Elaine glanced at the petunias. “Where are these going?”
While Natalie shared her vision, Elaine’s gaze swept over the annuals. “So, the goal is to distract people from the house?”
“And the woods in back,” Natalie added. “If I plant pretty flowers, trim the bushes, and mow the lawn, buyers can see the place as a family home. The neighborhood is lovely. We’ve got good schools. Beach access is two streets away. If a buyer is new to the area, they won’t know about the creepy house on the other side of the woods or have heard rumors about its mysterious owner.”
“Mysterious? I’d use other words to describe Mrs. Smith.”
Elaine practically spat the woman’s name.
Natalie stared at Elaine in surprise. Her friend always spoke in soft, dulcet tones and rarely said a mean word about anyone. She was the epitome of a lady. Well-mannered, elegant, and inscrutable. She moved her body with the calculated grace of a dancer. Her clothes were stylish and expensive. She favored neutral colors that complemented her strawberry-blond hair. Natalie had never seen her sweat or lose her temper.
If the Scotts were Mrs. Smith’s closest neighbors on the bottom of the hill, the Bernsteins were her closest on the top of the hill. There were three houses on the cul-de-sac, but only two regulation mailboxes on wooden posts. Mrs. Smith’smailbox had been built into the stone pillar next to her electric gate. She had a mail slot in her front door as well, but it was a relic from a bygone era and hadn’t been used since the gate was erected.
“Did something happen? Something involving Mrs. Smith?”
Elaine nodded. “It’s about Charles.”
Of course it is, thought Natalie.
Elaine’s whole life revolved around Charles. He was Elaine and Benjamin’s only child, and he was a loser.
Natalie and Elaine had been pregnant at the same time. Natalie with Jill, and Elaine with Charles. Natalie had watched Charles grow from a fussy baby to a spoiled toddler. Eventually, he’d stopped being a clingy child and had morphed into an unattractive, awkward preteen.
Charles didn’t make eye contact with anyone outside his family. His gaze was always fixed on the ground, and he had a funny way of walking. His was a short, hurried gait, and he swung his arms without bending them at the elbow, which made him look like a toy soldier on the march.
He didn’t carry himself like the other boys, who slung backpacks or beach towels over one shoulder, loping along in an easy, casual manner. The neighborhood boys were rarely alone, preferring to travel in packs of three or four. They exchanged playful punches and laughed often.
Charles wasn’t one of those boys. He’d been walking alone since he took his first steps.
Natalie knew most of the kids called him Chuck instead of Charles. When they were feeling uncharitable, they called him Upchuck. They made fun of his red hair, his chalky skin, and the riot of splotchy freckles covering every inch of his face. They made fun of the strange and halting way he moved his body, his unusually deep voice, and how he turned tomato red whenever a girl spoke to him.
Elaine and Benjamin rarely argued in public, but when Natalie and Jimmy were at their house for a Memorial Day cookout, Benjamin had come right out and said that his son’s only friend was a much younger boy from Hebrew school.
Elaine had rushed to her son’s defense. “That’s not true! He has friends. Jill’s one. Right, Natalie?”
“Absolutely,” Natalie had agreed to spare Elaine’s feelings. In reality, her daughter didn’t like Charles at all.
“And not just Jill. There are other kids in the neighborhood, too,” Elaine had insisted.
Everyone knew this was untrue, but no one said as much.
Instead, Benjamin had pressed Elaine’s hand to his lips and said, “He needs to toughen up,motek. The boys in his class pick on him. I know this because he told me. And they’ll keep doing it until he makes them stop.”
Elaine had stared at her husband in horror. “Why shouldhehave to do anything? He’s a wonderful boy. If they can’t see that, it’s their loss.”
“Help me out here, Jimmy,” Benjamin pleaded.
Jimmy had taken a swig of beer and leaned back in his chair. “In junior high, I was a skinny kid. I didn’t play sports, so I wasn’t friends with the jocks, and those guys ran the school. The captain of the football team decided he didn’t like me. He and all his buddies loved to mess with me. They pushed me against the lockers, smacked the lunch tray out of my hands—shit like that. My dad told me to go after the leader or they’d never leave me alone. He said I’d probably get my ass kicked, but if I wanted to hold my head up high and be a man, I had to do something.”
“What’d you do?” asked Benjamin.
“I went after the captain in the middle of the hall, between classes, so everyone could see. I didn’t wait for him to pick a fight, either. I just ran at the guy. I landed one good punch—bam!—right in his nose. And then, just like my old man said, I got my ass kicked.” Jimmy laughed. “But the jocks left me alone after that. You know why? Because I wasn’t an easy target anymore.”
“You see?” Benjamin turned to Elaine. “That’s what Charles needs to do. Even if he gets knocked on his tushy, one black eye is better than being pushed around for the rest of his life.”
Elaine had dismissed the idea with a languid wave of her hand. “School’s almost over. Charles’s bar mitzvah is in July. He won’t need to punch anyone after that. Trust me. Kids will crawl over each other to get an invitation. It’s a better solution than telling him to punch people in the nose. Now, who wants another drink?”
When she’d gone inside to make another pitcher of margaritas, Jimmy made a snipping motion with his fingers. “Charles will be thirteen this summer, Benjamin. Time to cut the apron strings.”
