Virtually Perfect

by Paige Roberts

  “True, but we’re already here. I’m sure we can entertain ourselves for another forty-five minutes.”

  Nate sighed. “Okay, how about this: I’ll leave my number for Sam, and he can call us when they release him. In the meantime, we can find something else to do.”

  The nurse smiled politely. “I’m happy to give him your number, but I’ll warn you . . . it’s almost three in the morning. There isn’t a lot to do around here.”

  Nate grabbed a scrap of paper and jotted down his number. “We’re less than five miles from the ocean,” he said, smiling as he handed the nurse the paper. “I’m sure we can find something.”

  * * *

  Nate helped Lizzie navigate from the hospital to Stone Harbor’s 96th Street beach. She parked in one of the metered spots on 96th and followed Nate up the boardwalk. Part of her couldn’t believe she was going for a walk on the beach at three in the morning with a man she barely knew while she waited to pick up a sixty-something who’d injured himself while drunkenly skinny-dipping. Had she lost her mind?

  Nate kicked off his flip-flops once they reached the sand and headed for the edge of the water. Lizzie did the same and shivered as the ocean rushed over her toes.

  “Cold?”

  “A little,” Lizzie confessed.

  “You’ll get used to it. Left or right?”

  “Left,” she said, for no reason in particular.

  They started walking, the nighttime silence punctuated by the sound of waves crashing against the shore. The beach looked eerie at night, dark and deserted, the sand dimpled with shadows in the moonlight, looking itself like a lunar landscape. The edge of the ocean glinted like frothy lace. The air was thick and salty.

  They continued following the edge of the ocean. Lizzie looked up at the sky. “So many stars,” she said.

  “Much easier to see out here than in the city. I’m sure New York is even worse than DC.”

  “Probably.” She sidestepped a mound of seaweed.

  “Listen, about earlier . . . when we were talking about your career. . . I didn’t mean to overstep.”

  “You didn’t. No need to apologize.”

  “You sure? Because I kind of feel like I took you to a bad emotional place, and then we got interrupted by the nurse, so I didn’t get a chance to fix it.”

  “There’s nothing to fix. Honest.”

  “I guess I was just trying to give you the confidence to reinvent yourself if you wanted to.”

  “Oh, so now I lack confidence?”

  “No, no—that isn’t what I’m saying.”

  “Then what are you saying? That I need to ‘reinvent’ myself?”

  “No. God. See? This is why my teacher evaluations always come back that I’m ‘overly critical.’ I’m really bad at giving pep talks. What I’m trying to say is, keep doing what you’re doing if you love it. But if you don’t, and you’re tired of dealing with the likes of my crazy family, you don’t have to keep doing it. You have at least thirty-five years of your career left, maybe even fifty. You still have time to do lots of different things, maybe even the thing you’ll be known for.”

  “You mean other than being a washed-up Food Network star?”

  “See, this is what I’m talking about: You’re letting that one experience define you. You tried something in your twenties, and it didn’t work out. So what?”

  “So what? So I failed at something in front of everyone. This isn’t like, ‘Oh, I tried a new syllabus, and the students really hated it, so I had to scrap it and start again.’ This was my name and my brand becoming synonymous with ‘has-been’ and having every future employer ask about it.”

  “Yeah, but memories are short. You said so yourself. People are probably more impressed that you ever had a show on the Food Network than they are dismissive that it didn’t last.”

  “I think that depends on who you’re talking to.”

  “Listen, on some level I get it. These days, people feel like failures if they haven’t invented Facebook by the time they’re thirty. But that’s ridiculous. Sure, some people hit it big right out of college. But others don’t hit their stride until their forties or fifties.”

  “I guess. But then I look at people like Zoe. . . .”

  “Who what? Have some lame little Web site?”

  “It’s more than a lame little Web site. Have you seen it?”

  “Honestly? No. I’ve just heard she has one.”

  “It’s really polished and professional. And she has tons of followers—something like two hundred thousand last time I checked Instagram.”

  “Seriously? Wow. Way to go, Zo.”

  “That’s what I’m saying. She has a brand, and she’s growing that brand in a way that could last. Mind you, having met her, I think there’s something about her site that isn’t entirely . . . authentic.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s Zoe for you. Let me guess: Her life looks totally fabulous and easy, as if you ripped it straight from a lifestyle magazine.”

  “Pretty much. Never mind that she claims credit for stuff she had nothing to do with.”

  “Like?”

  “Some of the food I’ve made, for starters. She posted photos of all these dishes as if she’d made them herself, and when I called her out on it she basically blamed me for hogging the kitchen.”

  “Even though that’s your job.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Typical.”

  “So I’m learning.” The water rushed over Lizzie’s toes. It felt warmer now. “Don’t get me wrong—I feel bad for her friend Marie.”

  “Marie? You mean her friend who died?”

  Lizzie stopped short. “What?”

  Nate stopped, too, and turned around. “Marie. The one who died when Zoe graduated from high school.”

  A wave crashed against the shore, but Lizzie barely heard it. “No . . . the one who has cancer.”

  “Right. Zoe’s friend from sleepaway camp. She had osteosarcoma and died the summer before Zoe went away to college.”

  “But . . . on Zoe’s site . . .”

  “She talks about Marie?”

  “That’s like the entire point of the site.”

  “As a tribute to her or something?”

  “No, as in, her entire brand is based around the fact that she helped her friend Marie go into remission by cleaning up her diet and following some sort of alternative protocol with juices and natural supplements and stuff.”

  “I don’t think so. Unless she has another friend named Marie who also got cancer.”

  “Maybe she does.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow. Lizzie had to admit: Such a coincidence was extremely unlikely.

  “Marie’s death was a big effing deal for Zoe. She had a really hard time getting over it.”

  “But . . . that doesn’t make any sense. Why would she claim she saved Marie’s life if Marie actually died?”

  “Honestly? I have no idea. Like I said, she had a tough time with the whole thing.”

  “What happened?”

  Nate shrugged. “I’m not up to speed on all the details, but from what I know, she met Marie at overnight camp in the Adirondacks when she was about fifteen or so and they got really close. I think Marie was Canadian—from Montreal, maybe? Anyway, they were super close and stayed in touch, but about two years later she was diagnosed with cancer, and then about a year after that she died. Zoe sort of fell apart. Lots of weird behavior.”

  “Weird like . . . ?”

  “Claiming Marie had been reincarnated in the neighbor’s puppy, disappearing for days and weeks at a time, going on strange diets. That’s when all of the ‘clean eating’ stuff started.”

  Lizzie stared at Nate in disbelief. “So let me get this straight. Marie died five years ago, and yet Zoe claims she cured her—and is still curing her, actually—and is encouraging other people to follow the same diet to cure themselves?”

  “I guess? I’ve never been on her site.”

  “Nate—think about this
for a second. There are people out there who legitimately have cancer who are reading the information on Zoe’s site and saying, ‘Oh, hey, that sure sounds better than chemo—I think I’ll give it a try!’ Do you understand how dangerous and irresponsible that is?”

  “Of course I do. I’ve studied mortgage fraud for years. I know what a scam looks like.”

  “Did Marie even try the stuff Zoe claims she did?”

  “I have no idea. It’s not like Zoe and I are super close. She didn’t exactly bare her soul to me when all of this was happening. I always suspected there was a little more to their relationship than just . . . friendship. But we didn’t talk about it. It’s not as if she was flying up to Montreal all the time when Marie was sick. That much I know. Frankly, until she died, I’m not sure how much Kathryn and Dad even knew about her. Maybe Zoe feels guilty for not having done more to help? Or maybe Marie did follow Zoe’s advice and died anyway. I’m not sure.”

  “Whatever the case, thousands of people are now following her advice, and it’s all a big lie.”

  “Hang on—you don’t know that thousands of people are actually doing what she suggests.”

  “Even if it’s only ten people. Even if it’s only one! It’s wrong, Nate. And you know it.”

  “I agree. So what are you going to do about it?”

  “I don’t know. I was thinking I’d talk to her and tell her to stop lying.”

  Nate huffed. “Good luck with that.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Zoe does whatever she wants. And if you try to get in her way, forget it. She has a history of being . . . how do I put this? Unstable.”

  “So she talks about dog spirits and disappears for a while. So what?”

  “It’s not just that. She also does stuff like . . . okay, last summer? When that guy Bob was working as the chef? I’m not clear on the whole story, but he saw her out one night after most of the bars had closed, and my guess is she was with another woman and got embarrassed or something, because the next thing I knew, Zoe was accusing him first of drinking my dad’s whiskey and then of trying to break into Kathryn’s safe. So my dad and Kathryn fired him.”

  “Did they have any proof that he’d done either?”

  “Nope. But that’s how they are when it comes to Zoe. They are so afraid of pushing her off the deep end that they’ll do anything to keep her happy. And anyway, they are both so uptight that when Bob implied Zoe was lying because she didn’t want them to know she might be gay or bisexual or whatever they refused to believe him.”

  “But this is different. She is endangering people’s lives.”

  “I get it—trust me. What I’m saying is that she can be vindictive and malicious, so a confrontation isn’t necessarily going to end the way you want it to. And anyway, throughout her life, she’s gone through phases and fads. It’s what she does. This Web site is probably another one of those things. In a few months, I bet she’ll lose interest, and the site will disappear. She doesn’t stay interested in anything for long.”

  “Maybe this is the exception.”

  Nate shrugged and opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, but his phone rang and interrupted him. “Hello?”

  Lizzie could hear a loud voice yammering on the other end. Nate covered the receiver with his hand. Sam, he mouthed.

  “Yep. Okay. We’ll be there in ten or fifteen minutes. See you then.” He hung up and nodded over Lizzie’s shoulder. “Time to head back. We can continue this conversation another time.”

  Lizzie turned and followed Nate back up the beach, but she had no plans to continue their conversation because there was nothing more to discuss. She had already made up her mind: She was going to confront Zoe.

  CHAPTER 25

  By the time Lizzie returned to the Silvesters’ house, it was nearly 4:00 a.m. Barb had fallen asleep in the backseat, her face pressed against the fat cervical collar around Sam’s neck. He hadn’t sustained any serious injuries, other than the cut on his head and a mild concussion, but the nurse recommended he wear the collar for a day or two for protection. Lizzie hadn’t thought it was possible for orange-skinned, peach-haired Sam to look any more ridiculous than he already did, but the cervical collar proved her wrong. He looked like a court jester or an Elizabethan cartoon. She probably would have found it funnier if his antics hadn’t cost her a night’s sleep.

  She turned off the engine and noticed that Zoe’s car wasn’t there. It hadn’t been when they left either, so she must not have made it home. Where did she sleep when she stayed out late like this? In all the photos on her site, Zoe looked so bright and well rested. Where and when was all of this rest happening?

  “Barb, babe, wake up. We’re here.”

  Sam nudged Barb in the side, not entirely lovingly, Lizzie thought. Barb awoke with a snort and a start, the left side of her face pink from the pressure of Sam’s cervical collar.

  “What time is it?” she asked.

  “Three fifty-seven,” Nate said.

  “Hey, the night’s just getting started, right?” Sam caught Lizzie’s eye in the rearview mirror and winked.

  “Maybe for you,” Lizzie said. “For me, this is the end of the line.”

  “Okay, okay.” He lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Apparently chef-y can’t take a joke.”

  Maybe the collar made him think he really was a jester, Lizzie thought. A really bad one, in a hospital onesie. Since he’d been naked when they hauled him into the ambulance, he didn’t have any clothes to change into, and so they’d sent him home in what Lizzie overheard one of the nurses refer to as a “bunny suit”—a long-sleeved jumpsuit made of stiff, papery blue cotton, which zipped from the crotch to his neck. It looked like a Halloween costume, or a hazmat suit.

  “Come on, sleepyhead, out ya get.” Sam poked Barb in the side.

  “I’m going, I’m going.” Barb yawned as she unfolded herself out of the car. “Where are your car keys?”

  “Why? You going somewhere?”

  “Home, silly.”

  “Let’s just sleep here tonight. All my clothes are here, and they’ve got plenty of room.” He leaned toward Nate, who was climbing out of the passenger seat. “They’ve got some beds made up, right?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  “Sure they do. And if not, what’s-her-face . . . Renata? She can always throw some sheets on.”

  “Pretty sure Renata is sleeping.” Nate’s voice brimmed with impatience. He’d clearly had enough of Sam’s bullshit for one evening.

  “Pretty sure you can wake her,” Sam snapped back. “She works for you, remember?”

  “She works for my dad and Kathryn.”

  “And I’m their friend, and I’d like to stay here.”

  “Sammy, baby, just come back to my place. It was good enough for you last night.”

  “Last night I didn’t have staples in my head.”

  “You can both sleep on the couch for all I care,” Nate said. “Just don’t wake up Renata, or anyone else, for that matter.”

  Sam sighed as he looked at Barb. “I don’t even know where my keys are. I’ll make a hell of a noise trying to find them. Let’s just crash here for the night. I’m sure chef-y has a primo breakfast planned for us anyway.”

  In fact, Lizzie did not have any special breakfast plans, mostly because she’d been too preoccupied with Sam’s hospital shenanigans to arrange anything. But the Silvesters would expect a decent breakfast, especially if some of their drunk friends had spent the night—which, from the Mercedes and BMWs filling the driveway, it looked as if they had.

  Lizzie slid out of the front seat and closed the door behind her. Sam remained in the backseat.

  “Sweetheart, give me a hand, would you? I can barely move with this damn collar.”

  Lizzie took a deep breath and let it out slowly as she opened the back door. She reached out her arm, which Sam grabbed a little too tightly as he swung his legs out of the car.

 
“Ready? On the count of three: one, two . . .”

  Lizzie pulled with all of her strength as she tried to hoist Sam out of the car. It was like trying to lift a three-hundred-pound sack of potatoes. He barely moved.

  “You’re going to have to help me a little,” Lizzie said. “Either that, or Nate will have to lift you out.”

  “But his skin isn’t nearly as smooth.”

  He rubbed her arm with his thumb. She felt as if she were being attacked by venomous spiders.

  “Nate?” She nodded at Sam. “A little help.”

  She managed to extract her arm from Sam’s grip, and Nate slid in front of her. As if by some miracle, Sam grabbed the side of the car and lifted himself out without Nate’s assistance.

  “Aw, Sammy baby, look at you.” Barb pouted as she tottered toward him. She held his hand. “Let’s get you inside.”

  The two of them hobbled toward the house, Barb in too-high stilettos and Sam in a foam collar.

  “Look at those two,” Nate muttered in Lizzie’s ear.

  “A match made in heaven,” Lizzie said.

  “Hey, you’re welcome!” Nate called after them.

  Sam slowed and turned around step by step until he faced them. “What’s that?”

  “I said, you’re welcome.”

  He stared at Nate quizzically, then offered a half smile. “Oh. Right. Sure.”

  He slowly pivoted back around, and it was then that Lizzie realized neither he nor Barb had even once said thank you.

  * * *

  As exhausted as she was, Lizzie couldn’t sleep. All she could think about was Zoe. She was going to confront her, but she didn’t know how or when and she wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to say. Her lifelong dislike and avoidance of confrontation had left her completely unprepared. But she had to do it. She didn’t care what Nate said. Frankly, she was a little disappointed in him for counseling her to leave the issue alone. Was he really so weak? He seemed like such a nice guy.

  Unable to sleep, Lizzie slipped out of her bedroom and headed upstairs to the kitchen. If she wasn’t going to get any rest, she might as well work. The Silvesters would expect a nice breakfast for their friends, and doing some of the prep work now would save her time later in the morning, when she would probably be a zombie.