Marcy is emboldened by her earlier success. Emboldened and even more determined.
She gets up early Saturday morning to take a shower and put on her makeup before starting her day. She has a plan, and she doesn’t want any delays.
Today, Marcy is making Belgian waffles to take over to the neighbors. Unannounced, of course, but it’s Saturday morning. If she gets there earlier enough—early but not too early—she should catch Jill before she gets going with whatever plans she has for the day, and maybe even before she’s had breakfast. Marcy has thought about it at length, and she decided eight o’clock will be just the right time.
She smiles despite the nagging voice of her grandmother in the back of her mind, saying that it’s impolite to call or visit before nine in the morning or after nine at night. Marcy has lived by that strange, random principle most of her life. Until now. She’s going to bust that rule wide open and it’s going to serve her well. She’s already made up her mind. This is going to go off without a hitch. End of story.
John is the first to come downstairs. Marcy is elbow deep in flour, but not a single speck of white mars the robin’s egg blue shirt she’s wearing. She grins as he comes shuffling into the kitchen, hair sticking up at odd angles all over his head. Only her husband can make bedhead look sexy.
John stops across from Marcy, eyeing the finished batch of waffles on the plate to her left. “Are those for me?” he asks around a yawn, his eyes still heavy with sleep.
“Some of them are, yes. I’m taking some to the neighbors, too.”
His expression shifts from sanguine to wry without missing a beat. “This again?”
Marcy knows exactly what he means and doesn’t try to pretend otherwise. “Yep. I just want to get an idea of what it’s like over there.”
“Loud, messy, chaotic. Probably insane sometimes. A lot like it is over here. Minus the ulterior motives.”
Marcy’s hands still and her gaze snaps up to John’s. Green sparks shoot from her eyes. “Everyone has ulterior motives. We both know that.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Yes, you do. Neither of us is naïve enough to believe otherwise.”
John sighs and shrugs, veering off toward the coffee pot where his mug is waiting, facedown on the counter.
Marcy watches him from the corner of her eye as she ladles a portion of batter into the waffle maker. He takes three cautious sips of his coffee before he speaks. And when he does, there is no malice in his voice. Only patience. John has a never-ending supply of patience. Marcy knows this firsthand.
“So, as long as you’re like a bloodhound on the scent of absolutely nothing, can I expect good food to abound?”
“Are you saying good food doesn’t normally abound?” There’s still an edge to her voice.
Another deep sigh. “Now everything I say is wrong, is that it?”
It’s Marcy’s turn to shrug. “For the next couple of hours, probably.” Brutal, maybe, but she’s just being honest.
“Fair enough. How about I come back when you’re done and get plates for Caroline and me, and take them upstairs? She might like to have breakfast with her dolls at the little table up there.”
“Good luck with that, but sure. Knock yourself out.”
She hears him mutter okie dokie as he meanders away, the two words laden with enough sarcasm to fill a bucket. She lets it slide. She doesn’t want to fight with her husband. She just wants him to either get on board with Operation: Crack the Neighbors or leave her alone until she can get it worked out for herself. Right now, there is no middle ground. Better if he figures that out early and saves them both some drama.
She goes back to her preparations, taking time to sprinkle some fresh blueberries in one set of waffles, chunks of sea-salted caramel in another. This would win her neighbor of the year if there were such an award. Friend of the year, too. Even though her motives aren’t exactly pure, it’s still a nice gesture, and Marcy thinks Jill will agree.
Now Mark, on the other hand…
His reaction will be anyone’s guess. He seems to have more hidden under the surface than Marcy had originally thought.
Thirty minutes later, the plate full of crisp waffles is already starting to condensate under the plastic wrap when Marcy heads upstairs to check in on her daughter before she goes. Caroline is up and out of bed, her hair a tangled halo around her face, and she’s pushing the Barbie sedan—the same one as always—back and forth on the color-block rug in her room.
“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Caroline doesn’t bother looking up, or even pausing in her car pushing. “Are you hungry?” Still no response. “Dad thought maybe you’d like to have breakfast with your dolls up here. Would you like that?”
Caroline doesn’t make a verbal response, but she stops pushing the car, waits a beat or two, and then gets up and trudges past Marcy. Down the hall and then down the steps, she makes her way to the kitchen. She does every morning at some point. Never right after she wakes up. She can’t be rushed. She can’t be persuaded or coerced either. She follows some internal schedule that only Caroline can see. A drumbeat only she can hear. She will eat when she’s ready. Not one minute before.
Clearly, she’s ready.
Marcy glances down at the steamy plastic wrap and tries not to think of her wilting waffles. Instead, she plasters on a smile and follows her daughter so she can fix her breakfast. John enters the kitchen just as Marcy is tying on her apron again.
“Go. I’ll get this.”
He isn’t smiling. He isn’t frowning either. Marcy knows the look of hurt feelings when she sees it.
“Thank you,” she says sincerely, stroking his cheek. “You’re so patient with me.”
“I love you. You know I’d do anything for you.”
She knows. Because he has. He has stood by her through thick and thin. Through the glorious and through the unthinkable. John has proven his love and devotion for her many times over.
Guilt washes through Marcy. She knows deep down that she doesn’t deserve a man like him, a love like his, but sometimes she reacts on pure emotion before she thinks things through. She acts and reacts and spouts off before giving it a second thought. It is one of her biggest flaws. One of the hardest to change, too. She’s much improved since Caroline’s change in condition, but she still has a ways to go.
“I know you would. And I hope you know I’d do anything for you, too. This family…it’s everything to me. Everything.”
John smiles now, but there’s sadness around his eyes. It’s like he can read her mind, knows precisely what she’s thinking. “I know, baby. I know. It’ll all be okay.”
“Yeah, it will.”
John brushes his lips over hers and then steps back to let her gather her waffles. Caroline hasn’t moved. She’s standing near the doorway, watching them from beneath the fringe of her bangs. Her eyes are dark pools in the landscape of her face. Dark and unfathomable. Marcy would give anything to know what she’s thinking, what she’s feeling.
“Love you, pretty girl.”
Caroline doesn’t reply and Marcy doesn’t wait for one. For once, she brushes off her daughter’s lack of reaction and focuses on other things. She’s got some investigating to do.
Marcy glances at her watch. Twelve minutes past eight. The corners of her mouth twitch up into a smile.
Just right.
She rings the doorbell and waits. She glances around, letting the hot plate of waffles warm her palms against the unusually cool morning air. Marcy’s eyes scan the shrubs along the front of the house. They’re already in desperate need of a trim. She takes in the wilting flower basket on the table to the left of the door. They’re in desperate need of a drink. She notes the open garage bays, all three doors raised to reveal three vehicles inside. There is a black SUV, a black sedan, and the navy car Jill was driving the morning she stopped by before work.
So Jill is definitely home.
Marcy smiles in satisfaction. Yes, this plan is going to go off without a hitch.
The sound of the locks turning draws Marcy’s gaze back to the front door. Just before it opens, she does a double take, sneaking one last peek at the garage. Something about that black car looks vaguely familiar, but Marcy just can’t put her finger on it.
The thought leaves her mind altogether when movement and a slightly disheveled Jill brings Marcy’s attention back to the task at hand.
“Marcy. Good morning.”
“Good morning, neighbor. I know it’s early, but I made some waffles and I thought I’d bring some over. You’ve worked hard this week, and sometimes it’s nice not to have to cook on the weekend.”
Behind the drab black-framed glasses, Jill’s brown eyes soften. “That is so thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just some extra batter. May I come in?”
Marcy knows the direct approach carries risk, but she’s done trying to be circumspect and sneak her way in. Jill will either let her in or freeze her out.
Marcy’s relieved when Jill steps back and opens the door wider. “Yes, of course. Please come in.”
Stepping through the door, Marcy turns to close it. “If you’ll point me toward the kitchen, I’ll make you breakfast.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“No arguments. This is what friends do.” Without waiting for Jill’s indication, Marcy starts off in the direction she assumes the kitchen to be. It’s really the only place it can be, considering the size of the house and the portion she’s already seen.
“Right through there,” Jill confirms belatedly.
Marcy sends Jill a wink back over her shoulder. “I figured.”
“Good call.” Jill’s smile is small and tight, slightly uncomfortable, but Marcy is confident she can turn that around over warm waffles, hot syrup, and a steaming cup of coffee.
“Are Mark and Cheyenne up? I’d be happy to fix them one, too.”
“Uh, no. They’re still asleep. They’re both night owls.”
Marcy stops in the doorway to the kitchen. It’s so neat it looks like it’s never been used. Every surface is perfectly polished and still appears brand new. Marcy is a good housekeeper herself, but only a complete maniac could keep a kitchen looking like this.
“Wow, your kitchen is so clean! I can’t keep mine this spotless.”
Jill reaches up to push her lifeless hair away from one pale cheek. Now that Marcy can see her in better light, she looks tired. Very tired. “Oh, thank you. Mark likes a neat space since he’s home all day. Well, when he’s here anyway.”
Marcy slides surprised eyes to Jill. “He keeps the house?”
“Oh, God no! He just likes it clean. He doesn’t actually clean it or keep it clean.”
“I was gonna say. Wow!”
“Yeah, no. I’m not that lucky.”
Marcy shakes her head. “Men, right?”
Jill’s lips pinch into a grin, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. And rather than commenting further, she redirects to the waffles. “These smell amazing.”
Marcy doesn’t resist the change of subject. She has every intention of getting Jill to open up about her husband before she leaves here today. “It’s a recipe I stumbled on when we lived in Texas. I’ve tried two or three others, but this one is by far my favorite.” Marcy claps her hands together. “Now, which cabinet are your dishes in?”
Weakly, Jill points toward a cupboard behind Marcy’s head. “Last one on the right.”
“Perfect. You sit and I’ll do the rest.”
“You really don’t have to.”
“I want to. Since we didn’t get our wine night, I thought we could catch up over some coffee if you weren’t too busy this morning.”
“That sounds good. You’re so kind.”
Marcy waves her off, even though, secretly, she’s basking in the glow of the well-deserved compliment. “It’s no trouble. Really.”
The women chitchat about casual things as Marcy moves around the kitchen, preparing Jill a plate, warming syrup, collecting butter, making coffee. Within ten minutes, she’s setting a full plate and mug on the table in front of Jill and taking the seat across from her.
“So, how are you all adjusting? Everything going well? Work, home. Life.”
“I think we’re all doing well.”
“Did Mark tell you I dropped off some mail the other day?”
“Yes. And he told me it was you who brought the roses. You have to be the best neighbor anyone could ask for. Have to be.”
Marcy swells with pride, but shrugs in false modesty. “Every woman should be greeted by beautiful things.”
“I appreciate the gesture. After the week I’ve had, it was very much appreciated. Even Mark was impressed.”
“Speaking of Mark, is he liking it here? In The Coves, I mean.”
“He seems to, yes.” Jill nods, but her attention is on her fork as she cuts a thick, fluffy, syrup-covered bite. She raises the dripping confection to her mouth, closes her lips around the fork, and pulls it out clean. She chews for one second, two, and then her eyes drift closed and she lets out a happy sigh. “Oh my God, these are delicious.”
“Thank you. I’ve had some practice with them.”
“One thing husbands are good for.”
“Yes, one of them. So, how long have you and Mark been married?”
Jill’s eyes flicker up to Marcy’s for no more than a split second, but it isn’t lost on Marcy. Jill is uncomfortable talking about Mark. Marcy just wants to know why.
“Six years.”
“That’s something to celebrate. I’ve always heard the first five are the hardest.”
To this, Jill says nothing. She seems inordinately focused on her plate. “How about you?” she finally asks. “How long have you and John been married?”
“Ten years, but we’ve been together forever it seems. High school sweethearts.”
“That’s great.”
“How about you two? Where did you meet Mark?”
Jill clears her throat. “He was doing an IT overhaul at a CPA firm I was interning for in Chicago just after I graduated college.”
“Ah.” When she doesn’t continue, Marcy prompts, “Love at first sight?”
Jill doesn’t answer right away, but Marcy’s eyes are hard on her. She doesn’t miss the way Jill’s lips curl at the corners or the dreamy quality that slips down over her features like a silken veil. “Pretty much. He was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen. I just knew he’d be a jerk. He was that pretty.”
“Was he? A jerk?”
Jill looks up, frowns. “Of course not.”
Marcy is quick to explain. She doesn’t want to stop this flow of insight. “Oh, good. I mean, I just know that sometimes men can seem like jerks at first. Until you get to know them.”
“No, Mark was good from the start. He…”
Marcy does her best to exercise patience, but it’s never been her strong suit. The one who brings it out most in her is Caroline, but she’s not here. And this isn’t about her. But it could potentially affect her. That’s why she prompts, “He…?”
“I…I meant to say we. We’ve had a great life.”
“You sure seem like a very happy family. I’m glad that’s the case.”
“What do you mean?”
Marcy reaches casually for her own mug. “Just that looks can be deceiving. People hide things.”
“I suppose so. Everyone has secrets.”
Marcy has always felt that to be the case, too, but Jill’s admission is intriguing. Marcy presses a little further. “True, but some have dark secrets. Things like hidden abuse or criminal backgrounds or second families. All sorts of skeletons in the closet.”
Jill doesn’t look up, just gives a noncommittal, “All sorts of skeletons.”
Marcy sips her coffee, hesitant to continue this tack and scare Jill silent. She’s surprised—and encouraged—when Jill makes a bold inquiry of her own.
“So, ten years of marriage. Have they all been smooth? No bumps, near misses? Other women? Other men?” She meets Marcy’s eyes with directness, but then tempers it by adding a light, “Or any of the other ten zillion marital pitfalls we have to choose from?”
“No, nothing like that. We’ve had our moments, of course, but we’ve recovered and stuck it out. All for the best, too. I wouldn’t trade John for anything. He’s the perfect man for me.”
“Just for you?” When Marcy narrows her eyes on Jill, not quite understanding what she’s asking, Jill amends, “I mean, you don’t think he’s the perfect man all the way around. Just perfect for you.”
“You’re asking if my husband is perfect?” Marcy laughs. “Is any man?”
“Some are closer than others.”
“I just meant that he is strong where I’m not, patient where I’m not. Supportive in ways I need him to be. Without question, he’s the perfect man for me.”
“Sounds like you’ve got something special.”
“Tried by fire, but yes. Very, very special.”
“You two must have been through a lot.”
Marcy didn’t want to bring Caroline and her issues into the conversation. Not just yet. “All couples have their challenges. I’m sure you and Mark are no different.”
“No, we’re no different.”
“What about you? Any bumps, near misses, other women, other men on your end?” Marcy is bold as well. Jill can hardly be offended or put off by the exact words she tossed so casually at Marcy only moments before.
“We had a pretty big near miss. Some things a man does… Well, some things are harder to recover from.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. Marcy tries not to let her enthusiasm, her curiosity show. She disguises it with a hand reaching across to clasp Jill’s. Her face is covered with a concerned expression and the quiet invitation to share. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Jill stares at Marcy for a long minute before she glances behind her, as though she’s making sure no one else is around. Marcy leans in, ready to take in whatever big revelation Jill is preparing to make. “Mark is…he’s changed a lot over the last couple of years.”
“How so?”
Jill seesaws her head. “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe.”
“Is it something he’s doing?”
“S-sometimes. Sometimes he isn’t really present when he’s here, you know? He’s very distant. Checked out. And then other times, he seems so…so…”
“So?”
“He just seems so angry.”
“Angry? Has he ever…” Marcy hates to actually spell it out, but she’s wondering if Mark is abusive. Clearly, he’s done something to someone, something that was traumatic enough to bring that person in search of retribution. And it’s likely nothing minor. People don’t track a person down to leave such menacing letters over hurt feelings or a few harsh words. No, Mark’s offense must’ve been significant. Marcy just has no idea how significant, or the nature of that significance.
“Ever what?”
“Like, gotten violent or anything?”
“With me? Oh, God no.” Jill’s reaction seems adequately appalled, convincing Marcy that it’s likely not abuse. At least not between the two of them.
“Has he with anyone else?”
Jill pushes a bite of soggy waffle around her plate. It makes streaks in the syrup like a snowplow through snow. “He had a temper when we were younger, but he’s never let it get out of hand with me.”
“Or Cheyenne?”
Jill’s eyes snap up to Marcy’s, and they’re horrified. “How could you even suggest something like that? Mark is a wonderful father despite—”
“Despite?”
“He’s a wonderful father. That’s all I meant to say. And I hate that you would think otherwise.”
Marcy holds up her hands. “I wasn’t suggesting anything. I didn’t think that was the case, but I…I guess I wanted to make sure. I hope I didn’t offend you.”
A frown still pleats Jill’s brow. Marcy can see it in uneven pieces through her heavy bangs, like glimpses of a fireplace mantel through a broken window. She waits quietly for the frown to dissipate. “Y-you didn’t. I just…I would hate for anyone to think Mark is capable of something like that. He might not always be the best husband, but he tries really hard when he’s here. He’s just gone so much and when he comes back, he’s so different for a while. It’s like…”
“Like what?” Marcy keeps her voice soft and gentle, the same tone she would use trying not to spook a deer.
“It’s like he has to settle into being Mark again when he gets back. Like he forgets sometimes while he’s away. It makes me wonder what goes on when he’s not here.” She raises eyes that are nothing short of haunted. She’s seeking understanding in Marcy’s. When Marcy makes no comment, Jill starts to backtrack. “That sounds crazy, I know. Even to me. I’m sure it’s just my imagination.”
“Don’t be so quick to dismiss it. A woman’s intuition can be remarkably insightful. Let me ask you this: Do you think he’s under a lot of stress when he’s away? I’m sure even his profession can be stressful at times.”
“Yeah, I think he’s stressed. And not just when he’s away. I think he’s stressed here, too.”
“About what? Anything I can help with?”
“No, just normal stuff. I think the move has him on edge quite a bit, too.”
“Did y’all move here because of a job, or for better schools, or...?”
“No. That’s not why we moved. We… There was a...”
Marcy is on pins and needles as she waits, practically drooling for the details behind that ominous comment. “There was a…?”
“I got a text not too long ago. It said, ‘You’ll be dead soon.’ I thought it was a prank, but I got another one last week. It said—”
Before Jill can elaborate, Mark appears in the doorway behind her head. His voice is low, but it still makes Jill jump, something Marcy finds curious. “Good morning.”
Jill leaps up from her chair and steps over to Mark, offering up her mouth for a kiss that looks as familiar as the sunrise. “Good morning. Sorry. I didn’t know you were up. Would you like a waffle? Marcy made some this morning and brought a few for us.”
Even though he hasn’t agreed, Jill sets about fixing him a plate. All the while, Mark looks unblinkingly at Marcy. It’s such a direct stare, such a cold glower that Marcy has to purposely resist the urge to fidget. It’s like being silently chastised by an unhappy teacher in grade school. Some people can convey all their displeasure without speaking a word. Mark Halpern is clearly one of those people. And he’s clearly displeased with her presence. Marcy knows when she’s not welcome. “That’s very nice of you, Marcy.”
“Oh, it was no trouble at all. As I was telling Jill, I was making them for my two and I had some extra batter, so…”
“Convenient then.”
Marcy holds Mark’s gaze. “Yes. Very.”
With no polite smile wreathing his face, Mark pulls out the seat next to Jill’s and sits. He laces his fingers together on the table in front of him and never breaks eye contact with Marcy.
Marcy holds it boldly. She’ll be damned if she’ll let a bully like Mark Halpern intimidate her.
Jill, on the other hand, is a bundle of nerves. From the corner of her eye, Marcy can see her fluttering about, and she’s not the least bit surprised when Jill drops Mark’s plate, full of waffles and syrup, as she reaches for his coffee mug on her way to the table.
She mutters a curse under her breath, but then rushes to say aloud, “Sorry. I’ll get that cleaned up and make you another plate.”
Mark is still watching Marcy closely when she returns her attention to the table. He hasn’t looked at his wife once, nor has he offered to help her clean up the mess.
Marcy smiles into his eyes. “Here, Jill, let me help you.”
She begins to stand, but her words seem to jar Mark out of his strange staring contest. “No, I’ll help her. You’ve done enough.”
The bite to his tone is not lost on Marcy, nor is the real meaning of them. She decides to make her exit. Besides, she knows she won’t be getting any more information out of Jill today.
“You know, I should let you two enjoy your breakfast in peace. Time without kids is crucial for a couple. Besides, I need to get home to Caroline anyway.” From her place on the floor, on her hands and knees with a roll of paper towels at the ready, Jill raises apologetic eyes. Marcy knows what she’s apologizing for. Or, rather, for whom she’s apologizing.
“I’m so sorry, Marcy. I really appreciate the waffles. They were delicious. Next time, I’ll bring breakfast to you.”
Marcy’s expression melts into one of genuine pleasure. “That sounds like a date.”
“I’ll see you to the door.” It is Mark who addresses her, but he doesn’t actually move. It’s evident he has no intention of leaving his wife’s side or extending such a politeness to Marcy. She lets him off the hook for the sake of propriety.
“That is not necessary at all, I promise you. I can see myself out. You two have a great day.”
She bids them both goodbye with a nod, and spins out of the kitchen, heading for the front of the house.
Marcy steps out the door and into the crisp, fresh air and bright, warm sunshine. Her thoughts are alive with conjecture and theory, all based on the tidbits she’d learned. When she enters her own house two minutes later, John is coming out of the kitchen. He stops in the living room. “How’d it go? Did you crack the case?”
She knows he’s being facetious, but what John doesn’t understand is that there is a case here. And she will find her way to the bottom of it. Visit by innocent visit.
“No, but there’s blood in the water. I can smell it. And Mark Halpern is behind it.”
She ignores it when John mumbles here we go again as he heads toward his office in the rear of the house. Her husband can doubt all he wants, but in the end, she’ll have her proof and he won’t be able to make a single snide comment. Until then, she will just smile. A lot can be hidden behind a smile. Marcy learned that long ago.