Newport Cove Listserv Digest
*Re: Dog Poop
I’d just like to second Mrs. Reiserman’s point about cleaning up after your dog. Oftentimes, dog walkers will drop a bag of poop in my trash can if it is by the curb on trash day. Whilst this might seem like an appropriate way to clean up after your dog, let me assure you it is not. If the can has already been emptied, these small bags end up on the bottom, where they can become stuck. The stench is most unpleasant. —Tally White, Iris Lane
*Re: Dog Poop
It’s MS. Reiserman, not MRS. Reiserman. —Joy Reiserman, Daisy Way
*Lawn Bags!
Large brown lawn bags will be distributed to all Newport Cove residents on Saturday, Sept. 18 to assist with your leaf collection throughout the fall season. If you would prefer to not have bags delivered, please simply reply to Newport Cove Manager Shannon Dockser (no need to “reply all” to the entire listserv!). Thanks! —Sincerely, Shannon Dockser, Newport Cove Manager
*Re: Lawn Bags!
I don’t want any lawn bags. I burn my leaves. —Mason Gamerman, Daisy Way
It’s far more efficient to simply mow your leaves when you’re cutting your grass. No need to risk injuring your back by raking and bagging. —Tally White, Iris Lane
• • •
“I’ll be back around nine, nine thirty at the latest,” Kellie told Jason as she looked in the mirror and fastened on a silver hoop earring.
“Sure you will,” he said. He was lounging on their queen-sized bed, flicking through television channels. Kellie had shepherded the kids through homework and dinner before getting them changed into their pj’s. Now they were eating bowls of vanilla ice cream in the kitchen.
“No, I’ll be early,” Kellie said. “I have to work in the morning, remember?”
Jason didn’t respond; he’d settled on the Discovery Channel where a lion was selecting a dinner entrée from a revolving buffet of antelope and zebra. Jason had shed his clothes like a snakeskin on the floor, and Kellie suppressed a sigh as she bent down to pick up his Levi’s and red polo shirt with the logo of the small hardware store he co-owned with his father. Kellie tossed the shirt and jeans into the laundry hamper in the closet. Jason had a half dozen identical shirts; he wouldn’t need to wear this one to work tomorrow.
“If you could get the kids to put their stuff in the dishwasher,” she said.
“Sure, just a sec,” he said. She looked at him lying there in his blue boxers and white athletic socks, the only man she’d ever loved. Ever slept with. Sometimes, days—entire weeks, even!—would pass when she’d be so distracted by the busy rhythm of their lives that she’d hardly register her husband’s presence. Then, bam! At the most unexpected times, she’d be drawn up short by unexpected details that conjured tenderness in her: Faint smile lines radiating out from Jason’s eyes. Arms still as thick and strong as when they’d first wrapped around her in high school. A few dots of gray in the stubble around his jaw.
He seemed to feel her gaze and looked up. “C’mere,” he said. She lay down next to him, snuggling into his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against her cheek. He dropped a kiss onto her head, already reabsorbed into his television show.
That lunch with Miller Thompson had meant nothing. She’d been foolish to feel nervous. Miller had taken her to a seafood place, a nice one with tablecloths, but they’d mostly chatted about work. Miller was married and had three kids. He’d flipped open his wallet to show off their school photos. It had all been perfectly innocent.
“And honey, please have the kids in bed by eight thirty,” she said.
“Yup,” Jason said.
She climbed off the bed, went to kiss her children good night, and took a clean wineglass out of a kitchen cupboard. This was one of the inspired rules of Wine and Whine night—everyone brought her own glass, so cleanup was minimal for the hostess. Kellie’s was a special one Jason and the kids had wrapped and tucked into her stocking last Christmas. It was comically oversized, and the words painted near the rim read: “Oh, look. It’s wine-thirty!”
Kellie stepped outside, locking the door behind her, even though crime was practically nonexistent in Newport Cove. Parenting magazine had designated the neighborhood as one of the “20 Safest Communities” after crunching statistics for violent crimes per capita. Cash stolen from the glove compartments of unlocked cars, a mailbox-bashing by bored teens, an occasional UPS package missing from a doorstep—that was the extent of it.
She strolled down the sidewalk, noticing the Harmons, who had five boys, had left open the sliding side door of their minivan again. The floor mat was nearly hidden beneath snack wrappers, crumbs, and small plastic toys. Kellie reached out and pulled the door shut so the interior light didn’t drain the battery, then continued on toward Gigi’s brick rambler. The houses on their street were an eclectic mix. A few had been torn down and replaced by McMansions crowded onto the narrow lots, but for the most part, the original Tudors, Colonials, and Craftsmans still dominated the wide, sweeping roads.
“Beautiful evening!” Kellie called to Mason Gamerman, who lived across the street from Gigi and was watering his front lawn with his garden hose. She raised her giant, empty glass toward him, and he grunted in response, which was about as enthusiastic as Mason got. On Halloween, he grimly dispensed pennies to trick-or-treaters.
Kellie was walking up Gigi’s steps just as her husband, Joe Kennedy (“No relation to the famous family,” he always explained), came out the door. He wore a dark suit, crisp white shirt, and blue-and-gold-striped tie—campaigning clothes.
Joe smiled, his teeth flashing. Gigi had confided that the image consultant Joe’s campaign director had hired had suggested Joe get his teeth professionally whitened. They’d laughed about it, but apparently Joe had followed through.
“Where are you off to?” Kellie asked.
“Door-to-door canvassing,” he said.
“Sounds exhausting,” Kellie said.
“It’s rewarding, though,” Joe said. “I get to sit down one on one with people and talk about the issues that are most important to them. Education, government spending, the economy . . .”
Yawn, Kellie thought. Last year, Gigi and Joe had come over for dinner and Jason had shown them the new Ping-Pong table they’d set up in the basement for the children. Someone had cracked a joke about how in a few years the kids would be using it for beer pong, and Joe had confessed to never having played. Ten minutes later, the four of them were clustered around the game table, Joe’s face red and sweaty as he slammed down his paddle, bellowing, “Drink, sucker!” at Jason.
“Well,” Kellie joked, “you’ve got my vote.”
Joe reached for her hand and pressed it between his own. His brown eyes radiated sincerity. “Thank you,” Joe said reverently. “Let me know if you’d like a yard sign. I can get you a discount.”
He walked a few steps away, then turned around and winked. Kellie, who’d been standing there openmouthed, burst into laughter. He’d gotten her.
Joe continued on his way and Kellie pushed through the front door, still smiling. There were more than a dozen women clustered in small groups throughout the living room and kitchen, but the first one Kellie saw was Tessa. Kellie hadn’t been sure if Tessa would come. Yesterday at the bus stop, Kellie had suggested that Addison pop by after school and join Noah and Cole, who were going to set up a soccer net in the backyard.
“I’m sure there’ll be an extra spot on their team, if Addison wants to join,” Kellie had said.
“Oh,” Tessa had responded. “Um . . . I was going to take the kids shopping with me after school. But thanks.”
It hadn’t escaped Kellie’s notice that Tessa had the same deer-in-the-headlights look as when Mia had asked her (admittedly in a loud voice, perhaps bordering on strident—she really needed to talk with Mia again about modulating her tone) why they’d moved to Newport Cove. Maybe her boisterous family was overwhelming Tessa’s. Kellie had decided to back off, so she hadn’t reminded Tessa about the neighborhood women’s gathering tonight.
But here was Tessa, wearing a navy blue sundress and rosy lipstick. She was more dressed up than most of the other women, which struck Kellie as sweet, as if Tessa was trying to make a good impression. Tessa was clutching a glass of Chardonnay, ensconced in a conversational circle with Susan, Gigi, and—uh-oh—the community manager, Shannon Dockser. Kellie poured herself a generous splash of Sutter Home from an open bottle on the kitchen counter and eased into the group.
“So you see, Newport Cove is actually a municipality,” Shannon was telling Tessa, who was nodding politely. Susan’s eyes were a little glazed, which Kellie suspected wasn’t from the wine alone. “It was designated one in 1982. That means our little neighborhood is kind of like a corporation. So we can hire private services just for us! You wouldn’t believe how quickly we get plowed when it snows. At eight a.m. the next morning, the trucks come zipping through. And you know we’ve contracted with a trash service to do pickups twice weekly instead of once, right?”
“I didn’t,” Tessa murmured. “But that’s great.”
“Think about running for a spot on the neighborhood council,” Shannon said. “We’ll have a few openings when the current terms end. I can email you some more information about it.”
“Don’t get sucked in,” Gigi warned. “That’s how Joe started.”
“By the way, his teeth look great,” Kellie whispered. Gigi grinned and elbowed her in the ribs.
“Oooh! There’s Marcy! Excuse me just a minute, ladies! I need to talk to her about the holiday decorating committee!” Shannon flitted away.
“Where does that woman get her energy?” Kellie asked.
“I hear she steals her children’s Ritalin,” Susan said.
“She made that up,” Kellie told Tessa.
“Don’t worry about the neighborhood council thing,” Gigi said. “Just tell her you’ll think about it for next year.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying for the past decade,” Kellie said.
“It’s not that I don’t want to contribute . . . we just need to settle in first,” Tessa said.
“Tell me about it,” Susan said. “I moved here years ago, and I still have a dozen boxes in the basement I haven’t even opened.”
“Everyone has been so welcoming, though!” Tessa said. “Bree was already invited to a birthday party next week, and someone left a casserole on our doorstep this morning. I’m so glad we found this neighborhood.”
She turned to Kellie. “I’m sorry Addison couldn’t play with the boys the other day, but maybe Noah and Cole would like to come over this weekend to watch a movie?”
“Sure,” Kellie said. She was a little surprised by Tessa’s sudden warmth, but her timing was excellent. Mia had been invited to a friend’s house on Saturday. If both kids were busy, the house would be quiet for a few hours. She’d take a bubble bath, maybe give herself a manicure, and catch up on episodes of Orange Is the New Black. The thought sent a little shiver of delight through her body.
“And don’t forget about the soccer team,” Kellie said.
“Right . . . ,” Tessa said. The smile slid away from her face. “Does one of the parents coach it, or . . . ?”
“Actually, we hired a professional coach,” Kellie said. “I know, I know, it’s completely ridiculous, but it actually costs next to nothing when you split it twelve ways and he’s really good at teaching the kids skills. We had a dad doing it last year, but he got way overcompetitive.”
“He had the kids doing wind sprints,” Susan explained. “Have you ever seen little kids doing wind sprints? I haven’t, either. They all got distracted by dandelions midway through, and then one kid decided to tackle the others. They ended up in a scrum while the dad stood there frantically blowing his whistle.”
“Also, the guy we hired is about twenty-five and he looks like Liam Hemsworth,” Kellie said. “Susan cheers whenever he wears shorts.”
“Now she’s making stuff up,” Susan said. “I only cheer when he bends over to pick up his water bottle.”
Tessa laughed. “In that case, I’m going to make Addison join the team,” she said.
“I may join it, too,” Gigi said.
“Gigi’s younger daughter is a great soccer player,” Kellie told Tessa. “Their team was the county champion last year.”
“How many kids do you have?” Tessa asked Gigi.
“Two,” Gigi said. “Melanie and Julia.”
“Do they both play sports?”
“No,” Gigi said. She drained her glass of wine. “Just Julia.”
Kellie reached for the bottle again. “Another?” she offered.
“Please,” Gigi said with a sigh.
“Long day?” Kellie asked.
“Just, you know . . . high school is tough,” Gigi said.
And it was tougher when your daughter was going through a difficult stage, Kellie thought. Sweet Melanie, who’d always worn hair ribbons that matched her clothes when she was a little girl and had been a mother’s helper for Kellie when Mia was a toddler, had transformed into a young woman Kellie would’ve sworn before a jury couldn’t possibly be the same person. A few weeks earlier, Kellie had been walking down the sidewalk when Gigi’s Ford Fusion Hybrid had pulled up. Melanie had gotten out of the passenger’s seat, yelled something at Gigi, then slammed the car door and run inside the house. Kellie had waited for her friend to exit the vehicle, planning to make a joke about hormones, but Gigi had stayed in the driver’s seat, her head in her hands. Gigi had sat there for so long that Kellie became worried her friend would be embarrassed if she knew she was being watched, so Kellie had turned around and walked the other way.
“Oh, Susan, I met your husband at school yesterday,” Tessa was saying. “Randall’s his name, right? He was helping out in Ms. Klopson’s class. She said he volunteers every week. What a nice guy.”
Susan smiled without showing her teeth. “Ex-husband,” she corrected.
“Sorry,” Tessa said. “Anyway, he was working with Cole and another boy on math, so . . .” Her voice trailed off.
“Who else should we introduce Tessa to?” Kellie interjected quickly. Tessa obviously didn’t know yet that Susan was divorced—or the awful reason behind her divorce. But surely she’d seen the way Susan’s face had tightened, causing her soft brown eyes to narrow.
Gigi glanced around. “There’s Reece Harmon—she’s wonderful but a little frazzled, since she’s got five boys, so we should probably give her a chance to chug her wine before we make our way over there—and, oh! Jenny McMahon lives right around the corner. She’s probably the one who left you the casserole.”
“How’d you know?” Tessa asked. “I think that was the name on the card.”
“Because she’s the nicest woman on the block,” Gigi said. “She adopted three orphans from Peru. They’re in college now, so she’s the foster mom to homeless kittens. She even chats up Mason Gamerman. The Dalai Lama wouldn’t have the patience to talk to Mason.”
“I’ve met him,” Tessa said. “He yelled at Noah to get off his lawn when Noah was just trying to retrieve a Frisbee.”
“That’s our charmer,” Susan said. “I call him my boyfriend, so hands off.”
Tessa laughed again, and something shifted in her expression. She’d been holding herself so tightly before, her shoulders rigid and her fingers clenched around the stem of her glass, but something—perhaps the wine, or the warmth of the kitchen, or the sounds of murmured voices and women’s laughter—seemed to have untwisted something in Tessa. Her face looked younger. She was actually a pretty woman, with her dark, straight eyebrows and sculpted cheekbones, Kellie realized with a jolt of surprise.
“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask,” Tessa said. “Did the elderly couple who owned the house before us have just one child?”
Kellie frowned. “I don’t think they had any.”
“I’ve been here forever, and they definitely didn’t have kids,” Gigi said.
“Oh,” Tessa said. “It’s just that I found this little stepping stone in the garden, the kind with a kid’s handprint on it. I didn’t know if Mr. Brannon had forgotten it when he moved.”
“Probably a gift from one of the neighborhood children,” Kellie said. “Everyone loved Mrs. Brannon. She used to make these amazing caramel apples at Christmastime and invite everyone over to decorate them and sing carols. See, I told you your house had happy memories.”
“I can ask Mr. Brannon if he wants it next time I check in on him at the assisted living center,” Susan said. Then her voice dropped. “Incoming, incoming. Nine o’clock.”
“Who?” Kellie asked.
“Tally White,” Susan said. “The neighborhood busybody. She comments on every thread on the listserv. She knows exactly how many bottles of wine are in your recycling bin . . . Oh, thank God. Jenny McMahon just started talking to her. That woman really is a saint.”
The women stayed in their group of four for another few minutes, then Susan took Tessa off to meet Jenny, and Kellie chatted with a few other neighbors before heading out. As she walked slowly down the street, feeling pleasantly buzzed, she detected fall’s first faint nip in the air. It was a lovely night; the full moon hung low in the clear sky. She was happy, Kellie realized as she climbed the steps to her home. Thoroughly, ridiculously content. Going back to work had been the right move. She found herself looking forward to the morning, when she’d shower and put on a nice outfit and go into the office. And chat with her colleagues.
It wasn’t until she’d unlocked her own door and walked in, stripping off her shoes so her footsteps wouldn’t wake the kids, that a thought struck her.
When she’d first started dating Jason as a senior in high school, she’d have given anything to be alone with him. They’d created elaborate ruses to slip away from their parents’ homes, complete with code words spoken over the phone. An hour in the backseat of his beat-up Mustang, steaming up the windows, was her wildest fantasy.
But when Tessa had invited Noah over and Kellie had begun to imagine what she’d do—conjuring the things that would make her feel relaxed and happy—she’d imagined being alone.
When had her husband disappeared from her dreams?