Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead (16 page)

“Cool! But why would that make me feel better?”

“Because silly . . . I could make sure you won.”

“Oh? Oh . . . Wait. What? That’s not exactly kosher.”

“Honey, not everyone keeps kosher. And if I work it so that you get the fifty grand for best writer, we could split it . . . It’s just like you were sayin’ before. You owe me one.”

Twelve

When you marry a man with the same first name as your father, people jump to conclusions. They see a relationship rooted in desire to perpetuate a cherished bond, and in Mindy’s case, they would be right. Her immediate attraction to Arthur Sherman was as much a tribute to his warmth and charm as to his beloved name. Saying it aloud drew her nearer to the times she felt safe in the arms of a loving man.

Her father was not one of those people who you heard was never sick a day in their life, then mysteriously dropped dead. To the contrary, Arthur Baumann spent years fending off disease like a fearless swordsman challenging each new chap to a duel.

Twice he battled colon cancer and then an arthritic condition that would have leveled a less determined being. Yet true to his brave nature, he graciously accepted defeat, writing thank-you notes to his wife and children the day before he died.

Mindy’s fondest memories of her dad were the times they spent debating great matters, such as which sports stadium sold the best hot dogs, and which cartoon character most deserved to Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead

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be called superhero. But what she truly missed, especially during trying times like these, was his willingness to listen.

Though she held the degree in psychology, he was the one wise enough to understand a basic tenet of the human psyche. Someone in the throes of a conflict didn’t need counsel as much as an outlet to hear their own voice. He would let Mindy go on and on about this person or that situation, never judging, only adding his classic

“oy veys,” then asking the quintessential question that would lead her down the right path.

Her greatest regret was that she never got the chance to tell him that he was her favorite superhero, and of course that not a day went by that she didn’t think of him or wonder if he was okay. But the more years that passed, the harder it was to keep those lines of communication open.

Her old friend, Noah, a psychic medium, felt that her dad was still very much around her, and there were times, such as at Stacie’s bat mitzvah, that she had felt his presence. But she also couldn’t deny that most days the connection to him felt weak, like a dimmer switch that was gradually being turned down, leaving her to wonder if the idea of a loved one’s spirit hovering was simply wishful thinking.

“I need a sign, Daddy,” she whispered.

It was 4:30 a.m., and though Artie had told her it was ridiculous for her to get up to say good-bye, she said that since she’d been saved from having to drive him to the airport, the least she could do was be up to make sure he wasn’t forgetting his phone or wallet. Good thing! She averted a disaster by thinking to ask if he’d remembered to leave her the store keys, which, of course, he hadn’t. “That would have been awful.” He kissed her good-bye.

“I’ll call when I land. Give the kids kisses. Tell them I’m bringing their brother home. . . . I hope.”

Struggling to fall back asleep, especially since a restless 136

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Ricky had already taken Artie’s spot, she tried reaching out to her dad by closing her eyes and focusing on a picture she loved that was taken on that bright, promising January morning Stacie was born.

There was his moonbeam smile and laughing eyes as he held his first grandchild, his joy so palpable it leaped off the photo.

Strangely, he was like this on most days, no matter the ills that befell him. She could walk into a hospital room where he would be barely visible behind the machinery and toylike tubes, and he’d wave and smile, as if they’d met at a diner and were about to dig into their favorite three-egg-and-pancake breakfast. If only she could see his smile again and hear his assurances that her future wasn’t as bleak as it seemed.

If only he could explain a universe in which beat-the-system schemers like Olivia thought nothing of snaring honest people into a sting operation that betrayed fellow contestants. Or why so many married people like Stan and Beth seemed to be changing partners round and round, dancing right over their innocent families. What about the perilous addictions that ended young, hearty lives too soon, like those of Davida’s and Wayne’s? Was it all random or something more orderly and preordained, like a teacher’s lesson plan?

“I need a sign, Daddy,” she repeated. But none appeared.

By now she was so alert, all she could think about was the mommy minefield ahead.

Jamie had gym today, so she couldn’t forget to stick clean sweats in her backpack. She still needed to help Ricky find his library books, and Stacie her brand-new tennis racquet. And what were the odds Richard remembered to leave lunch money for the girls? Not good, which meant that she would have to lay it out for them and wait to get paid back. Of course she could always make them lunch, but what was it that Emma was allergic to again?

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And had she remembered to buy fresh bread after Ricky decided the birds in the backyard would enjoy challah and butter?

Only because she was overdue for a miracle did she end up getting her kids, and Beth’s kids, and Nadine’s daughter, Rebecca, and her sixteen-pound tuba, to school safely and on time, leaving her an hour before she had to open the store. Maybe the day wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

Then the phone rang.

“Can you pick me up?” A girl was sobbing.

Crap! She had just dropped everyone off at school.

“Rebecca?” Mindy asked. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Beth,” she choked. “I’m in trouble. You have to help me.”

Beth? But with all the street noise behind her, Mindy could barely make out what she was saying. “Where are you?” she shouted.

“At a payphone at a goddamn train station. I don’t know where the hell my car is, my cell died. You have to pick me up.”

“Pick you up where? I have to go open the store because remember I told you our manager got arrested? And then I have to get to work and—”

“You don’t understand. . . . I have no one else to call. I can’t reach Richard, Marina’s not picking up, I don’t have any money on me, the ATM here is broken, the station is totally deserted, and I’m freezing!”

“Oh my God! Which station?”

“Babylon.”

“Babylon? I have no idea where that is. What are you doing there?”

“This is where the asshole dropped me off, okay? He said it was where we left my car, but I’ve looked everywhere and it’s not here and it was so late and I was drunk and he’s not picking up his cell and I’m almost out of quarters and if you don’t help me, 138

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it’s going to be on your conscience when they find my body in a Dumpster and—”

“Okay. Calm down. Breathe.” For a minute she forgot she wasn’t talking to Stacie.

“I can’t calm down. I’m in the middle of a disaster, okay. I’m begging you. Please come get me. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You can’t call Jill?”

“I fucking hate Jill! If it wasn’t for her and her stupid friends, I wouldn’t be in this mess!”

Mindy was shocked. Her kids played the blame game all the time, but Beth was a grown-up. And how could she just drop everything? James, the store manager, had a court date this morning, so he couldn’t open up, Stan would kill her if she was late. . . .

“Are you there?” Beth was shouting. “Why aren’t you answering me?”

“I’m sorry! I don’t know what to do. Stan will get crazy if I’m late and—”

“He’s your freakin’ father-in-law! Tell him you had an emergency and you’ll explain later. Are you not getting that this really is an emergency?”

“You don’t know my father-in-law. Okay, give me a second to think. Maybe I could go open the store first and then ask Christine to cover me at the office, and then since you’d be home, you could do the afternoon car pool—”

“Yes, yes, anything,” she sobbed. “Just come. Please. Just come

. . . and bring a jacket. I’m so cold.”

Mindy couldn’t fold a map let alone read one, her ancient minivan barely had a compass let alone a nice navigation lady who told you which way to turn, and she didn’t have time to make a Google map. The only way to locate Beth’s position was to rely on her trusty sense of direction, and gas stations every few miles.

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She would not be like Moses, who got lost in the desert for forty years because he refused to ask directions.

At least as she sped down the zigzagging Southern State Parkway, one thing made her laugh. Only a few hours earlier she’d asked her dad for a sign, and now she was getting them every half mile. Bethpage State Park. Route 110 in Huntington. Wellwood Avenue.

Real funny, Dad,
she thought as she grabbed donut chunks from the box on the passenger seat. And then it hit her that maybe this little rendezvous wasn’t a mistake after all. Hadn’t he always told her that getting lost was good for the soul? Yes! He liked to say that it could be good to get completely
farblunget
once in a while because it forced you down roads you would never otherwise have traveled, often discovering a much better route for your journey.

Now she got it! He hadn’t been referring to driving; he had been talking about life. Being lost or unsure instilled fear, and fear was the conduit for change. The impetus for finding the better path. Without it, nobody would ever learn a damn thing.

That simple lesson brought Mindy to tears, making it difficult to make out the road signs. And yet she knew in her heart that she’d found the only one that mattered. The one that proved that her father was still very much with her, still guiding and directing her, especially when lost.

“Thank you Daddy.” She blew a kiss to the heavens.

Mindy drove into the main entrance of the Babylon train station and, from a distance, spotted a haggard woman shivering on a bench beneath the train trestle. No way could that be her intimidating my-shit-doesn’t-stink neighbor. But as she edged closer and saw the bare skin, matted hair, and large sunglasses, there was no mistake. Homeless people did not carry Louis Vuitton luggage.

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It was like watching a 20-20 segment about a former rich person who was now living on the streets, knowing that millions of viewers were saying, there but for the grace of God go I.

Just before pulling up, Mindy remembered she’d wanted to toss the trash left in the car so she didn’t have to watch Beth wipe crumbs off the seat and remove the soft drink cups as if they were viral science experiments. Not that a married woman who’d been dumped at a train station by her psycho lover should be in a position to judge.

When she f inally approached, a stoic Beth grabbed her pocketbook and overnight bag, got in the car, put on Mindy’s North Face jacket, turned on the heated seat, and buckled her seat belt.

“About time.” She blew into a tissue.

Yep. It was Beth.

“Sorry. I had to stop at the store first and wait for one of the employees to show up, and then traffic on the Southern State was backed up and I wasn’t really sure how to get here.”

Beth finally muttered her thanks, but her voice was so low, only a dog could hear.

“Are you hungry?” Mindy asked. “Do you have to pee?”

She nodded yes, still shivering.

Mindy was in the mood for an Egg McMuffin with bacon, but given the company, she was too embarrassed to mention it.

Where did health-conscious people eat anyway?

“How about that diner?” Mindy pointed. “I think we ate there once and it was pretty good.”

“We have to find my car.”

“Oh, right. Forgot about that. You really don’t know where you left it?”

“We dropped it off Sunday night. I had a lot to drink. I thought I’d remember.”

“But there’s probably ten train stations in this area.”

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“Believe me, I’d rather be doing something other than schlepping up and down Sunrise Highway looking for a goddamn rental car that isn’t even good enough to be stolen.”

“Can you remember anything?”

“Yes. I think there was a Starbucks next to a tattoo parlor across the street.”

“Well that certainly narrows it down.” Mindy looked around.

“I’m sorry, okay? I feel horrible that this whole thing happened, and that you of all people had to be dragged into it.”

Me of all people?

“That didn’t come out right.” Beth’s eyes welled. “What I meant was that this situation is horrible enough without having to beg you for help. I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” Mindy sighed. “I’m just not, you know, crazy about you.”

“No, you hate me. A lot of people do. They don’t say it to my face, but they do.”

“Well, I’m not gonna lie. I do keep my Beth voodoo doll handy because you can be pretty mean . . . especially to my kids.”

“That is not true.”

“Really? What about that time you made that sleepover party for Jessie at that hotel in the city and didn’t invite Stacie?”

“That was years ago. You’re still bringing that up?”

“I have never brought that up,” Mindy gasped. “I wanted to so many times, but after a while it was like what’s the point?”

“Then why bring it up now?”

“Because. I don’t know . . . I will never forget that weekend.

Stacie cried nonstop. And this might sound dumb to you, but it affected all of us. We were all so depressed.”

“Over a child’s birthday party? It’s not like the girls ever had the same friends.”

“Beth, come on. They’re in the same grade and they’ve played together for eight years. She was devastated.”

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“Well then I’m very sorry. . . . I’m sorry about more than you can imagine.”

Mindy blinked. An apology from Beth was a first. She couldn’t wait to tell Artie, who was always comparing their relationship to the United States and Cuba, neighboring countries with a history of hostilities.