The Perfect Family Page 11

  Now I could focus on protecting my family.

  Viv

  MY VISIT TO Thomas’s office had revealed nothing. Emma had acted so friendly, so normal. She’d have to be a complete sociopath to be that pleasant while she was sleeping with my husband. I’d also managed a glimpse at her screensaver—a photo of Emma kissing a muscular young man with a shaved head, holding her left hand out to highlight a simple solitaire diamond. It confirmed what Thomas had told me about her upcoming nuptials. My suspicions might have been assuaged if Thomas hadn’t acted so strangely. He was sweating and stammering, making excuses for not being able to join me for lunch. Something was up with him; I was sure of it.

  But the tension I was feeling now, the tightness in my shoulders and jaw, could be attributed to the upcoming weekend. Our tormentors came on Friday or Saturday nights, often both. They sometimes plagued us with midweek visits, but they never missed a weekend. This time, Thomas said, he would be prepared for them. That morning, over a strong cup of coffee, he told me his plan.

  “You can’t,” I said automatically. “They’re just kids.”

  Unlike the lone figure with the knife, the video footage of the culprits hurling rocks at our house confirmed their youth, if nothing else. Their age made them all the more menacing, in my opinion. Because I knew that the frontal cortex—the part of the brain that controlled risk-taking and impulse control—was undeveloped in these kids. They had a higher tendency toward violence and rash behavior, were more susceptible to group contagion. And they had difficulty understanding that actions had consequences.

  “We’ve tried to do this by the book, Viv. The cops can’t help us. The school can’t or won’t help us. It has to stop.”

  “We could move.”

  My husband scowled. “We’re not going to be run out of our house by a bunch of brats.”

  “It’s not just about that.” I toyed with the handle of my Worbey College mug. “Maybe it’s time for a change? Maybe it would be good for us?”

  “It’s not the right time in the market. And we just renovated. Why do you want to leave?”

  I didn’t answer. Bringing up the text from Emma, the distance between us, felt overwhelming on top of everything else. I stood and took my mug to the sink. “You can’t rough those boys up.”

  “We won’t hurt them. We’ll just scare them.”

  “You could get into serious trouble. You could get Eli into trouble. And it’s just wrong.”

  “Fine.” Thomas’s chair scraped the floor as he got up. “We’ll just let these kids terrorize us and damage our property until they get bored. How long do you think that will take? Six months? A year?”

  No answer was required. My husband stomped out of the room.

  * * *

  I SHOWERED, DRESSED in jeans and a soft mauve T-shirt, and went out to the front yard. I had no meetings today, and my garden was in need of attention. Thomas took meticulous care of the expanse of green velvet that was our lawn, but the small plot of pink winter heather, white buxifolia, and the miniature Japanese maple was mine. I’d planted bulbs between the evergreen plants for a pop of color, but they were now droopy and spent. They should have been deadheaded weeks ago, but I’d been distracted. Now, with shears in hand, I snipped the faded blossoms, losing myself in the meditative monotony of manual labor.

  “Hi, Viv.”

  Shading my eyes with a gloved hand, I saw Camille, my neighbor two doors down. She was a bigwig in human resources, a decade older than I was, but fit and youthful. Her husband, Warren, was retired, and her three daughters were grown, all doing impressive things in exotic locales. Camille was in charge of all social activities on our street. She wielded her power lightly, but there was no doubt she had it. My thoughts flickered to the corkscrew I had stolen from her kitchen, and I felt my cheeks flush.

  “Hi, Camille,” I said. She was walking her Australian shepherd, Banjo, who came over for a pat. I scratched him behind the ears. “How are you?”

  “Good,” she said vaguely. “So… what’s been going on over here? We couldn’t help but notice the police have been visiting you.”

  I straightened so we were on eye level. “Some kids have been bothering us,” I said breezily. “Throwing eggs and tomatoes. It’s so childish.”

  “Nadine heard a group of boys yelling and swearing late at night.” Nadine lived across the street from Camille. “They woke her up.”

  “They’re annoying,” I said with an eye roll. “But they’ll get bored soon.”

  “And Warren said he heard Thomas one night, screaming at the top of his lungs.”

  “He lost his temper. It’s been really frustrating.”

  Camille pulled Banjo away from a shrub he looked about to eat. “I don’t mean to pry, but… why are they targeting you?”

  I pulled my gloves off, finger by finger. “We have no idea. Tarryn and Eli swear they don’t have any enemies. And Thomas and I certainly haven’t done anything to instigate it.”

  “There must be some reason.”

  “I think it’s just random.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. No one else on the street has been attacked.”

  I could feel my face getting red, could feel a fluttering in my chest. “I-I don’t understand it either, Camille.”

  My neighbor thought I was lying, I could see it in her eyes, in the purse of her lips. She thought I was hiding something. She’d take this conversation back to Nadine, and they would gossip and speculate. Which of the Adlers was responsible for the harassment? What had they done to provoke these children? Was the rest of the neighborhood in danger?

  “Well, I’m sorry you’re going through this,” she said, but she didn’t sound sorry. She sounded irritated.

  I responded through the thickness in my throat, “Thanks.”

  I watched her walk away, Banjo trotting beside her. She was already digging in her pocket for her phone, already going to call the neighbors to debrief. Dropping my gloves with my gardening tools, I hurried into the house.

  Thomas was dressed for work, tying his shoes in the front entryway. He looked up when he heard me enter. He saw the embarrassment, even shame in my eyes.

  “Do it,” I said. “Don’t hurt anyone, but make it stop.”

  Eli

  WE ATE DINNER like it was a normal night. My mom had made eggplant parm. I preferred chicken parm but then Tarryn wouldn’t eat it. She didn’t appear to be wasting away, but Mom usually tried to accommodate her. The TV was on, as always; no one wanted to make conversation. My mom sipped a glass of wine, and my dad was on his second beer. Everything seemed completely normal, on the surface. But it wasn’t.

  The food was not sitting well with me. I wasn’t exactly nervous about what we were about to do, but it didn’t feel right. It was risky. Even dangerous. But I couldn’t opt out. My dad was not in the best shape. If he tried to intervene with these kids on his own, they might turn on him. They could swarm him and beat the crap out of him. I couldn’t hide in my bedroom gaming while my dad was mauled in the front yard.

  Tarryn and I cleaned up the kitchen and then I went up to my room. Most of the attacks happened after eleven, so I had some time to kill. I checked Drew Jasper’s social media pages and found nothing new. And then I went to Arianna’s Instagram page. She posted mostly selfies, her eyebrows arched, her lips puckered—young, sweet, and sexy all at once. There was a pic of her and Derek. #bae. It made me feel hot and sick, so I tossed my phone on the bed, and went to my computer. Gaming never let me down. I got so immersed that I forgot everything until my dad knocked on the door.

  “Ready?”

  I wasn’t. But I got up and followed him downstairs.

  We set ourselves up on a picnic blanket behind the hedge. My dad had brought a couple of beers and he held one out to me. I was almost legal, but Dad had never offered me a beer before. It was an attempt at bonding. Too late.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Suit yourself. More for me.”

  The w
eather was mild, but I felt a chill sitting on the cold ground wearing jeans and a hoodie. The neighborhood was quiet, despite it being Saturday night. A couple of Ubers drove by, taking people to more vibrant parts of the city. Or maybe bringing them back. Dad chatted about a sports documentary he’d watched about a famous soccer player. I should definitely watch it, he said. “Cool,” I mumbled.

  I don’t know how long we sat there, but he had finished both beers when we heard the gang approaching. They were talking at full volume, so confident in their invincibility that they didn’t bother being quiet. My dad leaned close and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. “On my cue…”

  This was such a bad idea, but he was already on his haunches, ready to pounce. I crouched too. I had to back him up.

  The boys’ voices got quieter as they got closer. Maybe they did fear getting caught? More likely, they just preferred a surprise attack. There was the shuffling of sneakers on the asphalt at the end of our driveway—it sounded like six pairs at least—and the zip of a backpack. Then a voice said, “Throw it, Will.”

  That’s when my dad suddenly burst out from behind the hedge. If he’d given me a signal, I’d missed it, but I was quick, an athlete, and I was on his heels. The boys were stunned by the sight of a heavyset, middle-aged man and his tall, athletic son barreling toward them. If the circumstances had been different, the looks on their faces would have been hilarious. At least a couple of them let out frightened shrieks, a bottle hit the pavement, and the boys turned and ran. They were fast, but I was faster. Before they’d reached the next driveway, I was on top of one of them. His black hoodie was within my grasp. I reached out my hand, touched his shoulder, and then let him slip through my grip. Because nothing good would come from grabbing a kid and scaring the shit out of him until he told us the truth. These boys wouldn’t stop until they wanted to.

  I slowed to a jog and halted, watched the boys sprinting off down the road.

  And then I heard my dad’s voice behind me.

  “I caught one!”

  Thomas

  “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?” I growled. The kid was as tall as I was, but his body was soft and doughy. Puppy fat. He wore a navy-blue jacket with a hood (of course), and sweats. I guessed he was probably fifteen or sixteen. The fear on his face made him look younger.

  “Will,” he muttered.

  “Will what?”

  He wriggled his arm in my grip. “Let me go. You can’t keep me here.”

  “I want your name and your phone number. I’m calling your parents.”

  “No! Don’t! My dad will kill me.”

  Eli was beside me now. He was probably pretty impressed that I’d managed to grab one of these kids, when he couldn’t. He was holding a broken beer bottle. “Is this what you were going to throw at our house?”

  “No,” Will said. “We were going to drink it. In the park. And then you ran out and attacked us.”

  “Give me a fucking break,” I grumbled. I held my hand out. “Give me your phone.”

  “Fuck you. You can’t take my personal property.”

  The bravado was already returning. I felt a surge of rage at this kid’s lack of respect. His lack of fear. “You little shit,” I growled, patting his jacket pockets.

  “Stop touching me! I don’t have my phone.”

  “Uh, Dad…” Eli said. “We might want to take this off the street.”

  “Good thinking.”

  Each taking an arm, my son and I hustled Will into our yard. “Take him around back,” I said.

  “Why? What are you going to do to me?” Will didn’t sound so cocky now.

  “That depends on you, Will,” I said, and I liked how I sounded like a hard-boiled cop or a grizzled PI.

  The backyard was dark, but the motion-sensor lights flicked on as we entered. Will squinted in the glare, and I got a good look at him. He had tawny skin sprinkled with acne, dark hair, a dusting of fuzz on his upper lip. He was a boy, a son, probably a brother. But he was also a hooligan, and a vandal.

  Eli kept a grip on the kid’s shoulders while I faced him. “Why are you doing this to us?”

  No response.

  “Answer me,” I barked.

  Will squirmed, but Eli held firm. “Let me go,” Will said.

  “Tell me why you’ve been attacking us, and I will.”

  He looked down at the grass. “I don’t know.”

  “So, you throw shit at our house, slash my tires, break our window, but you don’t know why?”

  He shrugged.

  “Stop fucking lying!”

  He twisted violently then, wriggling out of his jacket. He tried to run, but Eli and I were on him. I lunged for the kid just as Eli did and the three of us toppled onto the grass, landing with a thud.

  “Help! Help me!” Will screamed before I clapped my hand over his mouth. If Viv thought we were hurting this boy, she would come out here and put a stop to it. That could not happen until I got some fucking answers.

  “Shut up,” I snarled at him. “We’re not even hurting you.” He stopped struggling, but I could see the terror in his eyes. “Answer our fucking questions and you can go home to your mother.”

  Will was crying now, or almost crying. He looked really scared. I hate to admit it, but it was incredibly satisfying to see him cower like this.

  “Dad,” Eli said, and I could tell he was freaked out. “Maybe we should let him go.”

  “Not yet.”

  Eli stood, and dragged Will to his feet. I got up more slowly. My knee was throbbing. “Now,” I said, when we were all standing. “No more screaming like a little bitch. What’s your last name?”

  “N-Nygard,” he stammered.

  “And all these attacks on our house, the eggs, and rocks, and bottles… is this about Tarryn?”

  “Who?” He looked genuinely perplexed.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Just tell us why you’ve been attacking us.”

  “Finn asked us to do it,” Will mumbled. “He gave us some weed.”

  “Who the hell is Finn?”

  “He used to go to Centennial High, but he got kicked out. I see him at the skate park sometimes. He asked if we wanted a job. We’d get paid in beer and pot.”

  “A job throwing shit at our house. A job slashing my tires.”

  Eli sounded calm in comparison. “Why did Finn want you to attack us?”

  “I don’t know.…” The boy sounded sincere. “I barely know him. I don’t even know his last name. But some of the guys thought it was fun. They wanted to keep doing it.”

  “Damaging property is fun?” I boomed. “Scaring the shit out of my wife and daughter is fun?”

  Will looked up at me. “Getting a reaction out of you was fun.”

  I thought about the times I’d run out onto the porch in my robe or scuttled down the driveway in my socks. How I’d yelled and threatened, thinking I was intimidating. But they’d been laughing at me. My bluster had egged them on.

  “Can I go home now?” Will said. “Please?”

  Eli and I exchanged a look. We’d gotten all we could out of this kid.

  “I’ll call your parents,” I said. “They can come get you.”

  “No. I snuck out. They’ll lose it.” His voice was trembling, and I felt the first stirrings of pity for this soft boy. “I’ll give you my phone number,” Will said. “You can call them tomorrow. Just let me talk to them first. Let me tell them what I did.”

  I looked at Eli, who shrugged and nodded. Will Nygard recited his parents’ phone number, and I punched it into my phone. “This better not be fake.”

  “It’s not.” The resignation in his voice made me believe him. “Can I go now?”

  “Only if you promise not to come back here. Ever.”

  “I-I promise.”

  I nodded to Eli, who let go of Will’s arm. The boy took a tentative step, looked at us both, and then turned and ran away.

  We watched him go, like a little fish we had caught and released.


  Viv

  “HELLO?” IT WAS a man’s voice, deep and rather brusque. I had hoped Will Nygard’s mother would answer the phone. We could have talked boy-mom to boy-mom. But it didn’t feel appropriate to ask for her. Maybe the poor kid didn’t even have a mother. Maybe that’s why he was sneaking out of his house and getting up to no good. Surely, Mr. Nygard would be receptive to what I had to say. He was probably a very reasonable man.… Most people were when approached correctly.

  Thomas had wanted to make the call, but he could be confrontational. And aggressive. I was calmer and more diplomatic. I’d sent my husband off to the office while I contacted Will Nygard’s family. I would make them see that we were nice people, struggling with the fear and anxiety caused by their son and his cohorts. The Nygards could contact the parents of the other boys involved. How these parents dealt with their kids was up to them. (If I’d gotten a similar phone call from a distressed mother, Eli would have received a stern lecture on respect and consideration. And then he would have been grounded for the rest of his teen years.) But we weren’t going to press charges. We didn’t want any sort of compensation. We just wanted it all to stop.

  “Hi. Am I speaking to Will Nygard’s father?”

  “Yes. This is Jack Nygard.”

  “My name is Vivian Adler. I live in Arlington Heights on—”

  He cut me off. “I know where you live. My son told me.”

  So, Will had told his father about last night’s encounter. But Jack’s tone implied that perhaps he hadn’t gotten the full story. “Did your son tell you that he and his friends have been harassing us for several weeks now?”

  “Harassing you?” Mr. Nygard snorted. “They’re boys. Boys get into mischief.”

  I kept my voice steady. “They’ve caused serious damage to our property. They’ve slashed my husband’s tires. They’ve broken our window.”

  “My son and his friends threw eggs at your house. And tomatoes. That’s all they’ve done. It was harmless.”