“Would you like coffee?” Kim asked, leading the attorney into the quiet kitchen area. Hannah was studying in her room (Kim had just been about to sneak upstairs to ensure she wasn’t watching Netflix on the laptop she deemed necessary to view Khan Academy); Aidan was at soccer practice; and Jeff was on a forty-kilometer bike ride in preparation for the August triathlon (despite everything going on in their lives, her husband remained dedicated to his training regimen).
“I’m fine,” Candace said, climbing onto a breakfast barstool. For the first time, Kim noticed the lawyer’s wan countenance and shaky demeanor. Candace was one of those plain, almost masculine women who exuded competence, confidence, and composure … but not right now. Right now, she looked like she might cry.
“What’s wrong?” Kim asked, her voice tight.
Candace’s unadorned eyes were liquid. “Maybe you should sit down, Kim.”
Blood pounded in Kim’s ears. “Just tell me.”
“Ronni Monroe attempted suicide yesterday.”
Kim sagged against the counter. “Jesus Christ …”
“She … drank drain cleaner,” Candace said, her voice hoarse.
“No.”
“Her mother found her in the bathroom. They rushed her to the hospital. She’s alive but it’s touch and go. Her esophagus is badly burned.”
Spots were swimming in front of Kim’s eyes. Her forehead was sweaty and her knees wobbled. She was going to faint. Candace, competent as always, was right: Kim should have sat down. The lawyer sensed Kim’s imminent collapse and moved toward her. “Come sit …” Candace helped Kim to the barstool she’d just vacated.
But even seated, Kim couldn’t think, couldn’t form words, couldn’t accept this. It was like some sick, dark horror movie, a nightmare… . Kim didn’t live in a world where a teenager lost her eye and then was bullied so mercilessly that she drank poison. This was not the life she had meticulously built for herself and her family. This was some kind of cruel, fucked-up alternate universe. She became aware of Candace’s hand patting hers, trying, in her mechanical way, to provide comfort to her client. Kim appreciated it, no matter how ineffective.
Finally, Kim found her voice. “What does this mean?” The words came out without any forethought, spilling from her mouth like a reflex, a phonic tic. She wasn’t even sure what she was asking, but this vague, ambiguous question seemed the only logical utterance.
Not surprisingly, Candace responded in legal terms. “It changes things, Kim, I’m not going to lie to you. It will demonstrate the defense’s case of extreme emotional distress. A jury’s going to want you to compensate for Ronni’s pain and suffering.”
Kim nodded. For the first time, she realized she was crying, tears pouring silently down her cheeks.
“On the other hand,” Candace continued, “Lisa may be more likely to settle now. I can’t imagine she’ll want to subject Ronni to any more trauma … Or herself, if Ronni doesn’t … pull through.”
The voice, little more than a tremulous whisper, came from the hallway. “What?”
“Hannah …” Kim managed to stand, though her legs were still weak. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Kim held her arms out to her daughter, but the girl didn’t budge. “What’s going on?” Hannah was directing the question to Candace, but the attorney looked, with panicked eyes, to Kim. Candace didn’t have children and they seemed to frighten her.
“Ronni’s … in the hospital,” Kim said. “Come sit, Hannah.”
“What happened to Ronni?”
Kim’s every instinct was to protect her daughter, to shield her from this ugliness, but she knew she couldn’t. “Ronni attempted suicide.”
The sound that burst from her daughter’s chest was primal, almost animal. Hannah dropped into a crouch and sobbed, her forehead resting on her knees. Kim rushed to her, bent down, and wrapped her in a hug, but the girl shrugged her off. Kim didn’t force it. She accepted that her daughter needed space. Hannah cried for a few more moments before raising her head. “How?”
“It doesn’t matter how.”
“It does to me.”
Kim swallowed, but her voice still sounded clogged when she whispered, “She drank drain cleaner.”
“Oh my god!” Hannah wept into her hands.
“She’s getting the best care possible,” Kim said, tentatively reaching out to stroke Hannah’s soft hair. The girl let her, which Kim took as a positive sign. “Ronni is young and strong. She has a good chance of pulling through.”
Hannah yanked her silky head away from her mother’s touch. “A good chance? You mean she might die?”
Kim looked to Candace; the woman had brought the news of Hannah’s crisis, after all. But the lawyer shot back a terrified look, like she’d rather be bathing with electric eels than standing there, in Kim’s kitchen, dealing with this. Kim couldn’t blame her. How did one tell a sixteen-year-old that her friend could die? But Kim had to… . “She might.”
Hannah stood to her full height, a few inches taller than her mother. Her features were harsh and twisted when she said, “And yet, you two were in here talking about the trial.” She was still crying, but her voice was angry.
“No … I just said—”
“I heard what you said,” Hannah spat. “You drove Ronni to drink fucking drain cleaner, and all you care about is whether you still have a chance to win your fucking case!”
“Don’t talk like that.” It was Kim’s automatic response to the f-bomb, though the curses were the least concerning of the content. “You can’t blame this on us.”
“Yes, I can.” The girl looked at Candace then. “How can you live with yourselves?”
Candace looked terrified, like she was facing down a grizzly bear, not a blubbering teenaged girl. “I should go,” she mumbled, reaching for her utilitarian purse that sat on a barstool.
“No, I’ll go,” Hannah snapped. “You stay. You two can plot how you’re going to finish Ronni and Lisa off for good.”
“Hannah!” Kim cried, but the girl was already running to the door. Kim took off after her at a sprint, the lawyer following in her wake. “Don’t go! Honey! We need to talk this through.”
Hannah was stepping into her UGG boots. “I have nothing to say to you.”
“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Kim tried. “You’ve had a shock. You need love and support.”
Hannah’s boots were on, her hand on the door handle. She turned to her mother and almost growled through her tears. “Leave … me … the fuck alone.” She yanked open the door and ran out.
Kim followed her onto the porch in her stocking feet, “Hannah!” she called after her daughter’s fleeing form. “Come back!” For once, Kim didn’t care if she attracted the neighbors’ attention, if they wondered what the hell was going on over there, or what kind of parent she was. She just wanted her daughter to come home.
“Let her go,” Candace said, behind her. “Hannah needs to process all this.” Kim whirled around to face her. This spinster was suddenly a parenting expert now? But the lawyer was composed in the face of adult anger. She calmly continued, “Hannah knows what Ronni’s been going through at school and online… . Give her some time. She’ll realize this isn’t your fault.”
It actually made sense.
“I have to get back to the office.” Candace moved past her to the front steps. When you’ve had a chance to talk to Jeff, call me. We’ll talk about how to proceed.”
Kim nodded. “He won’t be home for a couple of hours… .” Her voice cracked. She suddenly realized how utterly alone she was. A sob filled her chest. Oh God. She was going to come apart. Candace, sensing Kim’s impending collapse, gave her a consoling pat on the shoulder and hurried away.
But Kim didn’t come apart, not completely. She allowed herself a loud, ugly crying jag that echoed through the empty house, her wails bouncing off the smooth concrete floors and skittering over the gleaming countertops. She pounded silk throw pillows, let snot and tears drip o
nto Italian-woven upholstery and smear the imported alpaca blanket. And then she got up, washed her face, reapplied her makeup, and headed to her car.
If anyone asked where she was going, she would say she was looking for Hannah. Not that she would find her daughter by driving the streets of San Francisco. The girl would be holed up somewhere, with or without friends, cursing her greedy, money-grubbing parents. But who would ask where Kim was going, anyway? Not Jeff. He was still racing down some windy stretch of highway on his bike, high on an endorphin rush. By now, he might be lounging in the hot tub at the Bay Club, his aching muscles an excuse to stay away from home a little longer. Aidan would be finishing soccer soon, but then he was going to play video games at Marcus’s house. Kim had friends, women who might text to check in, expressing concern but keeping her at arm’s length. No … no one cared where Kim was going.
Half an hour later, she pulled up across the street from the vintage home and turned off her car. It was a conspicuous spot, but Kim didn’t care. It was the perfect vantage point to watch people coming and going from the reclaimed triplex. And she couldn’t risk missing him coming. Or going. Kim felt an almost primeval urge to see Tony—though she didn’t exactly know why.
Her feelings toward him were mixed, of course. He had stolen the Apex account out from under her, taking with it her income and identity. When she rejected him, he had called her a fucking tease, mocked her, and pitied her. But she couldn’t forget the comfort he’d offered in the aftermath of the party, when he’d bought her coffee, listened without judgment, and then sucked her face off in his car, which was an excellent distraction. Maybe that was what she really missed? His desire for her, his lust … Was she there for some hate sex? She had heard the term before but never understood it, until now.
She had plenty of time to contemplate her presence as she sat in the car for half an hour, then forty-five minutes, and then an hour and ten minutes… . That’s when Tony appeared, hiking up the street toward his home, carrying two canvas grocery bags. He was alone, thank God, and Kim felt her heart flutter to life in her chest. She watched him … the familiar thin frame, the loose gait, the narrow shoulders hunched against the weight of his cargo. Observation reaffirmed that Tony was not her physical type, but there was something languid, serpentine, and sexy about the way he moved. Had she noticed it before? Or forgotten? Tony was getting closer to his building now, almost to the edge of the lot, and soon, he would disappear inside. Kim had moments to decide: Why had she come here? What did she want from him? But she was reaching for the door handle before her mind had formulated an answer.
“Tony!” she called, standing behind her open car door. But he didn’t stop walking, didn’t turn toward her. Then Kim noticed the white wire traveling from his ears to his pocket: he was plugged in. She slammed the car door and jogged toward him.
“Tony!” She was a few feet behind him now. “Tony!”
He heard, or sensed, Kim’s proximity and he whirled around. When he saw her, the look on his face was one of dread—no, it was worse than dread—it was fear. Kim felt her pitter-pattering heart sink like a stone in a bucket. Tony was afraid of her. He thought she was crazy … a stalker … a psychopath. She should never have come.
Tony ripped the buds from his ears. “Kim … what the hell are you doing here?” His voice was both angry and scared, like he was annoyed that Kim had showed up to murder him in front of his neighbors.
“I’m not here to cause any trouble,” she said, which sounded just like something a stalker would say before she stabbed the object of her obsession to death, “but I had to see you.”
Tony glanced toward his front door: Assessing a run for it? Worried his wife, kids, or nanny might emerge? Both were plausible … He looked back to Kim. “Is this about Apex? Because that was all on the up and up.”
“It’s not about Apex.”
“I didn’t exactly appreciate you telling them I had a child-porn addiction.”
“I’m sorry… . That was wrong.”
“Yeah, it was… . What do you want, Kim?”
Her presence on Tony’s doorstep suddenly seemed completely ludicrous. “I … came to apologize,” she said finally. “I recently learned that you didn’t tell your wife about Jeff’s LSD use.”
“Of course I didn’t,” he snapped. “I told you that.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you then … but I know the truth now.”
He shifted his grocery bags on his shoulders. “Fine. Apology accepted.” He was desperate to leave; she could see his body yearning to escape, his eyes darting, longingly, at his front door. But she couldn’t walk away from him, not yet.
“There’s something else… . It’s about Ronni.”
“Who?”
Kim couldn’t speak, as the depth of her stupidity threatened to overwhelm her. Tony didn’t care about her or what she was going through. He barely remembered the party, the accident, or the lawsuit. She had created a fantasy world where Tony was her solace, her comfort, her sounding board… . She was such a fool. “Nothing.” Her voice was hoarse as she turned to go. “Forget it.”
She was walking away but Tony’s voice followed her. “Amanda and I are working on our relationship. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t come here again.”
Kim didn’t stop. “Don’t worry, I won’t.” She was sincere, but for some reason, her voice came out snarky and angry. Without a look back, she got into her car and turned on the ignition. She had one more stop before she could go home.
jeff
SEVENTY DAYS AFTER
As soon as he entered the house, Jeff knew something was wrong… . Or wronger … Or more wrong … There had been a tangible feeling of unease in the house for months—since Ronni’s accident, since Lisa’s lawsuit, since Kim’s flirtation with adultery, since Jeff’s flirtation with acid … but something heavy and dark was permeating the air, dragging him down from his post-bike-ride high, decimating his post-hot-tub Zen… . What now?
Kim and Aidan were huddled together on the sofa, the boy’s head resting on his mother’s shoulder. Aidan was thirteen, a highly undemonstrative age, and yet there he was, curled up next to his mom like a baby lamb. It was alarming.
“What’s going on?”
Kim didn’t answer right away. She kissed her son’s shaggy head. “Go upstairs, hon. Dad and I need to talk.” The boy obeyed, walking by his father without a glance, his eyes downcast and morose.
His son’s demeanor sent Jeff’s heart hammering in his chest. “What the hell happened? Where’s Hannah?”
“She’s upstairs. She’s okay.” Kim patted the sofa beside her. “Come, sit.”
Jeff hurried to the couch. “Are my parents okay? Is it my sister?”
“They’re fine. It’s Ronni Monroe.”
Of course it was. He should have known.
“She tried to kill herself.”
“Jesus Christ!” Jeff’s body convulsed with the shock. “What happened? Is she going to be okay?”
“She drank drain cleaner,” Kim stated. “It’s touch and go.”
“God, no …” Jeff dropped his head into his hands. He realized he was going to cry … it had been awhile, but there was no stopping the tears now. He tried to hide it—male instinct—but his shoulders shook as the repressed sobs racked his body. Kim’s hand landed on his back and rested there, gentle and calm, so weirdly calm.
“I’m sorry,” he spluttered, trying to compose himself, but he couldn’t, not yet. It was so horrible and disturbing and such a fucking mess. How did they get here? Where did they go so wrong? He turned toward his wife, sitting stoically, patiently beside him. For the first time in a long time, he wanted Kim to take him in her arms, wrap him up in her love, and hold him till the crying stopped.
Instead, Kim reached over and plucked a tissue from the box on the coffee table. She handed it to Jeff, who took it obediently and blew his nose.
“You okay?” Kim said, her voice still oddly placid.
&n
bsp; Jeff nodded and shrugged at the same time: sort of.
“I saw a Realtor today, Jeff. I want to sell the house.”
“No, you don’t. You love this house.”
“The Realtor said we’ll easily get two point six million in this market. If we sell the boat and some stocks, we can give Lisa three million.”
“That’s a bit extreme, Kim.”
“Drinking Drano is extreme.” She motioned around her at the expansive space. “This is just a building.”
“A building that we live in and love. A building that we poured our hearts into redoing.”
“I don’t love it here anymore.”
Jeff blew his nose again. Kim was right: it had been ages since he’d appreciated the house they had slaved over for almost two years, bickering, resenting each other, but working on a common goal, side by side. He remembered how excited they’d been when it was finished, how proud they were to inhabit such a lavish home… . They used to throw dinner parties, invite friends from out of town, host family celebrations… . But now, they just lived there.
“Where would we go?” he said resignedly. Selling the house still felt rash, but he didn’t have the energy to fight Kim, Lisa, Graham … basically everyone in his life.
“I don’t want to disrupt the kids by moving away from the school. We won’t be able to get back into the housing market in the city,” Kim said, “but we could buy a condo.”
Jeff shook his head. “We have a house full of stuff. It won’t fit into a condo.”
“It will fit into two condos.”
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