Read Online The Woman Next Door by Barbara Delinsky - Free Book Online Page B

contemplative place. The factthat they had never seen Gretchen there, with or without Ben, was another strike against the woman.
    The house was the fourth and last circling the cul-de-sac, which made Gretchen the Cotters’ immediate neighbor. It took no time for Karen to cross from one yard to the next and hook onto the bluestones that led to the back door. She climbed the steps and knocked, thinking of the many talks she’d had with June on this porch. June had been a mother figure for the three other women. She was dead three years now. Karen missed her.
    When no one answered, she rang the bell, then shaded her eyes and peered through the mullioned glass. While June’s kitchen had a country feel, with patterns and prints and grandchildren’s drawings, Gretchen’s was stainless steel and sleek. The same was true of Gretchen herself, as far as Karen was concerned. She was cool, state-of-the-art chic, and standoffish.
    Karen was about to ring the bell again when Gretchen appeared. She was wearing leggings, a loose man’s shirt that was spattered with paint, and a look that became guarded when she saw who was at her door. The two women had never been exactly close.
    Crossing the kitchen without hurry, she opened the door.
    Karen extended the dish. “Double chocolate chip cookies. To celebrate the coming of May.”
    Gretchen gave the dish a cautious look. In a voice that was quiet and as wary as everything else about her, she said, “That’s nice.” Why now, why you, why at all? she might have said.
    Feeling fraudulent, Karen shrugged. “I had to make batches for the bake sale at school and I overbought ingredients, so I made extras for Russ’s kids, and extras for my kids, and then there was still chocolate left over, and it seemed silly to save it, so I just kept going.”
    “Ah,” Gretchen said, though she sounded far from convinced.
    Karen gave the dish a little nudge. “You’d be doing me a favor by taking them. I have more than I know what to do with. If they stay in my house, I’ll eat as many as the kids, and they’ll go straight to my hips. You aren’t on a diet or anything, are you? You’re so slim.” It was the perfect excuse to glance at the widow’s middle, which Karen promptly did, but the shirt gave nothing away.
    Gretchen took the plate. “I’ve never had to diet. I’m lucky, I guess.”
    “I’m envious. You name it, I’ve done it—Atkins, Pritikin, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig. It’s not that I’ve ever been fat, just that I’d always look better if I could just lose ten pounds, if you know what I mean. Do you work out?”
    Gretchen shook her head.
    “I suppose you don’t have to. You’re naturally athletic. You kept Ben going. I really do miss Ben.”
    The phone rang. Gretchen said a quiet, “Excuse me,” and went to answer it.
    Karen kept an eye on her stomach, but if anything was there, the shirt hid it.
    Gretchen said hello, paused, said it again, then hung up the phone.
    “Solicitation?” Karen asked. “Boy, this is the hour. Sit down to dinner and rrrrring, there they are. If it weren’t for the fact that Jordie’s always getting calls, I’d put on a recording warning solicitors off. You could do that.”
    “It wasn’t a solicitor,” Gretchen said. “No one spoke.”
    “That can be just as bad. Does it happen often?”
    Gretchen thought a minute, shook her head, and turned to put the cookies on the counter. Only then did the shirt brush close enough to her body to tell tales.
    “Oh my,” Karen murmured, raising her eyes a second too late.
    To her credit, Gretchen didn’t deny it. Rather, she put a hand on her belly. If there had been any doubt left, it was gone then. The bulge was unmistakable.
    Still, Karen said, “Are you . . . ?”
    Gretchen nodded.
    “How far along?”
    “Seven months.”
    “Seven.” Karen scrambled to do the figuring. If this was May, seven months would put conception in November. No, October. “You don’t look seven months