She lies back on a sun-warmed rock in her underwear and closes her eyes.
…The funny thing is that once Sidney planted the notion in her head, she found that she did want to meet the child after all. With her marriage stagnating, Olive pulling away—the overall sense of a crisis building to a head—Ryan was a thread that she couldn’t leave hanging. Maybe she was motivated initially by the need to find her daughter before Sidney did—to make sure he didn’t poison the well before she arrived and turn the girl against her—but when she walked into that grungy little Santa Cruz diner and saw herself sitting there…well, something inside her just lit up.
It was a fascinating exercise, to see how much of herself was present in the girl whom she’d had no hand in raising. There was Ryan’s startling appearance, of course, but also a streak of familiar self-regard and an instinct for self-preservation. And maybe Ryan was more frivolous than Billie ever was, spoiled by her parents’ money and a lack of ambition—she smoked far too much pot for her own good, that was clear—but she obviously appreciated the buzz of a life lived on the edge. In so many ways, Ryan was more like Billie than Olive had proved to be. Floating on a surfboard in the ocean alongside Ryan, Billie felt as if she might slip out of this skin and into her younger clone’s and try on a new life. A picture began to grow in her mind, options opening themselves to her like a flower in bloom.
Living a double life, sneaking around behind her family’s back: It made her feel oddly alive, as if she were once again firmly at the helm of her life. Enough that she could bear, for a while, the way her world in Berkeley was continuing to come apart at the seams. She knew there was a clock ticking somewhere in the background: Sidney couldn’t be deterred forever, and Billie’s demurrals—The agency records were lost, I’m trying to find her—were only going to last so long. Meanwhile, Harmony was still in the wings, licking her wounds at her meditation retreat or wherever she was, waiting to blow everything up. Billie had begun preparing, just in case. And yet she hoped she might be able to go on like this in perpetuity.
But then Harmony resurfaced and, in another surprise twist, threw herself at Jonathan. Which shouldn’t have been such a shock: Billie had always suspected Harmony had a crush on him, but it was nothing to worry about, really, Jonathan was such a straight arrow. What she couldn’t believe was that he told her about the kiss. And yet wasn’t that also so Jonathan, always so sweetly concerned about doing the right thing? We don’t lie to each other, he said, we don’t have that kind of marriage, clearly unaware that they actually did. It would be funny if it weren’t so phenomenally complicated, so indicative of how terribly tenuous everything had become.
That was when Billie knew it was time to take her family to the butterfly beach.
Fate. Funny, she never really liked the notion that some force other than her own could be allowed to steer her life. And yet it was kind of exciting, wasn’t it? To know that her path might go in one of two directions and she was leaving it to the toss of a coin?
That morning at the beach, Billie watched Ryan emerge from the ocean with her surfboard under her arm—just as Billie had known that she would. She watched Ryan towel herself off, flirt with a preening group of boys, utterly oblivious to the family sitting at the far end of the cove. Billie’s pulse started firing so rapidly that she was sure Jonathan must be able to feel it through her shirt. She had to lean forward so that she wasn’t pressed against his legs anymore: She couldn’t bear the feeling of his skin against her own.
She watched, and waited.
If Ryan looked up and noticed her mother sitting at the far side of the beach, and came over to her, Billie’s world as she knew it would be blown apart. She would be forced to come clean to Olive and Jonathan and face the consequences: divorce, quite possibly. Estrangement from her daughter (daughters?). Or maybe—though less likely—the four of them would somehow come together as a blended family, with Billie at the center of it all.
If Ryan didn’t see her, though, Billie would take it as a sign that she’d been given leave to put all this behind her once and for all. That her work here was done, and her freedom had been granted. Because why else would she get off so easy?
Less than a football field divided Olive from Ryan, both of her daughters lingering on the edge of the sea. One engrossed in seashells; the other flaunting her abs to a bunch of strangers. Neither even glanced in the other’s direction. And then Ryan shouldered her surfboard and began sauntering toward the parking lot, so self-involved that she failed to look more than three feet in front of her. In a matter of a minute, Ryan was gone.
And that was it. It was done. Billie’s pulse slowed, her breath came back. It had been decided for her, and she was back in control.
On the far side of the river, the light is shifting, growing darker. Billie opens her eyes and blinks, stands up. Her pants are still damp, but they are dry enough to drag over her legs. Overhead, a scrim of clouds has moved in to cover the sun, and she realizes she’s shivering from the chill in the air. She’ll need to start hiking soon in order to make enough distance before setting up camp for the night.
She picks up one of her sodden hiking boots and straps it to the outside of her backpack with a bungee cord. Picks up the other and holds it in her hand, hesitating.
…Thinking of the way Jonathan looked at her in the dark yesterday morning. I want you here, he said, so sincerely; and she almost had a change of heart, until she saw in his eyes all the work that would have to be done, everything that was already lost.
…Thinking of Olive, who hadn’t even stirred when Billie slipped into her bed just a few hours before. She’d lain there by her daughter’s side, watching her sleep, waiting for her to wake up and start talking: Tell me what’s in your heart today. But Olive just lay there softly breathing, an innocent lost in her inscrutable dreams. Where did her generous heart come from, this daughter of hers? Because there in the dark, Billie understood that she could not locate that goodness inside herself; knew that she was instead scraping away at Olive’s with her own sharpened edges.
For two hours Billie had lain there, unable to drag herself away. Her heart ached, unexpectedly pierced with guilt. And then, just as the birds began to stir in the garden outside, an unexpected moment of clarity: Sometimes you have to make bad choices in order to protect the people you love from yourself. Olive needs to find herself, and yet I’ve been trying to turn her into me. I’m not a perfect mom, but I’m good enough to know I have to save my daughter from that. Motherhood demands sacrifice, in so many forms. She pressed her palm against her daughter’s soft cheek, as light as a sparrow, and then climbed from under the covers.
“You’re going to be just fine,” she says out loud now, though she’s not sure whom she’s talking to: her husband, her child, herself? Maybe all three. She pats the zippered pocket of the backpack just to confirm that the folded wad of cash is there, six months’ worth of withdrawals in hundred-dollar bills. Underneath that, she can feel the corners of the Danish passport that Calvin Lim purchased for her off the Darknet a few weeks back, her own photo and the signature Alina Pedersen. Then she walks over to the precipice, just a few feet from where the waterfall plummets into a seemingly bottomless void.
She lifts the hiking boot and throws it as far as she can.
Leave, and they’ll hate you. Die, and they’ll love you forever.
To Auden & Theo
FIRST, THANKS TO MY AGENT, Susan Golomb, for your indefatigable work on my behalf. I can’t imagine where I’d be without you as my champion.
Julie Grau’s discerning eye and inspired vision shaped this book into what it is. It’s been a pleasure to once again work with you and everyone else at Spiegel & Grau and Random House, including Laura Van der Veer, Cindy Spiegel, Maria Braeckel, Sharon Propson, Avideh Bashirrad, Andrea DeWerd, Leigh Marchant, and Jess Bonet. Thanks also to Gretchen Koss, quick on the draw and sharp as a tack.
I am indebted to those who gave me feedback, from the first stumbling
pages to the very last words—including Lisa Hamilton Daly, Meredith Bagby, Suzanne Rico, Annabelle Gurwitch, Hadley Rierson, and Laura Millersmith. And above all, unending gratitude to the enduring Hive—Benj Hewitt, Colette Sandstedt, Greg Harrison. I cannot tell you how much it means to me that I can always count on you for a smart read when I’m the most stuck.
The best writing experiences I’ve had while working on this book were with my writing retreat partners, whose talent and companionship were equal to that of the most exclusive artist colony: Carina Chocano, Keshni Kashyap, and Dawn MacKeen.
I couldn’t have finished this book if it weren’t for Suite 8 and all the writers there, who provided me with an endless well of inspiration and chocolate—including Erica Rothschild, Jillian Lauren, Marian Belgray, Tim Kirkman, Josh Zetumer, and many of the writers I’ve already mentioned.
Thanks to my Silver Lake (and beyond) friends, who keep me sane; and to my family—Pam, Dick, and Jodi—for a lifetime of encouragement.
This book is dedicated to my children, Auden and Theo, whose arrival in the world may have slowed down my writing, but who also inspired me to become a more thoughtful novelist.
And last but not least, thanks again to my husband, Greg, whose support and belief in me were what brought this book to life. You nourish my creativity and fill me with love. I couldn’t have found a better partner in life.
BY JANELLE BROWN
All We Ever Wanted Was Everything
This Is Where We Live
Watch Me Disappear
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JANELLE BROWN is the author of All We Ever Wanted Was Everything and This Is Where We Live. An essayist and journalist, she has written for Vogue, The New York Times, Elle, Wired, Self, the Los Angeles Times, Salon, and numerous other publications. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and their two children.
janellebrown.com
Twitter: @janelleb
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