the hallway, presumably to the little Mann’s room.

  “What a jerk.”

  “He’s a good guy, Pea. And he spends a lot of money advertising on the site. He made it possible for me to give you that check last month. And he’ll be the one responsible for the check I give you next week. You know, the one that pays for Noah’s day care?”

  I wished Jade had told me who he was that night at Meema’s. I didn’t like feeling blindsided—by Jade, Mann, or irony. Or was it karma?

  “Drew liked the concept of Philly over Forty and had a lot of money to spend. He’s been a real friend to me, too. And he asked me for a favor.”

  Where was MBA Jade? Had her Web site been riding Mann’s coattails for this past year? Did he dictate all the content? Did he own the restaurants with the five-star reviews?

  Mann walked back toward us, and I stood, primed to rattle off the analytics on the key words that were bringing the biggest hits to Philly over Forty, how the traffic had remained steady since I’d stopped writing about Mac. Then he veered off toward the kitchen.

  Jade and I watched as he sat in the chair next to Noah.

  “What’s going on in there?”

  “Nothing. He likes kids.”

  “I’d like to know what they’re talking about.”

  Then the doorbell buzzed; Noah yelled, “Pizza’s here!”

  As Jade and I stepped into the kitchen, Mann’s phone buzzed. He typed in response. “I’ve got to go. Unexpected transportation emergency. Captain Noah, I hope you find that buried treasure.”

  “Arr,” Noah said.

  “Elizabeth, think about what I said. You’re happy dating Mac, and obviously, Mac’s a lucky guy. No reason he shouldn’t know how lucky by learning about P-O-F.” Then he looked at Jade and lifted his eyebrows. I almost expected her to lean down and kiss him on the head.

  * * *

  After thirty minutes of statistics sharing, brainstorming, and pizza-eating with Jade’s Pop Philly entourage, I couldn’t stand it anymore. “I’m going to check on Noah.”

  “I’ll go,” Darby said.

  “I’ll go with you.” Jade pointed at me and held out her hand like a crossing guard. Darby sat from her half-standing position.

  In the kitchen, Jade handed Noah an ice cream sandwich while I replenished his construction paper.

  “So what are you going to ask me that Mann couldn’t stick around and ask me himself?”

  “He’s been through a lot. He’s a good guy, Pea.”

  “How good exactly?”

  She ignored my innuendo. Where was fun coconspirator Jade when I wanted her?

  “Your posts are getting thousands of hits. He’s impressed. He likes you. I can tell. If you weren’t dating Mac … I’d fix you up.”

  Flabbergasted, I said nothing.

  “What? That’s a compliment. You do everything. And you’re successful at everything. Working, parenting, and dating. I could not do all three and do them all well. That I know.”

  “Wait, Andrew Mann is single?”

  “Yes, he’s single. You didn’t see a wedding ring, did you?”

  I hadn’t looked. “So I guess this means you and he really aren’t…”

  “Oh my God, no! We’re just friends.”

  I was as relieved by her answer as I was flustered by her question. I didn’t see how dating a divorce attorney could be a good idea for anyone.

  “Oh, and one more thing. He desperately needs to get out of the office and out of the house. So, I promised I’d ask you. Just a casual dinner among friends.”

  I rolled my eyes, but smiled. I hadn’t been out to dinner in a long time, and for Jade’s sake, and my wallet’s, I wanted to give Andrew Mann a chance.

  “Great. It’s about time anyway.”

  “About time for what?”

  “For us to meet Mac.”

  Chapter 15

  Musical Chairs

  I ZIPPED MY PARKA, pulled on my hood, and walked two paces to Mrs. Feldman’s house. Translucent snow covered the horse-and-buggy silhouette on the storm door, so I brushed it away, then cleared the frost on the glass. I knocked and waited, even though keys to Mrs. Feldman’s doors were tucked in my coat pocket.

  The front door opened much sooner than I expected, as if she had been anticipating my arrival. I heard the storm door unhitch.

  “Elizabeth, what’s wrong?”

  “I just wanted to visit.” I stood in the foyer but shut the door behind me, although the cold air had followed me inside.

  “The children are coming for dinner.” She pointed to the dining room. “Take off your coat, though, if you like.”

  Not the welcome I had expected. “It’s nice that your family is coming for dinner.” I stopped myself from asking why they were coming. Did there need to be a reason?

  “It is nice,” Mrs. Feldman said with a flat affect. “And I assume Noah is at a friend’s house.”

  I nodded.

  “That’s nice, too.”

  “It is.” It was nice because I hadn’t had an afternoon or evening alone since Bruce took off for California. I worked at Liberty, picked up Noah, drove home, spent time with Noah, helped Noah with homework, cooked dinner, spent time with Noah, settled Noah into bed, and then wrote and read Philly over Forty and Pop Philly. And during all of that I was checking my messages and comments and statistics. I was also analyzing the wins and losses columns in my life—Ethan and Maya, win; my parents in Margate, win for them and for me; Bruce in California, loss; an extra check to cover expenses, win; lying to Jade, loss. Not spending time with Mrs. Feldman? Loss.

  A plastic-covered tray layered with corned beef, roast beef, and turkey sat on the tableclothed dining-room table surrounded by bowls of tuna and potato salads, and coleslaw, as well as an array of mustard and mayonnaise packets—my condiment-OCD nightmare. There was just no way to avoid seepage and spillage with those things. My throat prickled. I also saw a stack of china plates, a huddle of cut-crystal water goblets, and a wooden box with a brass handle that I assumed held silverware. In my peripheral vision I saw Mrs. Feldman looking at me as I looked at the table. Her mouth was open, and the air lingered with her forgotten words. She wore a pressed apron, which I found strange considering the cold-cut menu. Maybe the apron had more to do with appearances than preparation, the way I’d kept on my work clothes instead of throwing on sweats before I came over, so that maybe, just maybe, I looked like I had somewhere to be.

  Mrs. Feldman sat in the armchair at the head of her table. “What can I do for you, Elizabeth?”

  The scent of briny kosher pickles filled my nose and made me queasy. “Is it a special occasion?”

  “Absolutely not.” Mrs. Feldman sounded curt and annoyed, as if I should have known the answer.

  “Oh, I just thought … because of the china…”

  “Well, if not now, when?”

  I rubbed my hands together as if one idle moment had decreased their circulation. Without being asked, I lifted a few plates and set them around the table, evenly spaced. I finished with the plates and started on the goblets as Mrs. Feldman folded napkins into triangles, which seemed an uninspired choice, considering the Lenox, Waterford, and embroidered linen. Our rhythm seemed that of an old married couple, or maybe just lifetime friends. My lifetime.

  “Jade wants to meet Mac,” I said.

  Mrs. Feldman continued folding. Corner to corner. Corner to corner. Then she ironed the seams with her thumb. I took the rest and placed them to the left of each plate, with deliberate sluggishness. I wanted instructions. A little to the right, Elizabeth. Straighten that one a bit. Is that a water spot on the tablespoon?

  I shuffled to the left, remembering that sometimes Mrs
. Feldman forgot and sometimes she didn’t hear. I spoke louder. “Mac. You know, the man I made up for the blog posts I’m writing? For Jade’s Web site? She wants to meet him.”

  “I know who you mean, Elizabeth. I’m not a nincompoop. I’m quite capable as a matter of fact. No one helped me get that china out of the cabinet or bring up the silver from the basement.”

  “I’m sorry, I just thought…” I stood, stunned.

  “You thought I forgot because I’m old. Well, I am old, but I did not forget. I just have other things on my mind. Of course she wants to meet Mac. You’re happy and he’s the reason. I’m sure your cousin wants to meet him. I know he’s not real and I want to meet him. It might be time for you to swallow your pride and tell the truth, Elizabeth.”

  Mrs. Feldman had never reprimanded me before. Not in thirty-nine years.

  “If I were you, I’d take advantage of these few hours to yourself and think about what you’ve done by keeping this secret. Telling this lie. God, why are you here with me? You could take a bath, read a book, or even go out for a cocktail. Maybe you would meet someone.” She patted her pile of napkins. “Someone real. Where do young people go around here anyway?”

  Mrs. Feldman stood and put her hands on her hips as if this scenario was something she’d never considered before. Nor had I. Was there a place a divorced forty-year-old mom could go in the neighborhood to get a glass of wine? There was.

  Next door in my kitchen.

  “Really, dear. Don’t you have something you’d rather be doing on a Friday night than waiting with your old neighbor for her family to arrive?” Her voice had softened but she lifted my coat from the banister and handed it to me.

  “Are you angry with me?” This was not an easy question to ask because I had no idea of the answer.

  She took my hand in hers with the touch of timid child. She was trembling. This had nothing to do with me.

  “I think we should sit down,” I said.

  Mrs. Feldman nodded and I led her to the sofa and sat next to her, my coat on my lap. I didn’t let go of her hand. “I’ll leave when your family gets here, I promise.” I patted her hand. “But I don’t think you should be alone. You’re not yourself.”