It was warm and steamy inside and she and Nan greeted each other pleasantly enough, ordered their coffee, and settled in the back corner, as far as possible from the people at the other two other tables: a couple in flamboyant biking jerseys, a woman breast-feeding a baby under one of those gauzy wraps and watching something on her phone.
Jen claimed the command seat facing the door. She pictured Paul nodding with approval.
Nan shrugged out of her coat. “Let’s get to it,” she said. “I don’t want to waste your time.” As Nan reached into her bag, Jen felt the conversation careen out of her control.
Across the room, the baby shifted underneath the wrap. The mom had dark circles under her eyes, clutched her coffee double-handed, like it was salvation.
Pal, Jen thought, you have no idea what’s ahead.
Nan pulled out her phone and slid it on the table. She didn’t have a passcode, Jen noted, and her fingers were shaky and too-deliberate. They hovered over the mail app and after some consideration tapped into the saved-emails folder.
“Ah, here it is,” Nan said.
The message was from Colin. Subject line: As discussed.
There were no contents, just an attached file that Nan frowned at over her glasses.
“I don’t believe you’ve seen this?” she said. She turned the phone so it was facing Jen, and she pressed play.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
All of the parents were grumbling about the eighth-grade graduation having been moved inside. They had all been robbed of that beautiful mountain backdrop, plus the auditorium had a musty smell and horrible acoustics.
But when the PA system crackled with the low resonance of the opening bars of Pomp and Circumstance, and Laurel and her classmates walked down the aisle in their Kelly-green robes, a satisfied hush settled over the room.
Principal Hamoush approached the podium, and repeated, as she did every year, that this class held a special place in her heart.
It’s only eighth grade, Annie’s brain reasoned. But it felt big, seeing Laurel up there.
Almost big enough to eclipse the fact that Laurel had befriended a psychopath. Annie should have been more alert, asked more questions. And yesterday morning, she’d practically begged Jen Chun-Pagano to come to the party.
If Jen dared to show up, Annie was prepared to have a Difficult Conversation about her abusive son, no matter how uncomfortable things got.
Principal Hamoush started reading the names of the graduates for their walks across the stage, and Mike elbowed Annie in the ribs.
Fifteen years ago, they’d had no clue what they were getting into and it flew by, just like people said, so fast, too fast, and tissue, where was a tissue?
Annie’s hands fumbled fruitlessly in the front pocket of her bag until Lena handed her two, folded and fresh.
“One for you, and one for the proud papa,” Lena whispered. She smiled and pointed her chin in Mike’s direction.
FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER
Annie felt Bryce watch her face as she flipped open her cell phone and read the text.
Meet me inside.
He had been there, right by the house, watching her for who knew how long. He cocked his head slightly toward the door, which was propped open for the caterers and their heavy trays.
Not like this, she wanted to object. She watched helplessly as he slipped inside.
“Excuse me,” she said to Bryce.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
“What a beautiful family,” Lena said.
After the graduation ceremony, it had taken forever to get the Perleys lined up for a family photo because people kept stopping for hugs and high fives and gleeful “see you tonight!”s.
Lena took a step backward to better frame them within her phone screen. She forced herself to smile even though a cold lingering pressure remained in her chest from the morning’s conversation with Rachel.
The Perleys looked lovely, at least, and the photo’s composition would be good. Mike and Annie perched behind Laurel, and Hank kneeled in front, his arms flung wide. Whether by accident or design, they were color-coordinated in shades of blue that cooled the shiny vibrance of Laurel’s green gown.
“Say cheese,” Lena said.
“Not cheese.” Mike grinned. “Say time for high school.”
“Time for high school!” they sang out-of-sync as Lena snapped away.
“Hey Perleys,” said a tall balding man in a sports coat. “Want me to take one with Grandma in it?”
“Oh,” Lena demurred, “I’m just the photographer.”
“Lena”—Mike reached out his arm toward her—“get in the photo.”
“Come on, Lena!”
With a sweaty, sticky hand, Hank reached out to Lena, pulled her next to him. She allowed his warmth to melt the doubt.
Lena wouldn’t have done anything differently that night: there was no point in looking back.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Level five of Abe’s game noisily played out on Nan’s phone. So far, Jen hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary.
Nan just wasn’t used to this generation’s exposure to violence. The Kingdom School didn’t even do lockdowns. It existed in some innocent alternate universe.
Jen glanced at Nan. She must be at least a little impressed by the graphics, which were clear and crisp and as professionally done as any game they’d ever bought. Abe had structured level five so that the player’s point of view was from behind a giant machine gun. When it expelled bullets, the entire screen shook.
Part of Nan’s concern was probably that the target appeared to be a human girl. When she was cornered in the otherwise empty room of the haunted house, the hero’s gun ripped holes into her flesh and she collapsed dead on the floor, gushing blood.
It wasn’t ideal, Jen could admit, but nor was it Abe’s fault that Corporate America had decided teenaged boys should maim things for recreation.
When the video ended, Nan focused on stirring her cappuccino with the tiny metal spoon, like she was giving Jen space to process the images.
“This is what video games are like these days,” Jen said.
She hoped her twist of a smile communicated that she agreed they were awful, but such was life.
“Yes.” Nan stirred the spoon faster. Clink, clink, clink. “But Colin was worried that the girl looks like a friend of Abe. That it’s cyberbullying.”
Clumsily, Nan rewound the video to the scene where the girl was first trapped in the gun’s graticule and paused the frame.
Lanky. Curly brown hair down past her shoulders. Dressed in jeans and hiking boots. Arms raised defensively, her mouth open in a scream, two dimples appearing in her cheeks.
Jen’s throat went completely dry. Laurel.
Nan was back to stirring the damn spoon.
Arguments ran through Jen’s head in Paul’s voice: You can’t kick out someone for a picture! Freedom of expression is a fundamental right! How can you be sure that’s even Laurel?
Jen felt her hands start to shake. To settle them, she wrapped them around the coffee cup. “What do you make of it?”
“I’m worried,” Nan said. “I may have dropped the ball here.”
Wait. What?
The new mother across the coffee shop swapped the gauze cocoon baby to the other breast and watched Jen with a beatific smile. She was not exhausted, Jen realized, but blissed out.
“I’ve been distracted,” Nan continued, “and Abe and Colin seemed to get along so well and—not that I’m trying to excuse myself, I obviously need to make amends—but I haven’t gotten to know him the way I usually do my students.
“I’m aware he’s more of a gamer than a reader, but I was thinking Abe and I could maybe read one of his vampire books together over the summer. Initially it might be a way for us to connect.”
“You’re not kicking him out?”
“No.” Nan appeared startled at the suggestion. “For the moment I’m more interested in figuring out why he created this. Is A
be just expressing pain? Does he have a plan to hurt people? We just need to get to the bottom of this, but I am not abandoning him.”
Nan handed her neatly folded paper napkin to Jen. She paused as Jen swiped it under her eyes.
“I would like your honest input on how we proceed in the short term.” Nan’s voice was gentle as it pinned her to the wall. “Do you think Abe has plans to hurt his friend?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
As soon as the Perleys got home from graduation, Mike grabbed Laurel’s shoulders and steered her to the couch in the den.
“Wait right here,” he said.
“Aren’t we supposed to go up to Lena’s?”
“Dad has a surprise first,” Annie said. “A good one.”
They hovered over Laurel, watched as she slid off the silver wrapping paper, creaked open the velvet box, and looked up at them uncertainly.
“What’s this?”
“A family heirloom,” Mike said. He sat next to her on the couch. “It was your great-great-grandfather’s and he passed it down to his oldest son, and so on and so on. Grandma and Grandpa wanted to give it to you in person so badly, but they told us we could. That’s Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children.”
“And sailors and brewers,” Annie said with a laugh, but Laurel didn’t even crack a smile.
“As far as heirlooms go, it’s a little underwhelming I guess,” Mike said, his voice tinged with hurt. “But generations of Perleys believe it’s good luck. It’s been through three wars and everyone who wore it came back alive, so … put it on and we can send a photo to Grandma and Grandpa.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Laurel snapped shut the velvet jewelry box. “Don’t give it to me.”
“Why not?” Hank said.
“I’m not a Perley,” Laurel said. “You are, Hank, but I’m something else.”
Annie felt the room tilt to the left.
“What do you mean something else?” Hank said.
“Mike’s not my dad,” Laurel said. She looked at Annie, who felt a rushing in her ears. “Tell him.”
“He is,” Hank said. “Yes he is your dad.” He looked from Mike to Annie. Back to Mike. His voice rose with a squeak. “Right?”
“He’s your dad,” Laurel corrected. “My father’s name was Bryce Neary and I’ll never meet him because he’s dead.” Her laugh was sharp. “We’re all supposed to forget about him, apparently.”
Across the room Mike’s face had drained of color. When his eyes met Annie’s, she felt a pinprick of pain drill through the shock.
“Say something,” Laurel said. Her hands rose in frustration. “I’m right. Say I’m right.”
“No,” Annie said. Her voice came out high, strangled. “Not exactly.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Lena stood inside the party tent, next to Hilde the event planner.
Around them was the symphony of preparation. Caterers placed down balloon centerpieces. On the southern edge of the lawn, two men rolled the luxury porta-potties down a ramp from a truck bed. By the cottonwood tree, DJ Lightning set up his booth.
“You did a wonderful job,” Lena said.
Hilde allowed a brisk nod. With red-apple cheeks and short ponytail, she reminded Lena of the captain of a field hockey team.
But Lena didn’t know if she’d even played field hockey, or whether she was single or attached, gay or straight, a dog or cat owner. Over the past few weeks, Hilde had been a pleasant efficient hum in the background of Lena’s life, not a new paid best friend.
This felt like progress.
“The caterers will start warming things at five,” Hilde said. She checked her watch, which made Lena check hers, too. The Perleys were running late.
“I need to change,” Lena said.
“Go,” Hilde said. “I’ll talk party pacing with DJ Lightning.”
Lena was on the stairs when Rachel called. She picked up, started speaking immediately. “Rachel, I was thinking about what you said and—”
“I remember Annie.” Rachel spoke in a rush.
“I know, and I want to apologize for what I said about your father. I understand how complicated—”
“I remember her.”
Lena suppressed a sigh. There’s a difference between grief and guilt, Rachel, and you have to let it go. I wasn’t a perfect parent, but you have to let it go.
“Okay,” Lena said soothingly. “I can hear that you’re upset.”
“You’re not listening.” Rachel’s yell exploded through the phone. “She was at our party. I noticed her at the bar, and then later I was getting extra napkins and I saw her sneaking up the back stairway. She looked different then, she had this really long hair, and this short low-cut dress. She looked like, well, she looked like she was going to—”
“She looked like she was going to what?” Lena’s throat tightened around a hard lump.
“Please don’t make me say it,” Rachel said.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
The problem was that Abe didn’t see the problem with his video game. He was proud.
“Dr. Shapiro thinks it’s okay,” he said.
His laptop was open in front of them on the kitchen table, frozen on that last horrific screen. Jen reached out to shut it.
“Dr. Shapiro said go kill Laurel Perley in your video game?”
“No, but she’s always telling me to channel my feelings into something harmless.”
“This isn’t what she meant. How would you feel if Laurel killed you in a video game?”
A small smile. “She’s not really smart enough to do that.”
Jen sighed with frustration. “The game is so disturbing that Colin—Colin—forwarded it to her.”
“Colin is not as loyal as you think.”
“What does that even mean?” Jen did not understand why Colin hadn’t come to her first.
Yes you do. You know exactly why. Jen was so in denial, so incapable of seeing Abe clearly that even Colin believed telling her would be pointless.
“I’m trying really hard,” Abe said. “But everything I do is wrong.”
Do you think Abe has plans to hurt his friend?
Jen had looked Nan squarely in the eye and said, Of course not.
“Like the vandalism?” Jen said.
“I didn’t do that.”
“I spend a lot of time defending you.” Jen’s voice was cool. “But I don’t know that I believe you.”
Abe’s neck flushed an angry red. “I’m. Not. The. Vandal.” His scream ripped his voice raw. “Stop doubting me.”
He snatched the pepper shaker from the table, hurled it across the room. Jen watched dispassionately as it crashed into the surface of the island and bounced to the floor, where it broke open, bleeding peppercorns.
She couldn’t do it anymore. Her heart was a husk and all she wanted to do was sleep.
The door from the garage slammed open and shut. “It’s me,” Paul yelled. “Back from the mines.
“Hello, gang!” Paul was slightly breathless as he arrived in the kitchen, suitcase behind him. He looked back and forth between them and the broken glass and the peppercorns spilled across the floor. “What’d I miss?”
No one is writing any condolence notes to the deceased’s parents. People blame them for creating a monster and setting him loose on the world.
I think that life tends to be more complicated that.
He did awful things, yes, but he was so, so young. He had his entire life ahead of him.
I seem to be alone in wanting to believe there was hope for his redemption.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Congratulations Laurel!
A hand-painted sign had been posted on the gate to greet party guests. Above it was a giant rainbow balloon archway.
The dull throbbing in Annie’s head intensified as she walked through. Lena was across the lawn, in a canary-yellow party dress that seemed to glow in the late-afternoon light.
She waved excitedly, speed-walked over to Anni
e, looped her arm through.
“You look wonderful, but you’ll still let me do some makeup, yes? The cat eye, as discussed, but first, a tour,” she said. “Most of the food will be in that tent, except for the butler-passed. Chicken nuggets and mac and cheese for the kids is over there, and on the other side will be the sushi chef, who isn’t here yet, but Hilde says he’s en route. Hilde!” Lena shouted at a woman in a dark suit, who had one finger pressed to her ear and talked into a headset. “This is Annie, mother of the guest of honor.”
Hilde nodded distractedly at Annie.
“Here is the promised adults-only area,” Lena continued, chipper and mile-a-minute. “Hilde persuaded me to do the Moroccan Fantasy theme with the rugs and throw pillows. I didn’t go for the belly dancer or the hookah, I thought that would be a little too too—but this is as far away from the speakers as possible, ha, ha, and there’ll be a little bar here, but I don’t want you to worry, the bartenders will card anyone and everyone they’re not sure of, and the DJ will be fabulous, I think, he’s got all sorts of goodies for the kids, but loud, you know. He’ll be loud.”
After the briefest of eye contact, Lena looked away.
“That caftan looks fantastic on you,” she said. “I knew it would, the blue brings out your eyes. How does Laurel look in the lavender dress? Where is Laurel?”
“I came up first,” Annie said. “To talk.”
Lena’s shoulders sagged. She gestured to the couch closest to them. “Shall we sit?” She spoke in a high pitch. “Let’s sit.”
Annie nodded. They sat down shoulder-to-shoulder.
“Laurel is not Mike’s biological child,” Annie said.
Next to her, Lena went entirely still.
“We weren’t going to ever tell her. But in science, they did a lab that tested their blood types, and she’d remembered Mike’s from the school blood drive.” Annie gave a dry laugh. “She’s known since October, apparently. We’ve been trying to talk it through for hours, Mike and I, trying to explain why we didn’t tell her, and Hank is so upset, and Laurel’s just. She’s just—”
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