The Perfect Family

by Robyn Harding

  Thomas sighed heavily. “I already talked to Roger. I’ll try again in the morning.”

  “And someone needs to talk to Finn Dorsey.”

  “I’ll have a word with him,” Thomas said.

  “No, you won’t,” I snapped. “I think one lawsuit is quite enough.”

  “You talk to him then. Or talk to his mom.”

  I thought about my conversation with Will Nygard’s mother, how it had devolved into a screaming match. I thought about her solar light, now wiped clean of dirt and just fitting, diagonally, in my hosiery drawer.

  “Eli… could you speak to Finn?”

  My son’s head jerked up. “Why me?”

  “He might relate to you. Even look up to you. He’s more likely to open up to another kid.”

  “I barely know who he is. How would I even find him?”

  “Will said he hangs out at the skate park,” Thomas suggested.

  “It’s the one on Blaine Street,” Tarryn added. “I remember seeing him there with a bunch of the skids from school.”

  “I’m working,” Eli muttered. “I’m supposed to hang around a skate park looking for some psycho kid I don’t even know?”

  My cheeks burned with frustration and tears filled my eyes. “I don’t know what else to do,” I croaked. “I can’t take much more of this.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled, getting up. “I’m going to bed.”

  Thomas spoke to Tarryn. “Go get some sleep. “I’ll make sure nothing else happens.”

  She got up then, and in an uncharacteristic move, kissed the top of my head.

  I waited until she’d gone downstairs before I burst into tears.

  Thomas

  THE NEXT MORNING, I called Emma and told her to cancel all my appointments due to a family emergency.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “It will be.” I cleared my throat. “Look, could you do me a favor?”

  “Sure.”

  I had to handle this delicately. “Can you pull Roger Bains’s sales figures for me? And details of his recent listings?”

  “Ummm… I guess so. Can I ask why?”

  I couldn’t tell Emma that I was afraid Roger was out to get me. That I was worried I’d done something—stolen a listing, beaten his sales record—to make him sic Finn Dorsey on us. I had to spin the request so as not to incriminate myself. “I’m just… you know, wondering if I’ve been keeping pace.”

  “Fair enough,” she said. “Happy to help.”

  I had a million errands to run. I had to go to the lumber store to buy a replacement beam for the one that was damaged too badly by the fire, and to the electronics store to get more cameras and motion sensor lights. In the afternoon, an installer from an alarm company would come by to put in a monitored alarm system. A friend had recommended a carpenter who might be able to fix the porch in short order, and I’d pick up paint and do the touch-ups myself.

  Viv and I had stayed up most of the night talking. She was terrified, on the verge of falling apart. I’d assured her that I would make us safe again. That I’d erase the evidence of our attack as quickly as I possibly could.

  “I don’t know why, but I feel embarrassed. Even ashamed,” my wife said.

  “Don’t be,” I said, squeezing her knee. “This isn’t our fault. We’re innocent victims in all this.”

  “Are we, though? There has to be some reason we’re being targeted.”

  I thought about Chanel, who was angry enough to inflict injuries upon herself to make me pay. But that was a separate issue, it had nothing to do with this. Will Nygard had said that Roger’s troubled stepson had paid him to attack us. But we barely knew that kid. It didn’t make any sense.

  “It’s random hooliganism,” I assured her. “It will fade away, when they find some other trouble to get into.”

  The police had suggested hiring a private security company. It pissed me off that they didn’t consider it their job to protect the citizens of their community, but they had bigger fish to fry, apparently. They’d promised to do more drive-bys, but their resources were already stretched too thin. I promised Viv I’d look into hiring someone, but it would be expensive. If I could deal with this stupid lawsuit, the way I’d dealt with the blackmail attempt, it would be feasible. For now, a monitored alarm system would do the trick.

  As I drove home with my trunk full of surveillance equipment, I made a call to my friend Goran Kozic. He was a real estate lawyer and we’d done numerous deals together over the years. We also enjoyed hitting the links on occasion or grabbing a beer. Thankfully, he hadn’t been able to make Roger’s bachelor party, so I didn’t need to feel foolish with him.

  When Goran answered, I got straight to the point. “I need some legal advice.”

  “Free legal advice,” he chided.

  “Trust me, there’s a bottle of expensive cab sav in your future.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “I’m being sued.”

  “For what?”

  I filled him in, giving him the broad strokes of the entire story. When I finished, he said, “You know I’m a real estate lawyer. I don’t usually deal with this sort of thing.”

  “You went to law school, didn’t you?”

  “This isn’t my area, but I think you should countersue.”

  “For what?”

  “For the damage to your property. For emotional distress. Mental suffering.”

  “Viv is really losing it.”

  “Perfect,” he said, which was a little insensitive. “You’ll need a personal injury lawyer, but if you’re willing to spend a couple grand, you might get yourself a decent settlement. At the very least, they’ll probably drop their suit to make it all go away.”

  After assuring him I’d stop by with a nice bottle of wine, I hung up. Relief buoyed me up as I turned onto our street. There was still a lot to deal with—someone had tried to burn us in our beds—but I’d handled my blackmailer, and now I would handle the lawsuit. With all the increased security, Viv would be able to relax. And I knew that eventually these kids would get bored. They weren’t nefarious; they were just dumb. Of course, stupid could be as dangerous as evil, as evidenced by the burning hedge that had ignited our porch and could easily have spread to our entire house. But I wasn’t worried anymore. I was taking care of everything.

  With an armful of lights and cameras, I let myself into the house. “Viv, I’ve got some good news!”

  She was up in her office but came down the stairs when summoned. Her pretty face was drawn and troubled. Her eyes were bloodshot, as if she’d been crying. I felt a surge of protectiveness. My wife was cracking under the strain, but I was going to make it better. I was going to make it all go away.

  When I told her Goran’s advice, her response took me by surprise.

  “No,” she said.

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to fight this, Thomas. I don’t want to go to court and have us all dragged through the mud. I just want to pay the money and make the Nygards go away.”

  “It’s fifty grand!”

  “I’ll cash in my 401(k). I’ll get a loan if I have to.”

  “But Eli and I didn’t do anything to that fucking kid!”

  “You didn’t knock him down? Swear at him? Scare the crap out of him?”

  “He deserved what he got,” I muttered.

  “I can’t fight anymore, Thomas,” Viv said. “I just can’t.”

  She turned and walked back up the stairs.

  Eli

  THERE HAD BEEN very little thanks after I saved our house from burning to the ground and kept my family from a fiery death. My mom had been too hysterical to articulate her gratitude. The closest she came was when she said to my dad:

  “What if Eli hadn’t come home when he did? What would have happened?”

  “The smoke alarms would have gone off,” Dad assured her. “We would have been fine.”

  “You’re welcome,” I’d muttered, b
ut they were too busy freaking out to hear me.

  At least the fire chief had given me an obligatory, “Well done, son.”

  But I didn’t press for more thanks. Because I knew this might be my fault.

  No more secrets, my mom had said, after the police and firefighters had left. It was the perfect opportunity to tell my parents about Noah Campbell sitting in his Mercedes in front of the Thirsty Raven. But then I’d have had to explain what had happened at college, and all hell would have broken loose. And if the police suddenly showed up at Noah’s door inquiring into whether he’d set my house on fire… well, I could only imagine the reaction from the Worbey guys.

  I still hadn’t breathed a word about the night of the hazing, that sick attack on Drew Jasper, so Noah Campbell had no reason to do something so extreme. His presence at the gastropub was just a warning. He hadn’t come to Portland to hurt me. So, I would keep my secrets, and do what my mom had asked. I would find out what I could from Finn Dorsey.

  Since I was on family business, she let me use her car. “Don’t antagonize him,” Mom instructed, as she handed me the keys. “He could be dangerous.”

  But I wasn’t scared of a seventeen-year-old kid. I was three years older than he was. I’d been away at college, had significantly more life experience than he had—not to mention about thirty pounds of muscle. I would confront this boy and make him stop. I’d tell him that it wasn’t funny anymore, that he was scaring the shit out of my mom, my whole family. If I had to rough him up a bit, I would, but I could be intimidating without getting physical.

  I drove to Southwest Portland and parked on a suburban side street. It was Saturday, late morning. People were mowing their lawns, power-washing their siding, trimming their hedges; the endless buzz of suburbia. It might be too early for Finn to be skateboarding, but I had to work at four. I’d picked up a coffee and I had my phone. If I had to wait a couple of hours for him to appear, I could occupy myself.

  As I walked toward the skate park, I recalled the blond kid from my dad’s company picnic. I’m not sure why he’d stuck in my memory. I would have been about eleven, so that would have made Finn eight. He’d been hanging out with my sister, and I remembered thinking he seemed too wild for her, too rambunctious. I’d worried he might hurt her. Not on purpose—he had seemed innocent then—but he might accidentally knock her down, kick her in the face, lead her into traffic. We would have gone to high school together, too. Centennial High was grades nine through twelve, so Finn Dorsey would have been a freshman when I was a senior. But I’d been too wrapped up in school, my friends, and Arianna to notice him.

  There were a couple of picnic tables scattered around the park. One was only a few yards from the skate bowl, affording me a prime view. A few kids were already skating lazily, attempting a few weak tricks. They were younger, thirteen or fourteen. Finn Dorsey wouldn’t be hanging out with them. Perching on the bench, I sipped my coffee and waited.

  After about half an hour, I turned my attention toward my phone. Arianna had posted a photo of herself in a tiny black bikini, lying on her patio in the sunshine. She was surrounded by the flowerpots her mom tended, bright-red blooms highlighting her dark hair, her tanned skin. I felt a surge of lust, and of loss. And when I swiped to the next photo and saw her eating a strawberry ice cream cone with Derek, my stomach churned with jealousy.

  That’s when I heard them approach. A cluster of five boys, skateboards under their arms, were walking across the grass. They looked about seventeen or eighteen, all of them slim in their oversize jeans and T-shirts. I spotted Finn right away, his pale-blond hair visible in the group of darker heads. One of the boys was sucking on a glass pipe as he walked. He handed it to Finn and the group paused while the fair-haired boy sucked in the smoke. It would be weed wax—a potent marijuana concentrate smoked in a pipe. It was not for the novice drug user. These kids were hard-core smokers.

  When the boys hit the bowl, the younger skaters dispersed. They knew these bigger kids were a hazard. They skated fast and aggressively, barely in control of their movements. Finn and his crew were reckless, laughing when they fell off their boards, even when they hit the concrete. They didn’t seem stoned; they seemed wired.

  “Hey, Chad!”

  I didn’t realize the kid was addressing me at first, even though I was familiar with the derogatory term. Chad was a white, muscular douchebag, arrogant and empty-headed. I knew I looked the part; especially in contrast to the shaggy boy who was now facing me, his skateboard propped against his leg.

  “Why are you watching us?”

  The other boys soon joined him, the whole group giving off a manic, hostile energy.

  Fuck.

  “Are you perving at us, Chad?” another kid asked.

  Finn Dorsey stared at me with empty blue eyes. “I know this guy.”

  I stood up, ignoring my racing pulse. “I want to talk to you, Finn. Alone.”

  “Why do you want to be alone with him, Chad?” the first boy demanded. He was practically vibrating with aggression. I noticed the others fidgeting and twitching, their eyes wild and soulless. Maybe they hadn’t been smoking pot? Maybe they’d been smoking something chemical, something that made them violent and dangerous?

  “What do you want?” Finn asked.

  “He wants a blow job,” one of them said, and they all chuckled maliciously.

  “I just want to talk to you.”

  “About what?”

  “About your sweet ass!” the first kid said, and they all doubled over with laughter.

  I could feel my face burning. “Can we just… go somewhere? Alone?”

  “You sick fuck!” a boy cried. “You’re a predator.”

  “Get lost, pervert,” the first kid jeered.

  Finn’s mouth curled into a sneer. “You heard them, Chad. You’d better get the fuck out of here.”

  I was no match for five aggressive kids, high on shatter or worse, wielding heavy wooden skateboards. Feeling sheepish, I turned and loped back toward my car.

  “See you later!” Finn called after me.

  I took it as a threat.

  * * *

  WHEN I GOT home, my mom was sitting in the kitchen staring at her phone. When I entered, she turned off the screen and moved toward me. “Did you find Finn Dorsey? What did he say?”

  I looked at her wan complexion, her wrinkled forehead, the thin hard line of her lips. She was usually so put-together, but today she looked like she’d forgotten to put on makeup, and her hair was lank and unwashed. If I told her that the kid behind our attacks and his friends had scared the shit out of me, she’d fall apart. She would collapse.

  “He wasn’t there,” I said. “Sorry.”

  I headed up to my room.

  Viv

  WHEN THE E-MAIL first came in, I thought it was spam. Chanel69 did not sound like a legitimate name, was certainly not anyone I knew. But the subject line made my stomach drop.

  Thomas and me

  My suspicions were about to be confirmed. I was about to learn the truth about what my husband had been doing and with whom. Was it Emma, after all, or someone new? Was I ready to see them holding hands, kissing, maybe even being intimate? My world was already in shambles. If I lost my husband on top of it all… But Thomas’s lover was determined to reveal their relationship. Denial was no longer an option.

  So, with my heart in my throat, I opened it. There, embedded in the e-mail, were two photos of my husband and an exotic dancer. In one, he was getting a lap dance. In the next, he was lying on the bed fully clothed, with the near-naked woman astride him. It was a betrayal. It was humiliating. But it was also a relief. I’d envisioned romantic photos of my husband holding hands with the woman he loved. What I saw was a drunken mistake.

  Later that night, when Eli was at work and Tarryn was ensconced in the basement with her friends Luke and Georgia, I handed Thomas my phone. I watched his face blanch, but his words came quickly.

  “I can explain.”

  �
��I’m listening.”

  “I got drunk. Way too drunk. I don’t know how it happened, Viv. It was so stupid. I passed out in the middle of the party and my so-called friends turned me into a joke. They took pictures of me dressed up like a fool. They put me in compromising positions and photographed those, too.”

  I took back the phone. The pictures backed up his story. During the lap dance, he looked terrified, but I saw how his eyes were unfocused, his face slack. The photo of Thomas and Chanel on the bed was harder to make out, but Thomas appeared inert, his eyes closed.

  “There are more,” my husband said. “And they’re worse.”

  My voice broke. “Did you have sex with her?”

  “God no, Viv! Even if I’d wanted to, I couldn’t have… I was way too wasted. But I didn’t want to. I never wanted to.”

  “What then?”

  “I’m being blackmailed.”

  “For getting a lap dance?”

  “No.” And then he showed me the photos of the bruises and the bite.

  I believed him instantly. He didn’t even need to point out that whoever had bitten Chanel was missing a bottom tooth. We’d been married for twenty-two years; I knew that he wasn’t capable of this kind of violence. He would never have choked a woman, never have bitten her. Despite the recent distance between us, I knew my husband.

  “I paid her ten grand from our line of credit,” Thomas said. “But I told her I’m not going to pay anymore. That’s why she sent the photos to you.”

  “Has she sent them to anyone else?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Oh god, the kids.”

  “I-I’ll talk to the kids. They’ll understand that I made a terrible error in judgment, but I would never hurt a woman.”

  My stomach clenched with apprehension. I prayed that they would. “And your clients?” I added. “Your boss?”

  “I’ll deal with it,” he said. “I’m not paying for something I didn’t do. And if you want me to pay the Nygards, I can’t afford to give this woman any more money.”