The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh

Twenty-One

Frankie

NOW

I’m not in the mood for another party but Luna heard Violette talking about it with Celeste last night and has been bugging me about it ever since. I’m not a pushover when it comes to Luna but to see her so happy with her new friend makes me capitulate, when I’d rather be home enjoying some rare time off binge watching the latest romcom on TV.

Celeste is the other reason I’m attending. I’d glimpsed genuine fear in her eyes last night.

I’m worried about her. Is she hiding from an abusive ex? It’s looking increasingly likely and, if so, I want to reassure her she’s not so vulnerable here, that she does have people who care. That’s one of the great things about this neighborhood: we may not live in each other’s pockets but in times of need, like after Mrs. Obermeier’s hip replacement or Mr. Mac’s wife dying unexpectedly from a heart attack, we pull together.

I’m surprised Saylor is throwing this party, where everyone in the neighborhood who wants to attend brings a plate to share, only a few days after her gender reveal. When I’d been five months pregnant I wanted to sloth around with my feet up as much as possible.

Not as many neighbors have come tonight but there are enough of us, about twenty, that with a little music and the share plates—mostly cheese and fruit platters—we’re having a good time.

Celeste is sitting with the girls on a patch of grass, playing charades with Luna and Violette. Andre and Lloyd are chatting, while Saylor is deep in conversation with some guy. She’s animated, he appears less interested, and when he turns I realize it’s Ruston, who she thinks is hot.

He is handsome, in that polished way some guys favor these days, with the slicked back hair, clean-shaven jaw and manicured hands. I like my guys a little rougher around the edges and as my gaze is drawn toward Andre again I wonder if he knows how much I’m still attracted to him, despite how close we came to splitting up years ago.

“Daddy, come look at this,” Luna shrieks, and Andre joins the girls and Celeste on the grass.

At a casual glance they look like the perfect family and I’m struck by how that could be me if I had another child, a sweet family of four.

As if sensing my gaze, Celeste looks my way and for a moment I’m unsure whether a shift in the light makes her look smug. But then she waves me over and her smile is genuine when I join their cozy circle on the grass.

“Mom, Dad’s hopeless at charades,” Luna says, collapsing into giggles when Andre starts tickling her until she’s rolling next to him, squealing “Stop, Dad, please.” He does and Luna clambers onto his lap, before he moves a few feet away and starts telling the girls an elaborate fairy tale about a dragon. He wraps his arms around Luna and beckons Violette to come closer, and I swear I hear Celeste sigh in unison with me.

“He’s a good father,” she says softly. “You’re lucky to have him.”

“I am,” remembering a time I didn’t feel so lucky.

“Roland would never sit on the grass with Vi or be so openly affectionate.”

She’s given me the perfect opening to ask more about her ex, to mention how supportive this community can be if she needs it, without appearing too curious.

“Will he be visiting you here?”

“No.”

Short, sharp, ominous, and like last night, I glimpse fear in her eyes. She doesn’t want to talk about Violette’s father but I hate her obvious vulnerability—the look away glance, the fiddling fingers, the slumped shoulders—and I feel obliged to ask more. “Are you divorced?”

“We never married. I think life’s all about timing and it never aligned for us.” She gives a self-deprecating laugh. “A good thing, as it turned out.”

Sadness mingles with regret in her voice and I feel sorry for her. “You can tell me to shut up if you like, but did he do something?”

She’s clasping her hands so tight in her lap the knuckles stand out. “What didn’t he do? It’s only now I’m away from him, I realize how toxic he is. He’s never going to change and I can’t keep hoping for a miracle.” She shakes her head. “Holding onto false hope is the worst. It eats away at you until you question everything.”

She sounds so forlorn I want to hug her. I like that we’re bonding and she’s revealing snippets of her life, but I feel sorry for her too.

I don’t know what to say about the situation, so I settle for, “Violette seems well-adjusted.”

I mean it as a compliment but her eyes narrow with displeasure. “She’s shy, anxious and jumps at her own shadow. I want her to discover her inner confidence before…”

She trails off and I know, by her shuttered expression, I’m not going to get anything more out of her. Then again, do I want to? I may be reaching out on the pretext of friendship but I know we all have secrets that can never be shared.

“Do you girls want some fruit?” Celeste leaps nimbly to her feet and the girls abandon Andre’s storytelling and follow her, leaving Andre and me alone.

He’s watching them walk away and a frown appears between his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong?” I reach out to touch his hand.

“You’ll think I’m nuts, but I don’t get a good vibe from that woman.”

“What do you mean?”

He shakes his head, the frown deepening. “I can’t explain it but I’m not sure you should befriend her.”

It doesn’t make sense he wants me to avoid her, especially when I feel like we’re growing closer, and having Celeste open up about her ex has further cemented our friendship. Andre’s warning could be from a good old-fashioned gut reaction, or is it because he doesn’t want me getting too close for what I’ll discover?

“Luna already loves Violette and she doesn’t have any girls her age to play with around here, so we might be hanging around Celeste more than we’d like regardless.”

I’m surprised by my instinct to protect the fragile friendship I’ve built with this woman despite my earlier suspicions. But with every interaction, I realize the misgivings are all on me and my insecurities regarding Andre; Celeste has been nothing but friendly toward me since she moved in and I value that.

“I guess…” He shrugs. “Just be careful, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure…” He smiles but I see it’s forced as he reaches for my hand. “Maybe I should stop streaming those psychological thrillers every night?”

I chuckle as he intends, but I can’t shake the feeling something isn’t right. My extroverted husband always sees the good in people and loves expanding our social circle; he’s never warned me off anyone before.

What is it about Celeste that has him worried?