Virtually Perfect

by Paige Roberts

  “But if she did . . .” Nate was treading carefully. Whatever was going on between them—whether it was just sex or something more—they were only just getting to know each other, and their conversations were still buttressed by politeness and restraint.

  “Ignore me?”

  “Yeah.”

  Lizzie thought about it. “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe . . . I’m just thinking out loud here, but . . .” Nate kicked at the sand. “You could get Zoe to come clean.”

  “To my mom?”

  “To everyone. She could issue a mea culpa on her site. Explain how and why she started it—the whole Marie story, how hard all of that was for her—but warn people her advice isn’t based on scientific fact.”

  “And how would you suggest I get her to do that?”

  “We could talk to her. Together.”

  Lizzie frowned. “I thought you said that would end in disaster. That I should leave it alone.”

  “I did initially. But . . .”

  “But what? Now you’ve slept with me, so you feel guilty?”

  Nate flinched. “Hey. That isn’t fair.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No. I mean, sure, I care about you, so if something upsets or hurts you, it’s going to get my attention. But like I said, part of what I do for a living involves looking at how people are taken advantage of. Ever since we first talked about Zoe’s site, I haven’t been able to shake the thought that I’m being a huge hypocrite by not saying something. I keep trying to rationalize my behavior by saying, ‘She’s family, I shouldn’t be the messenger, blah blah blah,’ but deep down even I know that’s bullshit.”

  “So you managed to grow a pair in the last hour?”

  “No, it’s more that I’ve been trying to figure out a way to step in, or to make the Web site magically disappear, but now with your mom . . . She’s an actual person—a real person, who lost a son and got divorced and whose daughter I know and like. I guess the whole thing has become real for me in a way it wasn’t before. I can’t keep looking the other way while I try to come up with an easier solution.”

  “So would you come with me to talk to her now?”

  “Now? Like now now?” He glanced at his watch. “Is she even home?”

  Lizzie slung her purse over her shoulder and shrugged. “I don’t know. Why don’t we go find out?”

  * * *

  Zoe wasn’t home. Lizzie was annoyed (why was Zoe conveniently absent whenever Lizzie wanted to talk to her?), but she was also a little relieved. Everything was happening so fast, and she was beginning to feel a little out of control.

  Lizzie checked her phone obsessively to see if she had any missed calls or messages from her mom, but the answer was always the same: nothing. She wished there were a way to check whether her mom had listened to the voice mail. At least then Lizzie would know she’d planted a seed of doubt.

  Nate offered to stay up with Lizzie, but by one in the morning Lizzie knew there was no point in staying up. Even if her mom had listened to the message, she would be in bed by now. She had never been a night owl, and now she was recovering from a lumpectomy. She would never call Lizzie at 3:00 a.m.

  “What about Zoe?” Nate said.

  “What about her?”

  “She might come home in a few hours. Don’t you want to catch her before she sneaks out again?”

  Lizzie thought about it. She wanted to confront Zoe (at the moment, actually, she wanted to rip her head off), but she’d had so little sleep in the past two days that she couldn’t contemplate another all-nighter. What if Zoe didn’t come home at all? Lizzie would be a zombie, and for nothing. She still had a job to do. For Nate, this was vacation, but for her, this was just another workweek.

  “I need to go to bed,” she said.

  “Okay. If you change your mind . . . you know where to find me.”

  “Do I?”

  “I guess this house is pretty big. Top floor, fourth door on the right.”

  “Fourth? Out of how many?”

  “I don’t know. A thousand?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “Anyway, something in your face tells me I shouldn’t wait up.”

  “Probably a good call. It’s been a long couple of days.”

  “Understood.” He rubbed his hands together. “See you at breakfast?”

  “Considering I’m the one cooking it . . . yeah. I’ll be there.”

  Nate smiled, a little awkwardly, and Lizzie regretted making a joke that highlighted their disparate roles. She knew it wasn’t quite as “upstairs-downstairs” as Downton Abbey, but the fact remained: He was a Silvester, and she was their cook, and in a week he’d be back in Washington writing about gentrification and she’d still be in Avalon, rustling up Paleo snacks. She didn’t feel sorry for herself—she’d chosen this path, after all—but she did wonder how their relationship, if she could call it that, would possibly last beyond this week.

  “Well, good night,” he said.

  He kissed her on the cheek before heading upstairs. Lizzie followed him with her eyes, the sensation of his lips still tingling on her face, and then she slipped down the staircase to her room, where she peeled off her clothes and threw on her pajamas before sliding into bed. She checked her phone one last time. She wasn’t sure why. She knew there wouldn’t be a response from her mom. But before she hooked it up to the charger for the night, she decided to look at Zoe’s site again. She pulled up the post about Marie’s relapse and read through the comments: “Sending so much love xx,” “Marie is so brave, don’t give up!” “WE R PRAYING 4 U STAY STRONG!” Lizzie’s face grew hot. People were praying for Marie? She suddenly felt a seething rage building inside her.

  Her thumb hovered over the Comment button. Could she . . . ? Of course she could. The question was, did she want to? Taking on Zoe in the privacy of her parents’ beach house was one thing, but doing so directly on Zoe’s site would escalate their confrontation. Was she ready for that? Yes, she decided. She needed this job until she found a new one, but now knowing of her mom’s condition, she didn’t need it that badly. If Zoe got her fired, so be it. At least Lizzie would have left trying to do the right thing.

  She began typing in the comment box, posting anonymously:

  Am I the only one who thinks this story is pretty sketchy? Has anyone actually reached out to Marie directly? Does anyone have evidence she actually exists?

  Lizzie realized the comment was a bit elliptical, but she knew if she came right out and wrote: “FYI, this is all a hoax,” Zoe would immediately pin the blame on her. Eventually Zoe would probably do that anyway, but Lizzie wanted to buy a little time.

  She posted the comment, and when she saw it appear on the site a thrill raced through her body. She felt emboldened—powerful, even—in a way she hadn’t in real life. The Internet gave her a cloak of anonymity that allowed her to be the ballsy, hardened skeptic she’d always wanted to be but never was.

  She pulled up another post, one about the detoxifying powers of ginger, and wrote another comment:

  Z—do you know of any patients other than Marie who have been cured as a result of your advice? Why is “Marie” the only one we hear about?

  And then she did it again:

  Why aren’t there any recent photos of Marie? She looks the same in all the photos you post. Hasn’t she aged? Or have you also discovered the fountain of youth?

  She kept posting and posting, sometimes multiple times on the same post, each comment a little snarkier than the last. Then she turned off her phone, plugged it into the charger, and, her rage having dissipated into the Internet ether, fell into a deep and much-needed sleep.

  CHAPTER 31

  Frank—

  You ASSHOLE. I told you not to say anything to Lizzie. It’s the one thing I specifically asked you NOT to do. And before you say, “I’m her parent, too,” here’s a news flash: A parent doesn’t suddenly decide to act like one after two decades of being AWOL. And don’t give me
that crap about me getting custody. You had alternate weekends, and you blew them. You think Lizzie was really “sick” all those times she stayed home? The only thing she was sick of was you and your new family. You made her feel like you’d traded her in for something better, and if you didn’t see that, you’re an even bigger idiot than I thought.

  Also, since when do you give a flying f&#% what kind of treatment plan I follow? You didn’t care when I went through menopause, or the time I fell down the stairs when Lizzie was in high school. But suddenly now you’re all hot and bothered because I’m not doing what YOU think is right? Funny how that works. This is why I didn’t tell you about any of it. It’s none of your business. It stopped being your business when you left me for Jessica. And don’t give me that BS about, “Just because we aren’t married doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you.” If you really cared about me, you wouldn’t have told Lizzie. To be honest, I’m not even sure why I told you I had cancer in the first place. I guess I felt vulnerable in the days after they diagnosed me, but apparently I also temporarily went insane. Telling you was such a mistake.

  Don’t think I don’t see what you’re trying to do, Frank. You’re trying to use this as a way to resurrect your relationship with Lizzie. It’s pathetic, and anyone with half a brain can see through your “concern.” Can’t you just be happy for me that I’ve made an informed decision for myself? Or are you jealous that I’ve finally met another man?

  I could write ten more pages on how angry I am with you, but you aren’t worth that much of my time. Save your worries for Jessica and the kids. And don’t you dare try to talk to Lizzie about this again. If you think it will bring you closer together, you’re delusional.

  Susan

  CHAPTER 32

  When Lizzie woke up the next morning and checked Zoe’s site, all of her comments were gone. Not just her comments—everyone’s comments. All that remained were Zoe’s posts, the latest of which had appeared overnight:

  COMMENTS CLOSED

  Dear friends,

  Last night, someone began posting inappropriate material on several of my posts. I’ve removed the offensive comments, but until I figure out who has been trolling my site and why, I have temporarily closed comments to everyone. I apologize and wish I didn’t have to do this. I know how important this community is to all of you. It’s important to me, too. But I cannot allow someone to ruin it for the rest of us. Hopefully, I can set things back to normal very soon.

  Peace and love

  Z xx

  Lizzie stared at the screen. She wasn’t sure whether to feel crushed or victorious. On the one hand, she’d clearly gotten under Zoe’s skin. That felt, at the very least, like a small victory. But on the other hand, Zoe hadn’t taken the site down or exposed her advice as bullshit. She’d merely closed the site to comments, precluding any chance that someone would challenge her. Had anyone even read Lizzie’s comments? Probably not. She’d written them at almost two in the morning. She felt so stupid. If she’d really thought it through, she would have posted in the middle of the day or whenever site traffic peaked. Instead, she went on a commenting spree in the middle of the night, when the only beneficiary of her snark was her own ego.

  Burned by your impulsive behavior yet again, she thought. Had she learned nothing from her post-college downfall?

  She slid her phone back onto the nightstand and rolled out of bed. The Silvesters’ guests had mostly left and Sam had slept at Barb’s, but Jim would expect a decent breakfast, even if all Kathryn had was juice. Since this week was considered Jim’s vacation, he tended to want more than his typical bagel and coffee.

  Lizzie threw on clothes and headed up to the kitchen, where she found Renata refreshing a vase of hydrangeas.

  “Good morning,” Renata said. “How did you sleep?”

  “Like a log.”

  “The Silvesters, they have kept you busy.”

  “The ER visit is what really put me over the edge. But now that I’ve had a little sleep, I should be back on track. At least I hope so.” She watched Renata count out five place mats. “Five for breakfast?”

  She grabbed another. “Possibly six.”

  Lizzie’s shoulders tightened. She had expected Jim, Kathryn, and Nate, but there was no one else in the house—other than possibly Zoe. “Who’s coming?”

  “Let’s see . . . Jim and Kathryn, of course. And Nate. Then I think she said Sam and Barb would stop by. And perhaps Zoe.”

  Lizzie’s stomach soured. As much as she wanted to take on Zoe, she didn’t fancy another tense, coded exchange across the Silvesters’ dining table. She wanted to corner her in private, with Nate by her side.

  “Should I have something special prepared, in case Zoe comes?”

  Lizzie was asking less out of concern and more to see how likely Renata thought Zoe’s appearance was. Renata frowned. “I don’t think so. Miss Zoe is so particular. She can’t expect you to go out of your way when so often she doesn’t appear. I do not think she even made it home last night.”

  Lizzie left Renata to finish setting the table and proceeded to the butler’s pantry to get out the eggs and smoked salmon. Renata had picked up bagels at Isabel’s, and Lizzie planned to offer a few simple accompaniments like scrambled eggs and flavored cream cheese to go with them.

  Jim and Kathryn returned from their morning walk around eight thirty, and by nine o’clock everyone was gathered around the table, ready to eat. Zoe’s chair was conspicuously empty.

  “I don’t understand why it’s so damn hard to be on time,” Jim said. “At the office, this would never fly.”

  “It’s a good thing we aren’t at the office, then, isn’t it, sweetie?” Kathryn tried to act lighthearted, but Lizzie could tell she was faking it.

  “I don’t think a little punctuality is too much to ask.”

  “Aw, Jimmy, come on, it’s vacation,” Barb whined. “You can’t expect a young girl in her prime to wake up early on vacation.”

  “It isn’t early. It’s nine o’clock.”

  “That’s early!”

  “Maybe for you,” Jim said. He left it there, but Lizzie knew what naturally followed: And I don’t want my daughter to grow up to be you. On the one hand, Lizzie couldn’t blame him for feeling that way. But on the other hand, given what she knew about Zoe, she’d take a harmless mutton dressed as lamb over a fraud any day.

  Lizzie laid the platters of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on the table while Renata passed around a basket of warmed bagels. As Lizzie reached across Nate’s seat to lay a serving spoon next to the eggs, she felt his hand run up her thigh. Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t think of their tryst as a secret, but she also knew it wasn’t public knowledge and liked keeping it that way. Jim and Kathryn didn’t need another reason to disapprove of Nate—or her, for that matter.

  “Hey, sweetheart,” Sam shouted across the table. “What’s in the eggs?”

  “Boursin and chives,” Lizzie said. She still hadn’t gotten used to Sam’s brashness.

  “Boar what?”

  “Boursin. It’s a French cheese, with garlic and herbs.”

  “Those French. Always so full of themselves.”

  Lizzie wasn’t sure what adding garlic and herbs to cheese had to do with an entire country’s self-image, but she’d learned that Sam had very strong opinions about certain cultural groups and nothing anyone said seemed to change his mind.

  Despite Sam’s dislike of the French and their egos, he managed to wolf down three helpings of eggs, along with two bagels and a sizable portion of smoked salmon, in a very short period of time. By the time breakfast was over, Lizzie estimated he’d eaten more than she sometimes ate in a day.

  “What can I say, sweetie,” he said as she cleared his plate. “I have a big appetite—for food, for money, and for women.” He winked, in clear view of Barb, who proceeded to top up her third mimosa.

  Lizzie took refuge in the butler’s pantry, where she scraped the remnants of leftover smoked sal
mon into the sink and loaded the dishwasher. Zoe hadn’t made it to breakfast, and the more time Lizzie spent in this house with the Silvesters’ friends, the more she heard Nate’s voice in her head asking, What are you doing here?

  “Knock, knock?”

  She turned around at the sound of Nate’s actual voice and smiled when she saw his face. “Hey, stranger.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, then slid beside her and kissed the top of her head. “Egg-cellent breakfast.”

  She cocked her head. “Seriously?”

  “Seriously was it a good breakfast? Or seriously did I just say ‘egg-cellent’?”

  “A little of both. Mostly the latter.”

  “Then yes, I was serious about both.” He cracked his knuckles. “So Zoe is still MIA . . . ?”

  “I guess.” Lizzie cleared her throat. “I did something kind of stupid. Or maybe not stupid. I don’t know.”

  Nate looked wary. “What did you do?”

  “I started posting comments on Zoe’s site.”

  “What kind of comments?”

  “Questions about Marie and the whole story. Stuff that might make other people ask questions too.”

  “I thought we were going to talk to her together.”

  “Do you see her anywhere? If we wait on her, it could be October, and by then my mom’s cancer could have come back.”

  “I know, but with Zoe . . . declaring war directly on her site might not be the best move. I guess there’s a chance she hasn’t seen your comments yet.”

  “Oh, she’s seen them.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she’s closed the entire site to comments and has removed everything I wrote.”

  “Does she know it’s you?”

  “Maybe? I posted anonymously, so there’s no way for her to prove it.”