Neighborhood Watch (9 page)

After a while, she rose, went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth, checked on Jennifer, and returned. Before she got into bed, she peered out and studied the darkness again to be sure there was no one there. Then she closed the drapes so the morning light wouldn’t wake them too early. When she crawled into bed beside Teddy, she was comforted by the warmth of his body and felt herself finally relax.

But at exactly eleven thirty-eight, she heard the doors being checked. Spier hadn’t been exaggerating. He even came around and tried the patio doors. Now that could be

embarrassing if they ever began making love at eleven-thirty or so and left those drapes open again, she thought. Amazingly, Teddy didn’t waken. She listened until she was sure the security guard had moved off.

Why should all this wonderful security bother her? she wondered. True, there was some tradeoff of privacy, but on the other hand, one bad incident could make it all well worth it, she thought. She should be grateful. Few people had the luxury of knowing their children, their homes, their cars, their very lives were this vigorously protected day and night.

Kristin closed her eyes and almost immediately conjured Harold Spier with his firm, military posture, his cold politeness, and his stone gray eyes. There was such a look of purpose, such a rigid diligence and stiff intensity. It was as if the man had been designed for a single purpose and put all his energy into one thing like some sort of a human watchdog.

But that’s what security men were supposed to be, weren’t they: watchdogs dedicated to protecting their masters. Teddy would just say it was better that a man like Spier was working for them. Right?

She hoped so.

The Neighborhood Watch, the Emerald Lakes directory, the best cold cereal, door checks

. . . I’m in my new home, she thought. Better get used to it.

She fell asleep, dreaming of the new baby.

4

ADJUSTING TO HER NEW LIFEin Emerald Lakes proved easier than Kristin had

anticipated, especially because of the way their immediate neighbors accepted them and offered to help them. Kristin appreciated it, even though she thought they took

themselves too seriously at times. However, she was well aware that in this day and age, for whatever reasons sociologists determined, people were more aloof and private.

Friends and relatives who lived in other developments and similar communities, in other states as well as New York, often remarked how they had lived in the same house for years and not so much as exchanged pleasantries with some of their neighbors. If they did greet them and get to know them on a “good morning” basis, they hardly, if ever, saw or spoke to them much more than that.

Emerald Lakes was definitely different. Jean Levine brought her little girl to meet Jennifer the day after they had moved in, and when the two hit it off, Jean invited Jennifer to have dinner with Terri Sue that night. The following day Jean and Nikki offered to accompany Kristin to the elementary school to register Jennifer, but she explained it was something she and Teddy wanted to do together. Now, Kristin no sooner emerged from

her house to carry a small bag of garbage from the compactor to her bin, which was

exactly two feet from the left corner of the driveway at every house, when Jean Levine came tearing across the street as if she had been at her doorway waiting to pounce the moment Kristin showed herself.

The bright redhead wore a white silk blouse with gold shoulder pads and gold silk pants.

A pair of gold-leaf earrings swung beneath her lobes and a diamond-studded heart on a gold chain lay firmly in the valley of her breasts. All of the women Kristin had already met here always looked so well dressed and put together, no matter what time of the day she saw them. Kristin felt sloppy and a bit embarrassed to have herself caught in her old rolled-up jeans and Teddy’s college sweatshirt. She had simply tied her hair up, rather than brush it out, and she wore no makeup, not even a trace of lipstick.

“Hi,” Jean cried smiling.

“Hi.”

“Well,” Jean began, “tell me what it’s been like.”

Kristin paused and smiled. The radiant sunlight of a nearly cloudless blue morning

turned the windows of the houses into sparkling mirrors. Even the immaculate street gleamed.

“Been like? What do you mean?”

“The first few nights in your new home,” Jean wailed, not disguising her disappointment in having to explain.

“Oh. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“Well?” Jean asked impatiently.

Kristin gazed at her new friend, who looked as anxious as a reporter getting an exclusive from some celebrity. She looked at the sprawling red maple trees, the trim hedges, the beds of flowers and nodded.

“It’s quite meditative.”

“That’s right,” Jean said, smiling widely again. Kristin got the impression she had just passed some entry exam. “And how about Jennifer? She’s such a sweet, polite little girl.

Is she still a little afraid?”

“Afraid? Is that what she told you?”

Jean nodded. “Something about hearing a dead baby cry. She has quite an imagination,”

Jean added, nodding with wide eyes.

“Oh? Oh,” Kristin said, realizing that “Jennifer was there when I met Mrs. Feinberg in the supermarket and found out about what had happened to her.” Jean Levine’s smile

wilted.

“What about Mrs. Feinberg?”

“Didn’t you know? She had a miscarriage. This is such a small town,” Kristin continued when it was obvious Jean did not know. “I just assumed you would have heard.”

“We don’t know about people outside of Emerald Lakes.”

“Pardon?” The way Jean said
people outside of Emerald Lakes
made it sound as if they were in another country.

“There’s so much to keep up with here, I just don’t involve myself in the gossip

concerning outsiders, especially an ex-Emerald Lakes homeowner,” she remarked

disdainfully.

“Oh? You weren’t friendly with her?”

“In the beginning, but her husband and she became quite undesirable after a while. It’s rare, but sometimes, the committee makes a mistake.”

“Makes a mistake? I don’t understand,” Kristin said, a puzzled smile on her face.

“Approving a new homeowner, silly. Anyway, I just hate to hear about bad things

happening to children.” She paused and drew closer to whisper. “We don’t gossip and talk about each other’s misfortunes in Emerald Lakes, but you probably know about Philip and Marilyn Slater’s tragedy.”

“No,” Kristin said shaking her head. “I have yet to meet Mrs. Slater.”

“Oh. Well, Nikki would scold me for telling you, but you should know . . . they lost their little boy a few years ago. He was only six.”

“How horrible. How?”

“Leukemia, I think. Nikki knows exactly.”

Kristin thought a moment and then went to put her bag in the can.

“Oh, no, don’t do that,” Jean said sharply, so sharply for a moment Kristin thought she was putting her garbage into someone else’s can. She pulled her arm up.

“What?”

“See the
C
painted on the other can. That’s the can that takes the compactor bags,” Jean explained.

“Oh. Oh, yes.” She dropped the bag into the correct can.

“You didn’t read your ‘Welcome to Emerald Lakes’ letter, did you?” Jean said accusingly while waving her right forefinger. “Naughty, naughty. The board of directors spent a great deal of time designing that orientation package for new residents. We’re all very proud of it.”

“No one coming around to give me a test soon, are they?” Kristin asked without

disguising her note of annoyance. Jean looked devastated. “I’m sorry. I’m just kidding.

No, I didn’t get to it yet, but I will this morning.” Jean’s smile returned.

“Your other can is for things that can be recycled,” Jean instructed.

“Oh. Of course.”

“We’re very environmentally conscious here. Our water is constantly monitored, our

septic systems checked, and only the most environment-friendly lawn fertilizers and chemicals are permitted. Watch your catalytic converter,” Jean warned with a smile and that right forefinger again.

“Pardon?”

“You know . . . that thing on your car that keeps it from polluting the air. The Del Marcos”—she gazed down the street toward a brown and white ranchstyle house—“not

only had a faulty converter, but apparently their car had a nasty oil leak. It wasn’t only their own driveway that got spotted, but our street too. Daytime security discovered it during a routine check of our little neighborhood.”

“I see. They have a pretty house,” Kristin said gazing at the house Jean had focused on so intently. “I noticed it the first time we drove in to look at ours,” Kristin remarked, “and wished that was the one for sale.” She didn’t mean to reveal that she preferred the more styled design.

“Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s house, grounds, or cars,” Jean preached. Although she was smiling, she looked serious.

“Is that in the orientation packet, too?” Kristin asked. Jean started to look insulted but suddenly, with the abruptness of a schizophrenic, changed her expression to a light, even childish smile. She stepped closer to whisper like a coconspirator.

“You’re funny,” she said, “but don’t do it in front of the others, especially not Nikki.

They take their work very seriously.”

“If you can’t make fun of yourself, you’re in trouble,” Kristin said. Jean laughed.

“Want a cup of coffee?”

“No thanks. I don’t mean to be unfriendly; it’s just that I like to work in the morning.”

“Work?” Jean pronounced, and grimaced as if it were one of the most distasteful words in the dictionary.

“I try to compose music . . . write songs on the piano.”

“Oh, right. Will you let me hear one?”

“Maybe later.”

“Call me. Anytime you’re ready. Really. I just have such admiration for anyone with an ounce of creativity. I’m one of those people born without any talent, except the talent to manage our home, love my husband, and raise our children, the new Trinity.”

Kristin laughed.

“Nowadays, that’s a lot more talent and a great deal more important than you might

think,” she said.

Jean shrugged.

“Don’t forget to call me to hear one of your songs,” she sang and began to retreat.

Kristin stared after her for a moment and then reentered her house. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Jean Levine was friendly, but she was no great intellect. And there was a strange note of fear behind some of the things she said. Kristin was sure Jean meant it when she chastised her for not reading the orientation letter.

Where was that stupid thing?

She went to the office and found it with the pile of new house papers: the mortgage and escrow documents, titles, environmental studies, etc. It was a two-page document with a cover page that read “Welcome to Emerald Lakes, for New Residents.” Kristin flipped it open. A disclaimer emphasized that “this letter is not a substitute for, nor do any of its recommendations and rules nullify or supersede, the homeowners Covenants, Conditions, and Restrictions. Rather, the purpose is to give the new residents a quick lesson in the basic things they will have to know.” There it was . . . a list of simple do’s and don’t’s concerning garbage, cable hookups, entrance and exit through the main gates, some of the things the security guard explained to them the other night, and a list of emergency telephone numbers.

Oh well, Kristin thought. It was nice to find a place so well organized, a place where newcomers didn’t have to flounder and fumble their way through initial things. She

brought the letter out to the kitchen and pinned it up by the telephone. She accepted this little code of behavior even though she wasn’t one who felt comfortable with any sort of regimentation.

For as long as she could remember, she was something of a rebel, sometimes defying

rules and orders simply because they were imposed on her. Her father always justified her rebelliousness by saying it was a by-product of her creativity. But her mom never really bought the excuses. Kristin took advantage; she was the first to admit that now. She was a daddy’s girl and relied on him to bail her out time after time, and time after time he did, whether it was her insubordinate acts in high school or her membership in college protest organizations.

But she was on her own now. If she put that compactor garbage bag in the wrong can, she thought, Daddy couldn’t save her from the wrath of the Emerald Lakes homeowners association. She laughed aloud. Then she went to her piano and began to tinker with the new melody that had been replaying itself in her mind ever since the first day they had set foot on the grounds of Emerald Lakes. It was somewhat heavier music than she was

accustomed to creating, but it was interesting and the notes she was composing were taking her to places she had never been. She lost herself so completely in the work that she didn’t realize the passage of time until the phone rang and Teddy started to describe the nice little restaurant Doctor Porter had taken him to in Middletown. She was shocked to discover it was after two.

“You had your lunch already?”

“Hey, honey. Don’t tell me you forgot to eat again. You’ve got more than one mouth to feed these days, remember,” he chastised gently.

“Right. I’ll have something now.”

“I guess I don’t have to ask if you’re making yourself at home. How’s it going?”

“Good. I’m . . .”—her eyes fell on the orientation letter—“learning how to live and play in Emerald Lakes.”

Teddy laughed.

“I’ll see you later. Oh,” he said before cradling the receiver. “I nearly forgot. I got a phone call this morning from Phil Slater, our president.”

“Our president?”

“Of the homeowners association and the chief stockholder in the bank from which we

got that great mortgage,” he added for emphasis. “Remember?”

“How could I forget? Jean Levine just told me about the Slater’s little boy.”

“What about him?”

“They lost him. He was only six. She thinks it was leukemia. She wasn’t sure about the details. They have some unwritten rule here about gossiping and telling about each