The Girl Next Door (14 page)

Jimmy loaded up his plate and put it down at the table between Rose and George. “Mom,
Dad, can I get you a plate?” he asked.

“No, no, honey,” said Rose. “You sit down and eat. We’ll get ours in a minute.” She
patted the chair between them and smiled tenderly at Jimmy.

Standing alone by her flower arrangement, Nina felt a headache starting over her left
eye. She felt someone tap her gently on the arm. She turned around and saw Elena,
wearing a Great Adventure sweatshirt over her stretched-out stirrup pants, standing
beside her.

Timidly, the woman handed Nina a laminated Mass card with a picture of an Aryan-looking
haloed Jesus on the front. She said something to Nina in Spanish. Nina caught the
word
padre
. Nina did not understand the language, but when she looked into the older woman’s
eyes she could see they were filled with sympathy. “Thank you,” said Nina. “
Gracias
.” Nina smiled, and clasped the woman’s rough hand in her own. The older woman nodded,
and headed back toward the den as Gemma reappeared at Nina’s side.

“That was so nice of her,” said Nina, showing Gemma the Mass card.

“She got one for Patrick, too,” said Gemma. “Well, we’re all the family she has here.
I mean, she has people back in Panama, of course …”

“Speaking of family, how’s the rest of your family?” Nina asked. “What do you hear
from your father?”

Gemma stared across the elegant, candlelit dining room. Her forehead wrinkled slightly.
“Um … I heard from him … last year. The new wife was pregnant at the time. She’s probably
had the baby by now. Didi calls me once in a while. Although she never got over the
fact that I eloped.” Gemma smiled weakly.

“I’ll bet not,” said Nina wryly, remembering Gemma’s stepmother and her fixation on
wedding matters. “It must have been strange for you growing up in that house. I mean,
you were so brilliant. Did they appreciate that about you?”

Gemma frowned again, this time in puzzlement. “I don’t know. Well, it doesn’t matter.
Patrick appreciated me.”

We all rewrite history to suit ourselves, Nina thought. She didn’t remember Patrick
appreciating Gemma until he was accepted to enroll at Rutgers. But if Gemma remembered
it differently, it didn’t hurt anything. “He should appreciate you,” Nina said loyally.

The doorbell rang, and Gemma frowned. “I’d better get that. Nina, will you have some
lunch?”

Nina nodded and picked up a plate from the buffet. She wasn’t hungry, but it would
be rude not to eat after Patrick and Gemma had gone to all this trouble. What she
really wanted to do was to kick off her black heels and trade her fashionable boatneck
black sheath for a comfortable bathrobe. But, headache or not, there were rituals
one had to observe. She held her plate against her chest like a shield and looked
without appetite at the lavish plates of food. She picked out a few items and carefully
forked them onto her plate. She was conscious of a sudden hush that had fallen on
the room. When she turned around, she saw Lindsay Farrell standing in the doorway.

Lindsay looked like an acolyte of St. Lucia in her long ivory-colored gabardine trench
coat, her cheeks pink, her blond hair dazzling in the glow of Patrick’s Venetian chandelier.
Just
beyond Lindsay’s shoulder, Nina could see Gemma’s narrow face, her eyes wide and
anxious.

“Patrick,” said Lindsay.

Patrick, who was seated at the table wolfing down his lunch while George Connelly
was speaking to him, looked up, and started in surprise.

“Lindsay,” he said. He stood up to greet her, smoothing down his tie and kissing her,
European style, on both cheeks.

“I knew the service for your dad was today,” said Lindsay. “Since I’m right next door,
I wanted to stop by. Hi, Jimmy, Nina. I’m so sorry for your loss. How are you doing,
Jimmy? Long time no see.”

Jimmy looked up at Lindsay warily. His face was still slack with surprise at the sight
of her. He did not stand up. “Fine. Thanks.”

“Glad you’re here,” said Patrick smoothly to Lindsay. “Can you stay for lunch?” He
pointed to the extravagant buffet.

“Oh, Patrick,” Lindsay exclaimed. “I never saw that Provençal sideboard in place.
It looks magnificent in here.”

Patrick beamed. “Come in the living room. I want you to see what I did with that pair
of Italian commodes you found for me.”

Lindsay demurred. “I don’t want to take you away from your family at a time like this.
Really, I just came to offer my condolences. Oh, and these chocolates,” she said,
lifting a small gilded gift bag. She turned to Gemma. “Gemma, I’ll bet your boys like
chocolate.”

Gemma looked at the bag as if it were on fire. “Not that kind,” she said.

“Jesus, Gemma,” Patrick muttered, taking the gift bag and setting it on the table.

Gemma looked helplessly at her husband. “They don’t, Patrick. They like Hershey bars.”

Lindsay glanced into the den and gave the twins a wave, which they ignored. “I can
see that,” she said.

Patrick took Lindsay by the elbow. “Come see the commodes,” he said.

Gemma looked at her other guests. “Keep on eating,” she said with a frantic note in
her voice. Everyone dutifully turned their attention back to their plates to avoid
looking at Gemma. She began to collect platters of food from the buffet, piling them
on top of one another and carrying them toward the kitchen.

Hearing the clatter, Patrick returned to the dining room. “Gemma,” he demanded. “What
do you think you’re doing?” Lindsay stood in the door of the dining room, looking
at them curiously.

Gemma stood very still, a crooked tower of food-filled plates teetering in her arms.
“I’m clearing up,” she said in a small voice.

“It’s not time to clear up,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’ll tell you when it’s
time to clear up.”

There was a silence in the room as Nina and Jimmy kept their eyes trained on their
plates. They had a history of pretending not to notice marital quarrels, no matter
how they escalated. But the discord between Patrick and Gemma had sabotaged whatever
small measure of camaraderie had existed in the room.

All of a sudden, Rose Connelly pushed back her chair and stood up. “Gemma’s right.
We shouldn’t leave all this food lying out. It could spoil. I’ll help you put it away,
Gemma.”

Patrick turned and glared at Rose, but she seemed impervious to his displeasure. She
picked up a plate of tomatoes and mozzarella garnished with ribbons of basil and headed
for the kitchen. Nina saw her opportunity. She stood up. “I’ll help as well,” she
said. Ignoring Patrick, and the thudding in her head, she followed Rose’s lead and
picked up a couple of dishes. All she could think of was how soon she could leave.

I
T
was only four o’clock when Nina arrived back at Aunt Mary’s house, but it seemed
to her as if the day had been interminable. What do my brothers and I have in common
anymore? she thought. We are survivors of the same family. Our lives have been twisted
by the same horrible events. We are a constant reminder to one another of how our
family jumped the track, crashed, and burned.

She entered her aunt’s house and only turned on one light in the living room. She
felt slightly sick to her stomach, and even the light from the one lamp hurt her eyes.
She slumped down on the couch and pressed her eyes with her fingertips. Gemma had
tried to force her to take Keith’s flower arrangement when she left, but she’d refused
it, saying she had nowhere to put it. The truth was that she didn’t want it. It was
a nice gesture on Keith’s part, but it only served to remind her of how alone she
felt, now that her father was gone. A flower
arrangement was no substitute for a shoulder to lean on. What she needed on a day
as grim as this one was someone to be there with her, to go to the bathroom and get
her a cold washcloth for her head, to make her some tea.

She thought back over her relationships, the love affairs she had had. She’d had passionate
flings, and two long-term romances, but she always seemed to hold back a part of herself
from the men she cared for. Sometimes the troubles the men in her life fretted over
made her feel impatient, and that always signaled the end of the relationship. But
how could she commiserate about a contract that was not renewed or a promotion that
wasn’t offered when she thought about her father, an innocent man in a prison cell
in Bergen County? John, a guy she’d lived with for two years, once told her, in a
moment of sarcasm, that his problems never seemed to measure up to hers.

The pain in Nina’s head jabbed her. She couldn’t stay awake and deal with it. She
needed to sleep, and let it pass. She kicked off her black high heels and shuffled
in her stocking feet to the downstairs bathroom. She took two extra-strength painkillers
and, not bothering to change out of her dress, returned to the living room, where
she fell across the couch, praying for oblivion and relief.

T
HE
sound of the doorbell woke her, and Nina sat up, disoriented by the dim light in
the room and the fact that she had been asleep. Her watch read 7:00 and for one confused
minute she didn’t know whether it was morning or night. And then it came back to her.
The funeral. The lunch at Patrick’s. Her headache. She frowned, and thought about
her head. It seemed … better. Thank God. But she was hungry and thirsty. And there
was someone at the door. Automatically, she rose to
answer it, and then she thought, Why? There was no one she wanted to see. She didn’t
want to hear any halfhearted condolences or self-satisfied homilies about people living
and dying by the sword. She’d seen it all in the newspaper and heard it on the television.
Nina sank back down on the couch cushions. Go away, she thought. Whoever you are.

The doorbell sounded again.

Just stay put, she told herself. It’s bound to stop.

The bell rang again. The caller was persistent. Maybe they had seen her through the
sheer living room curtains when she first sat up. She realized that it was no use
wishing them away. Someone knew she was here and was not going to leave until she
responded. She got up, shoved on her black shoes, and walked to the door, straightening
her black knit dress and calling out irritably, “Just a minute.” She looked in the
vestibule mirror and saw how pallid her face looked. She’d worn her hair up in a chignon
to the funeral, but now it fanned out, coal black and tangled, around her face and
down her back. She ran a hand through it, pinched her cheeks to give them some color,
took a deep breath, and opened the door.

The man on the doorstep was looking out at the lamplit street. When he heard the door
open, he turned to face her. It was a stranger.

“Nina?” said the man.

Nina frowned. She felt as if she recognized him but couldn’t place him. His black
hair fell in a curve against his high cheekbones. His skin was the color of polished
amber and his black eyes studied her narrowly.

“Do I know you?” she said.

He shook his head and smiled. “No,” he said. “I just feel as if I know you. My name
is Andre Quinteros. I’m a … I was a friend of your father’s.”

“Oh my God, of course,” she said, blushing. “ I knew I’d
seen you somewhere. You testified at the parole hearing. You’re the doctor from the
prison. Dr. Quinteros.”

The man nodded. “I heard about Duncan. I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“I know this is a bad day for you but … I wondered if you might have a few minutes.
There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Nina frowned. “I am not … exactly at my best right now.”

“I know,” he said. “I hate to trouble you, today of all days, but I really … I think
it’s important.”

Duncan’s supporters were few, and here was one who had come to pay his respects, she
thought. “It’s okay, come in,” said Nina distractedly. She stepped back from the door
and Quinteros followed her into the house. “How did you know where to find me?” she
asked.

“Your father called me when you came to stay here.”

“He did?” Nina said, surprised. She realized that she had been monitoring Duncan so
closely that she thought she knew everything he did. Obviously, she was mistaken.
She hadn’t known about his visit with Jimmy. Or his keeping in touch with this doctor.
In so many ways, she had been ignorant of his intentions. “I didn’t know.”

“Yeah. We talked for a while.”

“What did he say? Did you … ?” Nina shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m being rude. Sit
down. I’m still a little out of it. I just woke up. I got a terrible headache after
the funeral and I just … had to lie down.”

“How’s the head now?” he asked.

“It was better when I woke up. But now it’s starting to hurt a little bit again.”

“Have you eaten?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” she said. “I … I’ll look for something later. I have no idea what’s here.”

“You probably haven’t eaten anything all day,” he said.

“I couldn’t really manage it at lunch,” she admitted.

“I haven’t eaten either,” he said. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

Nina started to protest and then she stopped herself. This was not a stranger. This
was someone who had been a friend to her father. Suddenly it seemed as if this was
exactly what she needed—to be with someone who had known her father and cared about
him. “That would be great,” she said. “I’ll get my jacket.”

N
INA
slid into the booth opposite Quinteros. The waitress passed by and handed them two
enormous menus with red faux-leather covers and gold tassels along the spine. Nina
opened her menu and shook her head. “Diners and traffic circles,” she said. “Two great
New Jersey institutions.”

“I hope you mean that in a nice way,” he said teasingly.

“Absolutely,” said Nina. “I am a Jersey girl, born and bred. God, I don’t know how
to choose here.”

“I love their pastrami,” he said.

Nina frowned at him disapprovingly. “You’re a doctor?”