Somebody's Daughter

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

“Is there anyone who would benefit from posting about you?”

  She carries the weight of all of us on her shoulders. Her eyes stare down at the floor. “There were only the two of us in the room. No one else was around. I don’t know who would do this.”

  “Think about your surroundings.”

  She shakes her head again. “I would know if someone else was there. There wasn’t.”

  “What about the boy? His friends? Could they have set you up?”

  “No.”

  “Zoe, you didn’t film this, did you? Sometimes kids do it for fun. They think no one will see it.”

  “Okay, enough!” shouts Bobby, standing in Javier’s face. “I’ve told you, someone filmed her. My daughter’s not responsible for this!”

  I should be angry, but his reaction only makes me feel sorry for him.

  “I would never do that,” Zoe cries. “And Price wouldn’t either.”

  Jo Jo waves her hand in the air. “Zoe, some of our questions might make you uncomfortable. It’s understandable. We’re building a case, and we need to cover every angle.”

  Bobby’s hunched over, eyes locked on the floor.

  I tell myself to let them do their job, but I’m really thinking, These strangers are in our home, watching our every move, deciding if we’re evil or just plain stupid.

  Bobby’s inner agony is impossible to rein in. “You’re all sitting here talking about this video like it’s not my child. Like it’s some random person . . .” He stops himself, because the pain is too hard to share. “My daughter . . . someone exploited her.” He sits and puts his head in his hands, saying, finally, “I don’t understand how this happened.”

  “I didn’t know, Daddy!” Zoe wails. “I didn’t know someone would be filming me!”

  I catch his eyes, and he scowls at me. It feels like I’ve been stabbed.

  “Zoe,” I whisper, tucking her hair back off her face, “we know you didn’t have anything to do with the video. We know.”

  “You can’t excuse her like that, Emma.”

  When I speak, my voice to Bobby is vehement. “You need to stop. You need to stop right now.”

  Lily comes in and bends over the couch to defend Zoe. “Leave her alone!” she shouts. The girls have never raised their voices to him before. “You’re making it worse!”

  “He hates me!” Zoe shouts, her face red.

  “I don’t hate you, Zoe,” he says, but he doesn’t look at her either. It’s a failed attempt, weak and unconvincing. “I hate what you did.”

  “Take it back!” I shout. “Take it back now!”

  “Mr. Ross,” interrupts Jo Jo, perturbed, “Zoe needs your support. If you’re unwilling or unable to provide it, I suggest you leave the room.”

  Indecision spreads across his face. He turns to Jo Jo when he says, “It’s not that simple . . . do you have a daughter?”

  “I don’t,” she says, “and perhaps that puts me in a better position to be objective.”

  My eyes blink in disbelief when Bobby stands.

  “Dad?” Zoe says, her teary eyes wide.

  Slowly, he walks out of the room. Every fiber of my being tells me to get up and follow him. The sensations scream Just do it. Introduce him to Emma Grant. She’s flawed. Imperfect. Like his daughter. But Zoe needs me more. Lily goes after him in my place.

  “You okay there, Zoe?” Javier asks.

  Her bottom lip quivers. She sniffles. Nods.

  “We can stop for today, if you’d like.”

  I like the kindness in Javier’s voice. How his eyes train on Zoe with concern. She feels it, too.

  “Let’s finish,” she says.

  “Do you have possession of the video? Did you send it to anyone?”

  The look she gives him means she’d have to be crazy to forward the video.

  “I’m not trying to scare you. The laws haven’t caught up with the technology, and the way in which we proceed depends on your answers. They’ll trigger different laws.”

  Zoe rubs her eyes. It’s exhausting and a lot for her mind to process.

  “We’ll need a list of everyone at the party that night,” says Jo Jo. “Your close friends, anyone you know who got a copy. I’d also like your cell phone and your computer.”

  “My dad has my phone,” she says.

  As Jo Jo speaks of lists and laws, Bobby returns to our fold, followed by Lily. He sits, but he’s still agitated. His leg bounces; I want to reach across the room and slap it. We avoid each other. Our eyes. Our bodies. Nothing connects us, and it makes everything going on in the room feel worse.

  Jo Jo turns to me. “The person who videoed your daughter might not be the same person who uploaded it to the Internet.”

  “Then we go after both of them,” Bobby says.

  “Javier’s made some calls. Our friends are happy to pull favors, especially when kids are involved. But before we go down this road, be clear of your intentions. Some families think the exposure and vulnerability isn’t worth it—not to them, not to their child, even to the accused. Then we have families who see no way to heal other than retribution. Make no mistake, there are devastating repercussions associated with sexting and cybercrimes. Being underage doesn’t protect you anymore. And once we find the person, it’s up to you to decide to press charges. All we have to do is alert the authorities to make this an official case.”

  As if sensing our disconnect, she lowers her tone and says, “Talk to each other. Make an informed decision.”

  Bobby speaks up. “I won’t feel bad for going after someone who’s deliberately hurting my daughter.”

  “I’m simply telling you the impact it’s going to have, Mr. Ross. The consequences are far-reaching, and it can drag on for some time.” She holds his stare until he’s the one to look away.

  I’m relieved she doesn’t tell Zoe how once a video is uploaded to the Internet, it makes it almost impossible to take down. How the underground trolls can snatch it, burying it in their polluted holes.

  “This isn’t my first rodeo,” she says. “I’ve helped hundreds of victims across the country. I’ll do whatever it takes for the sake of justice.”

  Jo Jo motions for Javier, and the pair stand up. “It’s been a long day,” she says. “We’ll leave you all to mull this over. I’ll be in touch.”

  Zoe hugs my chest, and I rock her back and forth like I did when she was a baby. Jo Jo gives Javier instructions, and I’m through listening. Bobby walks them to the elevator.

  When he returns, he runs his fingers through his hair. “What a mess.”

  Zoe jumps off the couch and approaches him with her hands on her hips. “You think it’s hard for you? What about me?” If she has any tears left, they’re tucked away.

  He won’t face her.

  “I know how you feel about me, Daddy.”

  “No, you don’t, Zoe. You’ll never know how I feel about you . . .” He stuffs down the despair, but it leaks through. “You’ll never know how much I wish I could make this go away. To protect you. To save you. You’ll never understand until you have your own child . . .”

  It hurts to watch him weak and powerless, but it hurts worse to question his sincerity. I’m not sure how much of it is motivated by love or by the desire to erase what’s happened.

  “I just wish you used better judgment. That’s all.”

  “You see?” she says. “You ruin everything!” And she storms off to her room.

  I turn to him. “When’s the persecution going to end?”

  He shakes his head, unable to answer.

  We settle in for dinner, and Zoe picks at her food.

  Bobby sits across from her and struggles to speak. “I’m sorry, Zoe.” It’s unfeeling and mildly sincere.

  Zoe hisses, “You can’t take it back.”

  The only sounds are the scrapes of our utensils against the plate. I try to swallow. Each spoonful is a struggle.

  Lily tries to change the subject. She brings up Chelsea’s birthday dinner tomorrow
night. “It’s at the Edition,” she says.

  The Edition is one of the newer hotels and has an ice-skating rink and bowling alley. There’s also a club, the Basement.

  “You should let Zoe come,” she says.

  “She’s grounded,” Bobby growls.

  “I wouldn’t want to go anyway,” Zoe says, chewing on a piece of steak. “Walking into that party would be like walking in naked.”

  Bobby spills his cup of water, and I don’t move to clean it up.

  “It’s a dinner,” Lily argues. “Her parents will be there. She’s our best friend!”

  I give him the look, but he doesn’t budge.

  “I’m not making this mistake again, Emma. They need supervision, not running around South Beach hotels.”

  “You have to trust them again,” I say. You’ll have to trust me again.

  “Am I allowed to have the girls over to the pool tomorrow?” Lily asks.

  I look to Zoe.

  “It’s fine,” she says.

  “Are you sure, Zoe? Lily can go to one of their houses . . .”

  “They’re my best friends, Mom. It’s fine.”

  The rest of the conversation is stilted and bare. Bobby asks if we’ve heard anything from Ocean Drive, and we discuss Kinsley’s wedding. Safe subjects that don’t evoke reaction.

  Lily brings up the party again, but Bobby shuts her down. Zoe excuses herself from the table and heads toward the china cabinet. With the Shabbat candlesticks in hand, she opens the drawer where we keep our candles and matches.

  That’s when I realize what day it is. We’re not religious, but the candle lighting is something we look forward to each Friday at sundown. Particularly Zoe. She came home from Sunday school years ago quoting her teacher, Mrs. Landman. “Mommy, we have to prepare the home for peace and harmony. We have to light the candles on Friday nights.” Since then, we haven’t missed the practice.

  Same prayer. Same white candles. The girls stand, welcoming the Sabbath with their hands. They cover their faces. When they finish, the flames brighten their cheeks, and I think we might be okay. We have this ritual connecting us, always reminding us of our love for one another. That despite everything, there is always a glimmer of hope.

  But all the sameness has changed. My arms are around the girls. Bobby is off to the side. I want to yank him close, the holiness of the Sabbath guiding me, but my emotions make it impossible. The candles warm my cheeks, and I stare into their bright glow.

  I pray for peace and harmony this Shabbat.

  I also pray for forgiveness.

  CHAPTER 20

  I’m stuck inside a dream. Teenage Bobby whispers his worry in my ear: “All night, Emma. I thought you were with him.” I was facing my bedroom mirror at the time: you’re a liar, Emma Grant. And I heard my mother’s voice: “You share your body with someone you love.” The voices were coming at me, and I dropped my head into my hands and screamed.

  “Emma!” Bobby shakes me awake.

  I’m covered in sweat, shouting words that make no sense.

  “You’re having a bad dream,” he says.

  Only it’s not a dream. The pounding of my heart begins to settle, and I tell him I’m fine, though my voice is unsure. Rather than comfort me, he rolls back over.

  It’s dawn, and there’s no sense trying to sleep. I get out of bed and watch the sun rise from our balcony. There’s something calming about the rising flame rippling on the water. New beginnings await. Zoe was right. The sun is the one glorious thing we can count on each day.

  The memory eclipses what comes so beautifully and naturally. There’s Bobby, after our fight, professing his love to me, apologizing for the things he said. I’m clutching the phone, mouthing the words back. After what I’d done, did I love you hold any weight? Do I know you? he asks. He should’ve known me. He should’ve seen right through me, but distance destroyed the ability to read each other’s eyes. Of course Bobby’s mad with Zoe. He would’ve been furious with me. I would’ve lost him forever.

  He was so relieved that morning when I said, “No, I wasn’t with him.” What pained me brought him joy. Days later he was still focusing on those hours we were out of touch. “I can’t imagine either one of us being with anyone else. You’re the only girl I’ve ever wanted.” Like that, all the joy faded, like swirling water down a drain. It took with it my pride, and guilt became the sinister badge that followed me around. That’s how quickly my “fun” turned into shame. Monty and I resumed our roles. Acting. The game of pretend. I was angry I’d given him a piece of me. Resentful. He was the blip on the radar I could never take back. He didn’t deserve what I gave him. The hostility. The rejection. How did I let it get so far? It was me I hated. The embarrassment too great.

  Word got around, as it usually does. Emma Grant cheated on her fiancé! The snickers and sneers when I walked into the theater were hurtful. Or worse, how they stopped talking when I approached.

  But none of the sabotage, either external or self-inflicted, prepared me for the blue line that revealed I was pregnant. To add insult to injury, I had no idea who might be the father. It was a time of inner torment, a great struggle to hide a life-altering betrayal. The stress spread throughout my body, and I fell ill, though the nausea-laced symptoms could have been maternal. How would I tell Bobby? How could I keep this secret that would seep into our forever—a lifetime of lies? With no one to turn to, I retreated within myself. It was a lonely time marked by a quiet suffering. I went to sleep each night with parts of me broken, impossible to repair. I loved Bobby. I was sure of that, but what was love without the truth?

  Hours later, I escape the haunted past in a lounge chair by the pool. Bobby is playing golf with Jonny at Doral, and I’m left to read the newspaper and dissect current events in my head. Both print and real life. I attempted to lure him to the cabana with me, a pastime we both enjoyed. He brushed me aside. “Another time,” he had said. When we went our separate ways in the lobby, my eyes pressed against his backside, willing him to turn around. He refused.

  The girls and their friends are lined up in nearby lounges. Zoe seems more relaxed among those she trusts, and I’m happy to see her interacting like she once used to do. I’m under an umbrella fully clothed, reading the New York Times because I’m too old for half my bathing suits and terrified of skin cancer.

  The article I’m attempting to read has me questioning if my diet is gut friendly when I hear Shelby say, “Why are you going after the person who recorded the video? I mean, why put yourself through it? Just be done with it. That’s what I’d do.”

  The girls are in a row. Lily’s in the middle, Zoe’s on the outside next to Grace. Chelsea is the first to respond to Shelby’s comment. “I’d want to know,” she says, her dark hair pulled on top of her head. “And I’d want them to pay for what they did.”

  “Maybe,” Shelby says, lathering herself up with a fresh layer of sunscreen. “I guess I’d want it to go away. Fast.”

  Grace is playing with her phone and not joining in. At least one of them has common sense.

  Zoe rolls over onto her stomach. The frown lines sour her face. “You’ll never understand what it feels like,” she says, dragging her words. “Not unless it happens to you. And I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemy.”

  Shelby holds her phone up while she talks, snapping pictures of the sky, the trees, herself. “You can count on us. You know that.”

  The support touches Zoe. It’s not the sun turning her face and neck red.

  Shelby continues. “I heard they’re coming to all our houses. They may have to search our computers.”

  “I don’t think they’ll come to our house,” Grace says, releasing her honey-blonde hair from an elastic band. “My father will just tell his friends at the station that I’m your friend.”

  “They came to my house this morning,” admits Chelsea. “They wanted to know if I knew where the video was filmed. If I recognized the background. Then they asked if anyone had a problem with Zo
e. If they ever threatened her—”

  Lily interrupts. “Hey, guys! We’re talking about my sister like she’s not here. Can we talk about something else?”

  That’s when Zoe calmly asks, “Do any of you know anything about who filmed the video?” She pauses, brushing her hair with her fingers. “You can tell me, you know.”

  “I asked Ava,” says Shelby. “She says nobody’s talking. Nobody’s ratting out their friends.”

  “How do you know it’s a friend?” asks Grace. “It could be anyone.”

  I listen and fight to keep my mouth shut. The conversation deflates me. I want to guard Zoe from their ignorance, but I know I can’t intervene. All signs point to a “friend,” but I will never believe it. No one can be that cruel.

  The rest of the afternoon is spent listening for clues. Hints. Anything to help me understand the dynamic of these kids. The girls, like Zoe, have no idea of the severity of the case. In some ways, their naiveté is refreshing. Zoe’s lucky to have a close, supportive group. After some time, I get bored hearing about boys, Netflix, and Chelsea’s upcoming birthday. And when they order lunch, I’m relieved to see Zoe smile again.

  The ongoing argument about Chelsea’s party ends in a stalemate. Lily goes. Zoe accompanies Jonny to Cirque de Soleil. We had invited her to be with us, at least I did, but she was actually looking forward to the time with her uncle. He had a way of comforting her that none of us could.

  In happier times, Bobby and I might have made an evening of the drop-off. We’d stop in at Market or the bar at the Matador Room with our friends. Tonight Bobby says he needs to get back to the hotel and work. I am prickly mad.

  “Why’d you even bother coming?” I ask, which is met with more of his empty stare. His exchange with Lily as we reached the valet had been impersonal and brief—he may as well have been her Uber driver—but it was better than the empty wave he’d given Zoe across our living room.

  We’re heading south on Collins and only a few blocks from the Ross. The traffic lights, a blur of green, yellow, and red, reflect on the windshield, mixing with an earlier drizzle. Charlie Puth plays on the radio, and I turn the dial to make it louder. It’s a song Bobby knows I love, the one Puth sings with Selena that we’d duet together. Tonight he shoves my hand away and mutes their silky voices. “I have a headache,” he says, and his abruptness cuts deep inside.