Page 4 of The Wives of Hawthorne Lane
“Who’s calling?” he asks her casually, adjusting his lapels in the full-length mirror.
“My husband.”
4
Georgina
Hawthorne Lane
Where are you?
Georgina Pembrook stares at her phone screen, willing her son, Sebastian, to respond, though she knows he won’t. This is the third text she’s sent him tonight, all of which have gone unanswered. Sebastian, who is turning eighteen in a few short weeks, might think he’s too old to have to answer to his mother, but as long as he lives in Georgina’s house, there are rules that he’s expected to follow.
While she waits for the reply she knows isn’t coming, she opens the Hawthorne Lane forum on the community board. Her post about the fall festival has gotten exactly zero replies. Her neighbors don’t seem to grasp that three months is very little time to pull together an event of this magnitude, but no matter, she’ll handle it. She always does.
With a sigh, Georgina sets down her phone and turns back to the stove, where a large pot of sauce simmers on the front burner. She’s making Colin’s favorite tonight—eggplant rollatini. Georgina usually loves to cook, but tonight her heart isn’t in it. She’s finding the process—the cutting, dipping, rolling, frying—tedious. She’s made this meal so many times that she could probably make it in her sleep. But she reminds herself that she’s doing this because her family loves it, and there’s nothing that Georgina wouldn’t do for her family.
After giving the sauce a stir, Georgina lifts her cleaning caddy from beneath the sink and begins to attend to the kitchen. Shewashes the cooking utensils sitting in her sink by hand, carefully puts each back in its designated place, then polishes the granite countertops until they sparkle and scrubs the stainless-steel appliances to a shine.
Satisfied with the state of her kitchen, she turns to get a start on setting the dining table when the ring of the doorbell calls her attention. She glances at the clock. It’s too early for Colin to be home. She isn’t expecting her husband for another half an hour. Perhaps it’s Sebastian and he’s forgotten his key again. She slides the tray of eggplant into the oven and wipes her hands on a tea towel before she makes her way to the front door, ready to greet her son with a reminder about the house rules and keeping better track of his things.
“Mom?” Christina calls as she appears on the stairs, a book tucked under her arm, her glasses pushed up atop her head. “Is someone here?”
“It’s probably just your brother,” Georgina replies as she pulls open the door. At least she hasonechild she doesn’t have to worry about. “Oh!” She’s surprised by the figure standing on her porch, and she struggles to place her. A petite blond woman with wide, cornflower-blue eyes and a nervous smile. She’s too young to be one of the school parents and too old to be one of the kids’ friends, and yet Georgina is struck by the feeling that she should know her somehow, that she already does.
“Hi,” the young woman says, her voice soft and delicate. “My name is Hannah Wilson. I’m your new neighbor.” She points to the house across the rounded bend of the cul-de-sac. “Just over there. My husband and I are in the process of moving in. Anyway.” She thrusts a stack of papers toward Georgina. “It seems that some of your mail has been coming to our address. We only just found it. I hope it isn’t anything too important.”
Georgina takes the cluster of envelopes from Hannah’s hand. Now she remembers. She saw this woman before, when she and her husband were taking a tour of the old McGreely house with their real estate agent, Libby’s husband, Bill Corbin. “Thank you for bringing it over. I’m Georgina, and this is my daughter, Christina.” She steps aside, allowing Hannah to see into the open entryway.
She notices the way Hannah’s eyes widen as she takes in thesoaring ceilings, the black-and-white family portraits hanging in their silver frames, the polished curved banister of the center staircase.
“Hey,” Christina says with a small wave before darting back upstairs to her bedroom.
Hannah smiles. “You have a beautiful home, Georgina. You’ll have to give me some decorating tips sometime. I don’t have the first clue where to begin with our house!”
“Thank you. That’s very kind. Would you maybe like to come in?”
She hadn’t intended to invite the new neighbor inside, but it feels like the polite thing to do in the moment. And Georgina Pembrook is nothing if not polite.
“I wouldn’t want to impose on your evening.” Hannah shakes her head, her golden-blond hair rustling softly at her shoulders, but Georgina gets the impression that the younger woman wants to accept. There’s something about her. Something that Georgina feels drawn to. She wonders if Hannah feels it too.
“Nonsense, I just popped dinner into the oven, and I’d be happy to pour us a glass of wine.”
“Oh, uh.” Hannah looks back over her shoulder toward her house, where the porch light shines as if awaiting her return. “Sure. Thank you.”
Georgina leads her new neighbor through her house and into the kitchen. She motions for Hannah to sit, pulls out a pair of crystal wineglasses, and sets each one on a coaster on the table.
Georgina lifts two bottles of wine—a red from the rack and a chilled white from the refrigerator below it. “Red or white?”
“Whichever you prefer,” Hannah demurs.
Georgina inspects the two labels. Colin likes the red, so she selects the white and uncorks the chardonnay with a pop.
“So where did you move from?” Georgina asks as she pours a finger of the pale gold liquid into each of their glasses.
“Manhattan,” Hannah replies, lifting the glass to her lips.
“Ah, so not too far, then.”
