Virtually Perfect
Page 31
“How are you?” Lizzie asked.
Her mom shrugged. “I’ve been better. I mean, physically I feel fine. Still a little sore from the surgery, but otherwise, okay. Hungry some of the time. God, I do miss steak.” She laughed weakly. “Mentally . . . well, I guess I’m still trying to process everything. I’d barely processed the fact that I had cancer, and then the story broke about that Web site. I’m feeling a little lost at the moment, to be honest.”
“Have you thought any more about your treatment?”
“Of course I have. What else do I have to think about? It’s the thing—the only thing.”
“And . . . ? Have you made any decisions?”
She shook her head. “I know that isn’t what you want to hear. But I need a little more time.”
“To what? Facts are facts, and the latest scientific research shows—”
“I know what it shows. I’m not a fool. I know you think I am, especially after hearing about all this.” She waved at the books and blenders on her counter. “But I’m not stupid. I’m just . . . scared.”
Lizzie met her mother in the doorway. She reached out and hugged her. “I know. I am too.”
Her mom squeezed Lizzie tight, her body shaking as she held Lizzie close. Lizzie felt hot tears trickle down her arm. She buried her face in her mother’s neck and breathed in her scent. That smell—so specific to her mother, and no one else, like almond soap and fresh bread. How would she ever recapture that smell if her mom passed? She’d miss many things if her mom weren’t around—the unconditional love, most of all, but also the advice, the outings, the silly birthday cards and panicked text messages (“Saw a news story about laptop fires—you turn yours off at night, right??? RIGHT???”). But that smell. Nothing was as comforting to Lizzie as that smell. She buried her face deeper.
“I don’t . . .” She choked on the words. She took a deep breath and tried again. “I don’t want to lose you,” she said.
Her mom wept silently as she clung to Lizzie, and the two of them stood in the doorway, their tears mixing together, as they held each other up with strength they didn’t know they had.
CHAPTER 38
The story about Zoe’s Web site ended up having legs. First there were the followers and fans who’d paid for her app and demanded she refund the profits or donate them to charity. Then there were the people who threatened to sue. And then of course there were further investigations into CC Media’s business dealings, which had nothing to do with Zoe per se but which her scandal had instigated.
When it came to Zoe giving the money back, Lizzie assumed most people didn’t want their two ninety-nine so much as they wanted Zoe to atone.
“Good luck with that,” Lizzie muttered as she read the latest rage-filled screed on an online news site. Like so many of Zoe’s readers, the author of the post felt emotionally manipulated by Zoe’s story about Marie.
In some cases, she preyed on people’s sympathy. In others, she preyed on their fear. In all, she lied, and she used those lies to make a buck. She didn’t deserve a cent, and she should give it all back.
Lizzie didn’t disagree, but knowing Zoe as she did, she doubted Zoe would refund anything without a fight. Lizzie supposed that was where the lawsuits came in. Did those people have a case? Maybe. The fact that Zoe was merely selling advice and not a physical product definitely complicated the matter. And of course, no one—not reporters or followers or friends—seemed to know where Zoe was. A few stories even led with the mystery of her whereabouts (“Wellness Hack Goes MIA,” “Clean Life Author Disappears in Face of Controversy,” “Where in the World Is Zoe Silvester?”). The stories made for plenty of juicy speculation, but none of them succeeded in revealing her location or getting her to come forward. So the idea that she would pay back the money, much less appear in court, seemed like a long shot.
Zoe’s absence aside, she wasn’t the only one facing lawsuits. CC Media now had its own to contend with. At first, the press’s interest in CC Media was mostly about the company’s planned tax inversion, which was put on hold after the Treasury decided to throw up regulatory barriers to make such deals less financially advantageous. But once the media began poking around in CC Media’s affairs, a reporter for the Philadelphia Inquirer discovered the company had padded its bottom line using deceptive fees and surcharges on customers nationwide. The company’s so-called Service First Protection Plan claimed to offer free service calls and free repairs, but customers claimed they were still charged for both as somehow, coincidentally, the problems always managed to fall outside the parameters of the plan. In addition, thousands of customers claimed the plan was added on to their monthly bill, buried in the extra charges, even though they’d never signed up for it. Customers in Pennsylvania and Connecticut were suing CC Media, and there was talk of suits in other states. The stock was at its lowest level in five years.
As the media attention around both Zoe and CC Media heated up, Lizzie found herself suddenly in demand from journalists looking for an “inside scoop” about the Silvesters and their enigmatic daughter. Editors Lizzie hadn’t heard from in months, who’d ignored her e-mails inquiring about potential job opportunities when her gig with the Silvesters started going south, now e-mailed and called with regularity. She’d only been in Glenside a few days when Jonah Sun, her former editor at Savor, gave her a call.
“Lizzie Glass—haven’t heard from you in ages,” he said.
“I e-mailed you last week. . . .”
“Did you? Man, things have been crazy over here with the new guy running the show. It must have gotten buried in my in-box.”
“Ah.”
“Anyway . . . so I heard you were working for Zoe Silvester’s family when that whole story broke? Is that true?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow. Nuts. You must have seen a lot of stuff, huh?” Lizzie didn’t reply. “Anyway, we were thinking . . . how would you feel about writing an exclusive for us? ‘My Summer with the Silvesters,’ or something like that.”
“I don’t know.”
“We’d pay you, obviously. Maybe not as well as the Silvesters were paying, but still.” He laughed, but Lizzie didn’t join him.
“I think I’ll pass,” she said.
“What do you mean you’ll pass?” He was trying to sound relaxed, but Lizzie could tell he was annoyed. “You just e-mailed me asking if we had any work for you.”
“You said you didn’t see my e-mail.”
“No, I mean . . . that’s what . . . you said that’s why you e-mailed me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Whatever. Is it the money? Because I’m sure I could negotiate a good rate for a story like this. And if you nail it, there could be future work too.”
“It isn’t the money.”
“You realize this is a huge opportunity right? And if you turn it down you’d totally be blowing it? You may never get another shot like this.”
Lizzie had heard this spiel before: when she was offered her show on the Food Network, when she landed her cookbook deal, even when she was offered the cottage cheese gig with Queensridge Dairy. They were the words that shifted her anxiety into high gear. If I turn this down, she’d think, I may never make something of myself. I may never work again! But she’d come to learn that wasn’t true. She didn’t regret hosting her show, and after much reflection this summer she could honestly say she was glad she’d done it. But if she hadn’t, she would have done something else. There would always be opportunities, and she would always have a choice. If the offer felt right, she’d take it. If it didn’t, she’d pass.
“I guess I’ll have to take my chances,” she said to Jonah.
“Seriously? I mean, listen, it’s totally your call, but . . . I have to ask . . . why? Most people would kill for this kind of exposure.”
“Not me. Not right now, anyway. I’m looking for work I can feel good about, and that kind of story isn’t it, at least for me.”
“Okay, I hear you.” Something
in his voice told Lizzie he didn’t, but he was shrewd enough not to push her any further. Savvy New York editors never burned a bridge. Lizzie was trying not to burn any either.
She glanced out the window and caught site of her mother, who was watering her tomato plants, which had sprung high above their conical wire cages. As she shook the hose back and forth, she closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sky, letting the sun beat down on her cheeks. Lizzie couldn’t be sure, but she thought she saw her smile. She looked happy. She had every reason not to, but she did. She had been through so much and would likely go through much more, and yet surrounded by her favorite things—her garden, her house, her daughter—she was content. She didn’t ask for more. This was enough.
“Anyway, best of luck with everything,” Jonah said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Lizzie watched as her mom opened her eyes and returned her attention to the tomato plants. “Thanks,” Lizzie said. “I think I already have.”
CHAPTER 39
Linda,
It was so good talking to you earlier. I’ve never been able to stay mad at you for long, and I’m glad you feel the same way. You mean the world to me. Everything has just been so scary and overwhelming that I haven’t been at my best, but now that Lizzie is home, I feel more like myself again.
I’ve scheduled an appointment with Dr. Goodman for next week. He comes highly recommended and seems to take the integrative approach I’m looking for—combining more conventional treatments like chemo and drugs (you, Frank, and Lizzie will be relieved) with other things like mind-body medicine and nutrition therapy (Gary and I are very much looking forward to learning more about that). Actually, believe it or not, Lizzie has shown a lot of interest in learning more about nutrition therapy. It seems to combine her interest in healthy cooking with a vocation that helps people like me deal with the downsides of cancer treatments. She’s meeting with someone at Penn and Fox Chase Cancer Center next week to learn more. I actually think it would be a great fit for her—kind of like a personal chef for cancer patients. Obviously I have a selfish interest in her running with this idea (if I end up doing chemo, I’ll need all the help I can get), but for the first time in a long time, she seems truly excited about her career. I haven’t seen her this enthused since she started her show at Penn. Can you believe it’s been more than a decade? Seems like just yesterday.
Anyway, in the meantime, she has been helping me get the house in order, especially the kitchen. Gary is . . . well, let’s just say he isn’t bothered by clutter. You should have seen the kitchen when Lizzie got home—it looked like something had exploded. But Lizzie has helped me get it back in shape. She and Gary are still getting used to each other, but when Lizzie heard him say he’d support me no matter what treatment plan I chose I think we turned a page. I’m so relieved—the last thing I need is more conflict.
Shoot—gotta run. I promised Lizzie I’d take her to the King of Prussia Mall to look for a dress. Apparently a guy she met in Avalon is driving all the way to Philly to take her to dinner. Who says chivalry is dead?
Love you so much, and for the zillionth time: I’m sorry. Let’s never fight like that again.
xxoo
S
EPILOGUE
Three Months Later
“Okay, I’m heading out!” Lizzie shouted up to her mom. “You sure you don’t need anything?”
“I’m fine.” Her mother’s weak voice emanated from behind the bedroom door.
“If you change your mind, Linda’s here. And I’m just a phone call away.”
There was no response from upstairs, but then Lizzie wasn’t surprised. She’d gotten used to her mom’s silence ever since the chemo started. She was just so tired all the time. She didn’t feel like herself either.
“My brain is all fuzzy,” she’d say. “And my mouth—everything tastes like metal.”
The doctors said she was responding well to the treatment, though they wouldn’t know for many more months whether she was officially cured.
“And I mean cured,” Dr. Goodman had said at the first appointment. “Not in remission. Cured.”
He’d outlined all the latest studies and what he believed was the best course of action for making sure the cancer never returned.
“It won’t be a fun year,” he’d said, “but it will hopefully lead to many, many more that are.”
Lizzie slipped her phone into her purse and kissed Linda on the cheek. “I’ll be home for dinner. I left some things for Mom in the fridge. She never feels like eating much, but try to get her to have a little something.”
“Last time it took a lot of persuading. . . .”
“Whatever works.” She squeezed Linda’s hand. “Only a few more months to go.”
Linda took a deep breath. “She’s a tough cookie, your mom.”
“The toughest.” Lizzie opened the front door.
“Where does this client live?”
“Wyncote. The other two are in Blue Bell.”
“It’s really great what you’re doing, you know. Your mom and I are really proud.”
“Life has a weird way of showing you where you belong.”
Her phone rang in her purse. She glanced at the screen. It was Nate. “I have to take this. See you tonight.” She slipped out the door and answered the call. “Hey—you caught me just as I was running out the door.”
“Sorry,” Nate said. “I can call back.”
“No, it’s fine. I just wanted you to understand why I might sound like I’m out of breath.”
“Are you literally running to your next job? Or are you just that out of shape?”
“Very funny. I’m driving, thanks.”
“So how’s your mom?”
“About the same. Chemo is awful, no getting around it.”
“Need me to do anything?”
“Come visit me, for one.”
He laughed. “Next weekend. I have to finish grading midterms this weekend.”
“Okay, okay, if you must.”
Lizzie smiled. Nate had already visited more than she could have hoped or expected over the past few months. If they were keeping score, it was definitely her turn to make the trip to DC, but with her mom’s treatment it was too hard to get away. Linda had been helping, and even her dad had managed to pitch in by stopping by to clean up the garden and drop off groceries. Her mom was too exhausted to argue, and Lizzie suspected she appreciated the help, even if it came from her ex-husband. And of course there was Gary. Still, after all the years her mom had looked out for her, Lizzie felt responsible for making sure her mother was comfortable and well-fed. Washington wasn’t far, but it wasn’t next door either. If something went wrong, she would need at least three or four hours to get home. Nate seemed to understand, and she was grateful that he never complained or hinted that he wanted her to visit him instead.
“By the way, did I tell you Kathryn is hosting a benefit next weekend for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society?”
“You’re kidding.” Lizzie walked toward the car but noticed a UPS deliveryman walking up her driveway with a package.
“Nope. Zoe still hasn’t refunded the money or donated her profits to charity, so I guess this is Kathryn’s attempt at setting things right.”
Lizzie held the phone between her ear and shoulder and signed for the package. She noticed it was addressed to her. “A nice, if insufficient, gesture.”
“Kathryn is full of them.”
“I bet.” Lizzie looked more closely at the package and noticed the return address was Brattleboro, Vermont. “Speaking of Zoe . . . have you heard from her?”
“Me? No. Dad thinks Kathryn knows where she is and has been sending her money, but I’m not sure.”
Lizzie felt queasy as she held the package in her hands. She didn’t know why, but she was certain it was from Zoe. She tore open the paper. Her stomach lurched as she stared at the contents: a copy of Martha Stewart’s Entertaining. A small note fell from the inside:
Z
Lizzie stared at the note in silence. It wasn’t an apology, at least not in the traditional sense, but then maybe in Zoe’s warped mind it was. It certainly wasn’t a threat. Lizzie knew there was a mental health facility in Brattleboro. Was Zoe there?
“Hello?” Nate had been talking for some time, but Lizzie hadn’t heard any of what he’d said.
“Sorry—I . . .” She trailed off. Her eyes flitted between the note and the book. She wasn’t sure what to make of any of it. The gesture, however thoughtful, didn’t make up for all that Zoe had done. But then would anything ever offset that? Lizzie couldn’t imagine anything would.
“Are you okay?” Nate asked.
Lizzie looked up at her mother’s bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but a sliver of light peaked through. She saw Linda’s shadow pass by the window, heading for the bed. It was hard to tell, through the rustling of leaves, as the crisp October air swirled through the piles lining the curb, but Lizzie swore she heard giggling, the sound of sisters, their easy laughter flowing through the window like birdsong.
“Yeah, I’m okay,” she said. “We’re all going to be okay.”
She’d learned enough over the past few months to recognize that might not be true, that plenty could happen in the coming months and years to prove her wrong. But she somehow knew, deeply and with absolute certainty, that even if it wasn’t true, it also wasn’t a lie.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Many thanks to my sharp-eyed editor, Esi Sogah, for believing in this book and making it a better one. Thanks also to everyone at Kensington Publishing for their hard work: Paula Reedy, Kristine Noble, Vida Engstrand, Steve Zacharius, and Lynn Cully. I feel lucky to work with such a great team.