The Neighbors Are Watching by Debra Ginsberg Page B

weight with her hands resting on her belly. She was wearing cheap dusty flip-flops and a gauzy sundress that didn’t quite hide the outlines of her body underneath it. Her long hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail and there were tiny dots of perspiration above her upper lip. She smelled of sweat and white flowers. Dorothy thought that Diana looked particularly young today, but despite that, not at all vulnerable. This confused Dorothy, as did Diana’s total lack of shame and her willingness to let—almost force, really—everyone see the state she was in. Dorothy had already been married for years when she became pregnant with Kevin, and even though there was nothing to hide, she’d still beendiscreet about it. That was the core of it, Dorothy supposed. She just couldn’t understand why this girl felt she had nothing to hide. And why was she just standing there, Dorothy wondered. What was she waiting for?
    Diana cleared her throat. The vaguest hint of discomfort shadowed her face. “So can I get …? Do you mind if I get that glass of water?”
    “Oh,” Dorothy said. She realized then that she was standing in the entryway to the kitchen and that in order for Diana to get herself the glass of water she wanted, she’d have to push Dorothy out of the way. Dorothy hadn’t even noticed that she’d been hovering like some kind of mountain lioness guarding her territory, but that must surely be the way it looked to Diana.
    “I’ll get it for you,” Dorothy said and opened the cabinet where she kept the glassware. Diana looked relieved. Dorothy filled a glass with water from the faucet and handed it to the girl. “Would you like something to eat? I have some cookies or … chicken.”
    Diana smiled—suddenly and dazzlingly. “Cookies or chicken?” she asked. “Sounds tempting, but no thanks. Do you have any other water, though? This water smells so bleachy. I’m sorry, I just … I’m just not used to San Diego water, I guess.” She held the glass out to Dorothy, her smile fading but not disappearing entirely, as if they were both in on the same joke. Dorothy wasn’t amused. There was something in the gesture that struck Dorothy as not rude, exactly, but presumptuous. As if she were owed something just for being here.
    “Sorry,” Dorothy said. “All we have is tap.” She thought about the gallon of Sparkletts on the top shelf of the fridge and wondered if Diana sensed she was lying. But Diana just stood there impassive, one eyebrow half-raised, and slowly lifted the tumbler to her lips to drink.
    “Thanks, Mrs. Werner.”
    Diana turned, water in hand, and headed back up the stairs to Kevin’s bedroom. Dorothy bristled. There was something in Diana’s tone that scraped against her nerves. It was uncharitable to feel so hostile toward this girl who clearly had plenty of troubles to deal with, but Dorothy couldn’thelp herself. There was something about Diana that just made her uneasy. It felt to Dorothy as if Diana had brought an air of bad luck into the neighborhood. And no, Dorothy told herself, that wasn’t because Diana was black (well,
half
black, really), or that she was a pregnant teenager, or that she was almost certainly wrecking Joe and Allison’s marriage.
    That last part was Joe’s fault primarily, though Dorothy believed that Diana probably made things much more difficult for Allison than they had to be because, truly, Diana was just not a very endearing person. Really, Allison was the victim in all of this, and you didn’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Allison was not dealing with it well at all. Allison had only allowed Dorothy in once since Diana had arrived (last month, when Dorothy had taken over one of her famous chocolate cheesecakes in the hope that Allison would unburden herself of what must be a very trying situation—because Dorothy was there to listen and to help), but she could tell that Allison was a mess, all bloodshot and disheveled and