“No!” Alicia grabbed a tissue from her desk and dabbed at her eyes.
“Why is this woman so eager to find Winnie?” Bryan stood up and paced the room as they tried to figure out their next move.
“I don’t know, but if I found out you had an illegitimate kid you never told me about, I would sure as hell want to find that little bastard and make sure she stayed far away from our family.”
“She was in Seattle the night of the accident. Do you think she was involved?” He turned away from her and faced the window.
“Maybe?” Alicia said, willing it to be true. From her earlier research, she knew Winnie’s dad lived in the Bay Area. Maybe he and his wife had somehow learned she was applying to Stanford and didn’t want her living in such close proximity. That would fit with the threat Winnie had received about backing off Stanford. But even if this woman was somehow responsible for the accident, thereby exonerating Bryan and Brooke, Alicia could never prove it without revealing her deception.
Silence hung uncomfortably between them. One thing was certain: Alicia couldn’t let this woman get to Winnie. There was no way the two of them could ever meet without exposing who had brought them together. No NDA was strong enough to protect Alicia in this situation. Thinking about the potentially far-reaching and humiliating consequences made the hair on her arms stand on end.
“Maybe you should call the lawyer?” Bryan suggested.
“And tell him what exactly? That I risked my livelihood and maybe our fortune trying to prove some poor high school girl was lying about the dad she’s never met?”
“He might be able to fix this,” Bryan shrugged. “He’s helped us out of tight spots before.”
Alicia shook her head. George Cox III might be excellent at drafting nondisclosure and nondisparagement agreements, writing threatening cease-and-desist letters, and paying off women to keep quiet about Bryan’s indiscretions, but even he might draw the line here. “I think this is a whole different ball game. Oh my God,” she moaned. “I don’t know what to do.”
The police were already sniffing around. She couldn’t do anything to alert them to the existence of this apairofgenes.com account or she would become the prime suspect in Winnie’s accident. Handling the situation on her own was her only option. Alicia grabbed her laptop and typed out a note, hoping it sounded like a scared and confused seventeen-year-old girl who regretted opening a Pandora’s box.
There’s been a mistake. I never meant for any of this to happen. Please, I beg you, don’t ever contact me again. Forget you ever knew I existed. I’ll report you to the website. I’ll do anything to make you leave me alone.
Alicia had never typed truer words.
“Jesus, Leesh.” Bryan sat back down next to her and leaned forward with his forearms on his legs. “Do you think maybe you’ve kinda lost perspective? This whole Stanford thing has gotten totally out of hand.”
Alicia bowed her head in shame.
Bryan gently rubbed her back. “Brooke told me at dinner last night she met with Ms. Barstow to start working on a backup list. If she doesn’t get into Stanford, you have to let it go,” he said quietly. “She chooses where she applies and what school she attends, and you have to get behind her.”
Alicia nodded. What choice did she have? And anyway, even though Winnie had applied, Alicia was still confident Brooke would be accepted, especially now that Ted knew Maren had attended college, so what was the point of arguing?
“Come on,” he said, pulling Alicia to him. “Brooke’s a great kid. It’s all going to work out. And I’m never going to let anything happen to you.”
For once, Alicia was content to let someone else be in charge.
22
Maren
Maren was starting to wonder if she was suffering from PTSD. Most nights since Winnie’s accident, Maren experienced the same vivid, bloodcurdling dream sequence: Winnie on the sidewalk laughing with friends and then turning to step off the curb directly into the path of an oncoming SUV. Maren down the street, trying to scream at Winnie to look left but unable to find her voice. No matter how hard she tried to engage her vocal cords, no sound emerged from her mouth. The instant Winnie’s body was crushed under the tire of the SUV, Maren would wake up, her pajamas soaked with sweat and her throat on fire.
The less she slept, the more hypervigilant she became during the day. Her skin felt like a burlap sack, helpless to prevent the millions of raw nerve endings determined to poke out everywhere like straw; she could barely stand to have the softest of fabrics touch her. Worst of all, her heightened anxiety served as a disquieting reminder of her more distant past. As had become her habit since the accident, Maren checked her rearview mirror for any hint of someone following her. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, she signaled a right turn before pulling onto the tree-lined EBA driveway.
The line of cars crawled toward the pickup zone. With her foot on the brake, Maren allowed herself a few blissful seconds to close her eyes and breathe. But it was as though that brief indulgence created an empty pocket of air into which an overwhelming exhaustion rushed. For the first time since Winnie was a little girl, Maren wondered how much longer she’d be able to keep her shit together. She was operating on zero sleep, working an unrelenting schedule, and tending to her daughter as bodyguard/chauffeur by day and mom/caretaker by night. The concept of a “nervous breakdown” had always been mysterious to her, a malady that struck only the weak. But now she understood how someone both sane and strong might also reach that point of no return.
Indeed, it was only Thursday in a week she was beginning to think would never end. Thankfully, after nine days of convalescing, Winnie had been cleared by her neurologist to go back to school Monday. She was even feeling well enough to take the first tentative steps toward renewing a friendship with Brooke. Ever since the night Brooke had stopped by the house, she’d been texting Winnie daily with funny and heartfelt messages, asking for a second chance. She’d even come clean about the EBA entrance test being the reason she’d turned on Winnie in the first place and expressed relief when Winnie’d admitted she already knew what Alicia had done—and didn’t hold it against Brooke.
On Winnie’s first morning back at school, Brooke had been waiting to meet her in the drop-off circle with a sheepish grin and mochas and muffins from the café the girls used to love. Though a small part of Maren was still on guard, she couldn’t deny that it warmed her heart to see the girls walking off to class together that morning, a scene Maren had once assumed she would witness throughout their high school years.
Word Winnie was back at school must have spread quickly, because by lunchtime on Monday, Diana had messaged Maren with her opening salvo in the text storm that now threatened to consume every spare second of Maren’s life:
Diana: Hey! I hear Winnie’s back at school! Did you get the lasagna I left on your doorstep last night? Sorry couldn’t say hi—was late for Homeless to Homefull meeting.
Maren recalled her disgust at answering her front door Sunday night to find Diana’s meal train delivery—the third meat lover’s lasagna from Costco that week. She knew for a fact Diana would never dare let a single bite of such processed slop pass the lips of a member of her family. Not only that, but instead of including one of those $10 cards she’d seen Alicia receive, Diana had scribbled “Get Well Soon, Diana” on the Costco receipt (in ballpoint pen that had malfunctioned on the glossy paper, to rather psychotic effect) and had thoughtfully pinned this note between the bottom of the lasagna tin and Maren’s welcome mat. Even though Maren had known these wealthy EBA women for years, it was still startling to realize they all shared the same lack of imagination over what poor people ate. However, as Maren and Winnie still needed to eat and pay rent, Maren kept her thoughts to herself and continued the charade of gratitude she’d become so proficient at over the years.
Maren: Yes, thanks so much. Will definitely keep us well fed.
Diana: Oh good!
Diana: So now that Winnie’s all better, hoping to get your help on my latest brainstorm! Bryan said it was OK for me to poach some of your time for the next few weeks. Hold on to your hat! I’m planning a STRESS BUSTER party FOR THE PARENTS on Snowcoming night! Isn’t that the best?!!! After all, college application season is just as stressful for us as for them, amiright?
Maren: Ah yes, true that. What do you have in mind?
Diana: I want it to be “off the hook” as the kiddos say!
Diana: I’m thinking Chihuly museum for venue?
Diana: Definitely catered with full sushi bar, oysters, etc.
Diana: Maybe for our sig drink we do a giant table-size replica of Puget Sound region with champagne for the water and caviar for all the islands?
Diana: Or wait, maybe caviar is too yesterday—how about alternating islands of imported matsutake mushrooms and Japanese Wagyu roast beef?
Diana: For music, maybe see if Dave Matthews is in town? Or even Macklemore—that would make the kids so jealous!
Maren’s head was going to explode. She knew for a fact Bryan had zero authority to divert her attention from Alicia’s endless demands. And she also knew the SST events budget, though ridiculously large given its mission to further coddle already overprivileged teens, would not be nearly enough to pay for Diana’s parent party on top of the extravagant Snowcoming. So Maren was left to wonder: Was this parent party an SST event, a Diana side gig, or a highly unusual Alicia–Diana collaboration brokered by Bryan’s idiocy? If it was anything but a Diana side gig, she was screwed. She’d never get paid for all her work. As always, the awkward burden of nailing down such bothersome details fell to Maren. This time, though, she needed the money too much to cave. Winnie’s first hospital bills were already starting to pour in.
Maren: I’ll be happy to start working on it. But just one question. I want to be clear on exactly who gets billed for my time?
Diana: Good question! I would say Alicia but don’t want her to blow a gasket
As Maren read Diana’s blow-off nonanswer, her middle finger swooped and dove like an eagle zeroing in on its prey. If she wasn’t careful, she might sprain her hand. She waited for a few more seconds as the typing bubbles waved at her before disappearing with no new text from Diana. She never made this sort of thing easy.
Maren: Haha. So I’ll bill you then?
Diana: I guess. What’s your hourly rate again? $20/hour?
Maren: Actually it’s $40/hour.
Diana: Oh! Look at you all pricey now! I suppose that’s OK.
Maren: It’s actually a discount off my usual side gig hourly. And it’s the same rate you’ve paid me for projects the past couple years. You know I love working with you, Diana!
Diana: Of course! TTYL!
Ever since that first text exchange, Maren had been forced to fend off Diana’s latest “fun thought” roughly every ten minutes. Her texts had an almost rhythmic quality, like the thwack-thwack-thwack of baseballs smacked in a batting cage. Only it felt like Maren was stuck inside the cage, absorbing each line drive point-blank with her body. Diana’s most recent idea, the one she just had to share with Maren the second it popped into her head (as if she had such a well-functioning filter all the other times), had been this award winner: “What if we call the party ‘Snowgoing’! Get it? Snowcoming? Snowgoing?” Yeah, Diana. Got it.
Maren impatiently checked the dashboard clock. Already a quarter to four. She would barely have time to retrieve Winnie, drop her off at home behind the security of double-locked doors and windows adorned with alarm system stickers (in lieu of an actual alarm system, which was way out of her budget), and then hurry back to the Stones‘ to finish setting up Alicia’s bedroom before her arrival home from her day trip to San Francisco. When Maren finally reached the front of the pickup line, she spotted Winnie talking to a woman who looked much younger than most of the EBA high school moms. She was probably one of the middle school moms who was always begging Winnie for her tutoring services. These moms paid Winnie a small fortune, but right now, Maren needed to get back to work.
She tried to catch Winnie’s eye with a wave, but Winnie seemed focused on her conversation. As honking in the pickup line was forbidden, Maren gave up and tuned the radio to Winnie’s favorite hip-hop station. Startled by a thump, Maren looked over to find Winnie banging on the car door with her cast. Maren jumped out to help load her fifteen-ton backpack into the car. “Now you’re in a huge hurry?” she kidded.
“Let’s go,” Winnie said, thrusting her backpack at her mom with her good arm. “Now!”
“You don’t have to be rude. I’m the one who’s been waiting in this line for the past ten minutes.”
“Sorry, I gotta get outta here.”
Winnie was about to either burst into tears or start yelling, Maren wasn’t sure which. What could that mom have said to rattle Winnie so badly? Maren turned, intending to shoot a death glare at the woman, but she was already gone.
Maren hurried back to the driver’s seat. The second the door slammed shut, Winnie glowered at her. “What the heck, Mom? You know who my biological father is, and you didn’t think that was information I might be interested in?”
“What are you talking about?” Maren locked eyes with Winnie. “That’s absurd. Calm down. What’s going on?” She checked the rearview mirror and put the car in Drive.
“What’s going on is that woman I was just talking to…she’s the one who was watching me on the bus the day before my accident.”
Maren shuddered. “I don’t understand.”
“She just told me she’s the wife of my biological father?” Winnie said. “How could you not tell me about this?”
“That’s impossible, Winnie. I don’t even know who your biological father is. I’ve told you that many times.”
“Yeah, I know you have.” She all but spat the words. “But is it the truth?”
“Yes, it’s the truth! Of course it’s the truth!” Maren slammed her foot on the gas pedal and peeled out into traffic.
“Well, that’s what I told her. I said, ‘I don’t know what kind of twisted game you’re playing, but it was a one-night stand, and we don’t even know the guy’s name.’ But then she said, ‘Winnie, don’t you remember me from your accident? I’m Naomi.’”
“How did she know about your accident?” Maren was starting to panic and knew she should probably pull over, but she wanted to put as much distance between them and that woman as possible.
“How would I know? It’s not like I can remember anything,” Winnie snapped. “It was super creepy how she knew my name. And then when she said her name, she acted like I was supposed to know it somehow.”
Maren wished she’d taken a closer look at the woman instead of just writing her off as a middle school mom. Dammit! How had she let this woman get to Winnie when she’d promised she would protect her? Maren should have been there waiting at school before the bell rang. She suddenly felt ill.
“That was when I saw you. She begged me not to go. Said she just wanted to talk and tried to convince me to go with her to get coffee. Of course I said no. I’m not an idiot. Then as I was leaving, she grabbed my arm and said, ‘Please…it’s critical. I have to talk to you.’ She tried to press a piece of paper into my hand, but I ran off.”
Maren swallowed hard. “Did she give you a last name? Anything else? Do they live in Seattle?” Her voice was thin with fear.
“Mom, do you think she had something to do with my accident? Why would she say she was there? I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me. I’m trying to work out what’s going on, but my head hurts.” Her voice quivered. “What does that woman want with us?”
“I have no idea,” Maren said, her eyes fixed on the road. “But I promise I’m going to figure it out.”
“Do you think you should call
the detective and tell him about her?”
“Yes, definitely.” Although what exactly she would say to the detective was an open question. The temperature outside was 50 degrees, but she was sweating like it was the middle of summer. She had to calm down. Maren reached over and squeezed Winnie’s long, elegant fingers before grasping the steering wheel again with both hands. “Look, I haven’t told you this, but when I met with Ted Clark a few weeks ago, he also said someone had anonymously tipped him off that you might be lying about your first-gen college hook because your biological father attended Yale.”
“Are you kidding me? How could you not tell me that?”
“I thought it was baloney since there’s no way anyone could know where your father went to college when I don’t even know who he is.”
“Yeah, so you keep saying.”
“I swear. I figured it was just Alicia or Kelly or one of their kids making shit up. But something else is clearly going on.”
“Ya think?” Winnie crossed her arms across her chest. She was not buying Maren’s story. Which made sense, given how incomplete it was. Unfortunately, though Maren didn’t have all the answers Winnie (or she) sought, the time had obviously come to tell Winnie the truth about her biological father. Maren’s entire body tensed up. There was no way she could wade into this conversation and then go back to work for the afternoon like nothing had happened. As she swallowed the bile seeping into her throat, she resolved to tell Winnie everything she knew that night.
* * *
Ever since her own parents had betrayed her, Maren had sworn she would never put her own interests ahead of Winnie’s. As she drove home from work later that night, she had to acknowledge that it had reached the point where Maren was protecting herself more than she was protecting Winnie, especially with that Naomi woman accosting Winnie after school today. Maren had stewed about it as she ticked through her long to-do list. In the end, she decided it would be cruel to break Winnie’s heart without having concrete answers to the many questions she knew Winnie would have. After all, shouldn’t Maren first try to fill in the gaps so she could reliably transmit the truth to her daughter? But the only idea she had that might provide some answers would require Winnie’s help.
Girls with Bright Futures Page 20
