The Good Neighbor (27 page)

The windows were still open, the air was off. I leaned against the wall and looked out and up at the sky, cut in half by the telephone wire that had carried my teenage chatter. Then I looked down and watched Marina, the little girl who'd moved into the Feldman house—the Ramirez house—playing hopscotch in a pink bathing suit and then skipping up to our steps until she was out of sight.

I was glad a little girl was in that house now. Again. Still.

I walked through the other bedrooms again, gazed out the windows, then went back to mine. I leaned in and searched the empty clothes closet. I heard a
tap-tap-tap
on the wall and turned around.

Andrew wore khaki shorts, leather flip-flops, and a vintage-looking Coca-Cola T-shirt. He held a blue container of salt and a loaf of bread. According to Jewish tradition, these were the first items I should bring into my new home. They signified that I'd sustain myself there. I hoped that tradition was on point.

“The door was open,” he said.

My throat constricted and then relaxed. “It's been a long time.” More than three months, had I been counting.

“You're not an easy woman to find.”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought you already moved, so I went by your new place and no one was there. Then I drove here, and up the street a few times, but didn't see your car.”

“It's in the driveway. How did you know…?” Any of it?

“Jade.” We said it at the same time.

Andrew looked around the room. “Where's your little pirate buddy?”

“He's a snorkeler now. My brother took him and my niece to lunch.”

“I won't keep you. I just wanted to bring you these.”

“I thought you were angry with me.”

“I
was
angry with you.” He swung the loaf of bread from side to side. “But I couldn't stop thinking about you. Jade said I needed to take my own advice and decide if what happened was really worth never seeing you again.”

A gazillion points for Jade.

Andrew walked to the middle of the empty room, footsteps light, but shoes flapping against his heels. He set the bread and the salt on the floor. I walked to him and Andrew slid his fingers through mine with ease.

He squeezed my hand. Or I squeezed his. I wasn't sure. Did it matter? And did all hands fit together this well?

“I thought I'd never see you again, let alone be friends.”

“I don't want to be friends.”

I pulled my hands to my sides and stepped back.

Andrew took one baby step toward me. “I want to be
more
than friends.”

My heart was pounding so loud I wasn't sure I'd heard him, but it was time to trust my instincts. No more playing, pretending, or hiding. I had to be open and honest—with Andrew and with myself.

“Me, too.”

He smiled, sweet and broad, but then his mouth turned down, his expression pensive. Was he changing his mind? That fast?

“I have to warn you.” He shook his head. I gulped, still transfixed, as my arms went cold, almost numb. “I kill at Chutes and Ladders. Not to mention Angry Birds.”

Noah
loved
that game. The feeling returned to my limbs, with little prickles of hope. “I'll just take you down during Pretty Pretty Princess.”

“Oh, you haven't seen anything till you've seen me in a tiara.”

I couldn't wait.

*   *   *

Alone on Good Street for the last time, I sat on my top step, legs out in front of me. The hot, rough cement scratched against my little-girl, teenager, grown-up bare calves. I rubbed my thumbs along the familiar bumps. A new neighbor, one I'd never know, waved from across the street and I waved back. Marina splashed in her wading pool, her mother reading a magazine. A bus screeched to a halt at the corner. Horns beeped. Air-conditioner window units cranked, hummed, and dripped a steady beat. A potato-chip bag skittered down the sidewalk on a humid breeze, too fast for me to catch it. It was time to go but I stuck to the step as if I'd sat on a giant wad of bubble gum. Will Noah like his new school? Will my neighbors like me? Did I empty the fridge? Remember the keys? With one hand I grabbed the metal railing that had so often prevented my falls. I squeezed until it burned my palm and soothed my nerves.

Then my childhood burst into my head and hugged my heart. Water from the hose. A Texas Tommy at the diner. Late summer nights on the steps. Unlocked front doors. Mom's doctored matzo-ball soup from a jar. The smells filled my nose. The tastes coated my mouth.

All the memories tethered me.

And then they said,
Let's go.

 

Acknowledgments

The story in this book, as well as my own story, would be very different if my parents hadn't moved to our Northeast Philadelphia neighborhood in 1969. Mom and Dad, I can't imagine a better place for David and me to have grown up. Thank you.

I am incredibly fortunate to have friends in Philadelphia whom I've held dear since before instant-access communication, when long-distance calls cost extra, and letters written by hand took days to arrive. These friends have rallied around, answered many questions, and appeased every writer—and every other—whim while I wrote
The Good Neighbor
: Joanne Beaver, Larry Blumenthal, Tom Brett, John Caruso, Steven Citron, Jodi Cohen Levine, Carole Farley, Diane Pascali, Sheree Richman, Mindy Saifer Cohen, Eric Schlanger, Scott Segal, and my sister-friend, Judith Soslowsky. Blakely Minton from Redfin shared her expert knowledge of current Philadelphia neighborhoods and real estate trends with graciousness and good humor.

This book would not exist without Christina Gombar, who urged me to watch the 1945 film
Christmas in Connecticut
, which introduced me to the original Elizabeth Lane character, gently inspiring my own. Heartfelt thanks to Therese Walsh for challenging me to write outside my comfort zone. Alice Davis, Tina Ann Forkner, Fern Katz, Annmarie Lockhart, and Renee San Giacomo for reading and loving Izzy like I do. Renee Rosen for collaborating over four-hour “working” lunches. Lori Nelson Spielman, Pamela Toler, and Julie Kibler for friendships that go far beyond writing. Manny Katz, I'm sorry your title, or photo, didn't make it onto this book cover. I still owe you one.

To my Book Pregnant tribe, the Women's Fiction Writers Association, and Tall Poppy Writers—your support is beyond compare.

To the wonderful and loyal readers of my Women's Fiction Writers blog, rest assured, every word there is true.

I'm so lucky to have had Brenda Copeland, Laura Chasen, and the whole St. Martin's Press team championing me (and Izzy) through every phase of this book. Jason Yarn believed in Izzy's story from the first time I mentioned it. Danielle Egan-Miller, Joanna MacKenzie, Abby Saul, and Molly Foltyn adopted Izzy (and me) as their own. Ladies, I look forward to many years of crying over tacos with you.

To the readers, book club members, booksellers, and librarians, notably Megan Millen of the Flossmoor Library, who asked for book two with enthusiasm. I am thrilled to finally share
The Good Neighbor
.

And, of course, to Zachary and Chloe, I love you, and hope the message is clear. No matter where it happens to be, I'm always home.

 

Discussion Questions

 

 

  1. It makes financial sense for Izzy to move back to her childhood home. But is there more to it than that?

  2. Throughout the novel Jade makes decisions without properly consulting or informing Izzy. What role does this play in leading to Izzy perpetuating her lie?

  3. Does Bruce have a right to demand equal custody of Noah? Would it be better for Noah to share equal time with Bruce and Izzy or to continue spending most of his time with Izzy?

  4. As Izzy contemplates Bruce's influence on Noah, she recalls how her own brothers strived to emulate their father growing up, and the pride this brought to their father. How important is a male role model in the life of a young child? In the absence of Bruce, could Ethan or Andrew play the role of surrogate father to Noah?

  5. What effect does a new partner like Amber play on the development of a young child? How do you think Noah will feel about Andrew coming into his life?

  6. By the end of the book, Mrs. Feldman, despite her initial misgivings, seems happy in her assisted-living environment. Is it simply the change of scenery or does it have more to do with coming clean of her own secret?

  7. Izzy, Bruce, and Mrs. Feldman all have new living arrangements by the end of the book. How important is a new house to a new start? Can a home have too much emotional baggage?

  8. Despite Izzy's warnings, Rachel ends up taking things a bit too far with her old flame Jeremy. To what extent is catching up with an old ex acceptable?

  9. Has your best friend ever kept an important secret from you? Can a friendship properly mend after a major betrayal?

10. Who is the good neighbor? Is it Mrs. Feldman or Izzy?

 

St. Martin's Griffin

 

About the Author

AMY SUE NATHAN
lives and writes near Chicago, where she hosts the award-winning Women's Fiction Writers blog. She has been published in the
Chicago Tribune
,
Writer's Digest
,
The New York Times,
the
Washington Post
online, and
The Huffington Post
, among many others. Amy has two grown children and is busy writing her next novel. Visit her at
amysuenathan.com
. Or sign up for email updates
here
.

    

 

ALSO BY
AMY SUE NATHAN

The Glass Wives

 

Thank you for buying this

St. Martin's Press ebook.

 

To receive special offers, bonus content,

and info on new releases and other great reads,

sign up for our newsletters.