by Sara Shepard
“I didn’t know she was here until a few weeks ago.”
When Lauren breathed in, she could smell the sharp, tangy, sweaty scent Graham always emitted when he was under stress. She used to like it in the same way she liked the smell of her family dog’s paws. But now it made her sick. She breathed in sharply. “Were you the one stalking her, Graham?”
Graham scoffed. “Stalker is a little intense.”
“Have you been lurking around this house? Scaring her?” She put her hands on her hips. “Were you the one who attacked her?”
“No,” Graham growled. “I’m not.”
“Yes.” Lauren’s voice shook. “You knocked out Ronnie. You nearly killed Piper. You slammed her head against the wall.”
“I. Wasn’t. There.” Little droplets of spittle flew from Graham’s mouth. He stared at the gun in his hand like he didn’t quite know what to do with it. “Can you go? Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen.”
Lauren could feel Andrea and Ronnie backing away. Her gaze fell again to the papers in Graham’s hand. It was a slim bundle, but she was able to make out that the top sheet was a series of printed pictures. In one of them, she could see half of Piper’s face. Her eyes were cast down. She looked troubled. Her face was eerily pale.
“Why do you have photos of Piper?” she asked, pointing to them.
“Lauren.” Graham stuffed them into the back pocket of his jeans. His voice was pleading, desperate. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Lauren,” Ronnie warned. “Let’s just go. Please.”
Lauren’s legs were trembling, but she couldn’t move. “Tell me, Graham. Tell me the truth.”
Graham stared at the ground. The gun trembled in his hands, and then there was a little clicking sound, releasing the safety. “Lauren!” Andrea screamed. Ronnie whipped open the door and hurried to the porch. Andrea followed. But they didn’t run across the lawn. They stood just beyond the doorway, watching.
“Please, Lauren,” Andrea urged. “Just come with us. It’s going to be okay.”
But something was happening here. The police were probably going to search this place, if they hadn’t already. They would find out that North had died, if they didn’t already know. They probably did know, Lauren realized. If they knew Graham and Piper were together, of course they’d looked into the records about their child.
So what were these pictures, then? What was so damning and terrible Graham needed to break into a house and get rid of the evidence?
And then a crack opened in her brain. And here came the low boil, too, lurching up to a simmer in mere seconds. “Give me those,” Lauren roared, lurching forward. She grabbed a few of the papers, ripping one down the middle. A few bunched in her hands, and she took a big step back. “Hey!” Graham screamed, diving for her. In the split second before he landed on top of her, Lauren got a look at the images.
There were bruises on Piper’s face. Marks on her arm. Scratches on her back. Her eyes cast down, her expression deeply ashamed. Picture after picture, documenting everything.
Time sped up. Graham’s body was suddenly crushing her chest. One hand clamped on her neck, cutting off her airway. Lauren looked at him pleadingly, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Above her, Andrea and Ronnie were screaming, pleading. Lauren just stared into her husband’s eyes . . . and there it was. Snap, a memory returned.
She saw herself standing in the kitchen. It was a summer night. That summer night. She was angry, screaming at Graham, holding the baby to her chest. And then she saw what came next, what her mind had previously wiped away. Graham had lunged at her. “Just stop,” he’d growled. “You’re acting insane. As usual.”
He pushed her against the sink and pressed his hand to her throat. Lauren let out a weak cry, still holding Matthew. Lauren clawed at Graham, trying to get him away from them, her fingers making contact with his face. Enraged and surprised, he shot out his fist. He’d intended it for Lauren’s cheek, but he misjudged. His hand connected with Matthew’s chubby thigh.
The baby was silent, and then his screams intensified. Graham froze in horror, and then guilt, and then deep regret. But after, a calm came over him. He lifted the baby from Lauren’s arms. And then she went blank.
When she opened her eyes again, Graham stood opposite her in the kitchen. Matthew was still screaming, Lauren’s hands were still trembling, but now, Graham looked at her with condemnation. He’d had time to prepare a story. He’d planned a way to twist the blame.
And Lauren had believed him.
“It was you,” she hissed, her voice croaky under the weight of his hands. “You hurt Matthew that night. Not me.”
Graham’s eyes narrowed. “It could have been you, though. Sooner or later, it would have been.”
“But I didn’t. You wanted to hurt me, but you hurt him instead. Just like you hurt Piper.”
“It’s not like I meant to do it,” Graham said. “You’re making me out like I’m some kind of monster.”
“Oh, like you’ve made me out to be a monster for the past months?” Lauren exploded. “Making me think I’m blacking out and forgetting things with my mom brain? You’ve been gaslighting me!”
“I was trying to keep everyone safe!” Graham roared.
“Safe?” Lauren whispered, shaking all over. And then she looked at the ripped photo in her hands. Piper looked so sad. And Lauren felt sad, too. This man she thought she loved was a whole other person. And soon, she wouldn’t know him anymore.
When the blow came to the side of her head, she wasn’t expecting it, and her teeth came down hard on her tongue. The pain was white-hot, exploding stars and a bouncing brain. Behind her, Andrea screamed. Lauren could feel the image of Piper being pulled from her hands; she tried to tug it back from Graham, but that just made it rip more. And then another sound: a crack of something. The gun? Lauren tried to roll onto her side, but she couldn’t move. Andrea screamed again, and then Lauren felt Graham lift off her, maybe going for Andrea instead. Sound danced in and out in warped waves, but she heard footsteps, and then shouting and then . . . a voice.
“Up against the wall!” came a bellow.
Even years later, the image Lauren saw when she opened her eyes would remain crisp in her mind. It wasn’t Ronnie and Andrea cowering against the wall of Piper’s foyer but Graham. That baby-faced police officer aimed a gun at his chest. Graham had his hands curled at his sides, and his mouth was gummy and pleading, and then another cop swarmed in, and another. “Don’t move!” they were all shouting—to Graham.
How? Lauren wondered. She glanced at Andrea and Ronnie, but they looked just as surprised that the police were here.
The police spun Graham around and placed handcuffs on his wrists. As they nudged him out the door, he shot Lauren an exasperated look, as if to say, Why did you do this to me? Why did you overreact again? The look he gave her, time and again, since she’d had Matthew.
She just stared steadily back at him. She wasn’t overreacting. Maybe she never had been.
Thirty-One
Thirty minutes later, the sun had set, and the only lights on the street were the bright blue and red ones from the tops of the police cars and ambulances. Andrea sat on the tailgate of a police SUV. Ronnie was drinking from a big bottle of water the EMTs had brought. Lauren was sitting on the curb, a blanket slung over her—the emergency workers were afraid she might be in shock. Detective Allegra, the baby-faced police officer Andrea had completely written off initially, was taking her statement. They were softball questions—about what had happened, what she’d witnessed. Allegra had been interested in Graham for the past few days, he told her, ever since he found out that he was Piper’s ex-boyfriend.
Apparently, the cops had been keeping tabs on Piper’s property, too—turns out, Carson had mentioned the whole “Piper’s afraid someone’s stalking her” bit shortly after her assault—which may have been
why they hadn’t jumped to arrest Andrea and the others. The cops had arrived at the property for a routine check after Lauren, Andrea, and Ronnie had already gone inside, though when they saw Ronnie and Andrea scurry to the front porch—when they saw Graham in the foyer, aiming a gun at Lauren—they rushed in.
The images of Piper battered and bruised were scattered all over the foyer floor for the cops to find. So was a USB stick, which contained several video files of Piper documenting the injuries she’d sustained from Graham back in the day. They were old, grainy files, recorded on an ancient digital camera, but they were good enough. Piper had been creating a narrative for what was happening so that when she went to the police, she’d have proof.
Except Piper never did go to the police. She just ran away.
Allegra closed his notebook and looked at Andrea curiously. “While I have you, Ms. Vaughan: you’re quite the investigator. Anything else you figured out you want to tell me?”
Andrea opened her mouth, then shut it again. There was a whole piece of this the police didn’t know; Carson was holding it hostage. It didn’t seem fair that Carson was going to get off scot-free, yet there was no other reason for the police to search Piper’s office or her home. Even though Graham insisted he hadn’t hurt Piper, the cops had their guy.
And now, they’d never find evidence of the embezzlement.
She thought of the parents hurrying their kids into Silver Swans each morning. They’d worked hard to get where they were, and they only wanted the best for their kids. And, okay, the mothers were kind of ridiculous at times, but that didn’t mean they should be robbed. And what about the kids? They certainly didn’t deserve that.
If Andrea said nothing, what would happen? Piper would never get her job back at Silver Swans—the story of North would break shortly, and her mental health would be called into question. But Carson could continue on. Maybe he’d be made director. He’d keep charging an arm and a leg for tuition. Maybe he’d stop stealing, but he was still a dishonest person, not the sort of guy you wanted caring for your kids.
Allegra took Andrea’s silence as affirmation that she had nothing more to tell. He’d moved over to the squad car to make a phone call. Andrea looked at Ronnie, still guzzling water, and Lauren, shaken and shivering under the blanket. They’d both lost so much in all this. Their lives were indelibly changed. What they were facing made Andrea’s stakes look less severe. Was she really going to conceal massive fraud and cheating just to save her own truths from coming to light? So what if her father cut her off? So what if the tabloids wrote about her for a while? It would be painful, but it wouldn’t ruin her.
Maybe that wasn’t worth keeping quiet. Only, what would telling what she knew do to Jerry? Could she really ruin his family?
Andrea slid off the tailgate. She didn’t doubt Carson would retaliate, but she could deal.
But there was something she needed to do first. Two things, actually. Scrolling through her phone, she located Jerry’s number and dialed. He picked up quickly. “Are you all right?” he asked, as though knowing exactly where she was.
“Your daughter told you Silver Swans was stealing from the parents, didn’t she?” Andrea started right in. “And she told you she tried to fight it?”
Jerry sighed. “I’m sorry you got mixed up in that.”
“You should have told me! I was almost attacked! Almost arrested!” Was there anyone she’d be able to trust? Anyone who fully had her back, who wasn’t just looking out for himself?
“I’m sorry,” Jerry said helplessly. “Andrea, I’m sorry, but Flora made me promise not to say anything.”
“Because they have something on you, right?” Andrea chewed hard on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to push you into a corner. I know things are hard, with Susan. They’ll release my past, too, if I tell the truth. But maybe I’m okay with that. And maybe you should be okay with it, too. What they did wasn’t fair, and you know it.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. Andrea waited, watching the swirling red and blue lights blink against the pavement. Jerry sighed. “You’re a lot more forthright than your dad, you know,” he said finally. “A better person.”
“Thanks,” she said stiffly, though she felt touched. She liked this notion of herself.
“Do what you think is right.” Jerry sounded resigned.
And then he hung up. The phone was hot in her hands. It felt like the end of something. She probably wouldn’t see Jerry after this if she decided to talk. She mourned that for a moment and wondered if there was some kind of middle ground. But then she thought of telling Arthur about this, years from now. She would want to tell him the version where she did the right thing, not that she’d kept her mouth shut.
Next, she located Reginald’s name in the contacts. He was still under Blue Iguana Landscaping. Her heart thudded as she lifted the phone to her ear and listened to it ring. Reginald answered gleefully, sounding happy to hear from her. It occurred to her their date was only a few days before. It felt like years.
“Hey,” Andrea said, unable to shake the jitteriness from her voice. She wasn’t even sure what she said next. An amalgam of speeches she’d meant to say for months now—the whole truth about her family, her legacy, even Roger.
“I’m sorry,” she blurted when she was finished. “I’m so, so sorry, but I wanted you to know.”
Reginald paused before speaking. “What are you sorry for?”
“For not telling the truth.” Then Andrea tried a joke: “But women can apologize way too much. A bad habit.”
Reginald laughed. Andrea wanted to sink to the grass with gratitude—he could still laugh with her. “Well, I’m sorry, too,” he said. “Because . . . I kind of already figured it out. You reminded me of someone. Your eyes. And my mom used to read the sorts of magazines your family was in. Vanity Fair, the tabloids, that sort of stuff. I hunted around. Maybe that makes me an asshole. But I put two and two together.”
“Oh,” Andrea said. Then she laughed. “I guess I’m not as stealthy as I thought.”
She felt like a dolt, and also a little tricked, but on the heels of that: Reginald doesn’t care. He knew what she was and where she was coming from, and it didn’t matter. She tipped her head upward and looked at the clouds.
“So do you want to come over later?” she asked him. “Once the police let me go?”
“The police?” Reginald sounded worried. “What are you doing with the police?”
She hung up a few minutes later, saying she had another call to make. Andrea really wasn’t looking forward to this next call, but she dialed her mother’s number in New York all the same. It was 9:30 p.m. on the East Coast, and Cynthia was probably sitting in her bed with a cup of tea. As for Andrea’s father, who knew where he was—probably out, eating a steak or drinking a whiskey or making some kind of complicated deal.
But to her surprise, a different voice answered when she picked up. “Max?” She was shocked. “Put Mom on, will you?”
Andrea realized too late she hadn’t properly modulated her voice. Max was silent a long time. She sucked in her stomach. She hadn’t wanted it to come out like this.
“Mom, um, told me.” Max said quietly, “Andrea, right?”
Andrea blinked hard. Her blood was ice. She had no idea what to say. She couldn’t gauge Max’s tone.
“Is it weird that I knew even when we were little?” he then said. “I always had that sense. Not specifically or anything—just that you weren’t happy. But hey, if this is your truth, then live it.”
Andrea’s hand fluttered to her mouth. When even more silence passed, Max said, “Are you still there?”
“Y-Yes,” she stammered. “I . . . I’m just surprised.”
“That I’m not the asshole you always thought?” Max chuckled. “I’m not Dad.” Then he added, “You want me to put Mom on?”
Their
mother. Andrea’s heart sank. “I don’t know. I’m going to tell her that everything’s going to come out. All of it—about me. I’m going to make a preemptive statement. It’s time.”
The line fuzzed with static. The pause was so long that now Andrea was about to ask if Max was still there. Maybe he was having second thoughts, now that this would no longer be a secret. “She might have a heart attack,” Max said carefully.
“I know. I get what that will mean for her—and for you. If you’re done with me, I understand.”
“I don’t need to be done with you.” Max cleared his throat. “I can’t speak for Mom or Dad, but if you need someone, you can call me.”
Andrea was so stunned she merely nodded instead of spoke. Then Max asked if she still wanted their mother on. “Maybe not,” Andrea said. Because, suddenly, she knew how this would go. She wasn’t going to get her happy ending with Cynthia. Her mother wasn’t going to magically say everything was okay just because Andrea was ready to live open and free. She thought of what Reginald had said when they’d had takeout on her couch—people generally didn’t change. It was usually your responsibility to just work around them . . . or cut them from your life. As much as she’d hoped that she would tell this to Cynthia and Cynthia would embrace her with open arms, that was about as far-fetched as Cynthia uprooting her Upper East Side life and going to live on the moon.
And also, maybe it was okay that Cynthia wouldn’t accept her with open arms. Because look at what just happened. Max had.
The officer was off his phone now, striding back to Lauren and her group. Andrea dropped her phone back in her pocket and started through the grass, feeling wet blades prickle her bare ankles. “Excuse me, Detective Allegra?” she called out to him, and he looked up. And then it began.
Thirty-Two
Ronnie sped down the highway. Lane kept calling—he probably suspected something was up, maybe had even heard there were police cars at Piper’s property—but she’d ignored him. She needed to get back to Vanessa’s motel.