The Perfect Family

by Robyn Harding

“How much does she want?”

  “She asked for fifty grand initially. I got her down to thirty-five.” He sounded rather impressed with his own negotiating skills, but I wasn’t about to compliment him.

  “Christ, Thomas,” I said. “What are we going to do?”

  “We’re going to get through it,” he said, wrapping me in his arms. “We’re going to deal with this, and we’re going to be okay.”

  I wanted to melt into him, grateful for his comfort and loyalty. I wanted to believe that we were a team again, capable of getting through anything. But we were being sued. We were being blackmailed. And on Friday, just one night after our home had nearly been burned to the ground, the boys had returned. This time, they had spray-painted ugly words across the front of the house: FUCK YOU. COCK. And DIE. Eli had scrubbed them off, the red paint running down the driveway like blood. But the neighbors had all seen it. They would all be talking about us, whispering, speculating.

  I wasn’t sure I would be okay. I wasn’t sure at all.

  Tarryn

  IT WAS OFFICIALLY the last week of school. We all had final exams, so Georgia, Luke, and I studied together on a patch of grass on the hill beside the school. The warm June sunshine, the scent of lilacs in the breeze, and the buzz of kids high on the prospect of release made it hard to concentrate. We’d chosen our secluded spot intentionally. The playing field was littered with groups of kids, their books open but ignored as they talked about end-of-year parties. Bryce Ralston was hosting a big bash at his place. Obviously, I wasn’t invited, so neither were Luke and Georgia. We didn’t want to be subjected to all the excited chatter, so we had chosen to isolate ourselves. Still… I couldn’t focus on history.

  “Do you guys remember Finn Dorsey?” I asked, chewing the end of my pen.

  “Eww,” Georgia erupted. “He’s such a dick.”

  “Why?”

  “He beat the shit out of Tyler Wendell. He pulled a knife on him!”

  “Oh, right.” I’d forgotten about the violence.

  “He was so cute and then he turned into such a messed-up druggie,” Luke added. “Such a waste.”

  Georgia asked me, “Did you see him or something?”

  “He came up in conversation. My dad works with his ex-stepdad. We played together at a company barbecue when we were little. I’d forgotten about it.”

  “He’s a psychopath,” Georgia offered.

  “Oh my god,” Luke said, “do you think he’s the one attacking your house?”

  “Why would he? I barely remember him.”

  “Maybe he loved you from afar,” Georgia teased. “Maybe he’s been pining for you all this time, and he just snapped.”

  Luke continued, “Do you think he’s the one messag—” He caught himself, but it was too late.

  “Someone’s been messaging you?” Georgia asked.

  “I got a couple of stupid messages,” I covered. “Just random shit.” I got to my feet. “I left my precalc book in my locker. Be right back.”

  * * *

  THE SCHOOL HALLWAYS were cool and quiet, just a few kids wandering to the bathrooms or their lockers. I walked to mine in a haze, still thinking about Finn Dorsey. How could I have forgotten about his fight with Tyler Wendell? I hadn’t witnessed it, but the carnage was legendary around Centennial High. Finn had nearly put the kid in the hospital. And then he’d pulled out a knife. The size of the blade varied depending on who was telling the story, but still… a knife. Would Finn have stabbed Tyler if teachers hadn’t intervened? Was he really that messed up?

  My dad seemed to think Finn Dorsey was behind the attacks on our house. But why? He had no reason to hate us. Unless… my parents had secrets that I didn’t know about. Maybe my dad was sleeping with Finn’s mom. That could be why my mom was so mad at him. Or my mom was having an affair with Finn’s dad. Or his stepdad or whatever. Or maybe Eli had done something to Finn Dorsey. If this kid was behind the mischief, it had nothing to do with me. Of that, I was certain.

  I’d been too scared to cam since our hedge had been set on fire. If Luke’s suspicions were correct, one of my viewers could have done it. Someone online knew who I was in real life. I hadn’t gone live, but I’d checked my DMs on the camming site. My regulars were concerned:

  Pardyguy: Are you okay?

  Bender50: Where did you go?

  Zon5: I miss you, Natalia!

  They wouldn’t wait long for me. There were hundreds of girls out there, ready and willing to fill the void. If I didn’t get back online soon, I’d have to start all over, build a new community. But one message kept me from resuming my role as sexy Natalia. One message, from yet another unknown name, had made me feel sick with fear and dread.

  WAL62: Don’t play with fire, little girl.

  This guy knew that our house had nearly burned down. But did that mean he had done it? Or had he just watched it happen? I thought about the neighbors.… Maybe creepy Mr. Jens watched me on the camming site. But his wife, Camille, would have murdered him if she ever caught him. There were other possibilities—plenty of neighborhood men or boys could have secret lives online, could be watching what happened to our home. The thought sent a frisson through me.

  As if on cue, Mr. McLaughlin came out of his classroom, walking toward me. His face lit up when he saw me.

  “Hi, Tarryn.”

  “Hey.”

  “How’s the studying going?” He paused, like he wanted to chat. But I didn’t.

  “Good,” I muttered, quickening my pace.

  “Let me know if you need any help. I’m available if you need any tutoring.”

  I stopped a few feet away from him. Tutoring? He was offering to help me just like he’d offered to help Jordan Henry. To spend time alone with me, in his classroom, talking about literature, talking about life. Then he’d suggest we move our tutoring sessions to his little house, where he’d give me liquor or weed, to lower my defenses. That’s what he’d done with Jordan, everyone knew about it. And then, he’d make his move.

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “You’ve got great potential, Tarryn.” His tone was pleasant, but his eyes were dark, hard to read. “With the right support and guidance, you could get an academic scholarship.”

  It was a carrot he was dangling, trying to lure me in. Could Mr. McLaughlin sense that my life was a mess, that my family was being harassed, my parents were fighting, that I was being stalked? Predators sought out the vulnerable, used affirmations and attention on their victims. But I would not be groomed.

  “I’ll be fine,” I snapped.

  “Okay,” he said, to my departing back. “But you know I’m here if you need me.”

  I opened my locker and dug for my precalculus book. It had been an excuse to get away from Georgia’s questions, but some review wouldn’t hurt. I took my time, dropping a couple of pens and a lip balm into my pocket. In a few days, we would have to vacate our lockers, and I’d have to pack up all my belongings. But for now, I just grabbed a few things, busying myself until I was sure Mr. McLaughlin had moved on. When I closed my locker door, he had. But Bryce Ralston was standing right there.

  “Uh… hi,” I said, taking a step back from him.

  “Hey, Tarryn.” He seemed awkward. “You probably heard I’m having a party on Friday.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If you and your friends want to come, you can.”

  It was a pity invite. “No, thanks.”

  “Maybe Luke and Georgia want to come.”

  “They can go if they want to. I’m not stopping them.”

  “The whole class is coming. You’ll be the only one not there.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” I snapped. “I’m fine.”

  His demeanor shifted then. “That’s not what I hear.…”

  I looked at the smirk on his face, and my cheeks burned. “Oh really? What do you hear?”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “It sounds like someone’s out to get you.”

  Word had gott
en around, as I’d known it would. The minute my mom walked into the principal’s office, she had sealed my fate.

  “Maybe you should think about how you treat people,” Bryce gloated. “Maybe you should stop being a total bitch to everyone in this school.”

  His words should have made me angry, furious even. I should have told him to fuck off, to go to hell. But instead I found myself perilously close to tears. Because he was right. No one liked me. And someone wanted to hurt me. But I would not cry in front of Bryce fucking Ralston. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  Without a word, I turned away and hurried toward the girls’ bathroom. Bryce’s mocking words trailed after me.

  “So, I’ll see you at the party then?”

  Thomas

  Dear friends, family, colleagues, and clients;

  This is a difficult message for me to write. In the next few days, you might receive an e-mail containing some unsettling photos of me. Please know that I am deeply ashamed of myself for drinking too much alcohol and allowing myself to be put in a compromising position. But the woman in these photos is attempting to blackmail me for a brutal act that I did not commit. That I would never commit.

  I abhor any sort of violence against women and I have irrefutable proof of my innocence. If you would like to discuss this further, please reach out to me. Thank you in advance for your support and understanding during this excruciating time for my family and me.

  Sincerely,

  Thomas Adler

  The mass e-mail was Viv’s idea. She thought we should “get out in front of it,” but I didn’t have the guts to send it. Not yet, anyway. I was still hopeful that Chanel might realize there was no point distributing the photos of me. She’d sent them to my wife, the person who would care the most, and they’d had no effect. In fact, Viv had responded to Chanel’s e-mail:

  Thomas explained these photos to me. He was extremely drunk, and you took advantage of that. He also showed me the photos of your injuries and I know that he didn’t hurt you. I stand by my husband one hundred percent. You won’t get any money from us. Please stop trying to destroy an innocent man and his family.

  There had been no response so far. Hopefully, that meant Chanel was backing down. Hopefully, it meant she would give up.

  But tonight, Viv had insisted I talk to the kids. I’d never felt more terrified in my life. In fact, I’d tried to wriggle out of it, arguing that Chanel wouldn’t send those horrible photos to my children. Even blackmailers had hearts. But if there was even a slim chance that those images could be sent to Eli and Tarryn, Viv said, I had to address it. They couldn’t think, for even a minute, that I would hurt a woman.

  We were finishing up the last of our dinner, though I had barely touched the spaghetti and faux meatballs. I hated the soy product, but that wasn’t the reason I couldn’t eat. My stomach was in knots of anxiety over the impending conversation with my children. They had to know that I was a good person, incapable of the vile acts of which I was being accused. Didn’t they?

  When they were little, the kids had adored me, clambering all over me for piggybacks and wrestle-time. Viv was always the strict parent, enforcing clean plates, brushed teeth, and bedtimes. I was the fun dad, the pushover. But then they grew up, grew independent and sometimes obstreperous. Somewhere along the way, I’d turned into the gruff father who worked too much and barked orders at them when he was home. In some ways, I felt like I barely knew them.

  Things were still okay between Tarryn and me… at least she seemed to prefer me to her mother. Poor Viv was always trying to mend their relationship, but my wife seemed to represent everything Tarryn despised. Viv was pretty, stylish, traditionally feminine. She’d been a graphic designer until she started helping me stage my listed homes and then segued her flair for design into a part-time career. Tarryn didn’t seem to respect her mom’s talents or choices. She wasn’t going to look too kindly on my drunken lap dance either.

  But my relationship with Eli was another story. I knew he resented me. He didn’t understand that I only wanted what was best for him. If I was hard on him, it was because I could see that he was messing up his life. I wanted him to have more opportunities, better experiences, an easier path than I’d had. If I could go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything, but it had been a struggle. Eli could have it so much easier, if only he’d listen to me. I was his father, and it was my job to make sure he didn’t fuck up his entire life. And yet, he hated me for it.

  “I’ll clean up,” Viv said, interrupting my reverie. “Why don’t you three go into the living room?”

  “Why?” My daughter was instantly wary.

  “Dad has something to talk to you about.”

  “Oh my god!” Tarryn whirled toward me. “What’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you have cancer?”

  “I don’t have cancer.”

  “Then what?” Eli asked. “Why do we have to talk to you in the living room?”

  “We don’t. It’s just more… comfortable.”

  “Just tell us,” Tarryn demanded.

  I looked pleadingly at Viv, but she picked up the plates and hustled into the kitchen.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my health,” I assured them. “But… I made a stupid mistake.”

  Tarryn’s face crumpled. “You and Mom are getting a divorce. I knew it.”

  Eli muttered, “Figures.”

  “You had an affair,” my daughter accused. “Who with? Do we know her?”

  “I didn’t have an affair,” I said. “And we’re not getting a divorce. Stop jumping to conclusions.”

  “Then what?” my son demanded.

  I cleared my throat. “A couple of months ago, I went to Roger Bains’s bachelor party on the coast. There was a lot of drinking. And there were some strippers there.”

  “Dancers,” Tarryn corrected me. “Strippers is outdated and demeaning.”

  “I drank too much,” I continued. “Way too much. In fact, I was basically comatose. And now one of the dancers is trying to blackmail me.”

  “For what?” Tarryn’s narrowed eyes bored into mine.

  My face burned as I explained about the photos of Chanel giving me a lap dance, astride me on the bed, the bruises on her neck, and the bite mark. “But I didn’t do it, of course.”

  “Of course?” Tarryn snapped. “Why do you say ‘of course’?”

  “Because you know I’m not a violent man, Tarryn.”

  “Not with us. That doesn’t mean you wouldn’t harm a sex worker because you don’t have any respect for her.”

  “I-I did respect her. I mean… I don’t care what she does for a living. I’d never hurt her. Or anyone.”

  “You wanted to hurt Will Nygard,” Eli said.

  “For Christ’s sake!” I barked. “That’s totally different.”

  “Is it? He’s fifteen.”

  “I can’t believe my own children think I would try to choke an exotic dancer! That I’d be capable of biting her!”

  “I can’t believe you expect us to blindly believe you,” Tarryn retorted.

  Viv must have overheard their verbal assault because she returned from the kitchen. Her face was wan, and she looked concerned, shaken. But she looked that way a lot lately.

  “Your dad would never hurt a woman. Ever.” She moved to me and put a supportive hand on my shoulder. “I’ve been with him almost twenty-five years. I know him.”

  “Show me the photos,” Tarryn demanded.

  “No, Tarryn.”

  “Why not?”

  Viv said, “You don’t need to see them, honey.”

  “If you didn’t do it, why can’t I see them?”

  “I didn’t hurt Chanel,” I said quickly. “But someone did, and her injuries are disturbing. Plus”—I could feel my face turning red—“I was very drunk. I’m embarrassed. And ashamed.”

  “How much money does this woman want?” Eli asked. “Are you going to pay her?”

  “No,” Viv said firmly. “Because your dad did noth
ing wrong.”

  “But… you’re going to pay the Nygards. We didn’t do anything wrong that night either.”

  “I know, but—”

  My daughter cut me off. “This poor woman was injured and humiliated. But you’re just going to walk away from her and give your money to some rich assholes who don’t want to take any responsibility for what their spoiled brat did to us.”

  “The poor woman wasn’t injured and humiliated by me,” I said. “And the rich assholes have a lawyer. A very good one.”

  “Wow.” Tarryn got up. “Just… wow.”

  “Wow what?” I called after her, as she strode to the top of the basement stairs.

  She paused there. “This family is so fucked up!”

  “We’re not fucked up!” But she was already gone, stomping angrily down the stairs. I turned to face my son, and I suddenly felt overwhelmed, like I might even cry. “We’re not fucked up,” I said, my voice husky with repressed emotion.

  Eli said nothing. He stood and left the table.

  Eli

  MY DAD’S BEHAVIOR was disturbing. And gross. But I wasn’t as upset about it as my sister was. Maybe because Tarryn was a feminist and had a lot of opinions about sex work and misogyny. Or maybe it was because my expectations of my dad were already lower. For me, he’d fallen off his pedestal years ago. But I knew he wasn’t abusive. And he didn’t hate women. He had a lot of faults—he was irritable, controlling, shallow, vain, overly concerned with appearances—but he wouldn’t choke a woman. He wouldn’t bite a stripper.

  Besides, I had other things to worry about.

  I scrubbed at some beer rings on a sticky table. They were permanent, but the task let me be alone with my thoughts for a few minutes. That night, after my dad’s confession, I’d gone to my room to play computer games. When I checked my phone, I saw that Drew Jasper had sent me another message.

  Eli. Please.

  With a sick feeling in my stomach, I’d tossed my phone on the bed without responding. I launched into my game, but even League of Legends couldn’t distract me. I felt badly for Drew, I did, but there was no way I could go to Worbey College administration and rat out my teammates. It would be two against six, eight, even twelve. The whole team would rally against us. It would be a huge scandal. It would be all over the news. I’d be interrogated about my role that night and harassed by the media. Noah and the guys would come after me then, for sure. They might be arrested. They might go to court, even to jail. But they’d make sure they got to me first.