Read Online Dear Neighbor, Drop Dead by Saralee Rosenberg - Free Book Online
Authors: Saralee Rosenberg
Ads: Link
nervous Mindy fretted over how the kids would respond to him, how Artie’s family would treat him, how she would feel about him, and, mostly, what to call him. Technically she could refer to him as her step-son, but doubted that would roll off her tongue. Perhaps Artie’s boy? His Royal Highness, the Prince of Portland?
Didn’t matter, for it was a sullen young man who got off the 54
Saralee Rosenberg
plane and said all of four words (“My suitcase is green”). En route to Long Island, he mumbled that he was tired and slept the entire ride, as if he were still the sleepy toddler Artie used to strap into a car seat and take to the Bronx Zoo. Probably best, Mindy thought. For of all the things making her nervous about this night, the most perverse was that Aaron would judge them based on where and how they lived.
Though lot sizes in south Merrick were so nominal that home-owners would be woken by the sounds of garbage pails being hauled down their neighbor’s driveway, and though the streets were so narrow, oncoming cars had to wait their turn to pass, the suburb was home to some of the most exclusive waterfront houses on Long Island’s south shore, particularly the gated estates, once headquarters to mob bosses who needed to be close to the rum-running action off Hempstead Bay.
And though their block was not quite in that league, every home had undergone major renovations and was a shining example of what refinancing could buy. Save for one: 1359 Daffo-dil Drive, aka the Sherman house, the lone vestige of proof that these dwellings started as modest split-levels and high ranches.
Number thirteen fifty-nine had no distinctive landscaping, no brick exterior or Belgian block walkways. Not even their cars were updated.
But funny how the things you worried about never happened, while the stuff you never saw coming could completely blindside you. When at last they pulled into their driveway, there was a welcome committee to greet them. Only it wasn’t their kids who ran out of their house, it was Beth and Richard Diamond.
Five
“I can not believe your mean, irresponsible daughter!” Beth shouted the second Mindy got out of the car. “I hope to God you ground her for a good, long time!”
“She’s just a kid, Beth.” Richard trailed her. “Why are you blaming her for something you did?”
“Hey, guys?” Artie was so mortified his voice quivered.
“What’s going on here? Sounds like a little misunderstanding.”
“Oh no.” Beth went nose to nose. “There’s been no misunderstanding. I don’t know how you are raising your children, but mine would know better than to—”
“Do you hear yourself?” Richard pulled her aside. “You’re such a hypocrite. You expect a thirteen-year-old to take responsibility for her actions, but you’re an adult who can’t do that.”
“For the last time, nothing happened! Okay? But will that stop the whole neighborhood from talking behind my back now? I don’t think so.”
“Guys. Guys,” Artie pleaded. “Can we just put it on pause for a second? I want you to meet my son, Aaron Findley.”
Aaron gestured hello and headed to the front door singing.
56
Saralee Rosenberg
“Every single day and every word you say. Every game you play, every night you stay, I’ ll be watchin’ you . . .”
“Cool,” Richard nodded. “Your boy likes Sting. . . . Look, I’m really sorry about this, Artie. We’ll straighten everything out. I promise.”
“Forget it,” Artie gritted. “Aaron hold up.”
“What is going on?” Mindy asked Beth and Richard, though she had some idea.
“I’ll tell you what.” Beth stood with hands on hips. “Your daughter pretended to be you on line when we had this whole conversation. Then she had the nerve to make a copy of that conversation and send it to Jessica and apparently a hundred other people, and then, are you ready? She started this rumor that Richard and I are getting a divorce!”
“Really?” Mindy had to fight
Didn’t matter, for it was a sullen young man who got off the 54
Saralee Rosenberg
plane and said all of four words (“My suitcase is green”). En route to Long Island, he mumbled that he was tired and slept the entire ride, as if he were still the sleepy toddler Artie used to strap into a car seat and take to the Bronx Zoo. Probably best, Mindy thought. For of all the things making her nervous about this night, the most perverse was that Aaron would judge them based on where and how they lived.
Though lot sizes in south Merrick were so nominal that home-owners would be woken by the sounds of garbage pails being hauled down their neighbor’s driveway, and though the streets were so narrow, oncoming cars had to wait their turn to pass, the suburb was home to some of the most exclusive waterfront houses on Long Island’s south shore, particularly the gated estates, once headquarters to mob bosses who needed to be close to the rum-running action off Hempstead Bay.
And though their block was not quite in that league, every home had undergone major renovations and was a shining example of what refinancing could buy. Save for one: 1359 Daffo-dil Drive, aka the Sherman house, the lone vestige of proof that these dwellings started as modest split-levels and high ranches.
Number thirteen fifty-nine had no distinctive landscaping, no brick exterior or Belgian block walkways. Not even their cars were updated.
But funny how the things you worried about never happened, while the stuff you never saw coming could completely blindside you. When at last they pulled into their driveway, there was a welcome committee to greet them. Only it wasn’t their kids who ran out of their house, it was Beth and Richard Diamond.
Five
“I can not believe your mean, irresponsible daughter!” Beth shouted the second Mindy got out of the car. “I hope to God you ground her for a good, long time!”
“She’s just a kid, Beth.” Richard trailed her. “Why are you blaming her for something you did?”
“Hey, guys?” Artie was so mortified his voice quivered.
“What’s going on here? Sounds like a little misunderstanding.”
“Oh no.” Beth went nose to nose. “There’s been no misunderstanding. I don’t know how you are raising your children, but mine would know better than to—”
“Do you hear yourself?” Richard pulled her aside. “You’re such a hypocrite. You expect a thirteen-year-old to take responsibility for her actions, but you’re an adult who can’t do that.”
“For the last time, nothing happened! Okay? But will that stop the whole neighborhood from talking behind my back now? I don’t think so.”
“Guys. Guys,” Artie pleaded. “Can we just put it on pause for a second? I want you to meet my son, Aaron Findley.”
Aaron gestured hello and headed to the front door singing.
56
Saralee Rosenberg
“Every single day and every word you say. Every game you play, every night you stay, I’ ll be watchin’ you . . .”
“Cool,” Richard nodded. “Your boy likes Sting. . . . Look, I’m really sorry about this, Artie. We’ll straighten everything out. I promise.”
“Forget it,” Artie gritted. “Aaron hold up.”
“What is going on?” Mindy asked Beth and Richard, though she had some idea.
“I’ll tell you what.” Beth stood with hands on hips. “Your daughter pretended to be you on line when we had this whole conversation. Then she had the nerve to make a copy of that conversation and send it to Jessica and apparently a hundred other people, and then, are you ready? She started this rumor that Richard and I are getting a divorce!”
“Really?” Mindy had to fight
Similar Books
