The Good Neighbor (15 page)

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.”

“Oh, Elizabeth, who else could I be?”

*   *   *

I turned on all the lights in the room. Everything looked better in the light, or should have. What I saw was a deflated woman in her eighties, without the joie de vivre I'd come to enjoy, and admire. Mrs. Feldman settled back into the cushions on the sofa. Her shoulders eased as I lifted her legs onto a small footstool.

“What's wrong? You can tell me,” I said. “I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to.”

Mrs. Feldman had said that to me many times as I was growing up, usually during a game of Go Fish. As always, talking about something troublesome was easier when I was doing something unrelated, and when I wasn't looking at her, or anyone. We'd stare at the cards in our hands, plucking them and laying them down in the middle. Mrs. Feldman had been my confidant and sounding board when my parents were at the store, and sometimes when they were home. They had bequeathed me to her, and she'd taken me in, in every way. Once I admitted I'd taken six dollars out of Eddie's wallet, and once I confessed I cut school and took the bus and the el into Center City with my girlfriends. I stared at my lap the time I'd told Mrs. Feldman I'd been rejected by Princeton and Brown, before I told my parents or even Ethan.

I stood and walked away, keeping my back to Mrs. Feldman. I rearranged the knickknacks on her shelves, but always moved them back into place. I had shifted four shelves worth of tchotchkes. I had eight to go.

“That's my wedding china in there. Did you know that?”

I did know. “Maybe I did know that, I'm not sure, maybe just remind me.” If there was a nincompoop in the room, it was me, of that I was sure.

“It takes up a lot of space.”

“That's what the china cabinet is for.” I handled the little faux pirate chest, knowing how much Noah would like it, and I placed it back by the lineup of photo albums.

“It takes up a lot of space in my heart, too.” I turned around to see Mrs. Feldman shaking her head, and my chest compressed with a stifled gasp. Her attachment to that china, to her napkins, to Good Street, was a testament to her life. “It reminds me of so many years growing up with my parents and grandparents and then a lifetime of holiday dinners with Sol and the boys.

“You should use it all the time, then. You don't need a special occasion to use good china.” I needed to remember that.

“This could be the last time I ever use it.”

I sat on the sofa. “Is everything okay?” I think I was trembling.

“At my age everything isn't okay, ever. But I try to be grateful for what I have, not focus on what I've lost. A little arthritis, but much less than many of friends. I don't see as good as I used to, but I'm not blind. And I know I forget things. But I don't forget feelings, Elizabeth. Or people. Or secrets.”

She was still angry about Mac. I was sorry I'd ever saddled her with my secret—my lies—in the first place.

“I'm sorry I told you about Mac.”

“Don't be sorry, dear. We all need someone we can trust.”

“You can trust me.” I'd brought her meals and cleaned her toilets and listened to her stories, but I'd never come right out and offered myself as a confidant. She deserved a grown-up friendship, not one of a little girl who needed care and companionship, although that was eerily similar to who I was now. “Tell me why this might be the last time you're going to be able to use your wedding china.” I held my breath for a moment, then exhaled. The last thing Mrs. Feldman needed was for me to faint.

“They're going to pack up the china and move it to some storage unit.”

“Who?”

“The children.”

“Why?”

“They want me to sell.”

“The china?” I clung to a remnant of hope.

“That's why they're all coming over tonight. To go through the boxes in the basement and take inventory. Pack up some things. That's what the boys have been talking about to me for months now in addition to my
farkakte
will. Selling the house. Moving.”

“To where?” Mrs. Feldman could live anywhere—a senior community in the suburbs, Florida, Arizona. I didn't know about the other “boys,” but Ray had money and he liked to use it. Flaunt it. His white Mercedes stuck out on Good Street like glitter on the side of a barn.