by Amy Hatvany
“Yeah,” I said, as brightly as I could. He knew me too well. “A little dehydrated, I think. I should jump in the pool.” I paused, wanting to change the subject. “What did you say to Carter?”
“He asked him if he happened to know the age range for statutory rape in Washington!” Charlotte hooted, answering for him.
I laughed. “Oh god, honey. Ella’s going to be pissed.”
Jake shrugged as he sprayed his long arms with sunscreen. “Just doing my fatherly duty—scaring the crap out of any boy who might date our daughter.”
“What’s going on with Tiffany?” Charlotte asked. “I saw you guys talking.”
“I told her I was happy to listen if she ever needed anyone to talk with about Lizzy or her mom,” I said. “I wouldn’t wish what she’s going through on anyone.” I looked over at Tiffany, who was once again lying next to Lizzy. She wasn’t the only person putting on a mask, acting like nothing was wrong.
She wasn’t the only one afraid that her world might be on the verge of spinning completely out of control.
Twenty-Four
The next few weeks of summer passed quickly, without a word from Andrew. As soon as I put the development that Peter was building on the market, I had offers on over half of the houses, so I was busy meeting with clients and sending paperwork back and forth with other agents, in addition to ferrying Tucker to the job site on some days so he could work for his dad. Every time my phone vibrated, my stomach lurched, afraid that it might be Andrew, but thankfully, he seemed to have gotten whatever it was he had been trying to prove out of his system.
Still, I vigilantly checked the area surrounding our house or my office every time I was outside, looking for any sign of Andrew sitting in his car, waiting to follow me or my family again, but he was nowhere to be found. Gradually, I let myself relax a little, choosing to focus on spending quality time with my husband. With Ella working most nights and Tuck staying with Peter and Kari more often than not, Jake and I went out for dinner a couple of times a week, coming home to a quiet house where we took advantage of the time alone. His new employees were actually able to manage a lot for Jake, now, so he was back to working closer to fifty hours a week instead of the eighty he had been since deciding to expand the company.
“It’s kind of weird that we never heard back from Andrew, after that last email,” Jake remarked on an early August evening. We were in our bedroom, lying on our backs and holding hands, enjoying that floaty, blissful post-sex space.
Anxiety coursed through me when he mentioned Andrew. “Not really,” I said, hoping I sounded convincingly casual. “We told him we were done seeing him, so maybe he felt like there wasn’t anything more to say.”
“I guess so,” Jake said, rolling over onto his side and extracting his hand from mine so he could rest it on my stomach. He tucked his other arm under his pillow and looked at me. “You never told me the details of what it was like to be with him. We had that quickie when you first got home, but that was it.”
My insides froze, and I hoped Jake didn’t notice how my body suddenly tensed. “Honestly, it wasn’t that great,” I lied. I turned my head, and his blue eyes bored into mine.
“Even though you stayed with him so long that night?” Jake asked, and I might have been mistaken, but I swear a heard a whisper of suspicion behind his words. That was another thing about lying to someone you loved; you lived on the paranoid edge of fear.
“Yeah,” I said, struggling to find a way to explain that particular disparity. “He was sort of a marathon guy, so it took a long time for anything to happen for both of us. It wasn’t like he was especially memorable or anything like that.” I couldn’t say that sex with Andrew was better than sex with my husband, because it wasn’t true. However, fucking Andrew was different than being with Jake, intoxicating in a way I’d never felt before. That’s why it was so dangerous, and why I had to never see Andrew again.
THE next afternoon, I was at the office when I got a call from Diane, the real estate investor for whom I listed all of the houses in the development Peter was in charge of building.
“Hi, Diane,” I said, tucking my phone between my ear and shoulder as I sat at my desk with the door closed. I typically worked with it open, but the agent across the hall had a tendency to yell when she was on the phone, making it impossible for me to concentrate. “I was just finishing up another contract for you to sign. Maybe we could meet up later tonight?”
“Are you on the Neighbors app?” she said, ignoring my question. Her tone was sharp, accusatory—it made my stomach twist.
“I am,” I said, wondering if someone had posted something derogatory about the development. Peter mentioned that there had been some grumbling from a couple of environmental groups about the project taking down a substantial swath of evergreens, but since Diane had made sure to go through all of the proper permitting and environmental impact processes with the city, there was really nothing anyone could do to stop it from happening.
“I think you’d better look at it,” Diane said. “Now.”
“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word. I grabbed for my wireless mouse and navigated to the Neighbors website on my laptop, which was another way to access everything that was posted on the app.
“I’m calling to let you know that I’ve decided to go with another agent for the remainder of the houses,” Diane said. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t fight me on this.”
“Wait,” I said, a fluttering sense of panic took over my chest. I logged into the Neighbors site, and my eyes instantly went to the post at the top of the list with the heading: JESSICA SNYDER IS A WHORE.
I closed my eyes, hoping they were playing tricks on me. But when I looked again, the bold, black heading was still there. I clicked on the post, feeling like I might vomit. There were several emails—things I’d written on the private, anonymous account I shared with Jake—I had blocked Andrew’s email address, but I hadn’t gotten around to talking with Jake about deleting the account altogether. The quotes from my emails were filled with graphic descriptions: “I’d love to get you between my legs again” and “I can’t wait to feel your cock inside of me.” The emails spelled out in detail that I wanted to have sex with men and then tell my husband about it, later. There were pictures of me in the post, too—the discreet versions without a face that we sent to prospective play partners, but for anyone that knew me, it would be easy to recognize my general body shape and curly brown hair. But the most baffling aspect of the post was that it looked like it had been put up by me—my moniker on the Neighbors app was simply my name, and there it was, right next to the headline: Posted by Jessica Snyder. Someone had clearly hacked into the email Jake and I shared, and my Neighbors account.
“Oh my god.” My heart thumped an errant rhythm inside my chest as tears pricked my eyes. I almost forgot that Diane was still on the line, and had taken away what would have been a huge chunk of commission from the remaining houses I had to sell in the development. But that was nothing compared to the feverish, desperate terror I felt knowing that this post was being read by the majority of Queen’s Ridge residents.
“I hope you think long and hard at what kind of example you’re setting for your children,” she said. “But at least now I understand why you didn’t accept my invitation to visit our church.”
“Diane, please,” I said. My head was spinning. How many people had already seen the post?
“I’ve made up my mind,” Diane said. She hung up.
I held my phone and stared at the screen, blinking fast, noting that I had received several text messages during my call. I tapped on the one from Charlotte, feeling like I was in a thick fog,
“What the actual fuck?!?” she said. “Have you seen the post on Neighbors? Call me. NOW!!!!”
The tears that had been threatening my eyes began to fall. Everyone was going to know what I’d done. All of my neighbors. My boss. My clients. My friends. How did this happen?
Andrew. It had to
be him. I didn’t know anyone else with a reason to want to hurt me and the technical skills to pull something like this off. But why? Because I rejected him? Would he really be so vindictive?
My phone rang again, and this time, it was Charlotte. I answered, feeling sick, confused, and numb.
“What the fuck is going on?” she said, not bothering to say hello.
“I don’t know,” I said. My voice cracked. “I didn’t post it. Someone hacked into my Neighbors account.”
“Then where the hell did the emails come from?”
I was silent, not knowing how to answer.
“Jessica, you have to delete it. Now.”
I tried to do just that, but for whatever reason, when I typed in my password that would log me in to the page that usually allowed me to put up new posts or delete old ones, I got an error message. “It’s not working,” I told Charlotte, in a panic. “It won’t accept my password.”
“Shit,” she said. “Whoever hacked in must have changed it. You should call Tiffany. She’s the administrator, right? She should be able to delete your account altogether.”
“It’s too late,” I said. “You know pretty much everyone gets the notifications on their phones when a post goes up. They’re all going to think I’m a whore.” Oh god, the kids. Both Ella and Tucker had the Neighbors app to stay on top of upcoming events for teenagers in the community, as well as for the pure entertainment of reading some of the ridiculous posts. I knew for a fact they both received the notifications in real time, as things went live, because they were usually the ones to tell me what was happening. My children were reading these emails. They were seeing the lusty words I’d written to other men; sexy pictures of their mother were plastered across their phone screen. “I have to go,” I told Charlotte. Adrenaline charged through my veins, making me feel light-headed. “I have to call the kids and tell them not to look at the post.”
“Oh fuck,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t think of that.”
“I know. It just hit me.” My chin trembled and my stomach roiled.
“Okay,” Charlotte said. “Call them. And call Tiffany. Get her to take it down. Or wait. I’ll call her. I’ll tell her you got hacked. She has to know you wouldn’t post this kind of bullshit about yourself.”
I thanked her, feeling grateful that she hadn’t demanded more of an explanation; she simply went into crisis mode, ready to do whatever she could to help. When I hung up, I saw a text from Jake: “What the fuck happened?!?”
“I don’t know,” I wrote. My entire body shook and my thumbs had a hard time typing out the words on the screen. “But I need to call the kids. I’ll call you after.” I’d have to tell Jake everything that happened with Andrew. Because how else would I explain this post? I couldn’t make up more lies. I needed to tell him the truth.
“Let me call Tuck,” he said. “You call Ella. Divide and conquer. Hopefully they haven’t seen it yet.”
God, please, please, please let them not have seen it. I clicked on the phone icon to call my daughter, and four rings later, she picked up.
“Hi honey,” I said as brightly as I could manage, even though tears kept rolling down my hot, flushed cheeks.
“I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” she said. Her voice was tight.
I felt like I’d been punched. She’d seen it. She knew.
“I didn’t post it. Someone hacked into my Neighbors account.” My mind flashed to an image of Andrew, and white hot rage began to blur my vision. I was going to kill him for doing this. It was one thing to try to make me feel guilty for ending things, but it was a whole different level of fucked-up to break into my private email and then blast my most intimate secrets to my entire community.
“Really, Mom? Because there’s another post, now, with screen shots of your texts with some guy named Andrew. Your name is on them.”
“What?” I exclaimed, and then quickly used my mouse to refresh the Neighbors page. Sure enough, there was another post, directly above the first one, and it included a series of text messages between Andrew and me. Naked pictures of us both. Graphic, sexual descriptions of the things we wanted to do—and had done—to each other.
Oh fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.
“It’s so disgusting, Mom!” Ella said, and I could hear the tears in her voice, too. “I’m so fucking embarrassed!”
“Oh honey, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s happening. I promise I’ll figure it out. Charlotte’s calling Tiffany right now, asking her to take the posts down.”
“It’s too late,” Ella raged. “Everyone’s already seen it. They’ll know you cheated on Jake!” Her voice went shrill with those last words, and then she started to sob. “How could you do that to him? He’s so good to you! I thought you guys were so in love!”
“We are,” I said, desperately wanting to comfort her. How could I have let this happen? Why did I sleep with Andrew? My gut told me not to, and I ignored it. I was a goddamn idiot. “I didn’t cheat on Jake. I promise.”
“You expect me to believe that?” Ella said. I could feel her fury through the phone. “After seeing all...that stuff? Everything you wrote? Jesus, Mom!”
“I’m sorry, baby girl,” I said. My heart ached inside my chest. “Can we talk about it later, when you get home? I need to make sure that Tiffany is taking care of this.” I wanted to find some way to do damage control, at least however much that was possible. Maybe she could prevent Andrew from accessing the Neighbors app? There had to be a way to know who it was that put up the posts, and keep him from doing it.
“I never want to talk about this with you again,” Ella said, and then she hung up on me.
I sat at my desk, holding my phone in one hand, in total shock. Then I realized that if Ella had seen the second post, along with everyone else on the app, it was likely that so had Jake. My husband was going to know that I’d been lying to him about Andrew. He would know that I’d been texting this other man—that I’d sent Andrew my dirty thoughts and even dirtier pictures. He would read about how I’d ended up having sex in Andrew’s office—anal sex—and then kept it a secret from my husband. He would know that I’d lied to him last night, when we’d talked about how being with Andrew hadn’t been that great. I felt like a wrecking ball had slammed into my gut.
I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, ignoring the impatient buzzing of my phone, knowing that it was likely Charlotte or Jake, calling about the second post. My initial instinct was to run. I wanted to get in my car, drive away, and not look back. How could I face anyone after this? How could I walk down the street, go to work, go shopping, and be able to look my neighbors in the eye? I could imagine the juicy, chattering gossip already buzzing throughout Queens Ridge. I was always aware of it, even if I did my best not to participate. I never would have dreamed I’d end up at the center of it all.
But there was no escaping. I would have to talk to Jake. I would have to tell him everything. I’d have to witness the pain and disappointment my dishonesty caused him. I would have to find a way to explain myself, even though no matter how I framed it, there was simply no excuse for what I’d done.
“YOU knew him?” Jake said, disbelief widening his blue eyes. We were in our kitchen an hour after we had spoken on the phone when I was still at the office, each of us standing at opposite corners of the granite-topped island, like boxers preparing for a fight. Ella wasn’t home, and thankfully, Tucker was still at the job site with his dad.
I’d called and texted Tiffany multiple times, but hadn’t received a response. Charlotte called me back and said that she couldn’t get through to Tiffany, either, so I was still in panic mode, trying to figure out how to get the posts removed from the app. I was about to head over to Tiffany’s house when Jake had pulled into our driveway, blocking my car in the garage.
“We need to talk,” he’d said, with a glowering look. I’d never seen him wear that particular expression before—a nasty concoction of fury and hurt. I’d pressed my lips toget
her and nodded.
“We worked together,” I told Jake, now, giving him a look that pled for his understanding. “A long time ago. When I first moved here from Boise. He was the bartender at the restaurant where I waited tables for a few months. I honestly didn’t realize it until we met for coffee. It had been almost eighteen years since I’d seen him. He looked like a totally different person.”
Jake looked grim. “But you figured it out. And you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t think I’d have to, at first,” I said, “because I wasn’t going to see him again.” I paused, feeling the tears begin to cut into my words. My chest felt like it was full of sharp knives. “It’s my fault, completely. I should have told you right away. Especially when he called me at the office.”
“What?” Jake yelled. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? How did he figure out how to do that? Did you give him our last name?”
“No!” I said, shrinking from his anger. I’d never seen him like this before. I quickly explained how Andrew said he’d found me through a mutual friend on Facebook, but that I later suspected he’d purposely sought me out. “I was a fucking idiot,” I said, as an endcap.
“And the texts?” Jake asked. His face was a thundercloud, about to unleash. “The picture of you naked, in front of our bedroom mirror?” I’d been horrified when I saw that picture on the Neighbors app earlier; Andrew had covered my breasts and between my legs with some kind of blurry filter, but my face showed, and it was obvious I wasn’t wearing any clothes.
“When you were out to dinner with job candidates at Daniel’s Broiler,” I said, aching with guilt. “When my mom was still here.” I dropped my gaze to the floor. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I was too ashamed. “It was wrong, I know. So incredibly wrong. I got sucked in to talking with him. Flirting. He got inside my head. I’m so, so sorry, babe. I fucked up.”
“Yeah, you did,” he said, angrily. He began to pace back and forth in front of the French doors, and then he stopped short and drove his gaze into me. I could feel it, even though my eyes were still on the floor. “Do you have feelings for him?” His voice shook.