Jim slid his phone back into the holster. “Why on earth would you do that?”
“Because her site is bullshit?”
“It isn’t bullshit.”
“Yes, it is. And if you weren’t so blinded by the dollar signs in your eyes and her hundreds of thousands of followers, you’d see that.”
Kathryn huffed. “Right, of course, because making money is a crime.”
“Making money isn’t a crime. Neither, for that matter, is lying about saving a friend’s life. But making money by lying about saving a friend’s life? Maybe that isn’t a crime either, but it sure as hell isn’t right.”
“You’re just jealous that she was more successful than you,” Kathryn said.
Nate’s eyes widened. “I’m a tenured fucking professor. She wrote some stupid blog.”
“It wasn’t just a blog. It was a brand.”
“I feel like I’m on Mars. Dad, is this really how you feel, too? That a popular yet fraudulent Web site is more of an accomplishment than getting tenure at a top university?”
Kathryn sniffed. “I wouldn’t call it a top university—”
“Shut up, Kathryn,” Jim snapped.
Everyone went silent. Lizzie had never heard Jim yell at Kathryn before, and by the looks of it, Nate and Kathryn hadn’t either, at least not in front of other people.
“What you do is fine,” Jim said.
“Fine. Wow. Don’t sound too thrilled.”
“Well, what do you want me to say? You write about neighborhoods. It isn’t my thing.”
“It doesn’t have to be your ‘thing.’ It’s my thing, and I enjoy it, and I would argue what I write about makes a contribution to society.”
“And I don’t?”
“I never said that. You employ thousands of people. You allow millions to get online and watch TV and do lots of other things we all take for granted. That’s great. I might have questions about how you do business and whether some of your recent plans are a good idea, but I never said you don’t make a contribution. I respect what you do. It would be nice if you did the same for me.”
Jim stood in silence for what felt to Lizzie like a long time. She wished she could dissolve into the cabinetry. She respected Nate for everything he’d done and said—the way he stood up for his own career and also absolved her from blame—but she also knew she was witnessing a deeply personal confrontation that had been years in the making. She’d only recently inserted herself into the Silvesters’ lives. She wasn’t sure she deserved to watch Nate and Jim’s relationship come to a head.
Jim eventually cleared his throat. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better.”
“It would be great if you could do more than try.”
Kathryn groaned. “Typical. Always asking for more.”
“Kathryn, I’m warning you,” Jim said. He didn’t look at her. “I’ll do better,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“In the meantime, I need to clean up the mess you’ve made.” He caught Nate’s eye. “That Zoe made.”
Lizzie could tell Kathryn desperately wanted to jump in, but after Jim’s warning she instead crossed and uncrossed her arms and played with her frizzed hair. Lizzie thought she looked as if she might burst.
“Shouldn’t Zoe be the one cleaning up the mess?” Nate asked.
“This is all a bit above her pay grade.”
“Yeah, but come on. What did you used to tell me as a kid? ‘You made your bed; now you have to sleep in it.’ Or does that not apply to Zoe?”
“It would if this were strictly about a Web site. But unfortunately, now it’s about more than that. People have started asking questions about the company.”
“What does CC Media have to do with her blog?”
“It’s complicated . . . I guess, technically speaking—” Jim’s phone rang. He glanced at the number. “I have to take this. We can talk later. Kathryn, track down Zoe. Lizzie, have lunch ready at noon. April should be here by then.”
Lizzie gulped. “April?”
“Sherman. From Publicity.”
“She and Lizzie have a history . . .” Kathryn said.
Jim’s eyes flitted from Kathryn to Lizzie and back to Kathryn again. “Yes, well, they’ll have to save their singing of ‘Kumbaya’ for another day. This is a working lunch. Keep it simple. Nothing messy.”
He answered his call and left. Kathryn looked Lizzie up and down. “It had better be Paleo,” she said before turning on her heel in a dramatic huff and stomping out of the room.
CHAPTER 35
By the time April arrived, the Silvesters’ house was a flurry of activity. Jim was on the phone constantly, toggling between calls with colleagues and lawyers, and Kathryn was on the hunt for Zoe, whom she could not find. Renata flitted from room to room, setting tables, watering plants, and otherwise ensuring the Silvester household wasn’t falling apart, even if they felt as if their lives were. Lizzie, meanwhile, fantasized about blowing their house to bits as she pulled together lunch. If it weren’t for the fact that she might finally get a chance to talk to April, she would have told the Silvesters to make their own damn lunch and walked out the door for good.
April rang the front doorbell, and Renata dashed off to let her in. Had April really climbed all of those stairs? Lizzie wondered. That alone qualified her for a pay raise. When it was combined with her willingness to drop everything and drive all the way to Avalon, Lizzie thought she probably deserved a promotion.
Lizzie busied herself in the butler’s pantry, finishing off the frittata and salad she’d prepared for lunch. The velvety sound of April’s voice echoed into the kitchen.
“Traffic was fine,” she said. “Good thing Zoe’s site went viral on a Thursday.”
Lizzie knew that was April’s attempt at a joke, and she wondered if it had landed. Probably. April always had a way of saying things others couldn’t, and people rarely held grudges against her. April was also the queen of damage control. When she’d produced Lizzie’s on-campus show, she’d bailed them out of numerous binds—bum microphones, bad lighting, a set that at one point was actually falling apart. Their friend and videographer, Sean, called her Mrs. Fix-It. Lizzie assumed she fulfilled a similar roll at CC Media.
That said, Lizzie was a little confused as to why someone in CC Media’s corporate publicity department was being called in to handle the fallout from Zoe’s site. Sure, Zoe’s dad held a prominent role in the company, but that didn’t entitle him to use company resources to manage a personal scandal. Did other people at CC Media know what he was up to? Or had Zoe inherited her loose ethical code from her father?
“Lunch on the patio,” Jim called from the living room.
Renata helped Lizzie carry everything onto the patio. Jim sat at the head of the table, and April sat on one side and Kathryn on the other. April scribbled on a notepad, every so often checking one of her three devices.
“Okay, but who approached whom?” she asked.
“I didn’t approach anyone. I mean, obviously I know Andrew, and he knows I have a daughter, but I didn’t even know about the scale of her site until earlier this week.”
“So she didn’t approach them.”
“No. At least not that I know of.”
April started to speak but caught herself as Renata and Lizzie reached the table. She offered a weak smile as they laid the platters down.
“Yes?” Jim prompted.
April cleared her throat. Lizzie could tell April didn’t want her overhearing. “It’s just . . . I know some of this information is sensitive.”
Jim waved at Renata and Lizzie. “Renata is family. And Lizzie is . . . well, at any rate, she knows about Zoe’s site. And Kathryn says you know each other, so you can trust her.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
Jim eyed Lizzie cautiously. He gestured at the frittata. “Could you slice that?” He looked back at April. “Carry on.”
Lizzie picked up the platter and took it to the
end of the table, where she could pretend she was out of earshot even if she wasn’t.
April lowered her voice. “All I was going to say was . . . from what Andrew told me, someone must have approached his team about investing. It doesn’t sound as if it was the other way around.”
“That’s ridiculous. I didn’t say anything. Zoe didn’t say anything. Who else does that leave? Marie?” He let out a bitter laugh.
“Well . . . I might have said a little something to one of Andrew’s principals . . .” Kathryn said as Lizzie carried the platter back to their end of the table.
“What?” Jim’s cheeks flushed. “You can’t be serious.”
“I just figured with a bit more capital . . . think where she could take this. You said yourself—two hundred thousand followers is an impressive start.”
“Kathryn. Do you have any idea—”
“But CC Ventures is a separate division.”
“It’s a subsidiary.”
“Right. So it has nothing to do with you.”
“I’m the COO! It has everything to do with me. Do you have any idea how this looks?”
Kathryn folded her hands in her lap as Lizzie slid the platter onto the table.
“That’ll be all, Lizzie,” Jim said.
“If you need anything else—”
“I’ll let you know.” He waved her away and turned to April. “Now, tell me, how the hell do we spin our way out of this one?”
* * *
Lizzie only caught snippets of the conversation through the rest of the meal, but from what she could piece together, Zoe was in very early talks with CC Media’s venture capital subsidiary about investing in the Clean Life brand. Even if Zoe’s site hadn’t been a sham, the relationship would have looked like nepotism, but now that The Daily Beast had revealed the lies behind The Clean Life, the scenario looked doubly bad. Journalists were now running with Zoe’s scandal and using it to look further into CC Media’s affairs—something Jim clearly did not want.
“Because it isn’t just this story,” Lizzie overheard Jim say to Kathryn. “It’s all the other investments CC Ventures has made. It’s our finances. It’s the upcoming inversion.”
“The tax thingy?”
Jim sighed. “Yes. The tax ‘thingy.’ ”
“But you haven’t even announced that yet. I thought you were still working on it.”
“We are. Hence the reason we don’t want someone else getting the story first. We want to control the release, not the other way around.”
There was a pause in the conversation as Lizzie and Renata reached in to clear the plates. Lizzie noticed the place she’d set for Zoe hadn’t been touched.
“Do you want me to make her up a plate . . . ?” Lizzie asked delicately.
Jim and Kathryn locked eyes. “I don’t know,” Jim said. He sounded annoyed. “Should we, Kathryn?”
“I don’t . . . no, I guess not.”
“Should I expect her for dinner?” Lizzie asked. She wondered if they could see through her faux professional curiosity when what she really wanted to know was whether anyone actually knew where Zoe was.
“I . . . well . . .”
“Kathryn, I swear, if she isn’t at dinner—”
“She’ll be at dinner,” Kathryn said. “I promise.”
“And will April be staying as well?”
April waited for Jim to respond. “No, we’ll wrap up our business at lunch,” he said, “and then April will head back to the office to set the plan in motion.” He looked up at Lizzie. “Any other questions?”
“No, that pretty much covers it.”
“Good. I’ll have a coffee when you have a second. Anyone else?”
“Coffee would be great,” April said.
“Milk, no sugar, right?”
Lizzie thought she detected a hint of a smile. “Yeah. Good memory.”
Lizzie took the plates into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She wondered where Zoe was and whether she knew how much trouble she’d caused—not just for her family but for an entire company. Lizzie somehow doubted she’d care. There was a good chance she’d even be quite pleased with herself.
While she waited for the water to boil, Lizzie grabbed her phone and pulled up Zoe’s site. Instead of the traditional blog format, with regularly updated posts, the site was now a static front page that simply said: Whole Foods. Whole Spirit. Whole Life. above a beautifully photographed image of the beach and ocean. Lizzie tried to scroll down, but there was nowhere to go. Had Zoe erased all of her posts? There was no longer an “About” tab either. Everything was gone.
“Oh—sorry. I thought there was another bathroom in here.”
Lizzie looked up and saw April standing in the doorway. “The bathroom is at the top of the stairway.”
“Yeah, I remember from the Memorial Day party, but someone is in it. I thought there was a second.”
“Given the size of this house, there should be. Did you try the pool house? I think there’s one in there.”
“Cool. Thanks. I’ll check.” She turned to leave.
“I’m really sorry,” Lizzie blurted out.
April turned around. “For leaking the story?”
“I didn’t leak the story. Nate did.”
“Oh. The Silvesters seem to think you were involved somehow.”
“I actually wish I could take the credit. But Nate beat me to it.”
“Thought he’d impress you by showing he had friends in high places, huh?”
“I’m sure that had nothing to do with it.”
“And that he wasn’t like the rest of his family.”
“No.” Lizzie was getting annoyed. What did April know about Nate and his family? What did she know about any of it, other than what Jim had told her?
“Well? Why else would he go out of his way to throw his family under the bus?”
“Aside from the site being ethically problematic?”
“Ah, suddenly you’re the bastion of moral uprightness.”
“My mom has cancer.”
April tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too. And she’s been visiting Zoe’s site and other ones like it thinking it will cure her.” Lizzie saw a change in April’s face. “Now do you see?”
“I guess—”
“You guess? April, you know my mom. You know she isn’t an idiot. If she’s buying this stuff, think of how many other people must be too. I know you haven’t seen her in a while—”
“And whose fault is that?”
“Hey, you’re the one who stopped—”
Lizzie cut herself off. She was so used to falling into her default defensive mode that she almost forgot she was talking to April. She started again.
“That’s why I said I’m sorry. Not because I talked to Nate about Zoe’s site, and not because I’ve indirectly caused some sort of trouble for the Silvesters. I’m sorry for the way I behaved when our show started getting a lot of attention. I screwed up our friendship, and I wish I hadn’t.”
“Hey, if wishes were horses—”
“Listen, I don’t expect you to forgive me, okay? It’s been a long time, and this apology is way overdue. But I wanted to tell you I know what I did wasn’t cool, and I shouldn’t have done it, and I hurt you, and I’m really sorry.”
April stared at Lizzie. It was a while before she finally spoke again. “It’s funny. For years I fantasized about you basically saying exactly what you just said. And then time passed, and you had this big public fall, and eventually I stopped caring. Like, watching the reason you ditched me completely blow up in your face was enough. But now, hearing you apologize, I’m realizing it wasn’t enough. And this isn’t either. Maybe it would have been five or six years ago. Who knows? But not now.”
“What else do you want me to say? Because I’ll say it. I was selfish. Too ambitious for my own good. Shortsighted.”
April shrugged. “That’s the thing. I don’t w
ant you to say anything. I just . . . don’t care. Like, it’s not even too little, too late. It’s just too late. I’ve moved on. It’s been almost ten years, Lizzie. I’ve made new friends—friends I barely have time to see, given my crazy work schedule. I don’t have the time or energy to pine over our lost friendship. I’d rather save that for the people who’ve shown they give a shit.”
“I give a shit.”
April threw her head back and laughed. “Since when? Since you lost your show and realized all the friends you replaced me with were just hangers-on?”
Lizzie winced. “That isn’t fair.”
“Isn’t it? Funny—I don’t remember you showing any remorse three years ago when my mom had cancer.”
“I had no idea—”
“Of course you didn’t. Because we aren’t friends.”
“I know that. And I know we probably never will be again. That doesn’t mean I can’t apologize.”
“Why? So you can feel better?”
Lizzie stomped her foot. She’d tried not to lose patience, but she’d had enough. “No! Jesus, April, when did you become so cynical? Maybe you’re lucky. Maybe in thirty years of life you’ve never made a mistake or done something you later regretted. But I’d bet everything I own that someday you will. Someday you’ll screw up, and you’ll hurt someone you care about, and it’ll be messy and painful and ugly. And whether it’s right away or much later, you’ll want to apologize to that person—not because you think it will make you feel better but because you know they deserve it.”
April was silent. Lizzie waited for her to say something, but she just stood there. The whistle on the teakettle sounded.
“Anyway, Jim is probably waiting for you, so you should go,” Lizzie said as she poured the water into the French press. “I’m guessing the bathroom is free by now.”
“Thanks,” April said.
“You’re welcome.” She gave the coffee a quick stir.
“No, I mean . . . thank you. For your apology. Or, you know, saying I deserved it.”
“Oh. Well . . . you’re welcome for that too.”
“And I’m sorry to hear about your mom.”
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