The Perfect Family Page 8

  Before I left for Worbey, my parents sat me down in the living room. “What are you going to do about Arianna?”

  “We’ll do the long-distance thing,” I said. “I’ll be home for Thanksgiving and Christmas. And she’s going to come visit me.” Arianna was taking a gap year to work at a clothing store and save up for college.

  My parents had launched into a lecture on expanding my horizons, being open to new experiences, embracing a new chapter. They didn’t tell me to break up with her, but it was clear that they thought I should. And I was a kid then. I thought my parents knew what was best for me. I trusted them. And they were right about one thing: balancing college and soccer and a long-distance relationship was hard. As a goalie, I was under extra pressure, and economics was a challenging program. So, when I came home for Christmas break, I ended it.

  But now, here she was, so pretty, so warm and familiar. “Hey, Arianna.”

  “Eli…” She was surprised to see me. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

  “I just started.” My voice sounded funny, tight and constricted. “How are you?”

  Her demeanor changed then, like she’d just remembered how I’d hurt her. “I’m great. Thanks.”

  I watched her slide into the booth, and I watched Derek’s arm slide around her shoulders. They both looked at me for a moment, watching me absorb this information. I knew Arianna had moved on, that she was seeing someone, but I hadn’t expected it to be one of my best friends. Make that former best friends. The flicker of guilt on their features was soon replaced with a fuck you stare. Because I deserved this. I’d left them both behind, and they had found each other.

  Grabbing a couple of empty plates, I headed back to the kitchen. I focused on the birthday party, tried to ignore the table at the back. But I could sense them watching me, talking about me, could hear them laughing at me. There was a hollowness in my belly, a pit of emptiness. Because now I knew.…

  The guys at Worbey College weren’t the only ones who hated me.

  Viv

  FOCUSING ON GRATITUDE had been challenging before we were targeted by vandals; I hadn’t even tried since. But now, I closed my eyes, breathed through my nose, and attempted to summon it. It had been a difficult few weeks. The cameras Thomas had installed had not been a deterrent. We’d suffered more eggs, tomatoes, even water balloons filled with red paint. (What kind of psychopath took the time to fill up those tiny balloons? How had they even done it? Had they used a funnel? A squeeze bottle? An eyedropper?) And the rough footage of faceless figures at the end of our driveway was useless. We couldn’t tell the height, age, complexion, or hair color of our attackers. All we knew was that they took great delight in assaulting us. Watching them do it only made me feel more vulnerable.

  I slipped deeper into the warm water, the bubbles tickling my chin. Despite my stress, there were still things to be grateful for… like the deep soaker tub we’d installed last fall. And a successful staging project I’d just completed for a top realtor in town. I was truly thankful that I’d smoothed things over with Alicia Fernhurst, and that she didn’t know I had taken her lipstick. And I felt gratitude—and pride—that I’d been able to stop my little habit cold-turkey.

  I hadn’t stolen anything for more than two weeks. Not from the six-bedroom home I’d staged. Not from the penthouse apartment where I’d done a consult. Stopping had been easier than I’d anticipated. All it required was mindfulness. When I got the urge to pocket an item, I brought my attention to the present moment and breathed through the yearning. And then it would pass. This awareness also allowed me to examine why I had done it in the first place.

  It had all started when Thomas first became distant and secretive, and escalated when Eli announced he wasn’t going back to college. It was about control—or, more accurately, my loss of it. But I was working on acceptance… while trying to figure out what the hell was going on with my husband and attempting to convince my son to return to school. At least Tarryn was consistent. She was her same moody and disdainful self.

  I was becoming a better person, and for that, I was truly grateful. In addition to breaking my stealing habit, I was going to be kinder—more loving toward my difficult daughter, understanding of my troubled son. As for my husband… well, that would be more of a challenge. Because now I knew, without a doubt, that Thomas was cheating on me. And I knew with whom.

  The text had come in while he was in the shower. Thomas had left his phone on the dresser, had forgotten to put it on Do Not Disturb. The message had popped up in the preview window. It was from Emma.

  Have you talked to your wife?

  I knew Emma was Thomas’s assistant. She did administrative work for my husband and a number of agents. He’d mentioned that she sometimes helped him with small staging jobs when I was too busy to assist him. But I had never met her. I thought it was just due to circumstance: we hadn’t attended the company softball game because Eli was coming home from college that weekend. The staff barbecue had been canceled due to rain. But now I realized that Thomas had been intentionally keeping us apart. And now I knew why.

  The water was cooling off, so I turned on the hot tap with my foot. The stream came out cold at first, but it soon heated up. I let the scalding water pour into the bath, my thoughts on my husband’s mistress. I recalled Thomas telling me that Emma was engaged, busy with preparations for her upcoming wedding. It was probably a way to throw me off the scent. Emma wasn’t getting married; she was in love with my husband. Or perhaps she was getting married and her unsuspecting fiancé was a victim, just like I was. The thought made me feel queasy and sad. I turned the hot water off.

  Have you talked to your wife?

  What was Thomas supposed to talk to me about? Was he going to tell me he was leaving me for Emma? Walking away from his wife and children so he could start over with his assistant? God, it was such a cliché, but clichés existed for a reason. Thomas was just one of millions of men who’d decided to trade in the wife for a newer model.

  Downstairs, I heard a key in the front door. It was after ten—too early for Eli to be home from the gastropub, so it had to be Thomas. He’d texted to tell me he’d be late. Paperwork, he’d said. A few months ago, I would have thought nothing of it, but now I knew.… It was an excuse to be with her. Emma.

  I listened to him go to the kitchen and open the fridge, and I made a deal with myself. If he came upstairs, if he popped his head in to say hello, I would confront him. I’d tell him that I had seen the incriminating text. I would demand to know what was going on between him and his secretary. And then… and then what? Would I kick him out of the house? Or fight for my marriage? I still didn’t know.

  But Thomas didn’t call my name, didn’t come upstairs, didn’t say hello. He must have gotten something to eat and gone into the family room to watch TV. My husband wasn’t ready to talk about this either. So I could live in denial for a little while longer.

  I pulled the plug, and all my gratitude went swirling down the drain.

  Thomas

  ON FRIDAY NIGHT, I’d stayed at the office until almost eleven. That couple had made an offer on the Hancock place, giving me a reason to work late. But I was really waiting to hear from Chanel. I had officially missed the deadline for the bitcoin transaction. She now knew I wouldn’t pay—not the fifty grand, anyway. At any moment, the mortifying photos of the two of us could be sent to everyone in my life. I’d been confident that she wouldn’t play her hand so soon, but I’d sat alone in the office, checking my phone compulsively, my chest tight with dread.

  At around six, Leo Grass had popped his head over my cubicle. “Coming for a beer, mate?”

  I hadn’t joined the other brokers for beers since I’d received the blackmail threat. I still couldn’t be sure that Leo and Roger weren’t behind it… although Leo’s casual demeanor was convincing. Even if they weren’t blackmailing me, I knew they weren’t my friends. Friends didn’t let friends get blackout drunk and take a stripper back to their hote
l room.

  “Can’t. Got an offer on Hancock.”

  Roger walked up. “You coming, Adler?”

  “He can’t,” Leo said. “He’s finally going to unload the Hancock house.”

  “Did you have an exorcism?” Roger quipped. “Get rid of the evil spirits haunting the place?”

  I forced a weak chuckle. “Emma did a mini-staging. I guess it did the trick.”

  “Emma?” Leo said. “Your wife’s going to be jealous.”

  “My wife’s not fucking jealous of Emma,” I barked.

  The guys exchanged a look, and then Leo spoke tentatively. “I meant because Viv does most of your staging. But you used Emma and sold the place.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “Join us later if you want,” Roger said. “You seem like you could use a drink.”

  But I hadn’t joined them. I’d waited and I’d fretted. Why wasn’t Chanel giving me a chance to work this out? Didn’t she understand how blackmail worked? I had all my figures prepared, I’d factored in my timeline, but then… she didn’t contact me. Finally, I’d gone home. Viv was in the bath. I didn’t want to disturb her. She’d had a busy week, and she deserved to unwind. And I hated lying to her, but I couldn’t tell her the truth. I heated up some leftovers and ate them. When I went upstairs, my wife was already asleep. Or at least pretending to be.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Viv slept late. Even though she’d gone to bed before me, she had tossed and turned all night. I knew, because I’d been awake for most of it. At seven, I rolled over and checked my phone. Nothing from Chanel. Nothing to indicate that the incriminating photos had been sent to my contacts, no friends or colleagues telling me I was a piece of shit, asking why I’d violated an innocent woman. It was too much to hope that this would all just go away, that Chanel would decide it wasn’t worth the trouble, but still… a small part of me did.

  Without disturbing my wife, I got up, went downstairs, and made coffee. As I waited for it to brew, I checked the camera app on my phone. This had become routine since I’d installed the surveillance equipment the week before. The cameras were activated by movement, recording the things that go bump in the night. Those things were often shadowy figures congealing at the edge of our lawn, hurling whatever food they could smuggle out of their parents’ fridges. They were wise to the cameras, never getting close enough to be identified.

  Last night’s footage showed Eli coming home at 11:45 P.M. He never went out after work, never went to a party or got pizza with friends. He hadn’t been socializing at all since he got home from Worbey. I hoped he’d come out of his shell soon, get over whatever had upset him at college. He’d been moping long enough.

  The video log showed no more movement until 1:17 A.M. That was awfully late for teenagers to be out looking for trouble. The other night, the camera had caught a family of raccoons crossing the lawn. I pressed the PLAY button and then poured myself a cup of coffee. But what I saw on the screen was not a gaggle of furry critters. What I saw sent a frisson through my body, nearly made me drop the coffeepot.

  A male figure in dark pants and a dark hoodie pulled tight to conceal his face walked purposefully up our driveway. Without context, it was difficult to tell his size and height, but he moved like an adult, with determination and confidence. He was not fourteen; he had to be an older teen… if he was a teen at all. The figure held an object in his right hand. I looked closer at the screen.

  It was a knife.

  With my heart in my throat, I watched him scurry around my vehicle, then run off into the night. At the edge of our property, he stopped, raised a middle finger to the camera.

  Fuck you.

  I slammed the coffeepot back on its base and hurried outside. The video footage was too grainy to see what the vandal had been up to, but it was clearly nothing good. I ran toward my BMW, sitting out in the drive like a sacrificial lamb. I should have told Eli to empty out the garage. I should have parked my car in it, away from danger. Viv’s Volvo was parked on the street, a safer spot, ironically. Stumbling down the front steps, I prayed for something as benign as wiping shit on the door handles.

  No such luck.

  All four tires were flat. Punctured with a blade.

  Tarryn

  MY DAD BARGED into my bedroom without even knocking. “Tarryn, wake up.”

  “No,” I grumbled. It was Saturday. I always slept late on the weekends, my only chance to catch up on the sleep I missed all week.

  “I need you to look at something.”

  His tone made me lift my head groggily. My dad sounded upset, but not in the usual blustery way he got upset. He sounded… small.

  He sat next to me on the bed, his phone in his hand. “Can you watch this video?”

  I rubbed my eyes and watched, the nape of my neck prickling with anxiety. The dark figure in our driveway at night was unnerving. The time stamp read 1:17 A.M. I’d been camming while this guy was just outside my window, vandalizing my dad’s car. Luckily, I had the blackout curtains, so he couldn’t see my lights on, couldn’t peek in to see what I was doing.

  My dad asked, “Do you recognize him?”

  “I can’t see his face.”

  “But he looks about your age, doesn’t he? He’s not a little kid.”

  He wasn’t. The culprit appeared to be my age, or even Eli’s. He could even have been an adult from what I could tell from this video. I glanced up at my dad and saw his worry and stress, the lines around his mouth and eyes. I realized how rarely I actually looked at him. He had changed, gotten older, more vulnerable. “Give it here,” I said.

  With the phone in my hands, I replayed the video. Could the shadowy figure be Bryce Ralston? He was the only person I could think of who would want to hurt me. Of course, Bryce might not do the dirty work himself. He had plenty of douchebag friends who’d be more than happy to harass me. But as hard as I stared, I couldn’t identify him.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize him.”

  My dad took his phone back. “Tell me honestly, honey. Do you have any idea why these kids are doing this to us?”

  I couldn’t tell my dad what I had done to Bryce, why he despised me. It was not the kind of thing you shared with your father. And I definitely couldn’t tell him about the overly familiar comments on the camming site. Another one had come in last night, just before I signed off at three. It was from another name, another fake. Every time I blocked this guy, he came back with a new name, a new account.

  You look hot as a redhead. But I think I prefer you as a brunette.

  I’d blocked the commenter again, but it was clear that he wasn’t going away. Someone knew who I was.… But what would they do with that knowledge? Would they expose me? If my parents found out, they would lose their minds. They didn’t understand sex-positive feminism and sexual agency. And I was their underage daughter. They thought they had to protect me.

  “Maybe Eli knows something about it,” I said. “This guy could be his age.”

  Dad nodded, then patted my shoulder. “Thanks for trying, honey,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

  I lay back down, my eyes wide open.

  Eli

  I WATCHED THE video in bed that morning. Dad had e-mailed the footage to me with the words:

  Do you know this asshole?

  It was impossible to see his face in the low-quality footage, but I could tell the asshole was at least Tarryn’s age, even mine. In fact, it could have been a forty-year-old from what I could tell. The figure didn’t scurry and skitter like an excited little kid; it walked up the driveway with purpose. And with a knife. This guy was not simply a hooligan out for kicks. This guy meant business.

  I might be on the outs with my high school friends, but they wouldn’t vandalize our home or our car. They weren’t like that. And they knew my parents, liked them even. My college friends were pissed at me too, but they lived all over the country. Even if they’d wanted to harass my family in the night, they couldn’t. Except for Noa
h Campbell. He lived in Vancouver, only a half-hour drive from our home.

  Keep your fucking mouth shut Eli. I know where you live.

  But I had kept my fucking mouth shut. Even when Drew Jasper reached out to me, after I’d liked his photo of the lake. Even when he asked for my support, I’d remained mute.

  It was one line, sent through my DMs on Instagram.

  Will you back me up?

  I hadn’t responded. I felt like a fucking coward, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t make myself a target. So there was no reason for Noah to show up at my house, to walk down our driveway and slash my dad’s tires. The secret of what happened the night of the hazing was still festering inside of me, unspoken. No, this was not about me.

  There was a tentative knock at my door then, and it opened a crack. I was expecting my mom, but my sister poked her head through the doorway.

  “You awake?”

  “Yeah.”

  She slipped into the room. “Did Dad send you the video of that shithead slashing his tires?”

  I sat up on my elbows. “Yeah. It’s pretty psycho.”

  “Dad has to get his car towed to a garage. He’s freaking out.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Mom’s really losing it, too. She keeps talking about the escalation.” Tarryn rolled her eyes. “She’s acting like he was walking down the driveway with a machete. Like he’s going to burn the house down next.”