Dear Debbie, page 2
He never comes inside the house though. He only blasts that damn horn loud enough to let everybody in the neighboring towns know that he has arrived. It might even be a little louder than my chewing.
“Gotta go,” Lexi chirps.
My daughter grabs her backpack off the floor, which is heavy enough that when she’s wearing it, she walks with a slight backward tilt. She opens her mouth as if to tell me goodbye, but then she remembers her rule about not speaking to me in the morning, so she instead darts out the door without another word.
I’ve only finished about half my cereal, but I don’t have much of an appetite anyway. I follow the path through the living room that Lexi took to the front door, knowing she didn’t bother to lock it on her way out. Why should she, since I always lock it behind her.
I am always here for my family. Always.
I peek out the window at the broken-down red Kia that is pulling out of my driveway. Whenever I see that car, I think to myself that he should just drive it straight to the town dump and leave it there. I’m not thrilled about the fact that my oldest child is being transported to high school in that piece of junk, but I recognize that I don’t have much of a say in the matter.
My thoughts about the boy driving the piece of junk are even less charitable.
I catch a glimpse of Zane as he pulls onto the road in front of my house. He has long, shaggy hair and is skinny as a rail, even though the times he has been in my house, he has devoured a small truckload of food. If half of my refrigerator has been emptied, it means Zane has been by for a visit. Especially if the refrigerator has been left slightly ajar and the toilet seat is up. Not to mention the fact that I’m pretty sure he vapes. I don’t even entirely know what vaping is, but I know I don’t want my daughter dating a boy who does it. Not that I have a choice.
But most of all, I don’t like the way he looks at Lexi. There’s something in his expression that makes me uneasy. It’s something I’ve seen before—a memory that I can’t ever block out.
Lexi and Zane have been dating for about four months, and I was ready for it to be over three and a half months ago.
But I can’t forbid her to date him. She is seventeen years old, and that won’t go well. If I tell her not to see him, she’ll only see him…harder. No, the smart thing to do is to wait this out. She’s a smart girl, and she’ll wise up. Eventually, Zane will be gone.
And if not, well, I intend to protect my daughter. Both of them. Whether they like it or not.
I am about to return to the kitchen but stop when I notice another flash of movement out the window. It’s my neighbor Brett Carlson, walking down the driveway that separates our houses. Actually, he’s not so much walking as stomping. He’s making his way toward our front door. In another minute, he’s going to be pounding on it.
This day is about to get interesting.
3
Even though I’m standing only a few feet away from the door, I don’t open it right away. I give Brett a chance to ring the doorbell. Repeatedly. Then, as predicted, the pounding starts.
“Open up!” he shouts as he slams his fists uselessly against our door. “Right this minute!”
What a drama queen.
Brett Carlson moved into our neighborhood about a year ago. I know most of our neighbors fairly well, but I barely know Brett. All I know is that he works in finance, drives a sports car much too fast, and blasts music in his home office while he’s working, loud enough to bother the whole neighborhood. He always seems to manage to turn it down just before the police arrive for noise complaints.
Taking my time, I open the door. But before I do, I snatch the box cutter that we keep in a cabinet in the foyer and slip it into the small pocket in the skirt of my dress. Just in case.
Brett is standing on my front porch, his hands balled into fists, his whole face a deep scarlet. He’s glaring at me with menacing eyes. I keep the fingers of my right hand wrapped around the box cutter I’ve tucked away.
“Good morning, Brett!” I say cheerfully. “How can I help you?”
“I know what you did,” he hisses at me. “I know what you did, Debbie! And you’re not going to get away with it!”
I blink at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. What on earth do you think I did?”
“I know it was you!” All the veins in Brett’s neck are standing out. “You think after all those noise complaints, I wouldn’t figure it out?”
“Honestly,” I say, “I don’t know what you mean, Brett.”
“My fuse box,” he clarifies. “You went into my basement and snapped off the switch for my office. I’ve got no power in that room. This is going to cost me thousands of dollars to fix!”
I clasp a hand to my chest. “Oh my!”
“Oh my,” Brett repeats mockingly. “You are so full of shit. You hate how loud I play my music, so you cut the power.” He narrows his eyes at me. “I know you’re the one who did it. And you’re going to pay for it, one way or another.”
He looks like he is attempting to shoulder his way inside the house to continue the conversation. I block his entrance, ready to pull out that box cutter if I need to. It won’t come to that though. Brett is all talk.
“I’m so sorry about what happened to your fuse box, Brett.” I furrow my brow. “But I swear it wasn’t me. I barely even know how to use our own! All that wiring stuff…it’s just a big mystery to me. Ask Cooper. He always resets the breakers.”
Brett is still glaring at me, unconvinced. “I know it was you.”
“Do you have any proof?”
“Proof?”
I smile politely. “It’s a simple question, Brett.”
“I don’t need proof,” he snaps. “I know it was you.”
I laugh, which only seems to infuriate him. “This is so preposterous. How would I even get into your basement?”
He pauses for only a split second to consider this. “I had a key hidden under the lantern in the backyard. You must’ve figured out it was there.”
It’s true that there are certain naive people who hide the keys to their front door in an easily found location: under a rock, in a flowerpot, or even under the welcome mat. It’s like sending an engraved invitation to burglars. When we visit friends, Cooper and I play a little game where I have to guess where the spare key is hidden before we reach the front door. It always makes him laugh. When we recently visited one of his coworkers for dinner, I informed him their spare key was hidden under a garden gnome by the door. When we lifted it up, sure enough, there it was. I have a knack for these kinds of things.
“So you’re saying,” I begin, “that I found this key that you hid in your backyard, and then I broke into your house in the middle of the night and somehow snapped a switch in your fuse box? I’m just a housewife, Brett. You really think I did all that?”
For the first time since Brett showed up, there’s a twinge of uncertainty on his face.
“You know,” I say, “it was probably some teenagers. I saw some surly-looking boys hanging around on the street yesterday evening. I wouldn’t be surprised if they got it in their heads to stir up some trouble.”
That’s not entirely a lie. Zane is always hanging around here, and he’s about as surly as they come.
“I still think it was you.” Brett glares at me from the front porch, although some of the conviction behind his words has subsided. “I might not have any proof, but I’m putting up a camera as soon as I get this fixed.”
“Wonderful idea!” I chirp. “Security cameras are an excellent way to keep your home safe.”
Brett looks like he wants to strangle me with his bare hands. I nearly reach for the box cutter again, but then I stop myself. Instead, I smile up at my neighbor.
“I sure hope they catch the hooligan who did this to you,” I say.
“Yeah,” he mutters, “I’m sure you do.”
With those words, he turns around and storms down the porch steps, casting seething looks over his shoulder the entire time.
4
My phone is ringing in the kitchen.
Despite the fact that I frequently scold the children for having their phones out at the dinner table, my phone is admittedly never far from me either. It is, in fact, right next to my cereal bowl on the kitchen table. At first, I assume it’s the magazine with some last-minute instructions for the photo shoot. But as I return to the kitchen, I see the name Garrett Meers flashing on the screen.
My boss.
Although I sometimes refer to myself as a stay-at-home mother, I actually do work part-time at a local family-oriented newspaper called the Hingham Household, writing an advice column called Dear Debbie. It’s sort of like Dear Abby, except I wrote it, so it’s Debbie instead of Abby. Get it? People from all over Hingham send in questions, seeking the fruits of my wisdom. I do my best.
People tell me they love my column, and even though it doesn’t pay that much, I enjoy it. Of course, when I started college at MIT nearly thirty years ago, majoring in computer science, I would never have believed my primary employment would be as a newspaper advice columnist. My high school computer science teacher told me I’d be the next Bill Gates.
Suffice it to say, I’m not the next Bill Gates. Far from it. In fact, I dropped out of MIT during the second semester of my sophomore year.
I still tinker in programming though. I’ve actually created some apps for the smartphone, although nobody uses them except for our immediate family. The one I’m most proud of is an app called Findly, which is a highly accurate tracker of friends and family. Izzy and Lexi both have Findly installed on their phones, which means that not only do I know where they are, but I’m also able to download a history of their prior locations. My children are safer when I know where they are.
I’ve got a tracker on my husband’s phone too. With his permission, of course.
My phone is still ringing, so I snatch it off the kitchen table, swiping to take the call. The photographers won’t be here for nearly an hour, and Garrett never wants to talk for very long. As he always says, he’s “a busy man.”
“Hello, Debbie,” he says. “I’m so glad I caught you.”
“Uh-huh.” I settle back down in my seat. Garrett took over the paper two years ago, and he’s not my favorite person in the world. I avoid him as much as possible. “What’s up?”
“Actually,” he says, “do you think you could stop by the office today?”
I frown at his unusual request. I usually email him my articles, and my paychecks are direct deposited. “Today? What time?”
“As soon as possible.”
I get an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. I’m feeling anxious over this photo shoot already, and a mystery meeting with my boss is the last thing I need to think about. “Sure. I’ll come this afternoon. Around two?”
“Sounds good, Debbie. I’ll see you then.”
Before I can probe further, Garrett disconnects the call. Now what was that all about?
My stomach still has that queasy feeling. I’ve got half a mind to head over there right now to get to the bottom of this, but there’s no way. The photographers will be here soon, and right after, I’ve got a lunchtime book club meeting with some women in the neighborhood. If I skip the book club, I will never hear the end of it.
I look down at my phone. Should I call Garrett back to get more information? I’m tempted, but at that moment, Cooper wanders into the kitchen. He’s always the last member of the family to arrive downstairs in the morning, since he doesn’t have to be at his accounting firm until a leisurely nine o’clock. He likes to sleep in, and I enjoy having those few quiet moments with my husband.
Cooper is wearing a white dress shirt with light blue stripes, and his gray tie is hanging loose around his neck. He’s freshly shaved, and there’s a tiny piece of toilet paper stuck to a cut on his smooth lower jaw. He smells like his minty aftershave, and he smiles at me with a row of straight, even, almost white teeth.
I rise from my seat, grabbing my bowl of soggy cereal. If it ever tasted good, that time has passed. I might as well throw it away.
“Can I make you a bowl of cereal?” I offer.
“I can make it.”
“It’s no trouble.” I wink at him. “I like to take care of you.”
He laughs a bit self-consciously. Cooper was raised well, which means he’s happy to do chores. He was shocked when we first got married and I offered to do his laundry for him going forward. But it made sense, since he was working and I wasn’t. If I could make his life easier, why not? It’s not like I had anything better to do.
Cooper slides into one of the seats at the kitchen table and sits there, watching me get his breakfast. While I’m pouring milk in the bowl, his phone starts ringing, and he pulls it out of his pocket. His phone isn’t the latest model or even the model before the latest model. Cooper gets a new phone when his is so old that the software won’t update anymore. He didn’t even get a smartphone until everyone else we knew already had one, and I told him I was confiscating his flip phone. Unlike me, he has an aversion to technology. He avoids all social media, and he doesn’t even like to text unless forced. What’s wrong with a phone call? he often grumbles.
It’s one of the things I love about him. He’s the opposite of what I used to be.
Cooper glances down at the screen of his phone and frowns. His gaze flickers up at me for a millisecond, and I can’t help but notice the way he angles the phone so I can’t see the screen. He silences the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket.
I place Cooper’s cereal on the kitchen table. It’s not exactly a gourmet breakfast, but unlike our children, at least he’s eating something before he leaves the house. But instead of digging into his breakfast, he’s fumbling with his tie. He doesn’t usually wear a tie, but today is an important day for him.
“Let me help you with that,” I say.
“I got it.”
“No, let me. This is painful to watch.”
Cooper obligingly stands up. He looks nice today, in his freshly ironed shirt, his hair still slightly damp from the shower. He’s in his midforties like me—actually, he’s in his late forties, if we’re being completely pedantic about it. But even though his hair is a little thinner than it used to be, he still looks good. He doesn’t even look that much different than he did when we first met in our early twenties, although maybe that’s just because I look at him every day, so I don’t notice the more gradual changes. He doesn’t turn heads, but then again, he never did. He’s good looking in that cute, boy-next-door sort of way, sort of like I’m pretty in that cute, girl-next-door sort of way.
Or at least I was once upon a time.
I cinch the tie around his neck, and that’s when Cooper’s gaze drops to my dress, which is white with red uneven shapes on it. I swear, it looked great in the store, but when I look down at the pattern now, the red blotches sort of look like…well, like bloodstains.
Shoot. Maybe I should change.
“Hey,” he says, “you look great.”
He appears to mean it. “Thanks.”
“Your photo shoot is today, right?”
He remembers. Cooper might be the only person in my household who actually listens to the words coming out of my mouth. “That’s right. They’re coming at ten.”
“This is so cool.” He wraps his arms around my body, drawing me close to him. “Our garden is going to be in a magazine. We’ll be famous!”
I think Cooper is vastly overestimating the reach of Home Gardening magazine. “Not really.”
“Don’t sell yourself short.” He lowers his lips to peck mine. Cooper is the perfect height for kisses while standing up. “I always tell everyone that you’re the best gardener in town.”
“Hmm.”
“I have the most talented wife in the whole neighborhood.” He kisses me again, more deeply this time. His next words are whispered in my ear. “And the sexiest.”
Cooper and I have been married for close to twenty years now, and even after all that time, he always makes me feel like I’m just as attractive as the day we met. He acts like I’m still that same receptionist in my early twenties, going over the company’s books with him, while he tried to pretend he wasn’t looking at my legs.
When he asked me out, I almost said no automatically. I was so close to shutting him down. I wasn’t dating back then, but there was something in his eyes that changed my mind. Now, all these years later, I have no regrets—not about him anyway.
I wonder if he feels the same way.
I finally break away from the kiss with a twinge of regret. As much as I’m anticipating this photo shoot, a quickie with Cooper wouldn’t be a bad thing either. He always seems up for it in the morning, but neither of us have the time.
“You’re wearing my lipstick,” I tease him, gesturing at the smear of red that rubbed off my lips onto his.
He chuckles and grabs a napkin from the table to wipe it away. “Ken would frown on me showing up to work with lipstick on.”
That’s not saying much. His boss frowns on everything.
“So,” I say, “is today the day you’re talking to him about…you know?”
Cooper flinches. He has been working for Ken Bryant for a decade now, and he’s not getting paid nearly what he deserves. Cooper Mullen has many good qualities: he’s a good husband, a good father, and a damn good accountant. But his fatal flaw is that he’s not ambitious. He doesn’t want to strike out on his own, even though it would be more lucrative. He’s been feeling Ken out about the idea of a partner share in the accounting firm, and they’re supposed to have a meeting about it today. Hence the tie that he can’t figure out how to tie.
“Supposed to,” Cooper mumbles, not meeting my eyes. So much for feeling amorous.
I snatch the little piece of toilet paper off the nick on his chin, and he winces. “He won’t want to lose you. You’re amazing at what you do. Just tell him what you want, and I bet he’ll be happy to make you a partner.”
