The Perfect Family

by Robyn Harding

  One day, when the time was right, I would unburden myself. Because secrets had almost destroyed my family. Secrets had almost gotten my brother killed.

  I moved into the family scrum and hugged them.

  Thomas

  LATER, WHEN ELI was stabilized, the police interviewed my wife and cleared her of any negligence. They had our continual harassment on record; the gun had been legally obtained; and Oregon was a “stand your ground” state. Viv had reasonably perceived the threat of serious physical injury or death before she used deadly force. And, perhaps, pity had played a small role in the cops’ decision. Only a monster could inflict further trauma on a woman who had accidentally shot her own child. Her devastation was so clearly evident. She had suffered enough.

  The police would visit Finn Dorsey and any other boys he was willing to identify. They wouldn’t be charged—they were minors, there was no evidence against them—but the cops would make them see that they’d been playing a dangerous game. It could easily have been one of them that Viv shot, instead of Eli. They wouldn’t be bothering us again.

  Eli was released from the hospital after three days. He was going to be fine, but his shoulder had sustained permanent damage. It would always be weaker, would have limited mobility. His soccer goalie career was likely over—at least at the college level. But none of that mattered now, not to any of us.

  As it turned out, our son had one more confession to make. He called us into his room, where Viv had him propped up on pillows, his bedside table laden with tea, toast, and a cut-up apple, and he told us the real reason he had dropped out of Worbey College. His face was red, his voice shaky, but he opened up to us, and told us what those boys had done to Drew Jasper. He told us how he had stood by, afraid to intervene as the horrific crime played out before his eyes.

  “Oh my god,” Viv said, taking his hand. “That’s so awful.”

  “It was.” Eli sighed. “I just stood there and watched. I-I should have done something. I’m ashamed of myself.”

  “Don’t be,” I said. “It was group contagion. They would have turned on you. Beat you up or worse.”

  Eli sat farther up in bed, wincing from the use of his injured shoulder. “After everything that’s happened… after everything I’ve done… I need to back Drew Jasper up. I’m going to call the dean at Worbey and I’m going to tell him what happened.”

  “We support you, one hundred percent,” I said.

  “We’re proud of you,” Viv added. “You’re strong and you’re brave.”

  “It could get ugly,” Eli said. “The guys could come after me. Maybe they already have.…”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The fire…” His face was troubled. “I don’t think that was Finn Dorsey and his friends.”

  “Of course it was,” I said quickly. “They were bored little delinquents. They got off on it. It gave them a high.”

  “But they were attacking us for kicks. For fun. We could have been killed!”

  “They didn’t think it through,” I said, something desperate in my tone. “Kids have poor impulse control.”

  Viv added, “And they don’t understand repercussions.”

  “Maybe,” Eli said softly. “But we all saw that figure walking down the driveway with a knife. That was a man. It wasn’t a kid.”

  My wife looked over at me, and I saw my fear reflected back at me. We needed it to be those kids. Because we needed it to be over.

  “Noah Campbell lives in Vancouver,” Eli said. “He could have done it.”

  Viv took our son’s hand. “Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.”

  I squeezed his foot under the blankets. “We’ve got you, buddy.”

  Viv kissed his cheek, and we left the room.

  * * *

  WHEN THE TWO of us were alone in the kitchen, I poured two glasses of water. “Do you think Eli’s right? Do you think the more serious attacks were done by someone else? Like this Noah kid?”

  “I don’t know.” Viv took a drink. “It’s possible.”

  “It could have been Emma. Or her fiancé. But they’re gone now,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “For good.”

  I had given my former assistant an ultimatum: I wouldn’t press charges if she agreed to quit the firm, immediately. She had acquiesced, leaving the whole office talking and speculating as to why she would resign so suddenly. Only I knew the truth. Although… Leo Grass had been giving me the cold shoulder ever since. I wondered if Emma had confided in him.

  “You win,” Emma had said, when I saw her in the parking garage. I’d returned from a showing as she was loading a box of her belongings into the trunk of her car. “Men like you always do.”

  “Men like me?”

  “Arrogant. Privileged. Entitled.” She closed the lid with a slam. “You make me sick, Thomas. One day, you’ll get what you deserve.”

  “I’m not a bad person, Emma.”

  But as she drove away, I’d felt a swell of guilt. Of shame. And of dread. Her words weren’t an outright threat, but they sent a chill through me. Would she and Paul be back? Were they determined to make me pay?

  “There’s one more possibility,” Viv said, bringing me back to the moment.

  “The drug supplier?”

  “I need to talk to Dolly,” she said. “I know it will be humiliating. I know it could impact my reputation. And yours.…”

  “Do it,” I said. Because all that mattered now was keeping our family safe.

  She set the glass down on the counter. “Okay.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No.” She sounded strong and resolute. “I need to do this on my own.”

  Viv

  THE LAST TIME I’d driven to Dolly Barber’s Willamette Valley estate, I’d been vibrating with anxiety and blinded by tears. This time, I felt strangely calm. Perhaps I could thank the therapy sessions I’d had since that horrific night when I had shot my son. I was still awakened by devastating nightmares of Eli lying bloodied and lifeless on the lawn, but the doctor was making me understand that I had been trying to protect my family, that the lengths I had gone to were proof of intense maternal love. And my therapist was also helping me understand my compulsion to steal.

  She thought, as did I, that it was about control… or my lack of it. My need to orchestrate every aspect of my life, and those of my husband and children, had set me up for failure. The children were growing up and pulling away, naturally. And Thomas and I had had the usual ups and downs of any long marriage. Taking things that weren’t mine had made me feel powerful, in command, if only for a moment before the darkness descended. It was a coping mechanism, she said, a response to stressful triggers in my life. Perhaps it stemmed from my own relationship with my parents? She wanted to delve into my past and examine my childhood. But even if I could understand why I’d stolen things, it didn’t absolve me.

  I knew this confession could destroy my career and even my husband’s. It would humiliate me and likely damage us socially. And yet, I was firm in my resolve. Because the only way I could ensure my family’s safety was to talk to Nate Barber. He was the only one who could tell me who knew I had the pills.

  When I parked in the long curving driveway, I sat for a moment, steeling myself for the confrontation. Dolly was expecting me, probably excited to hear the gory details of the worst night of my life. She had texted me when she heard (through the grapevine of mothers) about Eli’s “terrible accident.” She’d assured me that her home makeover could wait, that I should focus on my son and his healing. A box of gourmet cookies had been sent to Eli’s hospital room from the Barbers. It was sweet and thoughtful. And now, I was going to confess that I was the source of so much of her misery.

  Walking to her stately front door, I rang the bell. It opened almost instantly, as if she’d been standing behind it, waiting for me.

  “How are you?” she asked, sweeping me into a hug.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “Getting better day b
y day.”

  “How’s Eli?”

  “He’s young and strong. He’s recovering well.”

  “I’m so glad. That night must have been absolutely horrifying. Come in… tell me what happened.”

  Her curiosity was normal. Even the barely concealed excitement in her tone was understandable. I stepped into the open foyer. “Can we talk… privately? I’ll try to explain.”

  “Of course. Mark’s at work. And Nate’s still asleep.”

  Dolly led me into her sunny kitchen, with its dark, chunky cabinets. I would have installed white cupboards and more glass to open up the space, but my design ideas didn’t matter now. Once I told Dolly everything, I wouldn’t be working on her home anymore.

  When we were seated in the cozy breakfast nook, and I’d declined her offer of tea, I cleared my throat. Might as well start at the beginning.…

  “When I was decorating your old house,” I began, “I found a bag of pills. And I took them.”

  “I’m sorry… what?” She shook her head, as if she was seeing spots.

  “I think they were the fake oxy pills. The ones that Nate was dealing.”

  Dolly’s face was pale under her heavy makeup. “For god’s sake, Viv. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I didn’t know what they were then. In fact”—my face burned with shame—“I took them on a whim. Without thinking at all.”

  She was looking at me with thinly veiled disgust. “My son was beaten to a pulp by some drug kingpin. You could have prevented that.”

  “I’m so sorry, Dolly. Had I known—”

  “I don’t understand this.” She stood up, putting distance between us. “Why would you do that?”

  “I-I don’t know,” I stammered. “I wish I hadn’t.”

  She pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyebrows. “I’m trying to process this. I think you should go, Viv.”

  But I couldn’t. Not yet. “I understand that you’re angry, Dolly. And I know that Nate is, too. But… I need to speak to him.”

  She whirled on me. “About what?”

  “I need to know who he told about the drugs. That I took them. That… I have them.”

  “Are you kidding me?” she snapped. “Those drugs nearly destroyed my son’s life. He’s healing and he’s moving forward. You can’t come over here and expect him to revisit the most horrible thing that’s ever happened to him. To all of us.”

  “Someone’s after us,” I said. “They set our front porch on fire. They broke into our house with a dead rat and put a wasps’ nest in our garbage can.”

  She gave a mirthless laugh. “And you think that’s related to the illegal drug trade?”

  “I-I don’t know. Just… can you get Nate, please?”

  “No, Viv. I won’t get Nate.”

  “The police won’t help us, Dolly. I’m trying protect my family.”

  “So am I,” Dolly snapped. “I’d like you to leave now.” She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Before I lose my temper.”

  I slid off the leather seat. “I’m really sorry. It was such a—”

  “GET OUT!” she screamed.

  I ran for the door.

  Eli

  I SAT AT my computer desk, sifting through economics courses at the University of Oregon. There were several local colleges that would accept the credits I’d earned at Worbey. I could return to school in Portland and finish my degree on schedule. But I’d decided to take it slow, working part-time at the Thirsty Raven while taking a lighter course load. My healing was more important—both physically and mentally.

  When I came forward to corroborate Drew Jasper’s story, Worbey College informed me that a full investigation into the hazing incident was under way. Some of the other guys had confessed, pointing fingers at Oscar and Manny as the ringleaders, the abusers. I didn’t ask the dean what would happen to them, but Drew and I messaged now and again. He told me that Oscar and Manny had been expelled, that the other guys were currently on academic suspension. Noah Campbell had broken down, apparently. He had written a letter of apology to Drew and his family. He said he’d been overcome by peer pressure and horde mentality, had been trying too hard to fit in. He was really sorry, he said. Drew seemed to think he meant it. I wasn’t so sure.

  I hadn’t heard from any of them. There was no social media harassment, no angry messages calling me a traitor or a coward. And no one had attacked our house since that night. Whoever had been behind it wouldn’t be coming back. Everyone in Portland knew that a crazy lady with a gun lived there. They’d be nuts to bother us again.

  A rap at my bedroom door interrupted my musings. My dad poked his head inside, a smile on his face, a twinkle in his eye. “Someone’s here to see you,” he said. And then he ushered Arianna into the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Hey,” I said, spinning to face her in my chair.

  “I made you some cookies.” She held out a plastic container. I reached for it, and then grimaced with pain. “How’s your shoulder?”

  “It’s okay. It only hurts when I use it.”

  She smirked. “I’m sorry. For… everything you’ve gone through.”

  “You mean my mom shooting me? It’s all good.” Why was I being so jokey and flippant? I was nervous. And excited that she was here. She set the cookies in my lap, then sat on my bed.

  “You seem like you’re doing pretty well. All things considered.”

  “I am.” I indicated the computer screen behind me. “I’m going to take some courses this fall. At the University of Oregon.”

  “No way. Me too!” Her face was bright. “I got accepted into the nursing program.”

  “You’ll make a great nurse. You’re really caring, and good with people.”

  She blushed a little. “Thanks, Eli.”

  “Maybe we’ll see each other around campus.”

  “I should probably go.” She stood. “I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

  “Thanks for the cookies.”

  “Peanut butter chocolate chip.”

  “My favorite.”

  “I know.”

  Arianna took a step toward the door. “Are you still seeing Derek?” I blurted, halting her exit.

  She turned to face me. “I ended it. He’d been cheating on me with some girl he met online.”

  “Shit.” I played dumb. “You don’t deserve that.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “I hope you’re okay.”

  Arianna shrugged. “It was no great love affair. I told you that.”

  She was going to leave, and I didn’t want her to. Not yet. “Do you think… maybe you and I could be friends? Since we’re going to the same college next term?”

  “That might be okay.…” She smiled. “Your parents actually seemed really happy to see me. Maybe I imagined all their condescension?”

  “Or maybe they’ve changed. We’ve been through some pretty heavy stuff.”

  “That’s an understatement.” She reached for the door handle. “Take care, Eli.”

  “You too.”

  I turned back to my computer screen, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

  Tarryn

  IT DIDN’T TAKE long for every person at Centennial High to hear that my mom had shot my brother. Even though school was out for the summer, the Adlers were the talk of the entire student body… not to mention the faculty. I’d had a call from Ms. Harris, the school counselor. Even though she was on vacation, she wanted to make sure I was okay, that I was getting the support I needed. I assured her that I was fine, that I had access to my mom’s therapist if I wanted to talk, that our family was healing. If Ms. Harris knew what had happened that night, that meant everyone knew.

  I decided to delete my social media accounts, at least for a while. Instagram, Snapchat, even TikTok would be burning up with gossip about my fucked-up family. Clearly, my mother was a lunatic, my brother a psychotic lurker, and my dad and I were guilty by association. I had never cared that my schoolmates had a
low opinion of me—or no opinion of me at all—but the thought of them gossiping and laughing about our tragedy made me feel sick. And angry.

  Obviously, someone from the school, or maybe another parent, had contacted my mom and dad. They came into my room one morning, steaming coffee mugs in their hands, to address the rumor mill swirling around me. Mom perched on my twin bed, while Dad stood at the end. “I know this has been hard on you, honey,” she said. “And I’m sorry for that.”

  My throat felt thick with emotion. Recent events had been a lot harder on Eli and my mom, obviously, but it was me who had discovered my brother’s inert body; me who’d instructed my mom to call 911 while she stood frozen with shock, a gun in her hand. Sometimes, I felt like an afterthought in my own family, but here they were, making sure I was okay.

  “Kids gossip,” my dad said. “But they’ll soon get bored. By the time you go back to school, this will be old news.”

  I doubted that, but I just shrugged.

  “And it doesn’t matter what people think about us,” my mom said. “We know the truth.”

  I couldn’t help but snort. My mom and dad cared more about appearances than anyone I knew. They had to have the perfect home, the perfect yard, had to drive status-symbol cars. They dressed the part of the attractive, wealthy, stylish couple, had kept it up even when their world was falling apart. A glance passed between them. They knew I was onto them.

  “This has been a real wake-up call for me,” Mom said, her voice husky. “The only thing I really care about is this family. The only thing that really matters is that you and your brother are safe. And happy. And thriving.”

  “Same,” Dad said, and his eyes looked misty. Oh god! If my dad started crying, it would be beyond awkward.