by Sara Shepard
“Of course I promise,” Lauren said.
Now, the smell of coffee turned putrid in Lauren’s nostrils. She was a failure. She’d made a promise to Graham in the summer, and she hadn’t followed through, and now this had happened. Leave her son? No. There had to be another way.
“I need an aspirin,” she said miserably. And then she stood and walked back to the bedroom to retrieve one from the bedside drawer. The bed looked inviting, the sheets still in a jumble. Maybe she’d lie down again. Maybe she’d sleep forever.
As she bent to open the bedside drawer, her phone was lit up in the darkness, a bright rectangle on the nightstand. Lauren picked it up, half expecting it to be something damning about her—a call from the police, maybe, ready with questions about that email she’d sent to Piper, ready to arrest her. Maybe they should arrest her.
But it was a text from Ronnie. I need to meet. Something’s happened. Something bad.
Seventeen
It took Andrea thirty minutes to leave her house, and that was only after making Martina promise not to open the door for anyone, after two outfit changes to ensure her face was fully covered, and after checking the security cameras to see that a surveillance car wasn’t staked out past the trees. When she finally reversed out of her driveway, there wasn’t a single long-lensed camera in sight that she could see. But that was even more unnerving than if there’d been a pack of paparazzi at the curb. Bizarre, she thought.
Her mother had been inconsolable on the phone last night. Cynthia said that “everyone was going to know soon” and that this was going to probably give Andrea’s father a coronary. She also said Andrea’s father would most likely take this out on Cynthia because Cynthia knew all along and didn’t tell him.
Andrea understood the burden of her mom keeping this secret to herself, and she appreciated it. Who knew what he might do once he learned the truth? He might try to cut off her and Arthur’s trusts. He’d try to take Arthur away, possibly putting his whole legal team on the matter, saying it was for the moral health of his only grandson.
But strangely, Andrea had received no phone calls from her father, or her brother, or any reporters. Not even any hang-ups. She called a few friends back in New York who knew about her transition, but no one seemed to have heard any brewing stories about her. She even tried her brother, Max, thinking maybe the family had been informed first. She and Max were on speaking terms, but they were more like distant cousins who only caught up once every few years. Max certainly didn’t know anything personal about Andrea, including her transition, but she hoped he would be cooler than Cynthia. But all she got was his voicemail.
So once again, she’d turned to Jerry. He promised to look into it and, if needed, pay off the journalist who’d gotten the tip and called her mom. (Andrea had a hunch Jerry became used to paying off journalists when he worked for her father.) Jerry also assured her that she wouldn’t be charged for doing anything to Piper—there wasn’t enough evidence, at present, that Andrea had hurt her. It wasn’t great that Andrea was inside a locked school building, he added—Andrea would have to beef up her story about that.
Now, Andrea turned onto a busier road that led to the business district and checked her rearview. No one was tailing her. Was it possible the reporters didn’t know? But then who had called her mom? Cynthia knew specific details about what had happened—Piper’s name, that she’d been found on the floor outside her office, even the name of the police precinct Andrea had been taken to.
Someone knew. And usually, that meant the press—all the press—probably wasn’t far behind.
This morning, Ronnie had sent up her own flare. They chose to convene at a secluded walking trail at the edge of town. The trail was too out of the way for the mom set, who preferred to stroller-cize on the beach paths or the walking trail closer to the playground. It was also drizzly this morning, which would drive even more people away. When Andrea pulled the car into the lot, Ronnie’s and Lauren’s cars were the only others there.
She stepped out, pulled up the hood of her raincoat, and listened. The only sounds were the swishes of the trees and the spatter of rain. An airplane groaned high overhead.
Ronnie and Andrea were waiting behind a big sign that listed all the path’s rules. When Andrea rounded the corner, Lauren quickly stubbed out a cigarette. “Sorry,” she blurted guiltily. “I haven’t smoked in years. But I’m kind of losing my mind.”
“It’s okay,” Andrea said quietly. “We all are.”
Ronnie started to walk, her hands thrust in pockets, her hood obscuring her face. Andrea and Lauren hurried to catch up. Once they passed a big green garbage can that looked like it had been freshly emptied, Ronnie said in a whisper, “Someone knows the Topless Maids thing.”
“What?” Andrea said. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But they tipped Lane off. And the cops.”
Lauren blew air out of her cheeks. “If it makes you feel any better, the police know I wrote an email to Piper about having anger problems. They told Graham, not me. He’s pissed I told strangers about it.”
“It’s your issue, though,” Ronnie said petulantly. “Not his.”
“My mom got a call saying someone from the press contacted her about me,” Andrea chimed in. “She was on the phone literally the moment I stepped through the door from the police station, ready to read me the riot act. Also, this thing happened to me in New York that doesn’t paint me in the best light.”
“What do you mean?” Lauren asked.
Andrea paused for a moment. “Maybe you’d heard about it. Me and a young person? I was dressed in a suit—I looked like a man. People thought I’d been having an affair with this person. That I’d lured the kid.”
The women nodded, not seeming that surprised. So they’d read about it after she told them who she was, then. What a strange, vulnerable thing it was to have such a public life. It was certainly nothing Andrea had ever asked for.
“Anyway, the real story isn’t what was reported.” And then she hurriedly told them the truth—including that she thought Roger would want her to keep his struggles secret, and that he’d never told his parents that he was trans. “I was acquitted of any formal charges, and the restraining order was technically dropped, but the story follows me,” Andrea said. “Certain people linking me to that might think differently of me. See me as a liar. Someone slippery and suspicious, capable of deviant things.”
“Same with my email to Piper,” Lauren admitted. “When a detective sees rage disorder, of course they’ll think I lashed out.” Then she paused. “Though, you know what’s weird? It sounds like they knew about my email to Piper, but not Piper’s email back to me that I was a nutcase.”
Everyone thought about this. “Whoever turned it over to them only sent your email and not Piper’s reply?” Andrea wondered aloud. “That’s weird.”
“Who has access to Piper’s email?” Ronnie asked.
“It wasn’t that hard to hack into.” Lauren shook water off her umbrella. “Maybe some other wronged parent figured out her password just like I did and found it.”
“You guys,” Ronnie blurted, her voice so doleful they both looked over in alarm. “I think the person who attacked Piper—they meant to hurt me, not her.”
Andrea and Lauren stopped and stared. “Why would someone want to hurt you?” Lauren cried.
Ronnie raised her hood a little, and rain dripped on her face. “Esme isn’t my daughter. She’s my sister’s. I took her out of a bad situation—but I didn’t ask permission. She’s technically a missing child.” She took a breath. “I did what was right. Esme doesn’t know. It’s why I didn’t want to be in the documentary—not because of the Topless Maids thing, not really. I didn’t want Esme’s father to spot me. He was . . .”
Andrea’s gut clenched. Ronnie didn’t have to explain what Esme’s father was. There were various possibilities, but none of
them were good.
“. . . I’ve been living in fear that he’s going to find me,” Ronnie said. “So the last thing I would do would be hurt someone and get arrested and attract attention.”
No one spoke. Andrea snuck a peek at Lauren only to see that she looked shattered, too. “So you just . . . took her?” Lauren asked.
Ronnie nodded. “I hit Jerrod. Knocked him out.”
“But you had to,” Andrea urged. “Of course you had to.”
Ronnie put her head in her hands. “But I left my sister. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Lauren took a breath. “And you think that guy followed us into that hallway? Like, he found you . . . and came after you . . . and got Piper by mistake? No offense, Ronnie, but that seems kind of . . . I don’t know. Unlikely?”
“I thought so, too, except this lawyer I spoke to reminded me how I resemble Piper, especially in the dark. And said that maybe Piper’s attack was meant for me. I didn’t want to believe him, but then, when I came home, I got this.”
She turned over what she was holding, a piece of paper that was now half-soaked from the rain. Still, Andrea was able to make out that it was a Missing flyer for a little girl named Taylor Johnson. It took Andrea a moment to make the connection.
“I just got this yesterday, also when I came home from the police. I feel like it’s Jerrod, saying, I know where you are. I’ll find you.”
“Wait a minute,” Lauren said. “If this guy is such a scary dude—and I don’t doubt he is—why would he go to all the trouble? Why follow you to the school and then threaten you with the Missing flyer? I’d think he’d just grab you in a parking lot somewhere, and that would be that.” She noted the horror on Ronnie’s face. “Sorry.”
Andrea agreed. “Not that you don’t need to protect yourself from this guy. And I totally believe you that this Missing poster was timed to send a message. But I wonder if you’re wrong about the message it’s sending.”
“What other message would it be?” Ronnie asked.
“Maybe . . . keep quiet. Or else.”
“Keep quiet about . . . what?” Ronnie whispered. “The attack?” Her eyes widened. “Who might have really done it?”
“Maybe? I mean, maybe someone’s worried we saw something. And this same someone has leverage on us. They know things we don’t want public. Things that tarnish who we are as people—make us look more culpable, maybe more unhinged. And it seems they’re trying to use those things to make us look guilty . . . and to ensure we don’t talk.”
“Who could that be?” Lauren asked. “Who could have found out these things?”
“I don’t know. But it’s who we need to track down. We can’t let whoever it is ruin us.”
Everyone walked a bit. Andrea’s ankles were starting to ache, but she didn’t want to complain. Ronnie said, “You think it connects to the messages in the backpacks . . . or that’s just a coincidence?”
“I don’t even know if mine was so nasty anymore,” Lauren mumbled. “I told Graham about it, and he said it didn’t sound so bad. And then when I went to grab the other note—that one you saw Piper stick in my backpack yesterday, Ronnie—you know what it said?” She looked wrecked. “She just wanted to set up a ‘new mom’ meeting.”
Andrea thought of the drawing Arthur had received. The X through her body. How someone had pressed so hard with the crayon to write no it had creased the page. Had she misinterpreted that, too? But no. No. There was no way that message was a joke.
“Maybe that was to confuse you. To second-guess yourself,” Ronnie said.
Lauren just peered at her hopelessly. “What if it was Piper we saw in the hallway?” she asked. “Like, what if she was coming after us? She knew we were in her office. Doing things we shouldn’t have been doing. And if she’s keeping some kind of secret . . . if there’s something in there we’re not supposed to see . . .”
They thought about this for a moment. A plane zoomed overhead. Andrea got a faint whiff of cigarette smoke and suddenly felt uneasy. There was no one on the trail. Was someone lurking in the woods? Listening?
“What do we know about Piper?” Ronnie asked. “Like, could someone else have had an issue with her? Another parent, maybe. Someone else who got a note warning them away?”
Andrea remembered something. “I heard her speaking on the phone. I was in her office, waiting to meet, and she was in the parking lot. At one point, she told someone to fuck off, or to go fuck themselves. Then she hung up and just . . . stood there. But by the time she got to the office, it was like nothing was wrong.”
Ronnie raised her eyebrows. “Maybe that’s something? Your meeting was the day before the attack.”
“Oh, and also,” Lauren added, “when I was in her email, this draft to Carson popped up—we need to figure out what to do about Jean. Anyone know a Jean at school?”
“I could ask Lane,” Ronnie said. “He has a directory listing all the parents.”
Andrea turned to Ronnie. “Did you find anything in that locked drawer?”
“Just some paperwork. A spreadsheet of numbers. I, um, grabbed it, actually. I didn’t have time to shove it back in the drawer.” She peeked at them guiltily. “That’s bad, right?”
“Who’s going to realize it’s missing?” Andrea asked. “It was Piper’s office. And it was a locked drawer. Although . . .” She considered something. “Carson kept looking at that drawer suspiciously when I was waiting to meet with Piper. He even tugged on it. Maybe to make sure it was still locked.”
“So maybe he knew Piper had something bad in there, something we might snoop for?” Lauren suggested. She looked at Ronnie. “Are you sure that paper is just numbers?”
“There were definitely no names. I can look at it when I get home.”
They passed a small picnic table, and then a stream. A jogger came at them from the left and gave the group a nod. “We didn’t do this,” Andrea insisted after he passed. “We didn’t hurt Piper. But we have to figure out who did . . . and who’s trying to blame us.”
Ronnie gave a weak nod. Lauren shrugged.
“We’ll be our own advocates. And we’ll find whoever’s fucking with our lives—and get them to stop.”
That got a little smile. Andrea stood a little straighter. They would prove someone else had been in that hall. They had to. Her story wouldn’t break. She wouldn’t lose her privacy. She and Arthur would get over this. She’d send him back to Silver Swans—or maybe she wouldn’t. But she wouldn’t lose everything. She’d still have control.
“Let’s turn around,” Lauren said.
And they did, heading back the way they came, sharing a comfortable silence that was more appropriate for lifelong friends, not for women who’d only known one another for a matter of days. There were times, Andrea supposed, when even if the details didn’t match up, you had to go on intuition. To some, Andrea probably didn’t seem so believable, either. Maybe everyone was capable of criminal acts if they were pushed hard enough. But in this case, they all had to trust one another. And maybe it was easier to bond together than try to wade through this alone.
But the feeling of goodwill lasted only a minute; on the walk back, there was that scent of cigarette smoke again. Andrea’s gaze darted into the woods once more . . . but again, nothing. A chill wriggled down her back. There were so many unknowns. So many people they couldn’t trust. And she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was close, watching.
Piper
May
The same sun is out, but you are chilled to the bone. You sit on the back of your beautiful car and stare at your empty school building. It’s a Saturday. You’re going through the ledgers. Admissions are down for next year. Way down—some parents have even pulled their kids out of school for the final month of this year, demanding some of their fees back, saying that in this economy, no one should be expected to pay what you’re askin
g. And for next year, people seem to be looking elsewhere, too.
Who could have predicted an economic crash? And there you were only months ago, thinking that a school was something that could weather any storm—people always need to educate their children, after all. Parents go all out when it comes to schooling, especially if it’s touted as the best.
How foolish you’d been to think life would never change. How careless you’d been not to put certain protective measures in place. But now, here you are, looking at your balance sheets. What had looked so promising months ago now downright terrifies you. It’s amazing how you thought you had enough cushion to start a second school up the coast. Now, your worries are more pressing . . . and much more down-to-earth.
“We could look for angel investors,” Carson suggests.
You sigh. “We’ve exhausted those options. They don’t get it. We’re a preschool. We shouldn’t have to need additional funding.”
“And I’m assuming you’ve already applied for the small-business loan?”
You give him a withering look. Of course you’ve applied for the small-business loan. And you received the small-business loan. And you’ve already blown through the small-business loan.
“Okay.” Carson brushes his hands together. “We’re going to think of something. Really.”
If only you had some of Carson’s optimism. And to think you almost hadn’t hired him. You’d thought it strange when he applied to the position—a young, possibly gay man in his twenties, no children, with a bachelor’s in art history? Then he’d said that he wasn’t really interested in the kids, but he totally “got” moms. “I think I’m a mommy blogger in a pudgy twentysomething guy’s body,” he admitted. “Is that weird? I just know what gets them going. I think I could inspire everyone. Get everyone inspired in us.” Then he’d waved his hand. “But you probably want someone more qualified. I get it.”
You were intrigued, though. So you gave Carson an assignment you’d given none of the others applying for the assistant position: write a Silver Swans newsletter and some sample Instagram posts that would get parents’ attention. “I want it to say, ‘We are all in for your children, and you should respect us and tell all your friends about us,’ ” you told him. “I want it to say, ‘If you aren’t sending your kids here, and if your friends aren’t sending their kids here, then you’re losers.’ But subtly. You got it?”
