“We’re not being mean.” Piper reverted to her normal voice. “We’re just being ... skeptical.”
“I’m not skeptical at all,” Kiersten said firmly. “I think she’s lovely.”
Piper rolled her eyes. “It sounds to me like she’s either started a cult or she’s running a pyramid scheme.”
“Or both,” Rosamund said. “Regardless, I have a book to write, and I need to go check on my daughter. But we will be here at the crack of 9:00 a.m. tomorrow for the first day of school.”
Rosamund returned to her own home across the street while Kiersten and Piper wandered back to the dining room to continue sorting through school supplies.
“That woman cannot be trusted,” Piper said as she opened a pack of highlighters. “Mark my words.”
Kiersten’s mouth dropped open. “You mean Rosamund?”
“No. Of course not.” Piper shook her head. “I love Rosamund. I’m talking about the Trad Wife.”
Kiersten looked at Piper, opened her mouth, snapped it shut, then opened it again. “I know it’s none of my business or anything, but ... well ... you seem like you’re ... I don’t know ... but maybe you’re a little paranoid ... maybe?”
Piper smiled in spite of herself. “Are you scolding me in Minnesotan?”
Kiersten hunched her shoulders, looking sheepish. “I might be. A little ... yes.”
“Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you. In my experience.”
“I think most people are good,” Kiersten said gently. “I mean, notallpeople, of course. Not serial killers ... and telemarketers. But most people.”
“That’s because you’re a nurse from Bergen, Minnesota, who enjoys bringing sick people heated blankets and morphine to make them more comfortable. You’re a good person, so you think everyone else is a good person too.” Piper crushed the packaging from a pack of glue sticks.
“But you’re a good person too.” Kiersten paused; then a look of worry creased her face. “I mean, aren’t you?”
“Look.” Piper turned to her, brandishing a box of colored pencils. “I’ve spent my entire career trying to protect good people from bad people. And it tends to make a person suspicious. And Aspen makes me suspicious.”
“Why?”
“Because I feel like she’s trying to sell us something,” Piper said, struggling to explain herself. She couldn’t articulate why she didn’t trust Aspen. It was a feeling, not a set of facts she could recite.
“She gave us all her books and workbooks for free. Plus muffins.” Kiersten opened a box of No. 2 pencils, then stood them upright inside an empty coffee mug.
“I feel like she’s trying to sell us a philosophy, a way of looking at the world, like a politician.”
She didn’t like politicians, with the exception of their current governor, Ben Bradley. He seemed like a decent guy. And his wife ran some kind of shelter for runaway teenage girls. She approved of that.
“That might be true,” Kiersten conceded. “But she’s selling serenity, peace, and organization. I mean, I don’t know how to doanyof this”—she swept her arms toward the tangle of school supplies scattered across the dining room table—“and she does. So I’m going to do her workbook and make her recipes and meet with her once a week and let her be my coach, even though she looks like she’s about eleven years old. Because the only thing we’re manifesting in my house is stress and anxiety and chaos. If she has a better way, I’m open to it.”
Piper looked at her. If only she could be more like Kiersten. Optimistic. Trusting. Nonjudgmental. “I’d like to be you when I grow up.”
Kiersten shot her a look of surprise. “You’d like to be fifteen pounds overweight, unable to fit into any of your pants, and live in a house with no pictures on the walls?”
“You’re kind and generous. And trusting.”
“Well ... you do seem a little ... suspicious,” Kiersten conceded. “But maybe it’s because you used to chase actual bad guys for a living. The only people I’ve ever chased are little children who don’t want to get vaccinated for chicken pox.”
Piper sighed. “You’re right. I am suspicious. And paranoid. And I’m working on it. I really am. My suspicious mind is the reason I’m on administrative leave.”
“I don’t know the whole story,” Kiersten said quietly. “And you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But if it would help, I’m here to listen.”
Piper looked back at this neighbor who was honest, funny, real, and kind. Suddenly she felt a surge of gratitude to the universe for bringing Kiersten and her family to Beaverbrook Lane. For bringing her a friend when she really needed one, a friend she didn’t have to text or make complicated arrangements to see, because she was literally right next door, just a few yards from her own kitchen table.
Piper opened her mouth, and the words poured out. “A homeless man parked a white van in front of the Lincoln Memorial and told us it was filled with explosives, and I believed him. When he asked to be connected with aliens from the Andromeda Galaxy, I still believed his van was filled with explosives. Because people can be both crazyanddangerous. But when they finally lured the guy out of the van with a cheeseburger and looked inside, they found an old Atari and a bunch of black-and-white TV sets. And no bomb. No explosives. I was wrong. Spectacularly wrong.”
