From her shady vantage point, Alex watched Nick arrange a pile of burlap sacks into a perfectly straight line on their neighbor’s meticulously manicured lawn. She admired her husband’s dad bod from afar, fully aware it wasn’t the party atmosphere making her heart patter. Those cargo shorts aside, Nick was the love of her life.
But Alex couldn’t sit idle, admiring her husband. She had work to do. She was the organizer of the block party, which came with a host of responsibilities.
She checked her phone. It wouldn’t be long before those sacks were filled with children racing about like giant jumping beans. She smiled at a memory of Lettie doing just that. The days were long, but the years were short—a cliché, but that didn’t make it untrue.
Even though the party was in full swing, with people everywhere drinking, eating, and playing games, Alex had no trouble spotting her daughter. True to form, Lettie was the only one at the block party clad in all black, her Doc Martens a stark contrast to the sneakers and sandals everyone else wore. She ambled past her father without so much as a glance, nonchalantly sipping from her red Solo cup.
Alex hoped it contained only soda.
“Lettie,” Alex called, “why don’t you share your playlist with Uncle Ken? We could use some newer music.”
As if on cue, the Doobie Brothers came blasting through the speakers that Alex’s brother-in-law, Ken Adair, had hauled up from his basement. Ken, who had once played guitar in a high school band, had promised to form some kind of musical group to perform at the block party. Luckily for all, he hadn’t found the time or the neighborhood talent to make good on his threat.
Lettie dismissed her mother with a wave. “I was into helping with the music at this party, like, four years ago, back when I cared,” she said. “And now I don’t.”
She raised her Solo cup in a salute before marching away. Lettie was under orders to attend the block party, but that didn’t mean she had to socialize.
“She’ll come back around. Give it time,” said a voice behind Alex’s back.
Alex turned to see Willow Thompson, a tall, thin woman in her thirties with dark blond hair full of annoyingly perfect ringlet curls. It was Willow’s lawn that would host the sack races. Technically, it was Willow and Evan’s lawn, at least until their divorce was finalized.
“Come around when?” Alex said. “After she has a baby and needs me again?”
Willow offered only a shrug.
For someone who’d never had a career, who made money working part-time jobs here and there—the last one being at a day care—Willow always dressed to impress. Decked out in form-fitting capri pants, strappy sandals, and a loose-fitting silk blouse perfect for the warm weather, she looked ready to command a crowd, even at a barbecue.
“It’ll get easier when this thing at school blows over,” said Willow. “If it helps any, Riley feels bad about what happened. She doesn’t support the vandalism, but she supports the idea behind it.”
“Good to know,” said Alex. She didn’t sound all that appreciative.
Riley Thompson, Willow’s only child, was president of the student body council and the equivalent of an A-list celebrity among Meadowbrook’s youth. She was also Lettie’s childhood best friend turned tormentor, but Alex didn’t carry a grudge. Girl friendships held more drama than a Shakespeare festival. It was the more recent events that Alex found a little harder to overlook.
“I should go check on the burgers,” said Alex, bounding off before Willow had a chance to change topics to her pending divorce, a favorite subject. “Let’s catch up later, okay?” Alex offered a friendly wave. Off she went to the tent where Willow’s soon-to-be ex-husband, a well-known but hotheaded fashion photographer named Evan Thompson, was grilling the meat.
Evan looked like Willow’s counterpart in his snazzy button-down shirt, perfect shorts, and footwear that was likely straight out of the box. As a couple, they looked beautiful together, but their personalities clashed like plaids and stripes. Willow was something of a homebody, while Evan always wanted to be on the road. It didn’t help that his frequent sojourns to New York and various exotic locales to photograph hot models made it difficult for Willow to trust him. Add to that his excessive partying and general irresponsibility while Willow took care of everything, and the couple ended up with a combustible marriage.
Even though the decision to divorce was firm, the paperwork had yet to be filed. For Riley’s sake, Willow and Evan had agreed to continue cohabitating until after graduation, when the house would be sold. But that couple made the “till death do us part” vow sound like a threat.
“So what did the biggest mistake of my life have to say?” Evan indicated Willow with a nod while his hands were busy plating burgers.
Alex plastered on a smile. “You mean the mother of your precious daughter?”
“She might look like her mom, but thank goodness Riley has more of my personality.”
“We’re all still friends, Evan.” Alex suppressed a sigh. “We’re trying to support you both. Let’s keep it cordial.” She stuck a meat thermometer into the thickest part of a burger Evan had plated. The digital readout displayed 110 degrees.
“This burger barely has the wind knocked out of it,” Alex said. “Let’s not serve E. coli to the children, okay? Thanks so much.” She gave Evan a gentle pat on the cheek.
“You want anything to eat?” asked Evan. “I’ll charbroil something just for you.”
“No, I’m good,” said Alex. “Maybe in a bit.” She didn’t want Lettie to see her devouring a former sentient being. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture.
“What’s Lettie having for lunch?” Evan asked. “I’ll make her something special.”
“My heart,” Alex called over her shoulder, walking away.
The party would mostly run itself from this point, but not without small fires for Alex to put out along the way. By four o’clock that afternoon, she had addressed a buns crisis (she found more packages in her basement freezer) and a shouting match between ten-year-olds (she located their respective mothers), and she’d made a run to the store for more chocolate bars after Nick left a package too close to the fire.
She was finally able to take a breather. Alex put her feet up on a chaise longue, ready to savor her wine. Moments later, she spied her younger sister, Emily, pulling into the driveway of 13 Alton Road with her Audi. A gleaming silver Lexus drove in behind her.
Number thirteen was now unoccupied, as the Weaver family had downsized after their youngest had graduated from college. The stately brick manor had gone on the market only days ago, and already had an eager buyer.
Emily looked poised and confident in casual business attire. Her bright smile all but said, “This house is sold.” As one of Meadowbrook’s most sought-after real estate agents, Emily Adair—like her husband, star software salesman, Ken Adair—loved the thrill of the deal.
From the Lexus emerged Emily’s clients, a handsome Indian man and his striking blond companion, probably his wife. Accompanying the couple was a young man in his late teens, maybe early twenties, who had dark hair and dark eyes and was most likely their son.
Emily caught Alex’s eyes across the street and waved eagerly for her to join them. “Alex,” said Emily, still beaming, “this is the Kumar family—Samir, Mandy, and their son, Jay. Everyone, this is my sister and, lucky for me, my next-door neighbor, Alexandra Fox, Alex for short.”
One might not guess the relationship between Alex and Emily with even a lengthy appraisal. While the sisters shared the same shiny dark hair and light hazel eyes, Emily was petite, whereas Alex was taller by several inches, with a stronger build. Emily got their father’s small round nose, and Alex had inherited their mother’s more striking bone structure. Genetic differences aside, both women had their own classic beauty.
“So, good news,” said Emily. “The Kumars are very interested in making an offer, and I suggested we do the second viewing today so I could show them the neighborhood.”
That rising pitch Alex knew so well was a not-so-subtle cue that the deal was all but done.
“You picked a perfect day to come,” said Alex.
Samir made no motion to shake her hand. In contrast, Mandy offered a warm handshake—firm, too. Jay stood disengaged and off to the side.
“We’re all here for our annual block party,” Alex continued.
“Sweetheart,” Nick called to Alex from across the street, “we’re out of mustard!”
“Okay,” she called back, forcing cheer into her voice, “I’ll call the police. Not to worry.” She sent Mandy a tight smile. “That’s my husband, Nick,” she said. “He’s a great guy, very handy with a toolbox—less so with condiments.”
Mandy, who had glowing skin and a radiant smile, returned a polite laugh as she took in the scene with her piercing blue eyes. Her husband, Samir, directed his attention to the mammoth house that Alex thought was far more home than three people needed.
“The party seems like so much fun. What a great tradition,” said Mandy, who matched Willow when it came to style.
Samir was no shabby dresser himself. Alex could tell he was fastidious about his appearance, taking note of his wrinkle-free dress shirt and slacks, his well-manicured hands, the shine on his loafers, the gleam to his watchband, and his clean-shaven face.
“Remind me, what are the taxes here?” Samir asked Emily, his tone suggesting that whatever number she quoted, it was going to be too much.
“I have that on the listing sheet,” said Emily, without missing a beat.
“So many children,” observed Mandy, still taking in the sights. Alex heard something melancholic in Mandy’s voice, which she attributed to having a son who, like Lettie, was long past the days of backyard games.
“Ken,” Emily called to her husband, who was standing within earshot, “come here, honey. Let me introduce you.”
“So much house,” grumbled Samir. “Who needs this much house at our age?”
“It’s gorgeous,” said Mandy, who did a good job ignoring her husband’s complaint, if she even heard it.
Alex watched Ken cross the street like a conquering emperor—his chest stuck out, sporting his best damn-glad-to-meet-you smile. He had charm, and Alex loved him as family, but her bullshit radar always pinged loudly in Ken’s presence. He still looked fit in his blue polo, she had to give him that. Hitting the gym religiously five days a week had held age somewhat at bay, while offering a glimpse of the athlete he’d been. Handsome almost to a fault, Ken radiated a magnetism that drew people to his side, including Emily.
Ken came over carrying his treasured bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label. Now Alex knew this was staged. At over two hundred dollars a bottle, this was a prize Ken typically kept to himself. Shock of shocks, he carried three glasses in his hands.
“Mandy, Samir, this is my husband, Ken Adair,” said Emily.
In Ken’s usual fashion, he addressed the man first. In his mind it was still a man’s world, and Samir would be the one with the checkbook, who’d be making the final decision.
“I’m pretty selfish with my expensive whisky,” Ken said, looking only at Samir. “It’s become a block party tradition of mine to indulge in it only once a year. And ever since I started the tradition, I have a little superstition about sharing it.”
“Little?” Emily interrupted. “He never shares a drop—never.”
“That’s right,” Ken confirmed. “But my very persuasive wife talked me into offering some to our new neighbors as a welcoming toast. So—may I pour you a drink?”
Samir gave a little chuckle. “Well, it’s a little early for me to partake, but thank you for the offer.”
“No problem,” Ken said. “And just so you know, I have pull on the town planning board if you’re interested in doing any renovations. I’m converting our garage into an in-law apartment for my mother-in-law, in fact. Going to crush me on the taxes, but she’s worth it. Family’s everything, right, honey?”
“Sure,” said Emily without her sales charm.
“Yeah, I’ll do anything for my family. Put a few hundred thousand miles on the F-150 driving my kid from one lacrosse tourney to another over the years, but now he’s a starting midfielder at Syracuse. That’s a D1 program, if you didn’t know. Got a full ride, too.”
Emily cleared her throat. “We have another son, Dylan, who plays sports for Meadowbrook High as well,” she said.
Ken looked slightly abashed. “Yeah, yeah, that’s right. D’s a great player, too. Really tries hard!”
Tries hard? Tries hard to shine as brightly as Logan, thought Alex, who had a flash of pouring Ken’s fancy whisky all over his head.
She let the urge pass. Ken’s obsession with Logan’s accomplishments was nothing more than reflected glory, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
Ken finally turned to Samir’s wife, as if noticing her for the first time. “How about you? Mandy, was it? Would you like a drink?”
When their eyes met, Ken went perfectly still. Alex wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on his face. He was known for his appreciation of women, especially the attractive ones, but he appeared struck by Mandy’s beauty. Enraptured was the word that came to mind. And Mandy’s expression showed a spark as well—one that certainly hadn’t been there before. It was as if a little explosion had gone off between them. Alex could feel a charge in the atmosphere. From the look on her sister’s face, Alex could see that Emily had noticed it, too.