Somehow I’ve made it to twenty-one without ever having had a real boyfriend. I mean, I’ve been with men—when you are a reasonably normal-looking woman addicted to drugs, there is always one surefire way to acquire more drugs—but I’ve never had anything resembling a traditional relationship.
But in the Hallmark Channel movie version of my life—in an alternate reality where I’m raised in Spring Brook by kind, affluent, well-educated parents like Ted and Caroline—my ideal boyfriend would be someone a lot like Adrian. He’s cute, he’s funny, he works hard. And as I walk along I start doing the arithmetic in my head, trying to calculate when two full weeks will elapse and he’ll be back to work on the Maxwells’ yard.
* * *
Spring Brook is full of small children but I’ve had no luck introducing Teddy to anyone. At the end of our block is a big playground full of swings, spinners, and shrieking, screaming five-year-olds—but Teddy wants nothing to do with them.
One Monday morning we find ourselves sitting on a park bench, watching a group of little boys “drive” their Hot Wheels down a sliding board. I urge Teddy to go over and play with them and he says, “I don’t have a Hot Wheels.”
“Ask them to share.”
“I don’t want to share.”
He slouches next to me on the bench, pissed off.
“Teddy, please.”
“I’ll play with you. Not them.”
“You need friends your own age. You start school in two months.”
But there’s no convincing him. We spend the rest of the morning playing LEGOs in the house, and then he eats lunch and goes upstairs for Quiet Time. I know I should use my downtime to clean the kitchen but it’s hard to muster the energy. I didn’t sleep well the night before—the Fourth of July fireworks went pretty late—and arguing with Teddy has left me feeling defeated.
I decide to lie down on the sofa for a few minutes and the next thing I know Teddy is standing over me, shaking me awake.
“Can we go swimming now?”
I sit up and notice the light in the room has changed. It’s almost three o’clock. “Yes, of course, get your swimsuit.”
He hands me a drawing and runs out of the room. It’s the same dark and tangled forest from the previous picture—only this time, the man is shoveling dirt into a large hole, and Anya’s body lies crumpled at the bottom.
Teddy returns to the den, wearing his swimsuit. “Ready?”
“Hang on, Teddy. What is this?”
“What is what?”
“Who is this person? In the hole?”
“Anya.”
“And who’s the man?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is he burying her?”
“In a forest.”
“Why?”
“Because he stole Anya’s little girl,” Teddy says. “Also can I have some watermelon before swimming?”
“Sure, Teddy, but why—”
It’s too late. He’s already skipping into the kitchen and pulling open the refrigerator. I follow and find him standing on tiptoes, reaching for the top shelf and a slab of ripe red melon. I help him carry it over to the butcher block and then I use a chef’s knife to carve off a slice. Teddy doesn’t wait for a plate; he just grabs it and starts eating.
“T-Bear, listen to me, what else did Anya say to you? About the drawing?”
His mouth is full of melon and red juice dribbles down his chin. “The man dug a hole so no one would find her,” he says with a shrug. “But I guess she got out.”
8
That night the whole family goes out for dinner. Caroline invites me to join in, but I tell her I need to run, and then I putter around the cottage until I hear her car backing out of the driveway.
Then I walk across the lawn to the house next door.
Mitzi has one of the smallest houses on the block, a redbrick ranch with a metal roof and roller shades drawn tight over every window. Her place would look right at home in my old neighborhood of South Philly, but here in well-to-do Spring Brook it’s a bit of an eyesore. The rusty rain gutters are sagging, weeds have sprouted in the sidewalk cracks, and the mottled yard could use some help from Lawn King. Caroline has commented more than once that she can’t wait for Mitzi to move away, so a developer will bulldoze the house and start over.
There’s a small handwritten note taped to the front door: WELCOME CLIENTS. PLEASE USE BACK ENTRANCE. I have to knock three times before Mitzi finally answers. She keeps the chain latched and peers out through the one-inch gap. “Yes?”