The Good Neighbor (22 page)

“I haven't opened that box since before my oldest was born,” Mrs. Feldman said.

Andrew reached for her hand before I could. “You are the only one who knows what's in there. I can take it with me, open it, make note of the contents, and then give it back to Elizabeth if that would be easier for you.”

“No.” Mrs. Feldman shifted in the chair and tugged at her blouse. “It's fine. I'm making a lot of changes, moving from this house, you know.” She motioned to the cardboard boxes and to me, still packing up Lladró. “Did Elizabeth tell you I was moving?”

“No, she didn't. But I assumed—”

“Of course you did. What would an old woman like me be doing living alone, right?”

“I didn't mean—”

“No, of course you didn't. The fact is, young man, we're not alone in this world unless we want to be. And living in this house, even with my tsuris, I've never been alone.” Mrs. Feldman glanced at me and smiled. I knew she meant me, but not just me. Good Street, in its day, had a way of being a self-contained world filled with friends and reimagined family. “You know what tsuris is, dear?”

Andrew chuckled.
“Ikh farshteyn.”

“Ha! He understands a
pitseleh
Yiddish. A nice
Jewish
boy…” Mrs. Feldman looked right at me as she said it and her eyes opened wide. My cheeks grew so warm I thought I might be having my first hot flash. Great timing.

“Do you want me to go?” I did not look at Andrew, but pointed toward the door, hoping I could escape the heat along with all its implications.

“Heavens to Betsy, no! You're the only one besides Mr. Mann—I mean Andrew—who knows what happened. My shame should have died a long time ago. My hope should have gone with it, I know. But it didn't.”

We moved to the kitchen table. After one silent turn of the key, Andrew lifted the lid. It folded all the way back as if gasping for its first breath. With slow, deliberate movements, Andrew laid out the contents of the box. First, four black-and-white photos. Then, a yellowed envelope with writing on the front.

Mrs. Feldman fiddled with her fingers in lieu of a napkin, turned back the edge of her cuff, then folded her hands. I wished Andrew would move just a little faster, without relaxing his care.

Two short, thick Shabbat candles. A wax-paper square that appeared to be folded, with something between the two pieces.

Mrs. Feldman pointed at the envelope. “Are you sure that's the box I gave you, Elizabeth?” She looked at me, nary a glint in her eye nor a smile on her lips.

I almost didn't know how to respond. The box sat on the table. The box that had been locked for decades and had only recently found a home in my bread/hat/note drawer.

“Of course it is.”

“Well, I don't remember putting any envelope in there, I'll tell you that. The rest of it, yes. But the envelope? No. Although it was a long time ago.” She fanned out the photos but did not lift them from their places.

“What's in the wax paper?” I asked. Mrs. Feldman wouldn't answer if she didn't want me to know.

“A piece of my hair.”

“That's very smart,” Andrew said. “We can use it for DNA testing. If there's ever a reason, of course.”

“I just did it so my daughter would have a piece of me. There was none of that DNA testing back then. I didn't even know there was something called DNA.”

“Well, it was good thinking.”

“What about the envelope?” I prodded Andrew with a jut of my chin. He lifted the envelope and showed it to Mrs. Feldman. “It says
Geri
on the front.”

“Sol is the only one who called me Geri.” Mrs. Feldman wrung her hands. “Open it.” Her words squeaked through the breath of a whisper.

I laid my hand on her back, using pressure to steady her body. I leaned closer to steady her heart, and the imagined shield drifted away.

June 10, 1954

Dearest Geri,

Your cousin Myrna told me everything.

I think she wanted to drive me away, to punish you somehow. (Myrna was never very kind-hearted, you told me that.) But of course nothing could take me away from you. I'm glad I know about your baby girl. I'm glad I know where you go when you stare out the window. I'm glad I know why you are a little bit sad every holiday and every year on March 8th. But I'm sorry you felt you couldn't tell me, that you didn't have enough faith in me, and in us. Just say the word and I will help you find your daughter. We will go to Staten Island and to that hospital and demand answers. You deserve to know that she is safe and loved. She deserves to know you are her real mother. I will take you away from this house and this street and we will start a new life somewhere else where you don't have to keep any secrets from anyone. Just say the word.

Until then, I shall not mention it again, ever. Your secret is safe with me, as is your heart.

Your loving husband,

Sol

“Everything could have been different. Why didn't he just tell me?” Mrs. Feldman touched her cheeks with both hands and shook her head. She furrowed her brows, as if translating words from a foreign language. “I didn't have to carry this alone all these years. Oh, Sol, why didn't you tell me?”

Andrew slipped the letter into the envelope and slid it across the table. Then he placed each item back into the box, closed the lid, but didn't lock it.

My throat ached with the weight of a sheltered sob. From behind, I squeezed Mrs. Feldman's shoulders in a gentle hug and kissed her cheek. She grasped my hands.

Andrew spoke into the air, as if to no one. “Secrets and lies change lives. And rarely in a good way.”

His words burst like soap bubbles and stung my eyes.

 

Chapter 23

Duck, Duck, Goose

T
HIS WAS IT.
T
HE
day of reckoning. I'd had time to consider Jade's offer and to think about what it could mean moving forward. And it did seem like moving forward, which is what I wanted and needed. The money would be crucial if Bruce couldn't get a job. And if he did? With Bruce's child support I could save a little every month. I brightened at the thought of a nest egg, a vacation fund, of feeling secure. I would accept Jade's job as the new Dear Abby. But first, I had to come clean.

I scanned the dining room for Jade and Rachel. There they were, sitting and sipping, engrossed in conversation. Next, I scanned for emotional emergency exits. This was going to be tough. As I made my way over to the table, I saw coordinated couples at tables for two, clusters of friends tucked into corner booths, long tables accommodating multigenerational families. I heard chatter absorbed by well-planned acoustics, and servers who wove seamlessly among the guests.

What would people see at our table? Jade, the stunning workaholic growing a business but not a personal life? Rachel, the soccer mom who had flirted with disaster? Me, liar, liar, pants on fire?

I plopped myself down and poured myself a glass of wine. Then I plucked an olive from Jade's plate and popped it into my mouth.

Jade lifted her wineglass to the center of the table. “Here's to—opportunities!”

“Yes, to opportunities.” Rachel clinked her wineglass with Jade's.

I tipped my glass forward and clinked it with Rachel's, as we had throughout our childhoods. Milk, soda, juice, water. Glass, plastic, paper, aluminum. It didn't matter. I picked up the menu.

“Everything looks good. We're sharing plates, right?”

“Don't rush.” Jade pushed down my menu. “You don't have a curfew.”

“Right.” Noah was with Bruce.

“This is the good part,” Rachel said. “You get time off.”

“I know.”

“Well, I'll be taking less time off in the future,” Jade said. “I have news.”

“So do I,” I said. “But you go first.”

“I'm not supposed to tell anyone this yet because all the papers aren't signed, but…” Jade leaned forward almost into the olives. “I'm selling Pop Philly.”

“What?”

“I'm tired of worrying about a new influx of cash. I didn't want to sell ads, I wanted to create great content.
The Philadelphia Press
made me an offer I couldn't refuse.” Her imitation of Marlon Brando set us onto a detour of girlish giggles.

I exhaled to gain composure. “How did this happen?”

“They'd been coming to me for the past year and I kept saying no. I didn't want to sell out.”

“What changed?”

“You did.”

“I made you want to sell Pop Philly?”

“In the last few months our numbers have skyrocketed. The
Press
upped their offer. I'd have been a fool to say no. Drew vetted the whole thing for me.”

“What does this mean?” I shivered as a cold rush flowed through me.

“I'm going to stay on as editor in chief and do what I wanted to do all along. Don't worry, your job still stands.
You
made this possible!”

Mrs. Feldman would say,
It's an ill wind that blows no good
. Or maybe she would just say,
Oy vey
.

“You, my dear friend, are going to be Dear Izzy in a new advice column in all these new cities.” Jade opened her arms wide as if revealing the prize behind door number three. “It's a great opportunity!”

“If the
Press
owns Pop Philly, who would I be working for?”

“Me! As editor in chief I'll be in charge of building the hyper-local markets with the
Press
's parent company. And I won't have to worry about the advertising or the technical side of things.” At this Jade pretended to wipe sweat from her brow. “They have papers and Web sites in ten major markets—all the places your column will be featured, on their sites and advertised in their print editions.”

“What about the rest of the team? What's going to happen to Holden? And Darby?”

“Holden found a new job. When the
Press
first started sniffing around for real, I pulled him aside and told him about it. He's as solid as they come. And I'm glad I did, because the
Press
has a whole tech staff and they weren't hiring anyone new. He's a great kid, really talented, and I wanted to be up-front with him. He'll be with me through the transition and then he's moving to San Francisco. He landed a job with Google.”

“Is Darby going with him?”

Jade read my thought bubble. “They're not a couple. Holden's like a mentor to her, a big brother.”

“Oh! They seem like a couple. They're together all the time.”

“She relies on him, looks up to him. Darby worked her way through community college, works at Starbucks full-time, and for Pop Philly part-time. I know she really wanted to be the dating blogger, and I saw her practically salivate over the idea of an advice column, but I saved that for you. I'll find something else for her to do if she's still interested. After everything's out in the open.”

There was my sign, handed to me on a silver platter and sprinkled with olives. I sipped my wine and changed the subject instead. “But if you're not monitoring the business end of things with Pop Philly anymore, what? What happens to Andrew? Will he still be advertising on the site? Will he still be working with us? I mean, you?”

“Okay, missy. Since when do you care so much about
Andrew
?” Jade said.

“I thought you said he was a jerk?” Rachel said. “Obviously not if he's helping Jade.”

And Mrs. Feldman. And me.

“He's a good guy,” Jade and I said together. I covered my mouth with my hand, and Jade's lips turned up into a smile.

“Well, well,” she said.

“People aren't always who you think they are, are they?” Rachel made it sound like a question, but I knew it was a statement.

“Talk her into it while I'm gone.” Jade left the table for the ladies' room.

“You should've told Jade your news first,” Rachel said.

“You can see how excited she is. This is everything she ever wanted. She deserves her own happily ever after.”

“So you're willing to keep this up?”

“For now.”

If it helped Jade, then, yes. I'd put my lies behind me without confessing.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

“About what?”

“About Jeremy!”

“It was harder than I thought, but I deleted my Facebook account. Then I blocked his number from my phone. I feel like I'm going through withdrawal. I check my phone every two minutes even though I know he can't text me.”

“You did the right thing.”

“When I told Seth we need to go to counseling, he said, ‘I know.'”

“You told him about Jeremy?”

“Not yet. But I will when the time is right.”

I squeezed Rachel's hand and tried to absorb some of her bravery.

Jade slid back into her seat. “Well? Are you in?”

I was, but not the way she thought. “Can I have a few days to think about it?”

“Sure. But there
is
another very important topic we need to discuss right now.”

“What might that be?”

“Your fortieth birthday.”

 

Chapter 24

Charades

B
RUCE TIPPED HIS COWBOY
hat. He had a
DEPUTY
badge clipped to his coat; Noah's badge said
SHERIFF
. Noah looked up at his dad. Bruce glanced down, smiled, and pushed Noah's matching hat down over his eyes. Noah threw back his head and galloped into the living room, exuberant as only a five-year-old can be.

In two days, Noah's allegiance had shifted from pirates to cowboys. Or was that mom to dad
?
Little boys yearned to be like their father, and at five they wanted
to be
their father. Even my brothers, who had no interest in inheriting Lane Hardware, mimicked our dad in style and in stance throughout their lives. I'd seen many black-and-white photos of Dad with little Eddie and little Ethan in their masculine store aprons and tool belts. By the time I was old enough to sit at the store and observe, Dad all but pounded his chest when the boys traipsed the aisles straightening cans of spray paint or explained to puzzled customers the difference between lag and hex bolts. Pound, pound, pound. Even now, if my dad and brothers sat in the same room for more than twenty minutes, they'd find a 1980s episode of
This Old House
to watch in bonded silence, right leg crossed on left, hands behind their heads.