my eyes are about level with the front walkway, which connects to street level via brick steps cut into the slope.
In back, the so-called English garden runs wild right up to an old stone wall that divides the Smythes’ yard from ours. On our side, Rick keeps the sliver between the wall and the shed well trimmed. Whenever I’m in back, I feel the urge to wander along the path past the wall and into the garden, much preferring thick, unruly nature to rigid cultivation.
They’re both eccentrics, Margaret and Deedee. According to Rick, I’m a magnet for “outliers,” by which he means crazies. They aren’t crazy, though, just a bit out of step with the modern world. Their original plan was simply to rent out the place. My husband charmed them into selling, and at a scandalously low price.
“We can’t get all this for so little,” I protested.
“Beth,” Rick had said. “God worked out the numbers. Besides, the little old lady really took a shine to you. And it’s not like they need the money.”
I was doubtful. I felt as if we were taking advantage. Still, I tried to convince myself that he was right. After all, I’d never have gotten my beloved little house otherwise. I made up my mind then and there to be the best neighbor in the world.
I know something’s wrong the moment I open the door and see Kathie Shaw’s dress. It’s a dark-red sheath, simple and elegant, accented by black spike heels and a patent leather clutch. She’s wearing a twist of pearls that gleam like teeth in the porch light.
“Kathie,” I say, holding the screen open with my hip. After a slightly awkward pause, I give her the most tentative and delicate of hugs.
“I won’t break,” she says, squeezing me tight.
Behind her, Jim stops halfway up the walk to push the lock button on his car key. The exotic coupe in the driveway beeps and flashes. He notices me for the first time and breaks into a smile, then envelops me in the arms of his exquisitely tailored jacket.
“Beth, Beth, Beth,” he says, “it’s been too long. We should have done this ages ago. Where’s the big man? Is he still putting his face on?”
“You know Rick.”
In the living room, the four of us give each other the once-over. Rick wears a dazed smile while Kathie gives an imperceptible wince, like she’s in pain and trying to hide it.
“Let me guess,” Jim says, turning my way. “We got our wires crossed somehow. I told Rick we were taking you guys out and he told you we were coming over for dinner. Am I right?” Rick starts to reply, but Jim keeps going. “You know what? This is better. This is cozier, right, Kath? Absolutely. Let’s do it. I’m pumped about this. And hey, where are those rug rats? Trying to hide from Uncle Jim?”
It all comes back to me now, how much I loved this couple. Jim’s way of spotting a crack in the social fabric and plastering it over with words before anyone else noticed it was there. His melodious voice accustomed to summing up for the jury, laying out a thought process, then walking us right through it. There was a time, before Rick and I were married, before Jed was born, that I had plans to become a lawyer myself. More than plans: I’d taken the LSATs, done well, and been accepted into a school.
Then life intervened. Literally. In the form of Jed.
I’d forgotten, too, the way Jim Shaw sees the distribution of domestic labor. In the space of five minutes, the re-introductions are over and Jim has peeled off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves to help in the kitchen. Rick, who acts like he doesn’t know where to find anything in the kitchen, who still asks where the bowls are even though I know he knows, is squiring Kathie around the house, giving her the obligatory tour.
“He didn’t tell you why we’re here, did he?” Jim says.
He’s found the good china without having to be told where it is. When did they stop making men like this?
“I’m totally in the dark. I thought maybe it was just for old times’ sake.”
“You know something?” He puts the plates down on the little island. “That’s what it should be about. We had these plans when we left. We were going to stay in touch. And look at us now—it’s been, what, eight years?” He shakes his head. “It’s my