But it didn’t matter – my thoughts were with Delaney now.
The image on my daughter’s phone flashed in my mind again. Repulsed, I shook my head, willing it to go away. Jerry honked and waved, then I watched their taillights disappear from the restaurant parking lot. Finally, I put the van in gear and started the slow crawl home.
The One Night Stand: Chapter 4
BEFORE
The house was cloaked in a dark cloud, not a single light on inside or outside, since I’d left them all off when I’d gone out for my birthday.
Oak Hill was not only a subdivision, but a community. At least that was what the original advertisement had claimed. I had one neighbor across the street; both houses beside me – near replicas of mine – lay neglected and empty.
Almost all the houses in Oak Hill were empty. The clubhouse and the pool that they boasted about building years ago … well, those never happened. The people and the houses in the brochure were sunshiny, gleaming with community, with joy and a stark contrast to the somber reality I came home to every day.
A perfect house in theory; but a lonely, empty place in truth.
It was like living in our own little ghost town, which at first, when we moved in, we thought was neat. I never had to worry about Delaney riding her bike outside, but then again, there was no one for her to play with either. And as the years marched on, the whole subdivision felt deserted and a little depressing.
At least we have Fran across the street, I thought, rolling my eyes.
Fran looked to be around seventy years old and, according to Pam’s sources, she was widowed. Although she rarely left the house, she was always watching, peeking through the blinds as we came or went, goggling at us when she fetched her mail. And although I’d tried being neighborly, waving and smiling, she was never friendly back, almost pretending like she didn’t see us at all.
Finally, after the first year of living here, I stopped waving completely.
Maybe she’s senile, I had considered. Or maybe her vision’s gone bad.
Or maybe she doesn’t like having neighbors, period.
Tonight, her house was as dark as ours, giving the entire neighborhood the hush of an overgrown, forgotten cemetery. The empty houses were like looming headstones, a reminder of what could have been.
I wonder where Fran is. She’s usually home, every night...
Hell, maybe Fran is out on a date. I wouldn’t be surprised if her love life was better than mine, I thought, glumly.
I locked the van, then followed the stony pathway up to my front door. I let myself in, clicking the door locked behind me and slammed into something tall and hard, yelping in pain.
“Damn you!” I kicked the vacuum cleaner on its side, then stopped myself and took a breath.
It’s going to be okay. Just stay calm, Ivy.
Room by room I went, flooding the house with lights. The house came alive, instantly making me feel better, and more in control. I imagined how it would look from space, one glowing bulb in the center of a pitch-black ghost land.
I shimmied out of my pencil skirt and too-tight blouse, then tugged on my favorite sweats and a raggedy old Bengals t-shirt.
I hardly ever drank, but that amaretto had got me going, so I tracked down an old bottle of Moscato in the back of the fridge, then slid out a dusty old wine glass from the cupboard.
I blew the dust off and poured, sighing as I did so.
What am I going to do with that daughter of mine?
The image on her phone came rushing back…
I tipped the glass back, eager to taste the sweet cherry fizz.
I swallowed, slowly, then squinted into the glass.
What the hell?
Just to be sure, I took a few more sips.
Yep. No doubt. This is water, not wine.
So, Laney was drinking. Enough to know that she had to cover her tracks by switching out the nearly forgotten bottle in the back of the fridge. Add that to my growing list of concerns.
I turned the bottle on its side over the sink basin, watching as the long, slow stream chugged down the drain in splashy waves.
Laney is drinking. But that is small potatoes compared to what I found on her phone.
Angrily, I launched the bottle across the room. It landed with a hard clank on the floor beside the trash, but it didn’t break.
Go figure.
I only tear up things I want to fix. Never the other way around anymore.
I stomped towards my daughter’s room. Her door was closed, which wasn’t unusual. Delaney was all about her privacy these days.
Finally, I understand why.
Weekends were the only time I was home alone in the house. I’d considered snooping in the past, but there was something about it that always made me uneasy, guilty, for not allowing her this one safe space she could call her own.
And how would I feel if she was snooping through my room?
But in reality, how smart is it to give her so much space and privacy?
I wasn’t sure anymore.
Not very smart, apparently.
The light was off in her room. I flipped it on, giving my eyes a few seconds to adjust. I rarely saw the place anymore. Delaney slipped in and out like a phantom – a flash in the morning, a blip at the dinner table, a quiet little mouse at bedtime…
It had been so long since I’d been in her room that I’d nearly forgotten what it looked like.
I was surprised to find it neat and organized. The bed was made; the same fuzzy blue blanket with little curls of lace was tucked stiffly in each corner.
Bob, the stuffed elephant, was perched in the center of her pillows.
My heart swelled at the sight of him. I sank down on the bed, the springs squeaky and old, and I reached for the frumpy old toy. His short gray hair was coarser than I
