“You fucking assholes and your college obsession,” Maren said.
“Hey, I don’t give a shit about college. I just wanted some peace in my goddamn family. That night when I saw Winnie on her scooter, it hit me how much easier everything would be if we’d never met you two. You’re always teasing me with your smokin’-hot body. Alicia’s always riding Brooke to be more like perfect little Winnie. And I’m just the house idiot who my poor daughter takes after, according to my own wife.” His volume rose. “Well, fuck that. You’re an ungrateful bitch. After everything we’ve done for you and Winnie, she just couldn’t stay in her lane. Oh hey—get it?” Bryan chuckled.
The venom in her eyes must have told Bryan the rules of the game were about to change. Without another word, he turned, shoved the cloth curtain to the side, and stormed out of the theater. “Well, if it isn’t Kelly Vernon,” Maren heard Bryan scoff. “They should hang a cowbell around your neck. I swear to God, if you say one goddamn word, I’ll fucking ruin you and your loser husband.”
“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Kelly responded. “I was just on my way to the bathroom. I didn’t hear a thing!”
Maren didn’t even bother following Bryan out, as she knew there wasn’t a chance in hell Kelly would ever come to her aid. Every muscle in her body quivered in the wake of Bryan’s assault and shocking confession. She perched on one of the wooden benches and tried to collect herself. She needed to get back to work, but her swirling thoughts pinned her in place. Now that she finally knew the truth, Maren allowed herself a fleeting moment of vindication. She’d been right all along: Winnie hadn’t been run off the road by accident, and the incident was at least tangentially connected to the Stanford skirmish.
But the truth was even uglier than she’d imagined. Her daughter had almost died because someone she’d known, someone she’d trusted to some extent, someone she’d relied on for their very survival, had decided one night on a whim that his life would be a little easier if Winnie no longer existed. It hit her like an anvil to the head: Through the prism of their unparalleled (and, at least in Bryan’s case, unearned) privilege, Bryan and Alicia viewed her entire life—everything she cared about, including her beloved daughter—as little more than a disposable item to be used and discarded at will. But it was the sting of Bryan’s cavalier laughter that really put her over the edge, as if this was all just a gigantic joke to him.
Maren could no longer ignore the incessant pinging coming from her phone tucked in the pocket of her catering uniform. No doubt Diana needing her help with yet another bullshit problem at this bullshit party. As she pulled out her phone and Diana’s texts unfurled, the words on the screen blurred, and Maren was once more transported to that night at Memorial Hospital pacing in the ER. She could have lost her daughter that night. And from the moment the detective had brushed off investigating EBA’s rich and famous for the alleged hit-and-run, Maren had been fixated on how to convince him to overcome his reluctance. Deep down, she had known someone at EBA was at fault. She had known someone had attacked her precious girl. And even that night, up against the faceless culprits hiding behind their money and privilege and power, Maren knew that the only way to ensure that no one would touch Winnie again was to make sure the police were watching. And the only way to get the police to watch was to lie.
That awful morning when her daughter was barely conscious in the ICU, Maren had taken her first step toward fighting back when she bought that burner phone and texted the “Back off Stanford” threat to her own daughter’s phone. Maren would forever feel guilty knowing she had made Winnie fear for her life these past weeks. But her gamble had paid off. She had forced everyone around her to finally pay attention. And now, she would have to do it again.
Hauling herself to her feet, Maren smoothed her uniform and returned her cell to her apron pocket. She knew that Bryan’s confession to her—without corroboration—was useless; the police would never take her word over his. But there had to be something she could do to make him pay. Walking down the dark hallway toward the loud, thumping music, the situation started to come into focus. Maren grew stronger with each step. She might not be able to nail Bryan for what he’d done to Winnie, but there was more than one way to get justice.
32
Kelly
“Hey, you awake?” Kevin said. “I thought you might need a caffeine assist this morning.”
As the words penetrated, a hand gently shook her shoulder. The sensation resonated through her nauseated body, which was coiled protectively in the fetal position. With a whimper, she pried open her goopy eyes and rolled over toward the sound of her husband’s voice. There was Kevin, standing next to the bed, offering up a giant, blessed mug of coffee. She couldn’t remember the last time he’d brought her coffee in bed. A sign of guilt?
Her mind was blank. This had to be her worst hangover in decades. “Thanks. I feel like crap. What happened last night?” She gazed out the window at the dreary, overcast December morning.
“Well, for starters, the cannabis cart happened,” Kevin teased.
“Oh, no.” Kelly grabbed a pillow from Kevin’s side of the bed and pressed it to her face. “Please tell me I didn’t.” But the pillow couldn’t shield her from the list of all she’d consumed. The last thing she clearly remembered was standing at the cannabis cart. Though the always responsible mother in her had called for restraint, the steady stream of Bellinis earlier in the night may have compromised her resolve. Kelly was pretty certain she’d eaten only one “pot” de crème. Though it was possible she also tried a few nibbles of the coconut giggle nuggets and maybe just a taste of a caramel cannabis cupcake.
Suddenly, she remembered the reason she’d taken refuge at the cannabis cart in the first place. Images of her husband and Amanda furiously gyrating on the dance floor and Amanda suggestively devouring the sweet-and-salty pretzel floated into her consciousness. Quickly followed by the fight she’d overheard from outside the Chihuly Theater—and Bryan’s unbelievable admission. Once again, she was overcome with intense relief that it hadn’t been Krissie who’d run Winnie off the road. Peeking out from under the pillow at Kevin, now sitting on the side of the bed waiting for her to complete her trip down memory lane, Kelly said, “It’s all coming back.”
“Pearl Jam at a school event. That was something else, huh?” He sipped his coffee.
“Yeah,” Kelly countered, “so was Amanda’s dress.”
“Oh come on, that was nothing. I looked for you.”
“Well, actually, maybe it all worked out for the best.” Kelly wrapped her hands around the warm mug.
“What do you mean?”
“I saw you flirting with Amanda, and I got really upset.” Kelly blinked to keep the tears down. “I was looking for the bathroom, but I got lost and ended up outside the Chihuly Theater. I heard an argument, so you know me. I stopped and listened. It turned out it was Bryan Stone and Maren.” Kelly hesitated. She had no doubt Bryan wouldn’t think twice about following through on his threat, but how could she not tell Kevin? This had already gone too far. “I know this sounds completely insane…but I heard Bryan bragging to Maren. He was the one who ran Winnie off the road.”
“Are you kidding me?” Kevin said. “That can’t be right.”
“No, it’s true. I swear. This happened before I found the cannabis cart,” Kelly said.
“Why would he do that? And then why would he admit it to Maren? That makes no sense.”
“I don’t know. He was really drunk. And obviously thinks he’s untouchable.”
“What a raging asshole.” Kevin shook his head. “And then to send that death threat afterward? That’s just sick.”
Kelly’s right eye twitched. If the tables had been turned, she would have been livid with Kevin for keeping such a huge secret about one of the kids. “The thing is,” she said, taking a sip of coffee to steady herself, “Bryan said he didn’t send the threat.”
<
br /> “Then who did?”
Kelly stared into her coffee cup. “I’m worried it might have been Krissie.”
Kevin took a moment to register Kelly’s words. “What are you talking about?”
Her head was pounding. She was wholly unprepared for this conversation, but what choice did she have? “I don’t know for sure.” Kelly’s hand wobbled as she set the cup down on her nightstand. “Remember that night she heard us talking about how Winnie was lying about UW and still applying to Stanford?”
“Yeah?” His brows furrowed.
“Well, I didn’t want to alarm you, but after that, I discovered she started pulling her hair out again. She even got extensions to hide a bald spot and didn’t tell me. And she stopped eating and was working out at least twice a day.” Kelly nervously smoothed the covers over her lap. “I was hoping once she submitted her application, she might calm down, but then the accident happened. I just had this gut sense she was involved somehow, like maybe she cracked under all the pressure.”
“That’s a pretty big leap from pulling out her hair and not eating to potentially mowing down another kid. Or making that threat.”
“You probably don’t remember, but the night of the accident, everyone was home for dinner, and then we watched The Princess Bride. Krissie got up in the middle of the movie and left to go work out. Her route to the health club would have taken her down the street where the accident happened.”
“If you were so worried, how could you not say anything to me?”
“I don’t know.” Kelly grabbed a tissue off her nightstand and blew her nose. “I felt horrible even thinking she might be involved, let alone saying it out loud to anyone.”
“I’m not just anyone, I’m your husband. I’m Krissie’s father,” Kevin growled. “I had a right to know all this.”
“I know. I should have told you.”
“You’re damn right.” Kevin ran his hand through his bedhead, causing his hair to stick up even straighter in the air.
“But at least now we know she didn’t go as far as I thought. Bryan was clear as day about that.”
“Have you actually talked with Krissie about any of this?” Kevin asked.
“I tried, but of course she denied it,” Kelly said, biting her lip. “There’s more.”
“More? What do you mean more?”
“Ted Clark gave my name to the detective investigating Winnie’s accident. I didn’t want to worry you, so I went down to the police station a couple of weeks ago by myself. He’d seen all the memes about me, so of course he asked where I was the night of the accident. I said we were all home for family dinner and a movie. But I left out the part about Krissie taking my car to work out. But now he keeps calling me to schedule a time to bring Krissie in for questioning. I’ve been putting him off because I’m so worried about her, but I think he’s running out of patience.”
Kevin stood up and paced. “Is that everything?”
“No.” Kelly looked down at her plum-colored nails from the manicure she’d splurged on for the party. “I never told you how I found out Winnie was lying about UW and her first-generation college hook.” She paused and then finally looked up at Kevin and spoke softly. “Or what I did with that information.”
Kevin stopped moving and stared down at her, his expression impassive but the color of anger creeping up his neck.
Kelly took a deep breath. “I overheard Winnie’s college counselor in a coffee shop. After lots of phone calls, I figured out Maren had enrolled at Indiana University. I used a disposable phone to text some EBA moms, including Alicia, that Winnie was lying about her first-generation hook. I also made up a rumor that Winnie was planning to apply to every top-ten school just to prove she was the best. And then after Thanksgiving, I used the same phone again to leave an anonymous voicemail for Stanford Admissions that Alicia had hired a professor to write Brooke’s essays.” Kelly collapsed back into her pillows.
Kevin sat back down on the bed and held his head in his hands for what felt like several minutes. Kelly didn’t dare speak.
When Kevin finally lifted his head, he didn’t turn around to face her. His voice was low and tense. “When I read Ted Clark’s email about EBA’s community values, I actually laughed out loud that people would resort to all those things. But, my God, it sounds like he was talking directly to you.” Kevin stood up and turned to face his wife. “That night when Krissie was crying about not being able to compete with all these people lying to get into Stanford, I told our daughter to hold her head up high. That we weren’t cheating and cutting corners like those other families. And you just sat there eating your ice cream. You didn’t say a goddamn word.”
Kelly shrank into the covers as she absorbed his contemptuous glare.
“But no matter what you did, the bottom line is Bryan Stone is an adult responsible for his own actions. I’m no lawyer, but the threat that we don’t even know for sure Krissie sent wasn’t the cause of Winnie’s injuries. Christ, that poor girl.”
Kelly sat up straighter in bed and nodded, relieved by Kevin’s cogent analysis of the situation.
“You shouldn’t have lied to the police though. That’s dangerous business. The last thing we need is to get tangled up in their investigation, but it sounds like Krissie might not have a choice. Now I’m going to have to find us a lawyer.” Kevin’s voice was quiet and cold as ice. “What you’ve done has crossed so many lines. And now you’ve dragged me into your bullshit.”
He paused for a moment. Dead silence. In two decades of marriage, she had never seen this particular look on his face, a barely controlled anger simmering just under the surface.
“I mean, Jesus Christ, Kelly,” he spat. “You’re so consumed with EBA, micromanaging the kids, and fucking college. What the hell happened to you? You were really willing to risk everything? Our daughter’s mental health? The well-being of another child? Breaking the law? Our family’s reputation? And for what?” Kevin ran his hand down his face and shook his head. “Just so we could say our daughter got into the most selective college in the country?” He stared out the window. “I honestly don’t know how much more of this I can take.”
“I know exactly how you feel.” As Kelly had counted down to early admissions day, it dawned on her that she would have to go through this process two more times with Katherine and Kaleb, an exhausting thought. “But the EBA moms who’ve been through it before say it’s easier the next time around because you know what to expect. And what are the odds of this Stanford situation happening again?”
Kevin’s jaw dropped. “No, Kelly. I don’t think you do,” he said, taking two long strides toward the door. “By this, I meant us. Or to put a finer point on it—you.”
As he pulled open the bedroom door, Kelly begged, “Wait! Kevin! Please just give it a few more days. Once Krissie is accepted, things will all go back to normal. I promise!”
Kevin slammed the bedroom door behind him in answer, and the wave of nausea Kelly was barely holding at bay surged inside her. Dashing to the bathroom, she was a mere three feet shy of the toilet when she doubled over and puked up the remnants of her gluttonous night all over the tile floor. It was a steaming unholy mess, far too symbolic of her life.
33
Maren
From: Maren Pressley, Monday, December 7, 10:30 a.m.
To: Diana Taylor
Subject: Final Payments for Party
Hi, Diana,
Thanks for the Venmo this morning. However, I noticed you called it a final payment, but several outstanding invoices remain.
1. We agreed on a $40 hourly rate for party planning, and I worked 80 hours up to the day of the event. By my calculation, your “final” payment covered only 28 hours. I’m attaching my invoice (again) with a detailed accounting of my time.
2. I’m also attaching an additional invoice for my hours on-site the day/night of t
he party. These hours included decorating, setup, overseeing the caterers and janitorial staff, managing special requests from guests during the party (e.g., I sent a bartender out to a liquor store to pick up a $1,000 Japanese whiskey on Michael’s orders and told them to add it to the catering bill), and reuniting forgotten items with their owners. FYI—still remaining in the Chihuly lost-and-found are nine women’s coats (four fur), seven designer handbags, three iPhones, fifteen men’s suit jackets, two prescription pill bottles, and, oddly, three pairs of men’s underpants, two women’s thongs, and one lace bralette. Perhaps you can account for the unequal number and type of undergarments, but I’ll leave it at that.
3. Last week, I sent you yet another reimbursement request for the $5,000 down payment for party rental equipment. As you will recall, I had to use my personal credit card because you said you were too busy to read me your card number over the phone. I need you to reimburse me immediately so I can use my card for groceries again. My daughter, for one, will very much appreciate this.
4. Finally, I am also invoicing you $10,000 for hazard pay. I did not agree to serve as a chaperone for parents stumbling wasted into forbidden areas of the museum. And I most definitely did not agree to being repeatedly hit on (this is a polite phrase for the inappropriate behavior I endured) by seven EBA husbands, yours included.
Regards,
Maren
* * *
From: Maren Pressley, Today, 10:45 a.m.
To: Jack Alder
Subject: On Second Thought
Dear Jack,
Remember your offer in the hospital waiting room to help me? I’m in.
Maren
* * *
From: Jack Alder, Today, 10:50 a.m.
To: Maren Pressley
Re: On Second Thought
Dear Maren,
That’s excellent news. After we spoke at the hospital, I did some legal research and consulted (off the record, of course) a friend in law enforcement in hopes you might decide to defend yourself and Winnie against this egregious overstep. I will be in touch tomorrow to discuss a plan of action in more detail.
Girls with Bright Futures Page 30
