by Sara Shepard
“I need to see Graham,” she said to Antoinette when she finally reached the office floor. Antoinette was the long-suffering office manager/production assistant Lauren had met a few times before—rumor had it she’d worked on every season of this show and never smiled. She gave Lauren and Andrea a strange look but didn’t rise from her desk.
“They’re working,” she said flatly.
“I don’t care,” Lauren said, and grabbed Andrea’s hand to continue down the hall.
“Uh, hey!” Antoinette sounded shocked. “I said they’re working!”
The writers’ room was the last door on the left—Lauren had come once, on a tour with Matthew when he was a few weeks old. The door was shut, but the knob turned, and Lauren pushed it open with force. Inside, a table of sloppily dressed people looked up. Lauren half-expected Graham not to be there—this whole scenario felt Hitchcockian, suddenly. It seemed very plausible that Graham didn’t even have a job here. But there he was, seated at one of the table’s long ends, twiddling a pen. She recognized a few others—a writer named Matt whom Graham said was a jackass, a writer named Rami who’d low-key hit on Lauren at the Christmas party, and of course Gracie Lord at the head of the table.
Everyone blinked in surprise, as though Lauren were wearing a clown suit and Andrea was carrying a bomb.
Graham leapt to his feet. “Lauren. What are you doing here?” His eyes flicked to Andrea with confusion. “And . . . hi?”
“I need to talk to you,” Lauren asserted.
“But . . .” Graham glanced nervously at his fellow writers.
“It’s okay,” Gracie said gently. There was a look of understanding on her face—of pity. For Graham. To Gracie, Lauren was the unstable one, the wife who needed handholding. Lauren seethed with the idea that Gracie was so cavalier about sending her away. Separating her from her child. She had it so wrong.
Graham gave the room an apologetic smile and hurried out, but when he closed the door, the corners of his mouth turned down disapprovingly. “Lauren, what are you doing here?”
She took a deep breath. “Did you hurt Piper Jovan?”
Graham’s eyes went wide. “Why would I—”
“I know you weren’t working that afternoon she was attacked. And . . .” Say it, she told herself. “Why didn’t you tell me you dated her?”
The color drained from Graham’s face. But instead of answering, he whirled around and darted through the fire door.
“Hey!” Lauren cried, and she and Andrea started after him, catching the door just before it swung closed. Graham clambered down the stairwell; both women followed. Lauren could see the top of Graham’s head on the first-floor landing. “Graham, what the hell? Just talk to me, damn it!”
Graham stopped, breathing hard. His hand was on the doorknob to the outside, but he glanced up at her rather than leaving. He looked no different than he had that morning, she thought sadly. Maybe a little paler, but the same guy. The sick feeling Lauren had dealt with all morning rose in her throat again, but she pushed it down.
“Go,” she said to him, pointing to the door. “Out there. I’ll meet you.” Then she glanced at Andrea. “I’ll talk to him alone, okay?”
“Okay.” Andrea didn’t look pleased. “But I’ll be close.”
Graham obeyed. They stepped into the blinding sunlight, and Lauren led Graham to a shady area near one of the other sound stages. The curb was littered with cast-off bicycles, empty cardboard boxes, cigarette butts. It was desolate, but at least there were people zipping by in golf carts every so often—and Andrea wasn’t very far away. For a while, there were only the sounds of Graham’s heavy breathing. The longer he didn’t look at her, the more she was convinced that all her suspicions were true.
“I called your office, and you weren’t here the afternoon Piper got hurt,” Lauren said. “And now I don’t know what to think. Who are you?”
Graham looked up, his eyes full of defeat. “I didn’t do anything to her. I promise.”
“But where were you, really? Because you weren’t shooting.”
Graham pressed his lips together and looked down. “Somewhere else. It’s complicated.”
“Try me!”
Graham’s eyes flashed, and he backed away from her a step. “Keep your voice down, Lauren. Okay?”
It was the look he got when she became worked up. The same look he’d had in the car after the breakfast—or, for that matter, from the night in the kitchen. Lauren could feel the rage coming on, but of all the times to feel enraged, now was a pretty justifiable one—and he wasn’t going to make her feel bad about it. Besides, if Lauren lost her shit, Andrea was close.
“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” she asked.
“Because . . . I want nothing to do with her. She’s crazy, Lauren.”
Lauren felt a sharp prickle of fury. “Oh, she’s crazy now, too?”
Graham shut his eyes. “Lauren. Come on. It’s me. I love you. Think about what you’re saying.”
“But why hide that you dated? Tell me. Please.”
On the thoroughfare, a few people passed, happily chatting. Graham glanced over at them longingly, probably wishing that he could go back to this morning, when he had his life—and wife—under control. “I should have told you about Piper. But it was such a mess . . . and I didn’t come out of the relationship looking great. I fucked up, okay? I’m so sorry.”
“Did you know she was here when we moved to Raisin Beach? Is she the reason we came?”
“No!” Graham shook his head vehemently. “You were the one who chose this place. Nice community, safe, all that. And you wanted Matthew to go to that school . . . I had no idea Piper was working there. We lost touch after we split up. I didn’t know what happened to her, and I didn’t care. It was the shock of my life when you showed me the website and I saw she was the director.”
“Nice of you to tell me this before we enrolled Matthew.” Lauren didn’t know whether to believe Graham. She hadn’t seen any shock in him when he’d studied the Silver Swans website. He’d been relaxed, easygoing. Hadn’t he?
“I should have,” he repeated. “But the longer I waited, the bigger of a deal it seemed, the bigger a lie.”
“So have you seen her?”
“I . . . saw her, yeah,” Graham admitted, and this, too, felt like a slap.
“When?”
“The other day. I . . . I went to her office.” He sighed. “She called me. We . . . had a talk. It was weird.”
“And you decided, even after that, that you both would pretend you were strangers?”
“Well, yeah. But, I mean, it wasn’t like we had any chance to be around each other. She was attacked later that same day.” There was something accusing in his voice, something that almost said, You attacked her.
“Why would you keep this from me?”
Graham looked away. “It’s complicated, but it’s in the past. I didn’t love her or anything.”
“You went to Italy with her,” Lauren spat. “You looked in love then.” Graham winced, but that just made Lauren want to press more. “All this time, you were telling me how badly I should feel about my email to Piper, how I shouldn’t have written to her, but you dated her! The police are going to figure that out, Graham. They’re going to ask why you didn’t come forward with this to your own wife.”
“Look, the police know.” Graham sighed heavily. “They’re not idiots.”
Lauren stopped. “They do?”
“Yeah. They found a shared lease agreement from back in the day. They asked me about it that day I went into the station.”
“That day you . . .” Lauren remembered the cacio e pepe dinner. “The day you told stories about all my friends?”
He avoided her gaze. “Uh-huh. They asked me about Piper. I said she and I were on okay terms but pretty much ignored each other.”
Lauren blinked. “And then what?”
Graham shrugged. “They asked why we ignored each other, and I told them Piper and I were both really surprised we lived in the same town. And that she asked me not to bring up the past,” Graham said in a small voice. “So I did. To protect her reputation.”
“Why did you need to protect her reputation?”
“Because I didn’t want to complicate our marriage—believe it or not, she was looking out for you, too. People around here talk. The cops got that. I don’t know why you don’t.”
Lauren pressed her hands over her eyes. Was Graham right? Parents would gossip about a random dad dating the director back in the day. They’d speculate. People in Raisin Beach had little else to focus on. She cleared her throat, remembering the other detail. “And what about Piper’s son?”
Graham’s face fell. “Lauren . . .”
Lauren could feel her pulse at her throat. It was incredible that people could hold so many secrets inside them.
“Is he yours?” she squeaked out. “Do you ever see him?” Part of her hoped he’d say yes. A big part of her was even willing to make space for this kid—especially if Piper was gravely sick.
But Graham lowered his eyes. His expression was conflicted. “Well, no. I don’t.”
Bile rose in Lauren’s chest. Her knees weakened, and then she could no longer stand. Graham’s eyes widened in alarm. He reached out to catch her, but it was Andrea who grabbed her instead. “Hey,” Andrea was saying, leaning over Lauren, supporting her so she didn’t crumple to the ground and hit her head. “Hey, it’s okay.”
Lauren’s breaths came faster. This, too, was new—not the prickly rage but instead a falling feeling, a depthless, dark despair. She looked at Graham again. He stood over her uselessly, blinking hard, his hands halfheartedly reaching toward her. “Lauren,” he said. “Lauren, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this is such a mess. I shouldn’t have hidden this from you. I just . . . you weren’t in a good way, you know? I was worried about you. I worried another complication would just make you worse.”
“Get away from me,” Lauren mustered. She couldn’t believe a word out of his mouth anymore—even about herself. “Don’t come home. I mean it.”
“Lauren,” Graham pleaded. “You don’t know what you’re saying. I love you. I love our life together.”
“Do you, though?” Lauren took another step away. “Don’t come home. I can’t deal with you right now.”
“But what about Matthew? You’re not fit to be alone with him right now.”
Lauren tried to laugh, but before she could answer, her field of vision grew fuzzy, and she had to shut her eyes. And when she opened them again, Graham was gone.
Twenty-Eight
It took a long time to track down Ronnie. When she finally answered her phone, Andrea could immediately tell something was very wrong. She kicked herself—she’d sensed this before they drove to LA, too, but she’d given Ronnie her privacy. “Lauren and I are coming to get you,” she said promptly.
“Well, I’m not home,” Ronnie said. And then she gave the name of a motel complex inland. It was a hike to get there, and when they did, Ronnie trudged out of a dark upstairs room all alone. Andrea felt a chill. Ronnie hadn’t told them anything yet, but Andrea got a terrible feeling that something dreadful had gone down when she saw that Esme wasn’t with her.
Ronnie climbed into Andrea’s car with them so they could talk.Then again, there was so much to say, they didn’t know where to start. Finally, Ronnie spoke. It took a while for the shock of what had happened with Esme to sink in with all of them. Ronnie seemed like a shell of herself, brittle and broken.
“What did Lane say about it?” Andrea finally asked. “Maybe he can help.”
Ronnie ducked her head. “Lane can’t know. I just said Esme and I took a little trip to clear our minds. It was to buy time so I could figure things out, but I don’t know. It’s possible I’ll never see Lane again.”
“Never see Lane?” Lauren cried.
“How can I tell him? It’s impossible. Shameful.” She rubbed her eyes. “Maybe I do get the police involved. I’m just not sure how.”
“And you’re really going to stay at that motel in the meantime?” Lauren asked. “You can come to my house. Graham won’t be there.”
“The only reason I’m there is because that place has a view of the motel where Esme’s staying.” Ronnie felt her chin start to wobble. “My sister’s car is still there. It hasn’t moved. I haven’t seen them walking to the pool, though.” She looked up fearfully. “Is that weird? Should I be worried?”
Of course you should be worried, Andrea wanted to say. But instead, she said, “We can help you spy on her, if you want.”
Ronnie gave them a small, hopeless smile. “Also, the police are calling me nonstop,” she added. “Are they calling you guys?”
“They came to my door,” Lauren said. “I thought it was about you guys—but now, I wonder if it was about Graham.”
“I’ve gotten some calls,” Andrea admitted, and then cleared her throat. “And I called them this morning.” She launched into the story about Carson extorting the parents, everything he said in his office, and how he threatened to spill her secrets if she told.
“So he’s the one threatening us,” Ronnie said, her eyes wide. “He’s the one who knows about Esme.”
“Are we sure Carson didn’t hurt Piper?” Lauren asked. “There’s something really off about him.”
“I don’t think he did,” Ronnie said.
Andrea shot her a look. “What makes you think that for sure?”
Ronnie shifted awkwardly. “I mean, didn’t you just say he had an alibi? People saw him?”
“People can lie.”
Across the street, a police car was parking in a McDonald’s lot. Andrea could see an officer through the tinted windows chowing on a burger. She slid down in her seat a little, then chastised herself. You’ve done nothing wrong, she thought.
“Maybe Graham did it,” Lauren said after a beat. “He swore he wasn’t at the school, but he didn’t say where he was instead. And what sort of person keeps quiet about an old relationship? It’s just so odd. He gave me all these excuses . . .”
Now it was everyone’s turn to look at Lauren with pity. No one knew where Graham had gone. Andrea had been so busy tending to Lauren that she hadn’t seen where he slipped off to.
Ronnie cleared her throat. “I . . . saw Piper, actually.”
“What?” Andrea whipped her head around to look at her. “In the hospital?”
“Uh-huh. Just before I called you. I . . . went to the hospital.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I snuck into her room.”
“How did she look?” Lauren whispered, aghast.
“She . . . woke up while I was there.”
“What?” Andrea felt her spine straighten. “Why didn’t you lead with this, Ronnie? Does she remember?”
Ronnie twisted a small silver ring around her thumb. “If she does, it’s not good.” She licked her lips. “She looked straight at me and said, Get away from me.”
A chill went through Andrea’s veins. “She knew who you were?”
“I’m not sure. Because then she said, You were both there. I said I’m sorry, okay? Get away! I’m sorry, all right? I’m sorry I’m not the person you need me to be.” Ronnie shrugged. “I was so confused. I have no idea what she meant.”
“Shit,” Lauren whispered, the color draining from her face.
“And then,” Ronnie added, “her machines started beeping. And a nurse ran in, but Piper was still screaming to the nurse. She goes, Get him out of here! And pointed at me.”
“Him?” Lauren repeated.
“Yep,” Ronnie said.
Andrea thought about this for a moment. “She mistook you for a guy?”
“I think she was seeing someone else entirely.”
“So it’s a guy who hurt her,” Andrea said slowly. A car swished past them, pulling into a spot closer to the motel’s lobby. “Maybe you look like him?” Andrea asked. “Could it be?”
“It’s why I said it couldn’t be Carson,” Ronnie admitted. “We don’t look alike at all.”
Lauren leaned back in the seat, her arms crossed. “Graham has dark hair like Ronnie, but he’s much taller.”
Then Andrea remembered something. “Carson said Piper worried she was being stalked.”
Ronnie chewed on her bottom lip. “He has no idea who it was?”
“He thought it was me,” Andrea said. There was a groan in the sky: somewhere above the clouds, a jet was passing through. Andrea tipped her head upward but couldn’t see it. Then her gaze drifted to Lauren, who had a strange, haunted expression on her face. “What?”
“I was thinking about one of the things Graham said. One of the reasons he said he didn’t tell anyone he dated Piper was that she asked him not to. And he obliged because he wanted to protect her reputation. Then he gave me some bullshit about how people around here talk and how Piper had a certain brand. But you know what I think? I think it’s about their son. His son. Graham never sees that North kid. I can’t . . . That’s what people would talk about. The deadbeat dad who left his wife to care for a kid all on her own. Living in the same town, not even seeing his son.” Her voice broke. “It’s more for his reputation, not hers.”
A gust of wind kicked up, blowing an empty plastic bag through the air. Andrea thought back to going to Piper’s office for that meeting about the drawing, how the woman had lurched forward to show her a picture of North even though she hadn’t asked to see one. There had been something forced about her actions, something Andrea couldn’t put her finger on. Why wouldn’t a man see his own son? Was he like how her wife, Christine, had been, someone who didn’t want kids in the first place? Except Graham had a new baby now . . .
“How old is Piper’s son, anyway?” Ronnie asked, breaking the silence.