The Neighbors Are Watching (37 page)

“I can’t believe you don’t hear that,” she said and lifted the glass to her forehead, pressed it there. “It’s so awful.”

“Doesn’t sound so bad.”

“He can play, it’s not that,” Diana said. “It’s just there’s so much anger in it. He sounds like he
hates
the piano and the music and everything. And he does it
every day
. It drives me crazy. I mean it.”

“Well I don’t know why it bothers you so much, it’s not that loud. It’s not like you’re right next door or anything.”

“You shouldn’t touch an instrument if you hate it like that,” she said. “It’s bad juju.”

Had he laughed when she’d said that? Joe couldn’t remember because that was the place where the video clip ended. He hit rewind in his mind, watched her again, that face so young, so much like his.
Bad juju
.

Did she already know him by then? Had they spoken? Was he already a connection?

The tide swirled around his ankles and pulled back out, taking sand and seaweed with it. Joe’s hands had tightened into fists. He unclenched them, backed up, and sat down heavily on a dry patch. The sun hit him straight on and warm. It was noon. There were no shadows. He stared into the surf, hypnotized by the rhythm of the breaking waves. He didn’t move when the tide reached him, didn’t care if he got wet. It didn’t matter if he got soaked. It was only saltwater and sand. Nothing that could kill you.

Sometimes Joe tried to rationalize his own ignorance by reminding himself that the police had questioned the kid and his parents and had found nothing suspicious. And who would have? Nobody interacted with that family at all. Even Dorothy, who made it her business to know everything about everybody on their block, was a blank when it came to the Suns. When they moved out in December, it was as if they’d never existed.

Except that wasn’t quite right. Kevin knew all about that kid. And he’d said nothing either. Joe picked up a chipped sand dollar and ran his thumb over the surface, pressing harder and harder until eventually he broke through the shell, the sharp edges scraping him. Allison had told him many times that it was pointless to get angry at Kevin, who
was
scared and trying to protect himself. He really did love Diana in his way and didn’t know that she had gone over to see Sun that day. He’d been too busy obliterating
himself
. There was a cruel Romeo and Juliet irony there, Joe supposed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate it.

Joe managed to stay rational. He understood that Kevin wasn’t to
blame. Still, he didn’t feel bad for Kevin when the boy had to recount his story with more detail about how Diana had rejected him in the end. Nor did Joe care how scared Kevin was when he finally admitted that his major drug supplier lived right across the street and that Diana knew that. Joe was not disturbed that Kevin would have to live for the rest of his life with the guilt of his part in Diana’s death, however unknowing that part might have been. Because Kevin did have some responsibility. He hadn’t come clean about where he’d gotten his drugs—or let on that Diana even knew the Sun kid well enough to get them from him herself—until it was too late for any kind of evidence to be found.

By then the new owners had moved into the Suns’ house and the place had been thoroughly cleaned. Not that there was any cause to search it. There were no witnesses, nobody who had ever seen Diana interact with the kid. At least Kevin’s story about the drug dealing got support from others. It seemed that a good number of his neighbors knew the kid was dealing out of his nice little house with its nice basketball hoop and its nice piano. Joe made a decision then to make the neighbors his business. There was no chance of him becoming a vigilante—he simply didn’t have it in him—but he was going to be
around
. He was going to be watching.

And he started by getting to know the family who’d bought the Suns’ house. The Mitchells—Tom, Susan, and their eleven-year-old twin boys, Boston and Benjamin—were an unremarkable group. She seemed a typical soccer mom (and indeed the boys played soccer—
excelled
, to hear her tell it) with her comfortable jeans and state school sweatshirt, and he was an engineer who planned one day to open his own brewery. When he first met them, Joe thought they seemed perfect for the neighborhood—beige, pre-designed, and socially acceptable. But then Joe remembered how little he’d really known about his neighbors until recently and how so many of them turned out to be the opposite of that mold, so he started dropping by the Mitchells’ just to say hello, to share a beer with Tom, to ask how they were settling in.

Inevitably, Joe found himself talking about Diana, and though he
didn’t want to implicate anyone, he couldn’t stop himself from talking about how he wished he’d paid better attention to what was happening on his own street and how it seemed like a cliché but appearances really were deceiving. The Mitchells were sympathetic. Susan said she couldn’t imagine what it must be like. One day, Joe brought Zoë around to “introduce” her. He thought he saw twin wrinkles of surprise crease Tom’s and Susan’s foreheads when they saw her and vanish quickly in an impressive matching display of propriety.

“Her grandmother actually lives across the street,” Joe said. “Have you met her yet? Yvonne?”

“Oh, Yvonne. No, I don’t think we have, have we, Tom?”

By then, right after Christmas, Yvonne had made her move from Las Vegas permanent. She’d been coming back and forth and, after the first time, staying with Joe and Allison was uncomfortable for everyone. It was convenient, though probably not for Sam, that Gloria ended up moving out just as Yvonne decided to stay in San Diego for good.

“Yes,” Joe said. “She just moved in with Sam. Sam has a boy about the same age as yours. They might know each other from school.”

He’d probably made a nuisance of himself at the Mitchells’, Joe thought, but if he hadn’t—if he hadn’t made it a point to let them know who he was, they might not have given the cell phone a second thought when Boston or Benjamin discovered it hidden behind boxes and a stack of two-by-fours in the garage. And they would not have known how significant it was, and they would not have rushed over to Joe’s house in person, breathlessly presenting the phone as if it were a live grenade with a look of hope and dread in their eyes: Could this be something? Could it be hers?

Without realizing it, Joe had dug his hands into the wet sand and was crushing it in his fists as if to make cement. He wasn’t the one who took the call in the end. It was Allison who answered the phone that time, but he’d been home. He heard her in the kitchen talking but couldn’t make out any of her words. He remembered now that he had been thinking it was the
first cool day he could remember. It had been so hot for so long and even Christmas felt tropical. But that day all the windows were closed and the house was still chilly inside. They might even have to turn on the heat at some point, Joe had thought. And then Allison was standing there in front of him, holding the phone to her heart. As soon as he saw her face, he knew what was coming.

“It’s Detective Garcia,” she said and handed him the phone. “They found her, Joe.”

Mr. and Mrs. Sun denied any and all knowledge that their son was selling drugs or that they’d ever seen Diana anywhere near their property. They went as far as to claim that the kid was covering for someone else, that somehow he’d been framed. In the end, though, it was the kid who’d led the detectives to the body. To
Diana
. It was tragic, the detectives told Joe, but the kid’s version of what had happened matched the evidence and the coroner’s report. Finally, that was the only truth remaining.

Joe was sobbing now, his dirty hands held to his eyes and his whole body shaking. He couldn’t stop it or control it, couldn’t rein in the wails that were coming out of him or the tears flooding his face, so he just put his head down and gave in to it. He didn’t know how long it went on and he didn’t look up to see if anyone else had witnessed his breakdown. At the end of it, he felt raw and shredded and somehow interminably worse, as if admitting his grief had somehow increased his culpability. So many things he had left undone. So many things he couldn’t make up for.

Joe stood and brushed as much sand off his pants as he could. He didn’t bother to put his shoes and socks back on. He was going to need a long shower and maybe even a nap before he went to work tonight. He worked evenings almost exclusively now that Allison was back at work during the day so that they could take turns with Zoë and not have to farm her out to a sitter. Yvonne and Sam took her sometimes too, but Zoë lived with them and soon she would legally be their daughter and that was where she
belonged. But the late nights were starting to take a toll on him. It used to be easier, he thought. Like almost everything.

He drove shoeless through Carmel Valley, his naked foot feeling overly sensitive and itchy against the gas pedal. The neighborhood was quiet and looked clean. It had rained the other day—a major event these days—and now the eucalyptus and agapanthus looked freshly scrubbed. It had taken months for all the soot and ash to clear out, but it was finally gone. At least in all the places you could see.

Allison had an in-service day from school, so she was at home with Zoë. He took the small box containing her heart charm and pushed it deep inside his pocket so that she wouldn’t see it. He’d have to remember to hide it somewhere so it would be a surprise for Valentine’s Day. He’d have to remember to get a card. He had to do these things because even though they felt like pretending, he sensed they were necessary. He would never be able to feel normal again if he didn’t go through the motions of life in a normal way.

Allison was sitting with Zoë at the dining room table when he came in. The baby was in a little chair that fastened onto the edge of the table. She would need a proper highchair soon, Joe thought. There was an empty bottle and the smallest bowl Joe had ever seen sitting in front of Allison. Zoë turned to him as soon as he walked in, her eyes wide and oddly serious, and Allison looked up. Both of them seemed to be covered with flecks of beige cereal.

“I thought I’d try her on some rice,” Allison said, smiling, “but she’s clearly not ready. Hey, what happened to you? You’re all sandy.”

“I took a little detour after the mall,” he said, “and went to the beach. I really needed a minute.”

Allison nodded. Zoë opened her little mouth and closed it. He reached over and ran his hand over her curly head, then remembered it was all sandy and dirty and felt stupid for not thinking about that before he touched her. “I really needed to get a suit,” he said. “I don’t have anything that’s right for the funeral.”

“And what happened?” Allison said.

“I couldn’t face it,” he said. “I don’t know why. It was silly, I guess.”

“But Joe,” Allison started, and then checked herself, bit her lip.

“What?” he said.

“You have a black suit. It’s not new, but it’s a good suit. You don’t want to wear that one?”

“I don’t remember it,” he said.

“You put it in the storage closet. It was years ago. It’s still there. You said—”

“Right,” he said. “That double-breasted one.” He remembered now why he’d put it away and what he’d said when he did.
It’s too somber. I’ll leave it here for the next time I need something to wear to a funeral
.

“I did get this,” he said abruptly, putting the Macy’s shopping bag on the table. “For Zoë.” Allison peered inside and slowly pulled out the dress, the headband, the duck-covered one-piece. “I didn’t know what she should wear,” he said. “What do you think?”

He sat down on a chair next to Allison and stared at Zoë, who obliged him by picking up a small stuffed orca and tossing it in his direction. Allison put her hand over Joe’s and squeezed gently. It felt warm and dry. “We’ll work that out,” she said. “It’ll be fine, Joe. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” he said. “Just want to make sure she looks, you know …”

“Yes. She will.”

Zoë made a cooing noise and slapped her small hand against the table. Allison toyed with the headband, twirling it in her free hand. A lock of hair had worked free of her loose ponytail and fell across her face, but she didn’t look messy. Nor did the hooded shirt and workout pants she was wearing or the lack of makeup on her face give her the neglected look she’d had all summer. Instead, she looked younger than she was, Joe thought, and somehow more vital. There was something else in it too, and as she reached over to wipe cereal off Zoë’s face, her hand caressing the chubby little cheek and her mouth turning up into a small smile, Joe realized what it was. She looked like a mother.

All of a sudden he felt the full weight of his past selfishness pressing against his chest. Had he ever been fair to Allison? He’d never really given her a chance back then, so many years ago now, to make up her own mind. That night of the neighborhood meeting when they’d finally had it out about everything, he’d been sincere in his apology. But he hadn’t put himself inside her heart. Joe hadn’t thought it was possible to truly feel another person’s pain, only to come to some sort of intellectual acknowledgment of it, but now he understood how he’d manipulated her, even if he hadn’t meant to. He felt, crushingly now, how much he’d denied her. For the second time that day his eyes stung with tears he couldn’t stop. He held his breath, not wanting to cry out loud, not wanting her to hear and feel the need to comfort him. He didn’t deserve to be comforted. But she turned anyway, the ghost of a smile still hovering at her mouth, until she saw his wet face. Her eyes grew wide and bright.

“Joe?” She reached over, took his hand in hers. He clung to it like a life raft.

“I …” His voice was thick and broken with emotion. He tried to clear his throat, but a sob escaped instead. He struggled, squeezed her hand. “Allison, I am … I can’t change anything. I wish I could.”

“Joe, it’s …”

“I just … I’m sorry, Allison. I’m so sorry.”

Allison pulled her hand free and for a horrible moment Joe thought she was retreating, rejecting him. But she’d moved only so she could have her arms free to wrap around him, encase him in a protective embrace. “It’s going to be okay, Joe,” she said, her mouth very close to his ear. “We’re going to be okay.”