She Makes It Look Easy Read online

  Heather waved shyly. “Hi,” she said, showing a mouthful of braces as she grinned.

  “Heather loves kids,” Erica explained.

  I waved back. “Hi.” As if on cue, the boys ran up, dripping water and energy. Duncan snuggled his wet body up next to mine, and I moved away slightly. “Dunc, you’re wet,” I said. He giggled and tried to scoot up next to me again. I gestured to the boys. “These are my boys,” I said to Erica, who nodded.

  “Cute,” she said.

  “They’re wild as bucks,” I said.

  “I just have the one, which is a blessing now that I am doing it alone. We wanted a whole houseful once upon a time, but it never happened. Now I see it was God’s plan. He knew what I needed even when I didn’t.”

  I looked at her and smiled. “God’s plan is hard to accept sometimes, though. I mean, when you’re going through it.” I thought of how plans—whether they were our own or God’s—were slippery and exhausting to try to hold on to.

  She shook her head. “You have no idea. Oh well, we live and learn, right?”

  I nodded. I liked her blunt way of speaking. I felt like I could ask her anything and she would tell me the truth. It was refreshing to find, unusual. “But enough about me,” she said. “Are you guys all settled? Unpacked? Are you new to the area?”

  “Umm. Sort of settled. The boxes are getting unpacked slowly but surely. It’s starting to feel like home. And no, we’re not new to the area. We lived across town, but I dreamed of moving here for a long time.”

  “And is it living up to your dreams?” she asked, cutting to the quick of my own thoughts of life in the stress of the move.

  I thought of David being gone all the time with his new job, of Lucky disappearing and knowing no one to help find him, of how much I missed the casual, easy friendship I shared with Kristy when she was just across the street. I wanted to lie to Erica—but something wouldn’t let me. Maybe because she had been so honest with me. “Not really,” I admitted for the first time.

  “Not much in life does, I’m finding,” she said. She reached down and took another long sip of water. “Want some?” she asked, extending the water to me. I smiled and lifted my own bottle from the large tote bag that held everything but the kitchen sink.

  “Thanks,” I said. I meant thanks for the offer, but really I was thanking her for being so honest. I hoped she knew it.

  A song from the ’70s came on the loudspeakers. “How long has this been going on?” the music blared.

  Justine giggled from beside me. Erica had politely left when she showed up, but I sensed that there was no love lost between the two women. As the newbie on the block, I didn’t dare ask either of them, but I knew there had to be a backstory.

  “I love that song. They always play great oldies here at the pool,” Justine said. She wiggled in her chaise longue, moving her shoulders from side to side, her breasts in her push-up bikini top attracting the attention of more than one male in the vicinity. I sensed she not only knew it; she liked it. Expected it. I thought of my own tank suit, covering all the parts I didn’t want exposed, my pasty white skin, the flesh that had never quite recovered from three pregnancies. With her tan skin, toned body, and confidence, Justine and I were opposites in more ways than one.

  The two of us passed the time fielding children and making small talk. I kept an eye on David, who was playing volleyball with some of the other men. Justine’s husband, Mark, wasn’t there—she said he’d been called out of town on business, which I thought was too bad. It was a bit premature, but I held out hope that our families would become good friends and pictured our children growing up together, maybe even dating, family barbecues in our shared backyards, a lifetime of history forming on one early June afternoon. I felt happy, peaceful. I wanted nothing more than to be right where I was.

  “Justine,” I heard someone call over the music, the loud voice shattering my reverie. The Eagles were singing, “You can’t hide your lyin’ eyes, and your smile is a thin disguise.” I looked up to see a large woman blocking our sun, her shadow looming. I shielded my eyes so I could see her better with the sun behind her. She was her own eclipse.

  “Hi, Liza,” Justine said. “Good to see you.”

  Liza nodded. “How ya doin’?” she asked Justine with a sympathetic look I didn’t understand.

  “Girl, I am doing just fine.” She pointed at me. “Have you met my new neighbor, Ariel?” Justine turned to look at me. She was, I realized for the first time, in full makeup. She hadn’t come to the pool to swim; she had come to the pool to be seen.

  “Ariel bought Dan and Laura’s house. She’s a fabulous photographer. She did that beautiful portrait of the girls that’s over my mantel? You’ve got to book an appointment with her!” She caught my eye and winked. “Ariel, this is Liza Blair. She lives over on Hastings Lane.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Liza said. She paused in thought. “Wait a minute! My friend Candace Nelson told me about you! She called me and told me what great work you do and that I should look you up now that you live here!” She extended her hand to me, and I leaned forward to take it, smiling at the compliment. She pumped it up and down vigorously, a handshake I could respect.

  Liza turned to Justine. “Thanks for introducing us and helping me make that connection. Have you met the other new neighbors?” she asked her. “They bought that spec that’s been sitting empty for so long. Remember we thought it’d never sell?”

  “Oh!” Justine exclaimed. “It’s got that terrible backyard.” She looked over at me, and I nodded. We had looked at it and stayed less than three minutes.

  Liza looked around the pool. “The people are around here somewhere. I just saw them. Nice folks. Hang on and I will find them.” She made a visor of her hands and looked until she spotted the other new neighbors. She waved them over to what was becoming a growing party, one I was invited to just by sheer proximity to Justine. I wished David were with me so he could meet some new neighbors. But from the looks of things in the pool, he was making new friends courtesy of his competitive streak.

  “Tom, Betsy, come meet some neighbors,” Liza said as the couple walked closer with smiles pasted on their red, overheated faces. The wife ducked her head and raised her eyes to glance at us before dropping them again. She studied the concrete patio, then scanned the pool as if she would like to be standing anywhere else. The man grinned at all of us, his face changing as he saw Justine. I imagined she had that effect on a lot of men. “Tom and Betsy Dean, meet Justine and—” she paused at me—“Sorry?”

  “Ariel,” I said, reaching for the wife’s hand as she raised her eyes to me and smiled. “Ariel Baxter.” I saw David get out of the pool and make his way over to our little crowd. He smiled at me and detoured by the boys to check on them.

  “Dean?” Justine asked, eyeing the man. “Like James?”

  Tom took her hand and smiled at her. “Exactly,” he replied, pumping her hand three times before taking mine and doing the same. “Nice to meet you,” he said to me and turned his attention back to Justine. I noticed her face redden and wondered if he was embarrassing her with his attention. Surely she had faced unwarranted attention from men before. I felt sorry for Betsy and tried to diffuse the situation by talking to her.

  “So, Betsy, Tom, do you guys have kids?” I asked.

  Betsy nodded and returned my smile. She was what I would classify as cute but not gorgeous. She had probably been called cute her whole life, and hated it. I imagined if I got to know her, I would like her a lot. “We have a boy and a girl,” she said. “Tyler’s nine and Tessa’s six.” She seemed unassuming and a little overwhelmed by the neighborhood as a whole. I could sympathize.

  “Oh, I have two girls who would probably love to play with your children,” Justine said enthusiastically. I felt the smallest sting of jealousy that I wasn’t the only one with whom she w
anted to arrange playdates. “My girls are right near your kids’ ages,” Justine said. “We will have to have you guys over for dinner sometime and get the girls together for a playdate.”

  Tom gestured to our group of children, which now had two more children playing. “Are those your girls?” he asked. “The two blondes?”

  “Yes,” Justine said.

  “And my boys are with them,” I added.

  He ignored me. “Well, it looks like they’ve found each other,” he said and grinned at Justine. “They’re beautiful,” he continued. She returned his smile and looked away just as David joined us. Liza, still serving as social coordinator, introduced David to everyone while I sat quietly.

  More chairs were pulled up, and we formed a semicircle. We laughed and talked and got to know each other better. Kids came and went. Food was served and eaten. And before we knew it, the day was slipping into night. I pretended not to notice how Tom’s eyes kept wandering back to Justine in her revealing bikini. I did notice that David seemed to avert his eyes from looking directly at her, and I wanted to kiss him for it.

  As our wiggly, sun-kissed boys climbed into our laps to wind down the evening, I sighed contentedly. This was what I had pictured when I imagined living here: neighbors and children and laughter and community. Perfection was finally within my grasp, and Justine was helping me find it.

  Chapter 5

  Justine

  No one would’ve known by looking at me that inside I was hyperventilating, that Tom Dean himself had just walked up to me on a sunny day at my pool and smiled like he was just asking what time it was or commenting on the weather, like it was all normal when it was anything but. Our lives had just changed dramatically, but there was no tremor, not even a shift in the wind.

  Even more significant than Tom was his wife, the infamous Betsy. All these years I’d wondered what she looked like, who the temptress was who took him away from me. I’d pictured a gorgeous natural blonde with a great figure. Instead she was … cute. Cute in an undeniable and endearing way, but still just cute. Cute enough, I will admit, that I didn’t really dislike her. Not until she started talking about visiting my church.

  And stealing my part.

  It was Tom who told Liza about it right in front of me. “Oh, Liza,” he said, his eyes wandering back to my bikini, grazing over me so fast no one noticed but me. “Did Betsy tell you about her good news?”

  “Good news?” Liza asked, perking up. Liza liked news of any sort, especially when she was the first to know it. “Let’s hear it.”

  Tom put his arm around Betsy. “She got the part in the Patriotic Pageant at the church.”

  “She did?” Liza cast a nervous glance in my direction. The chaise longue she was sitting on groaned as she shifted her weight. I could tell she was thrilled to be hearing this right in front of me. For all Liza thought she knew, she didn’t know the half of it. “Well,” she said, “that’s just wonderful, Betsy. Congratulations!” She started to change the subject, but I stopped her.

  “What made you try out for that part?” I asked, unable to stop myself. I glanced around at the group of us who had gathered, but no one was listening except Tom, Betsy, and, of course, Liza.

  Betsy was caught off guard by my question. Tom, who was making circular rubbing motions on her back, stopped. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “I mean,” I said, “you come to a new town, new neighborhood, new church. And right off the bat you audition for the starring role in the upcoming musical. It just seems a bit industrious. You know, all at once like that.”

  Liza looked at me with her brows knit together. Tom and Betsy just looked confused. “Well,” Betsy said, “I really like to sing.”

  “And she’s got a great voice,” Tom added.

  “Oh, well, obviously, if you got that part. You must have an amazing voice,” I said.

  “Well … thanks,” Betsy said, her face even redder. She had taken my part. So everything else from then on was fair game.

  Chapter 6

  Ariel

  On Monday morning I woke up with a fresh resolve to unpack more boxes before nightfall to make up for our lost time at the pool over the weekend. I pulled on a pair of gray knit shorts and an old fraternity T-shirt of David’s and set to work.

  The boys busied themselves outside, happily playing, and staying away from Justine’s yard too, I noted. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as hard as I had feared. They seemed content to play in our garage and on our driveway. I supplied them with a large bucket of sidewalk chalk and encouraged them to use their imaginations. Other than the occasional trip inside, I hadn’t heard much from them. I unloaded three boxes before the trouble started, as Dylan came inside to report that I should buy some more rockets.

  I was hardly paying attention as I held up a vase we had received as a wedding gift and never had an occasion to use, trying not to make it a commentary on my marriage. I would find a spot for it on a high, unreachable shelf. “Why didn’t you tell us you had those rockets, Mom? They’re cool,” Dylan added, climbing inside one of the empty boxes and closing the lid on himself. His voice was muffled as he held the lid down, the tips of his fingers showing.

  I had no idea what he was talking about. “Dyl, what rockets?” Even as the words left my mouth, my blood ran cold. I remembered the boys stealing quietly upstairs and coming down with a bag full of stuff. I had assumed it was toys, but what if … “Dylan?”

  No answer came from inside the box. “Dylan?” I said, louder.

  There was silence for a moment, and then he exploded from the box. “Surprise!” he said. “It’s a Dylan-in-the-box!” He grinned at me. He had lost his first tooth the week before. I noticed the missing tooth with the pang of a mom who knows that time is flying faster than she can catch it. “Get it, Mom? A Dylan-in-a-box?”

  “Yes, I get it.” I set down the vase in a group of things that needed to be put up. “What rockets are you talking about?” I pressed. “Where did you find them?”

  “In your bathroom,” he said matter-of-factly as he climbed back into the box. “Under your sink.”

  “Dylan. Get out of that box and come with me right now,” I said.

  Resolutely he followed me out of the room as I headed for the garage. My heart was racing in rhythm with my steps as I ran out to face whatever it was my boys had done this time. I opened the garage door to find the carnage I had known was inevitable. Applicators, wrappers, and white super and regular “rockets” were strewn all over the garage, the driveway, and our front yard. I found Duncan peeling open the small box of lites with a grin. “We still have these,” he was saying to Donovan.

  “They’re not as good,” Donovan replied as if I wasn’t there. “They won’t fly as far.” I just stood there with my mouth hanging open. What a great first impression we were making on Essex Falls. Hey, new neighbors! Welcome to the insanity!

  Muffling the half laugh, half cry that threatened to escape, I put on my best scolding face. “Boys, I want you to pick up every single piece of paper and every single—” my mind fumbled for their terminology—“rocket you shot off. Put them in the trash. Now.”

  Donovan just shrugged and began picking up the pieces. He twirled one around by its string. “Hey, Mom, what are these things for anyway?”

  I ducked my head down and pretended not to hear him as I joined the boys in the cleanup. I’ll bet Justine’s nice, quiet, napping girls would never launch their mother’s tampons all over her front yard. In that moment I was thankful she lived behind us and was less likely to see what my uncouth boys had done.

  “Well, Mom?” Donovan repeated. “What are these for? Can you light them on fire?” Usually I applauded my eldest’s curiosity, helping him search out answers on the Internet and taking him to the library to get books on everything from how hot air balloons work to how Saint Nicholas became
known as Santa Claus. Of course, this time I told him we’d talk about it later and gave him a look that silenced him quickly.

  It was about that time that I heard someone knocking on our back door and, fainter, a voice calling out, “Hellooo? Ariel?” I recognized the voice as Justine’s. Her timing was impeccable.

  “We’re out here!” Dylan piped up before I could muffle him, his fists full of white.

  I glared at him.

  “What?” he asked.

  I wanted to run in and shut the garage door behind me, keep her away from the scene. Although I knew that if the neighborhood gossip was any good, she’d hear about it anyway. Not that I saw anyone watching us, but a few cars had driven by in the minutes that had passed. I was mentally preparing myself for the label “the mother who doesn’t watch her kids” when Justine stepped down into our garage with her eyebrows raised and the beginnings of a smile on her face.

  “Hi,” Donovan greeted her. “We’ve been playing rockets.”

  She nodded, her eyes wide. “I see that,” she said. She shot me a look that was, thankfully, full of amusement and no trace of judgment. “Used them all up, did you?”

  Donovan nodded, his grin widening. “Do you have any we could use?”

  She looked back at me, her face a question. Was this normal behavior? Should she say yes and run home for a box? I shook my head vigorously, my eyes as wide as hers. She smiled back at me. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t have any.”

  “Man!” Donovan said and skulked off to the edges of the lawn to gather the last remains of the destruction.

  I gestured for Justine to follow me to the kitchen and told the boys to finish their cleanup. Justine waited until we got inside and I shut the garage door to start laughing.

  “What—” she began. She tried again, “What were they—”

  I held up my hand, barely able to breathe from the rising laughter. “Don’t ask. Seriously,” I said, my eyes leaking tears from the corners. It occurred to me that with the stress of the move, I hadn’t really laughed in days.