The Perfect Neighbors by Sarah Pekkanen Page B

twenty minutes away from Susan’s home. Cole was two months old at the time, and Susan was still on maternity leave from her law firm.
    â€œI hate to ask this,” Bobbi had said, her voice tight and frantic. She was in the back of a taxi, racing toward the airport.“But she’s going into surgery before I can get there, and she’s absolutely terrified of hospitals—”
    â€œI’m on my way,” Susan had said, already reaching for her car keys and Cole’s diaper bag. Bobbi’s mother had been warm and welcoming when she’d visited Bobbi at Duke; she’d invited Susan to join them for brunch, and had chatted with her whenever Susan answered the phone.
    Bobbi had made it just in time to see her mother open her eyes in the recovery room after her doctors had placed three pins in her hip and encased her right arm in a cast. Susan had stepped away to give them some privacy, and when Bobbi had emerged into the hallway fifteen minutes later, she’d wrapped her arms around Susan. “Thank you,” Bobbi had whispered.
    They’d sat down together on a bench and Susan had handed her old roommate a fresh cup of coffee from a vending machine.
    â€œPrecisely what I needed,” Bobbi said, taking off the lid and breathing in the steam. “You’re a lifesaver.”
    While Bobbi drank her coffee and Cole dozed in his car seat at her feet, Susan had tried to help her friend formulate a plan. She knew how difficult it was to think clearly in a crisis, when anxiety and stress twisted through your mind.
    â€œThe doctor told me she’s going to be in a cast for eight weeks,” Bobbi had said, massaging her forehead with her free hand. “She’ll need help bathing, and she’ll need physical therapy. I can’t stay that long . . . My job, the kids . . .”
    Bobbi worked as a civil rights attorney in New York City, and she and her partner had twin sons who were toddlers. “And she can’t come stay with us,” Bobbi continued. “We’ve got too many stairs and our place is so crammed she wouldn’t be comfortable. The guilt is killing me, Susan. How can I stick my mom in a rehab hospital?”
    â€œSome of them are quite good,” Susan had said. She’d reached out to touch Bobbi’s arm, knowing her friend was close to tears. “And you can call her every day.”
    Bobbi had shaken her head. “She took care of me for eighteen years. After my dad left, she didn’t even date until I’d moved away to go to college. This is the first time she’s really needed me. She just looked so . . . so fragile in that hospital gown . . . She’s getting old, Susan. How did she get old so quickly?”
    Susan had rubbed Bobbi’s back while tears had rolled down Bobbi’s cheeks. The solution was simple: It was a relatively quick drive for her. She still had another two months of maternity leave, and Randall had a flexible schedule since he owned his business and set his own hours. She looked at her friend’s anguished face and made a quick decision.
    â€œSo let me be there for you,” Susan had said. “I’ll visit her every other day. You can come for a weekend every two weeks or so. I’ll bring her treats and talk to her doctors and make sure she’s okay.”
    Bobbi had lifted her head. “You would do that?” she’d whispered.
    And Susan had smiled and squeezed her friend’s hand. “Of course I would.”
    It was a favor for a dear friend, not the inspiration for a business plan. But one afternoon after delivering a new book on tape and a slice of fresh apple pie to Bobbi’s mother, Susan had stepped into the elevator to find a woman brushing away tears. Susan had given her a sympathetic smile, and suddenly, they were sharing a bench outside the rehab hospital, with Susan rubbing the woman’s back just as she had