A Good Marriage

by Kimberly McCreight

  “What about his family?” Sarah moved closer to investigate.

  “It’s from Cork,” Kerry said. “Where my grandparents live. I mentioned it once, and Amanda, thoughtfully, was listening. Thank you very much. And I didn’t even have to take out the garbage or kill any water bugs to get it.”

  “But you’re so good at water bug assassination,” Sarah razzed him back. “Hey, there’s an idea if things get really tight for us: the coveralls, the spray can, you’d be a natural.”

  Kerry rolled his eyes, then leaned in to hug Amanda. She felt so safe for a moment that it tugged her tears back to the surface.

  Her dad had called, again, right before she’d reached Sarah and Kerry’s door. She was trying to brush it off, but that was getting harder and harder to do. How had he found her in Brooklyn? How did he know to even look? That police officer had been right: it didn’t make sense, not with all the steps Zach had taken to protect their privacy.

  “Thank you again for this,” Kerry said, releasing Amanda. He held the bottle up. “I will genuinely treasure it. And now I am going to retire downstairs to my man cave to watch some birthday baseball, if that’s okay with you ladies. You may send Sebe down when he arrives, even though he is French and hence useless.”

  “Can you clean up while you’re down there? Somebody’s going to call the health department soon.” Sarah looked at Amanda. “I won’t even go down there anymore.”

  “Ah, my plan is working perfectly.” Kerry grinned, then leaned over to kiss Sarah on the cheek and pat her rear end. “Thank you, dear, for arranging my birthday dinner. I do appreciate it and you. I will gladly slay water bugs for you any day.”

  Once Kerry had gone, Sarah bent over to remove a perfectly roasted chicken from the oven, then turned to toss a quinoa salad. Amanda watched, mesmerized by Sarah’s effortless command of the kitchen, which was cheerful and homey if somewhat dated, like the rest of the house.

  “That looks amazing,” Amanda said, eyeing the roasting pan.

  Sarah nodded at her handiwork. “Not bad, right? If only Zach knew what he was missing.”

  Amanda closed her eyes and sighed. “I really am so sorry.”

  “No, I’m sorry. My teasing is such a bad habit. It’s a compulsion. Ask Kerry. But I do worry about you. It’s all none of my …” Sarah stopped tossing abruptly, a salad spoon gripped upright in each hand. “Oh, fuck it. You already know I think everything is my business. So here it is: Amanda, you are a surrendered wife, and it is fucking disturbing. I don’t know what it’s like out in Palo Alto, but here in Brooklyn husbands and wives are equal partners, no matter who brings home the bigger paycheck. Up until the foundation, I’ve always stayed home, but Kerry listens to me. Because he loves me, and knows that I love him. That’s how marriage is supposed to work. You know that, right?”

  “Yes,” Amanda said, and she did. In theory. “But you and Kerry have the perfect marriage.”

  “No, we don’t!” Sarah cried. “I made out with my kid’s soccer coach!” She leaned back, double-checking that Kerry really had gone downstairs.

  “But Kerry forgave you,” Amanda said.

  “Yes, but not because we’re perfect. He forgave me because we love each other. There’s a difference. Believe me, we still have plenty of problems.” Sarah looked for a moment like she was going to elaborate, but did not. “Everybody does. But you need to at least have a voice, Mandy. Period. Otherwise, I’m sorry, but it’s not really a marriage—it’s, I don’t know, servitude.”

  “I have a voice,” Amanda offered lamely.

  “You do not!” Sarah cried, but then she closed her eyes and took a breath. She laid her palms flat against the counter. “When you cannot make your husband come to a single dinner party—I’m sorry, but you do not have a voice. That’s a fact. And, as your friend, it’s my job to be honest. Frankly, I think it’s a risky way to live.”

  “Risky? What do you mean?”

  “I mean in sickness and health and loneliness and despair and all that,” she said. “When you’re married, you’re each other’s first line of defense. You’re supposed to take care of each other.”

  Sarah was right. And how could Zach possibly protect Amanda—from her loneliness or her despair, or her bad dreams, much less from her dad—if he didn’t even know about any of it? They’d been together more than a decade, and Zach didn’t know anything about the awful things her dad had done.

  Amanda nodded. “I know what you’re saying is true. I do.”

  “Good,” Sarah said with a satisfied nod, then turned to move the chicken from the roasting pan onto the chopping block. The doorbell rang just as Sarah stuck a fork into the chicken and set down a huge knife for carving.

  “That must be Maude and Sebe. I’ll be right back. Watch the chicken.”

  A moment later, there was the sound of the front door opening, followed by Sarah’s lively, high-pitched hellos.

  “Oh, good. The coast is clear,” Kerry said, breezing back into the kitchen. Furtively, he grabbed a roasted potato out of the pan and popped it into his mouth. He grimaced from the heat, fanning his open lips. In his sweatpants and T-shirt, he was all belly, like an oversize little boy. He peered then at Amanda’s earrings. “Wow, those are something. Don’t let Sarah see them, for God’s sake.”

  Amanda put a hand up to her ear. Drop diamond earrings. What was wrong with her?

  “Shoot,” she said. “I shouldn’t have worn them—you’re right. They’re too much. I had a donor meeting. I forgot to take them off.”

  “That was a joke! Actually, if I was you, I’d make sure that Sarah does see the earrings.” He winked. “Then the next time she tries to ride you about your marriage, you can be like: Remember the earrings?”

  Amanda smiled. Kerry was more perceptive than he let on.

  “It’s the birthday boy!” Maude called as she entered the kitchen and kissed Kerry affectionately on both cheeks. He pulled her into a long, warm hug. When they separated, she motioned to his sweatpants. “I see you pulled out all the stops. Has Sarah seen you? I can’t imagine she’s going to approve of that ensemble.”

  “It’s my birthday,” he protested.

  Sebe appeared in the doorway behind Maude, looking handsome as always in his crisp linen shirt. But the chill between him and Maude was obvious. She was right. The situation with Sophia was causing a strain.

  Sebe leaned in to kiss Amanda on both cheeks. “Very good to see you.”

  “Ugh,” Sarah said as she emerged back into the kitchen, motioning at Amanda, Sebe, and Maude. “Why do you all have to look so good tonight?” She gestured at her own stained button-down.

  “That’s because you’ve been cooking for us!” Maude cried. Then she shot a cool look at her husband. “Sebe, make yourself useful. Pour Sarah a glass of wine.”

  Sebe’s face tensed. He didn’t look at Maude as he made his way over, filled a glass, and handed it to Sarah. They clinked glasses.

  Sarah waved a hand at Kerry. “At least we’re both pathetic slobs.”

  “Hey!” Kerry raised his arms. “It’s my fucking birthday!”

  And everyone laughed.

  By the time they were all seated at the dinner table, Maude had brightened considerably. The couple glasses of wine she’d quickly kicked back seemed to have done the trick. But she and Sebe were avoiding even looking at each other. Amanda didn’t want to take pleasure in their tension, but it was honestly a relief to see that even they did not have a stress-free marriage. Maybe Sarah was right: no one did. Soon the conversation turned back to Sarah’s favorite subject of scorn: the Brooklyn Country Day PTA.

  “Remember when it was the panini press everyone was shouting about?” Sebe laughed good-naturedly.

  “An unconscionable risk to their bodily integrity!” Sarah bellowed. She made her voice high-pitched. “But Sawyer loves her burrata and free-range tomato. She deserves the right for self-actualization.”

  “I don’t know, Sarah.” Kerry laughed. “I t
hink this hacking thing might finally be your undoing. If you don’t have it sorted out soon, they’ll have you drawn and quartered.”

  “Oh, yes, the hacking.” She narrowed her eyes at Kerry, then looked away with a sharp smile. “You know, I actually got a phishing email of my own the other day.”

  Kerry’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t given away all our money to some long-lost aunt who’s down on her luck in Dubai?”

  “What money, Kerry?” Sarah asked. Kerry laughed as Sarah went on. “Anyway, it looked like a membership renewal from Netflix. But no, I didn’t click on it. Because I am not stupid. But, boy, did it make me glad that I don’t have any deep, dark secrets for the hackers to find.”

  “Secrets?” Amanda asked.

  “Oh, yes,” Sarah said. “Apparently it’s secrets these people are after. Embarrassing secrets. They find something on your computer and then they threaten to post it on Park Slope Parents if you don’t pay up, though I don’t actually think they’ve done that yet. One person, who shall not be named, had an email pop up in her in-box, forwarded from her husband’s account. It was an exchange between him and an escort about the next time they were going to meet. One who specializes in S & M. The husband is a submissive, apparently.”

  “Someone told you that?” Maude gasped. “Who?”

  “I am sworn to secrecy. Come on, I love hearing gossip, but I do not perpetuate it,” Sarah said primly. “At this point, I wish people would stop telling me all the lurid details. I already know way more than I ever wanted to.”

  “Who emails with an escort?” Kerry laughed. “Did he make her fill out a W-9, too?”

  Sarah ignored Kerry and turned to Sebe and Maude. “I know you guys are all free to be you and me, but I’d be careful what you put in writing these days.”

  “Oh, I don’t need escorts,” Sebe said with perfect deadpan timing.

  Maude was the only one who didn’t laugh. She was staring down at her untouched food.

  “Touché!” Kerry cried at Sebe, though a beat too late and a little too loud. “Sebe could probably go and stand in the middle of the sidewalk and women would show up and open their legs.”

  Sarah made a disgusted face and swatted at Kerry. “Ew.”

  “Oh, come on, that was a joke.” Kerry laughed. “I thought we were all joking here.”

  “It was colorful, Kerry,” Sebe said diplomatically. “Disgusting, but colorful.”

  “Thank you, Sebe.”

  “Why don’t they steal credit card numbers or something? Like normal criminals?” Maude asked with uncharacteristic spite. “This is such a sick, twisted violation.”

  Amanda could think only of her dad, who’d even had a cameo in her now familiar dream the night before. He’d appeared in the middle—Amanda transported nonsensically back home in the midst of all that running in those dark, damp trees—his frame so large he almost filled the doorway of her bedroom. He was silent and stooped, the way he’d been whenever he drunkenly mistook her bedroom for the bathroom in the middle of the night. She couldn’t count the times he’d peed right on her floor. Thinking about it now, Amanda was sure her dad had enjoyed embarrassing her in that way.

  “Some people love to shame others. They feed off of it.” Amanda’s voice was so venomous it was barely recognizable. “It’s worse than sick. It’s evil. They shouldn’t be allowed to live.”

  And now everyone at the table was staring at her.

  “Cash for escorts, Amanda,” Kerry joked. “Always cash.”

  They were still all looking at her, though.

  “Sorry. It’s just—my childhood wasn’t the easiest,” Amanda said, because she needed to say something. And at least that was the truth. Though her explanation seemed only to make everyone more uncomfortable. “That’s all.”

  “Then it’s all the more credit to you that you turned out to be such a nice person,” Kerry said as he opened another bottle of wine and began refilling everyone’s glasses. “You’re not wrong, anyway,” he added, sitting back down. “My stepfather broke my arm—on purpose—when I was fourteen. I think to shame me in a way. Everyone’s got a history. Even here on Sesame Street.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah looked confused and annoyed. “Your stepfather is such a nice guy.”

  Kerry smiled, but in a strange, sad way. “You don’t know everything about me, dear.”

  “That’s awful,” Sebe said quietly.

  Maude looked sick. “Kerry, I’m so sorry.”

  Sarah was staring at her husband. Amanda was just glad the focus was off her.

  “A toast to the future.” Kerry raised his glass. “And to great friends, who make the very best family.”

  “To friends!” everyone called.

  To the future, Amanda thought as their glasses clinked like wind chimes. To the future.

  KRELL INDUSTRIES

  CONFIDENTIAL MEMORANDUM NOT FOR DISTRIBUTION

  Attorney-Client Work Product

  Privileged & Confidential

  June 30

  To: Brooklyn Country Day Board of Directors

  From: Krell Industries

  Subject: Data Breach & Cyber Incident Investigation—Progress Report

  The following is a summary of key data collected and interviews conducted.

  Data Collection

  Data monitoring continues. There have been no additional intrusions into the Brooklyn Country Day information systems, though additional families continue to receive new threats.

  Interview Summaries

  SUBJECT FAMILY 0016: MPP received an email from an anonymous source that contained screenshots of correspondence he has received from various creditors, along with a demand for a $20,000 cash transfer. Failure to comply with the cash transfer demand would result in the photos being posted to PSP.

  SUBJECT FAMILY 0031: MPP has not had any personal experience with hacking. But he knows of an individual (identified herein as Person of Interest A) whose son was expelled last year for behavioral issues who indicated a desire to retaliate by damaging the reputation of Brooklyn Country Day.

  EMPLOYEE INTERVIEW 0009: Current employee reports that a former employee (identified herein as Person of Interest B) said, after being fired from soccer coaching responsibilities, that he would do anything he could to “hurt” the school.

  PRELIMINARY CONCLUSIONS

  At this juncture, not a single victim has complied with the cash demands, and yet no information has been posted to PSP. This raises the question of whether financial gain is the true motive. Further, information uncovered suggests that the perpetrator is a preexisting affiliate of Brooklyn Country Day—an employee, student, or parent.

  Lizzie

  JULY 9, THURSDAY

  I slid into bed, careful not to wake Sam. I’d stayed at the office late to work on that cell-phone-battery motion to dismiss. Conveniently, it also allowed me to avoid confronting Sam about the earring. In fact, I’d pretty much decided I wanted to let it go altogether. I’d already jumped to the wrong conclusion once, about Enid’s and the matches. Really, my doubt was like a muscle that spasmed with the slightest pressure. I couldn’t trust my knee-jerk response to anything.

  So instead I kept my mouth shut and left Sam asleep, using my little booklight in the dark to read more of Amanda’s troubling journals, which continued to make my shitstorm of a life seem absolutely flawless by comparison. At the office, I’d made it through three months of her time in Park Slope, but still no mention of exactly who Amanda thought was following her, just “he” and “him.” And then, as I furtively read in bed, there it was, in one of the very last entries, wedged between an account of a coffee with Sarah and Maude at Blue Bottle and a meeting at Hope First:

  I’m starting to worry Daddy doesn’t want money. That he came to Brooklyn because he wants to drag me back to St. Colomb Falls, to prove he owns me even now. But I won’t let him. I will not.

  When I sat up, the journal slipped through my fingers and bumped Sam’s shoulder. Ama
nda’s father was there in Park Slope? It was him stalking her. It had to be.

  Sam startled awake as if from a bad dream.

  “Oh, it’s you,” he exhaled, relieved, then wrapped an arm tight around my hips. I bristled. So much for letting things go. “What are you reading?”

  “It’s a journal.”

  “You’re reading somebody’s journal?” Sam mumbled. “That’s not very nice.”

  “It belongs to a woman who was killed in Park Slope.”

  “What?” Sam asked with a half laugh. “In Park Slope? When?” He sounded much more awake now.

  “Center Slope. It was over last weekend, when we were away,” I said.

  “That’s awful.” He was quiet for a moment. “Where was it?”

  “Montgomery Place. She had a son. Ten years old. I’m representing her husband.” It was a jab—see all the things you don’t know about me. I couldn’t help it.

  “Representing her husband?” Sam asked. “I didn’t think Young & Crane handled cases like that.”

  “They don’t. I do. We were friends in law school. Until it got … complicated,” I said, intentionally suggestive. “I think he’s innocent.”

  Sam rose up on his elbows. “You think? Who is this guy, Lizzie? What’s going on?”

  He sounded wounded. And I was the tiniest bit glad.

  “His name is Zach Grayson,” I said. “We were friends, but then he wanted to be more than friends. I didn’t want that, so we weren’t friends anymore.”

  That dinner where I’d told Zach about my imaginary boyfriend had ended politely. But, I now remembered, it had also been our last. The next time I’d seen Zach, at the law school’s library, he’d smiled and said hello, but didn’t stop to chat. Two weeks later and he was no longer even saying hi. I didn’t push for explanations either. I figured Zach would be back in touch with me eventually. When he was ready. Instead, he’d disappeared permanently. Not from the law school, but from my life. And I’d been relieved. It made me feel guilty at the time. Maybe that was why I’d agreed to see Zach in Rikers in the first place.