Virtually Perfect

by Paige Roberts

  “GO TO HELL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!”

  “If I’m a son of a bitch, then that would make Zoe . . . the daughter of a horrible human?”

  “Enough!” Lizzie shouted. “The two of you. All of you. I can’t take any more. You don’t need to fire me because I quit.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, sweetheart. I fired you first.”

  “Fine. Whatever. I don’t care.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  “Seriously? Listen to yourself. Who on planet Earth would want to work for you?”

  “Plenty of people, thank you very much.”

  “Oh, really? I guess that’s why you were scrambling at the last minute and needed my aunt Linda’s recommendation. Because so many people would kill for this job.”

  “It was late in the season, and all of the good people—clearly!—were taken.”

  “Did you ever stop and think that maybe it’s because your family is so insane and horrible that no one wants to work for you?”

  “You wanted to, didn’t you?”

  “Because at the time I didn’t have other options.”

  “And why do you think that was? Maybe because you’re a huge failure?”

  “I’d rather be a failure than a phony or a fraud.”

  “Please. You’d have killed for Zoe’s audience.”

  “No, I wouldn’t have. And do you know why? Because my mom has cancer, and in the scheme of things page hits and bounce rates and click-throughs don’t seem all that important.”

  “I’m sorry to hear about your mother, but don’t try to make this about her.”

  “Why not? She’s the kind of person Zoe’s site targeted. Vulnerable people with a terrible disease who were hoping for other options. And Zoe gave them that gift, wrapped in beautiful paper with a fancy bow, only it turns out the box was empty inside.”

  “It wasn’t empty.”

  “You know, you’re right. Maybe we shouldn’t make this about my mom. Let’s make this about another mom—you. How can you continually turn a blind eye to everything she does?”

  “I’m her mother.”

  “So? That’s not what being a mother means. Where were you when her friend Marie was sick? Where were you when she died? Where were you when Zoe actually needed you?”

  “Don’t you dare lecture me on being a parent. You’re single and thirty and childless. You have no idea.”

  “You don’t have to be a parent to understand the value of a good one.”

  Kathryn raised her chin. “I think we’re done.”

  “You know what? You’re right. We’re done. As soon as I pack my things and fill up my tires, I’m out of here. But don’t kid yourself—you deserve some blame in all of this, too. You can’t take credit and bask in her success when things are going well but then claim no responsibility when they aren’t. It doesn’t work that way. I don’t care how many houses you own or how big they are. If you screw up your kid, nothing else really matters.”

  Lizzie stomped up the driveway toward the garage, and although she could feel both Nate’s and Kathryn’s eyes on her, she was too angry and exhausted to look back or care.

  CHAPTER 37

  Lizzie stormed into her bedroom and began shoving clothes haphazardly into her suitcases. She didn’t bother separating dirty from clean or making sure things were properly folded. She just needed to pack everything away and she would deal with the rest later.

  As she dumped her toiletries into another bag, she dialed AAA and held the phone between her ear and shoulder. Nate had promised to call someone to inflate the tires, but she couldn’t wait for him to do that. She needed to leave as soon as humanly possible. Luckily, her mom had maintained her AAA membership, so someone would arrive shortly with a portable air tank.

  Lizzie tossed her deodorant and brush in the bag but realized she’d left her toothbrush and toothpaste in the hall bathroom. She rushed down the hall, grabbed her things off the sink, and headed back to her room, but as she passed one of the unoccupied staff bedrooms that faced the front of the house something glinted in the hallway light and caught Lizzie’s eye. She backtracked slowly and peered through the door. Her stomach curdled.

  “Zoe?”

  Zoe turned around. She had been staring out the window, which afforded a minimal view. How long had she been there? Had she overheard the fight between her and Kathryn? The window was open, and Zoe was smoking a cigarette and flicking the ash out the window. She didn’t speak.

  “How long have you been down here? Your parents have been looking everywhere for you.”

  She shrugged. “A few hours.”

  “But your car . . .”

  “It’s parked on Fifty-third. I don’t need my parents up my ass. Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here in a minute or two. I just forgot my passport, but then all of you were in the driveway like assholes, so . . .”

  “Out of here? Where are you going?”

  She took a long drag of her cigarette. “Far away from this shit palace.”

  “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

  “To my parents?”

  “And your followers.”

  “I already took down everything on my site.”

  “That isn’t the same as an apology. Plenty of people read what you wrote before you took it all down. Now if they can’t find the information on your site, they’ll go looking for it somewhere else.”

  She flicked her cigarette. “And that’s my fault?”

  “Yes, it’s your fault. You gave people false hope. You wasted precious time—time some people probably didn’t have to lose—when they could have been doing something that had been proven to work. You owe them an apology. Frankly, you owe them more than an apology, but saying ‘I’m sorry’ would at least be a good start.”

  “How can you be so sure my advice didn’t work for all those people?”

  “How can you be sure it did?”

  She blew out a stream of smoke. “Do you know how many e-mails I received from readers? Hundreds. Some of those people had been through everything—multiple rounds of chemo and immunotherapy and all that other stuff. You know what they said? ‘Thank you. Thank you for illuminating another path.’ For a lot of people, I was their last hope.”

  “And that’s great for people who’d exhausted every other avenue. What did they have to lose? But for people who hadn’t even tried the things that work for most people, the information you were pushing was dangerous. Don’t you see that?”

  “Why do you care? That’s what I don’t get. I’ve talked to April. You aren’t pure as the driven snow. What gives you the right to lecture me on morals?”

  “What I did to April was completely different. I hurt one person, and I’ve since apologized. I never put her life at risk.”

  “You were a shitty, shitty friend.”

  “Yep, that’s right. But I guess you wouldn’t know what that’s like. You’d need to have actual friends to be shitty to them.”

  “I have friends.”

  “Like Marie?”

  “I was a good friend to Marie,” Zoe snapped. “Maybe if she’d fucking listened to me. I kept sending her . . . she was just so stubborn. And her parents, too. If I’d lived closer, I would have done more. I would have literally shoved the Demuth book in her face. But I was too far away, and there was only so much I could say.” She took a puff of her cigarette. “I did everything I could, okay? I tried.”

  “Her death wasn’t your fault,” Lizzie said.

  “Of course it wasn’t. What the fuck? Why would you say that?”

  “Because . . . you think it was.”

  “No I don’t. I told you, I did everything I could. You can’t make someone listen if they don’t want to.”

  “Is that why you started your Web site? So that other people would listen, even though Marie and her parents wouldn’t?”

  “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me? You’re a cook. A cook who didn’t even graduate from college. That’s it.�
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  “I’m not trying to—”

  “I mean, my parents have paid out their asses on shrinks and psychologists, but hey, what do you know, some washed-up TV chef has figured me out for free!”

  “Zoe, would you just—”

  “I don’t need your ‘help,’ okay? I’m fine, and I’ll be a lot better when I get away from my parents and people like you.”

  “My mom has cancer. Did you know that?”

  “Of course I didn’t.”

  “Well, as it turns out, she was one of your readers. She’s been doing all sorts of things you recommended because she thinks they cured Marie and will cure her too.”

  “Good for her.”

  “No, not good for her! Breast cancer is curable, and they caught it early. But she’s so scared and skeptical that when someone like you gives her an out, she’d rather take it than do chemo.”

  “Ah, so this is personal now.”

  “Even if it weren’t, it doesn’t change the fact—”

  “It was personal for me too, okay? I loved Marie. More than you’ll ever know.”

  “Then don’t you owe it to her to take responsibility?”

  “She’s gone, and I shut down my site. It’s over.” She snuffed out her cigarette on the windowsill and tossed it out the window. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

  She grabbed a bag of her belongings off the floor and pushed past Lizzie.

  “Where are you going?” Lizzie called after her.

  “Away.” She made for the garage door.

  Lizzie chased her down the hall. “But your parents. Don’t you think—”

  “The only time my parents give a shit about me is when I’m making trouble for them.”

  “Okay, fine. Forget your parents. Think about your followers. You owe them more than a nonfunctional Web site. They trusted you, Zoe, and you broke that trust. They deserve to know why. Don’t let this be Marie’s legacy. If she really meant something to you, then at least give her that.”

  Zoe rested her hand on the garage doorknob. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Tell my parents I said good-bye.”

  She opened the door, and before Lizzie knew it she was gone.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes after Zoe left, the AAA truck appeared in the Silvesters’ driveway. Lizzie went out to meet the driver, who surveyed her four flat tires.

  “Somebody play a practical joke on you?”

  “Something like that.”

  He shook his head. “We get these with high school kids all the time. Don’t worry, we’ll have you up and running again in no time.”

  He got to work on the car while Lizzie waited patiently beside the water feature. Nate and Kathryn had long since vacated the driveway, though she wasn’t sure where either of them had gone. She felt bad for storming out on Nate, but she’d been so angry with Kathryn that she couldn’t be in her presence for another second. She hoped Nate would understand.

  She looked back at the house, which loomed high above her in the late-afternoon sun. She’d thought that perhaps after working for the Silvesters for a few months, their house would seem less obscene, but it still looked to Lizzie like a life-size sand castle. If anything, the Silvesters’ Xanadu made her sad. Despite all the parties and gatherings, the mansion oozed sadness and loneliness. It was built with happiness but not for happiness, and whatever joy had passed through its halls during its construction had gone out with the tide long ago. Lizzie wasn’t sad to leave.

  As the technician refilled the first tire and moved on to the second, Lizzie felt a hand on her shoulder.

  “Hey,” Nate said. She turned around to face him. “So have you cooled off?”

  “A little. Though I’m pretty sure if Kathryn appeared I’d go crazy all over again.”

  “Me too.” He smiled. “You really gave it to her. I have to say, I was impressed.”

  “That may have been the first time I ever told someone off in my life.”

  “Really? Could have fooled me.”

  “I won’t lie: it felt pretty good.”

  “Uh-oh. Have we created a monster?”

  Lizzie raised an eyebrow. “Behave yourself and you’ll never have to find out.”

  He laughed and watched as the technician inflated the second tire. “I would have called a tow truck.”

  “I know.”

  He looked back at Lizzie. “You just want to get out of here, huh?”

  She nodded. He didn’t press the issue. He understood, even if he didn’t seem happy about her departure.

  He reached down and held her hand, and they stood in silence as the technician finished his work. Lizzie closed her eyes and listened to the trickling of the water feature and the cawing of the seagulls. She wouldn’t miss the Silvesters, but she would miss this: the sounds of the shore, the smell of the air. She wondered what her mother would say when she showed up later this evening. In all of the chaos, Lizzie hadn’t told her she quit or that she’d be coming home. Would Gary be there? Lizzie hoped not. She hadn’t seen her mother in the flesh since her diagnosis, and she didn’t want Gary complicating what would already be an emotional reunion.

  The technician finished fixing the tires and handed Lizzie a clipboard. She signed in the appropriate places and handed it back to him.

  “Keep away from those pranksters,” he said.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  He gave her a copy of the paperwork and left. Lizzie stuffed the papers in her bag and headed for the car. Nate followed behind.

  “So I guess this is it,” he said as she opened the car door.

  “Depends what you mean by ‘it.’ ”

  “The last time I see you at my dad’s house—though I hope it isn’t the last time I see you, period.”

  “It’s not.”

  Nate’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.”

  “Things are going to be a little crazy on my end for a while, between my mom and my unemployment, and we don’t even live in the same city—”

  “We’ll work it out. I’m patient.”

  “I’m not. But I’ll do my best.”

  “Do you have my number?”

  Lizzie thought about it. “No. I thought I did, but . . . Never mind. I don’t.”

  They swapped phones and plugged in each other’s numbers. They traded back, and Nate slid his in his pocket while she got into the front seat. She turned on the car and lowered the window. Nate leaned down and poked his head through. “Drive safe.”

  She started to make a quip about her fully inflated tires, even though she knew doing so was a mistake. The joke wasn’t even fully formed in her head, and anyway, she’d never been particularly good at one-liners. She’d never been good at good-byes either, which was probably why she was making a foolhardy crack at a joke. But to her relief, Nate cut her off with a kiss, and she kissed him back as he held her face in his hands. A good-bye was easier when you knew it wasn’t good-bye forever. She hoped she could at least make it back to Philadelphia without calling him.

  He pulled away and stood back as she reversed the car out of its parking spot. She waved at him through the open window.

  “Good luck with your mom,” he called after her.

  “Thanks,” she called back, but her chest tightened as she steered down the driveway because she realized a confrontation even bigger than the one with Kathryn or Zoe lay ahead.

  * * *

  By the time Lizzie arrived in Glenside, it was dinnertime. She was shocked at how quickly she’d gotten home—less than two hours door to door. After her epic journey Memorial Day weekend, she’d forgotten how close Avalon was to home. Frankly, between that drive and the Silvesters’ lifestyle, she felt as if she’d been living on a different planet for the past few months.

  When Lizzie drove up her mother’s driveway, she noticed it was empty. Her instinct had been to look for her mom’s car, which made sense until Lizzie realized she was driving it. How would she explain the scratch marks? And how would she pay for them?<
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  She parked the car and got out. Gary’s off-road Jeep wasn’t in the driveway or out front. Either her mom was out or, if she was home, Gary was using it. Or perhaps, Lizzie told herself, Gary was out of the picture altogether. She knew it was wrong to hope so—she didn’t want her mom to be unhappy, and Gary seemed to make her happy—but she couldn’t ignore the tinge of glee she felt at the prospect of Gary’s dismissal.

  She grabbed one of her suitcases from the trunk and wheeled it to the back door. She knocked twice, but when no one answered she fished the keys from the bottom of her purse and let herself in.

  The house was quiet and still. It smelled of freshly laundered clothes and cinnamon. Her mom loved scattering scented candles and potpourri around the house, and so the air always bore strange combinations of Clean Cotton and Sparkling Cinnamon, often tinged with the likes of Ginger Spice Cookie and Sunset Breeze. To Lizzie, it smelled like home.

  She left her suitcase by the stairs and headed toward the kitchen. As soon as she walked in the room, she noticed the counters. Every square inch was covered by fresh fruits and vegetables, juicers and blenders, numerous dietary supplements, and a tall stack of books. Lizzie scanned the spines: Healing Naturally, Killing Cancer, The Demuth Bible.

  She picked up the top book—Healing Naturally—and had begun flipping through its pages when she heard a rustling sound in the hall behind her. She turned around. She and her mom screamed in unison.

  “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” her mother cried. She was holding an old tennis racket in one hand and clutched her chest with the other. “I thought someone had broken into the house.”

  Lizzie’s eyes landed on the racket. “And so you were going to whack them with a tennis racket? That was your plan?”

  “I don’t know . . . maybe.” She took a deep breath. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in Avalon?”

  “I quit. Or I guess they fired me. It was mutual.”

  “But what about . . . I mean, we still have six weeks or so until Labor Day.”

  “I’ll figure something out. The relationship . . . it wasn’t working anymore.”

  “Was it because of the daughter?”

  “Yes and no.”

  Lizzie scanned her mother’s figure from head to toe. She hadn’t seen her since the diagnosis, and she looked thinner than Lizzie remembered. Her graying roots were about an inch long, made more noticeable by the fact that her hair was pulled into a tight, low ponytail. She didn’t look sick. She just looked . . . different.