Her Better Half

I stood back from the moving truck and took a long look at my half of the semidetached house that would be our new home. If it had any redeeming features, I couldn’t see them. The place was old. Tired. Though I’d had the structure inspected and been assured of a dry basement and sound roof, the house looked as if a strong gale would send it toppling. Even the lawn and few scraggly shrubs appeared in need of resuscitation.

How was I going to make this place a home, a welcome sanctuary from the world for my girls and me?

The task seemed impossible.

I felt lost. Ever since Gary had left, I’d been losing little bits of myself. They disappeared along with the people who had once constituted my world: my husband, our mutual friends, my in-laws and even my own parents. None of my relationships had emerged from this divorce intact.

And now my home was gone, too.

I sighed as I pulled out the envelope of cash for the mover. He accepted payment, handed me a receipt, then took off.

I wished I could do the same.

Toronto was a city of neighborhoods. Where you lived said a lot about you. My previous home in Rosedale had announced that I was part of the Toronto establishment—wealthy, privileged and entitled to the best the city had to offer.

This house, in this neighborhood, said blue-collar worker, unconnected, struggling to get by.

Those were hardly labels to aspire to. But a place in Dovercourt Village had been all I could afford within a reasonable distance of my daughters’ private school.

Unfortunately, Gary and I had never been savers. We’d piled all his salary into our house and our extravagant lifestyle.

So here I was. Or, more accurately, here we were. The new family unit—me, Devin, Jamie…that was it. Just the three of us now.

I brushed dust from my hands and headed for the front door. It was original to the house, too, protected by an ugly screen door. I’d have loved to rip the screen off, but maybe we’d need the extra insulation when winter came.

Inside, the foyer was so small it could hold no more than a couple people at the same time. With just two steps, I reached the stairs that led to the second story. I was heading for my bedroom, when I heard the doorbell.

Had the mover forgotten something?

I retraced my steps and opened the door. An attractive, but hard-looking young woman and a little girl stood on the front porch.

“Hi, I’m Erin Karmeli and this is my kid, Shelley. Welcome to the neighborhood.” She slapped the wall that divided our two houses. “I’m your new neighbor.”

I supplied her with my name and a smile that, despite my best efforts, must have looked hesitant.

Six months later, I would look back on this moment, on this first impression, and see Erin in a completely different light. Right now, though, I took in only a tall, thin woman with an improbably large bust displayed to advantage in a bright red tank top. Erin had striking, angular features, and wild, curly dark hair. Add in the miniskirt and high heels and there was no disputing what she looked like.

Just my luck. I’ve moved next door to a prostitute.

But there was the child to consider, a little girl about six years old, holding Erin’s hand and gazing curiously down the hall at the stacked cardboard boxes. The girl had neat blond hair, wore clean denim overalls, and smelled—when I crouched to say hello—of toothpaste and sunscreen.

My mothering instincts approved on all counts.

“Are you in grade one, Shelley?”

She nodded, then said, “We made cookies.”

Erin brushed a hand over the little girl’s shoulder. “That’s right. We did. We thought you might like to take a break and come for some iced tea on our porch.”

She watched as I brushed my bangs from my forehead. My fingers came away tacky with sweat. No air-conditioning in this house.

Erin looked sympathetic. “Moving days are a bitch, aren’t they?”

“Yes. They really are. And I’d love a break. Thanks, that’s very hospitable of you.”

“So you’ll come?” Erin had a broad smile, not without charm, despite crowded front teeth. “Great. Your kids are welcome, too.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure they’re busy.” Devin was organizing CDs in her new room, and Jamie was on the phone with an old friend.

Two years ago they would have dropped whatever they were doing to come with me. They’d still been girls then, not adolescents transformed—by what? Peer pressure and hormones?—into strangers.

I was reeling from more than just the divorce this year. My entire family had undergone a metamorphosis and I’d been too busy folding laundry to notice.

I felt like Sleeping Beauty. Only I’d fallen asleep in a castle and woken up in attached housing on the wrong side of the tracks next door to a…

Maybe Erin was a drug addict. She was awfully thin.

“I’ll just be a minute while I tell the girls where I’m going.” I paused, wondering if I should invite Erin and her daughter in to wait. But Erin solved my dilemma.

“We’ll go home and get things organized. Meet us on the front porch?”

“Okay.”

I headed upstairs, thinking that at least I’d been able to afford a place where the girls didn’t need to share a room. It would be bad enough having them fight over the bathroom. In Rosedale, they’d each had their own, as well as a walk-in closet. I tapped on the first closed door, then opened it.

Boxes were piled everywhere—only a few had been opened. Jamie, dark hair twisted on her head, wearing baggy pajama bottoms and a tight, short tank top, sat in the middle of her bare mattress, talking on her cell phone. Jamie was always on that phone—she was going to have a fit when I had it disconnected. According to my new budget, I couldn’t afford it.

“Jamie? I’m going next door to the neighbor’s.”

“Yeah, whatever, Mom.”

“Also, could you please get off the cell phone. The landline is free, remember.”

Jamie rolled her vivid blue eyes, outlined in dark liner and mascara.

Devin, in the next room, was crouched on the floor stacking her CDs in alphabetical piles. She was a quieter girl, more of a pleaser, a little more introverted. It was amazing to me that birth order could matter when you had twins, but in my daughters’ case it really had. Devin had been born only two minutes after her sister, yet she seemed fated to forever be just so slightly in Jamie’s shadow.

“I’ve been invited to the neighbor’s for iced tea. Would you like to come, too? She has a little daughter—could be some babysitting jobs in your future.”

“I’d like to finish this, Mom. Then I need to make lesson plans for next week.”

Instead of sending the girls to their summer camp in the Muskokas this year—they would have been junior counselors—I had suggested they teach swimming at the country club where Gary and I had once been members. That way they could earn pocket money for the upcoming school year. I was proud of them for not complaining too much about the arrangement. Basically, it seemed Gary had been right.

The girls were okay. They were dealing with the divorce and all the changes to their lives better than I could have hoped.

I closed Devin’s door gently, then headed to Erin’s by myself.

Outside, I took stock of my new neighborhood. Just three months ago my real-estate agent had called with the news. “I’ve found a place within the budget. It’s on Carbon Road, in Dovercourt Village.”