I return to Zoe’s sorrow. I take her fingers into my palm. “We’re going to figure this out.”
She pulls the blanket tighter. My head swells with worry. It spreads through years and generations and crosses lines I hadn’t had to cross before. Bobby and I discussed these things all the time. Truth benders. Parents who smoked weed regularly but forbid their kids the same. The ones who claimed they were virgins when they married. I could lose myself in the white lies that divided adults from their spawn, the distinction that created firm rules. But I’d never had to answer the question about my past or how it might impact my own daughters. I’d never had to figure out how far in our new viral world a video had gone, who was watching it, and how we could stop it. Not to mention the personal scrutiny: How could I have failed so miserably at teaching my daughter to respect herself properly? Could she get a disease? Would she outgrow her reputation?
“Mom.” Her fragile voice pulls me out of my spell. “I don’t want this video to get out. I don’t want them to call me a slut.”
Every emotion I’ve tried to conceal comes trickling out. I catch my eyes in the mirror and they’re more black than gray.
“Did you hear me?” she asks.
I take her hand and squeeze. We’d been hearing these stories for some time now. The dangers of social media. A video here. A photograph there. It was happening all around us. But I, in this moment, can’t grasp that it’s happening to my child, to my Zoe. So I squeeze tighter. For her. For me. For us. And I make a promise many parents have made before me, one I don’t know that I can keep: “I won’t let that happen. Ever.”
CHAPTER 4
Morning comes in a shade of gray that matches my mood. I’ve given up on sleep, so I pick the cell phone off the floor, return it to the girls’ bedroom, and climb back in bed beside Zoe. Her actions hijack my mind, spinning it wildly out of control. They’ve pushed a button I can’t ignore. A memory so deeply buried its sharp edges stab at me.
She’s asleep, her slender body tangled in the sheets. I get up, stretch my legs, and stare out the glass doors as the clouds sweep across the sky. I used to enjoy this time of day. The quiet calm before the beach comes alive. Despite the sun’s efforts, the day is pale and unpromising. Downstairs, staff members sweep away the water on the pool deck, and I watch their rhythmic motions in a daze.
“Emma?” Bobby comes up behind me smelling of sleep. “What’s going on?”
He leans in to greet me, though I pull back, motioning to Zoe asleep in the bed.
“We need to talk,” I say.
Before we reach our room, I hear Lily’s feet slap against the floor, and the punctuated sound means she turned on her phone and she’s pissed.
“Did you see this?” she blares, shoving her phone in my face. Her hands are perched on her hips, an admission of utter shock. “Half the city thinks that’s me in that video!”
Bobby’s eyes dig into mine. “What the hell is that?”
Not like this. Not here in the hallway. Fear rises in my belly, and I can’t stop what happens next. I snatch the phone from her fingers. The sounds, the images, they burn like fire.
“Emma, is that what I think it is?” he asks.
“It’s Zoe!” Lily yells. “I wasn’t even at the party. This is what sucks about being a twin.”
I grab her by the shoulders and force her to look at me. “Calm down. I already know. Your sister’s been up half the night, devastated.”
Bobby stands over us, combing his fingers nervously through his hair. “Somebody tell me what’s going on. Now.”
“I told her not to go that party!” Lily yells.
“Emma.” His unyielding tone stretches across the hall.
Chelsea and Shelby slink out of the apartment with their volleyball bags strung over their shoulders. They hide their faces from us, and when I know they’re gone, I head to our bedroom with Bobby and Lily close behind.
Bobby’s eyes smolder with questions. “Emma, what the hell’s on that phone?”
The dread seeps into my veins. How can I tell him this?
“You do not want to know,” Lily blurts.
“Lily,” I say, “can you give your father and me a minute?”
She storms out of the room, but not before yelling, “This is humiliating!”
Bobby doesn’t get nervous. He runs a successful real estate company with multiple properties and has rarely, if ever, let his guard down. The worry in his eyes is hard to miss. He is backed into a corner, and his arms cross his chest. I don’t want to replay what I saw. “Last night. It’s true. What the girls in the bathroom were talking about. Zoe’s in trouble.”
“Say it,” he says. “What did she do?”
“Bobby, you need to promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid. She’s really upset.” I can’t face him. Horror straps itself to my chest, making it hard to breathe. I stare at our ketubah instead. The framed document that holds our Jewish marital vows. “There’s a video. It’s bad.”
“How bad?”
My body stiffens. He comes closer, his eyes penetrating my defenses.
“Is she having sex?”
And a fresh wave of panic crashes into me, because I had forgotten to ask. How could I have forgotten to ask? I answer no, but the single word is not convincing, and he glares at me. I can’t find it in myself to utter what will crush him. “Remember your mom’s birthday dinner at the Forge?”
“Which one? She had lots of birthdays there.”
“You don’t remember?”
God, he’s handsome staring down at me. I wish I didn’t have to tell him. I wish I didn’t have to remind him of when we were young and reckless and falling in love, because it so varied from what our daughter did. His desperate plea urges me on. “The white dress. We snuck off into the bathroom.”
“Wait.” His voice hardens and he pauses. “Please tell me my daughter wasn’t videoed giving a blow job.” His face is stricken. A vein in his neck pulses.
“I can’t do that.”
Color drains from his cheeks, and he deflates. My arms come around him, and I feel the hurt through his bare chest. He can’t speak. Instead, he buries his face on the top of my head, rubbing his cheek in my hair.
When he speaks, his voice cracks. “She wouldn’t do this.”
Excuse me, do I know you?
I hug him until the shock turns to something else, and he backs away. “Who’s the boy? Did he do something to her? Was she drunk? Did someone drug her?”
“Drinking was involved.”
“She’s grounded,” he fumes. “No more phone. No more sleeping out. She’s done for the school year.”
“She doesn’t want to leave the house.”
“What’s wrong with her?” He turns and slams his fist against the dresser. “Why would she do this?”
“I don’t know.” A painful revelation ripples through me. My own mistakes bubble to the surface. He’s silent. He’s overthinking. The torment fills his eyes. “I’m going to kill her, and then I’m going to destroy whoever did this to her.”
A deep sob escapes my chest. It’s unrealistic to think I can hold it in any longer. It takes over my body.
“I want to talk to her.”
I step in front of him. “Not yet. Let her sleep.”
His hands comb through his hair again. The doorbell rings and cuts the tension in two. Before we can untangle our thoughts, footsteps come up the hallway.
“Where are my girls?” hollers Jonny.
“We’re not finished,” Bobby grumbles as we head for the kitchen. “I want to know how this happened.”
Jonny’s wearing the same clothes as last night. No doubt he closed up the bar and spent the night in the empty suite we set aside for employees who can’t make it home. He shares the same complexion and dark hair as Bobby, though their similarities end there. He pushes the luggage cart, which is stacked with boxes, gift bags, and a tray of fresh muffins. In his hand, he’s holding identical envelopes. “Where
are they? Can I wake them up?”
“Too late.” Lily floats past him toward the refrigerator and takes a swig from the orange juice carton.
“I’ve told you to use a glass,” I say.
“She’s fifteen,” Jonny laughs. “Let her be a rebel.”
“I think we’ve got rebel pretty covered,” Lily answers dryly. She steps into Jonny’s outstretched arms and lets him give her a hug before plunging into the pile.
“Watch yourself, Lily. And wait for your sister.”
I adore my brother-in-law, but I would like nothing more than to politely ask him to leave.
“Where is she?” he asks.
“Where isn’t she?”
“Lily,” I repeat, “knock it off.”
“Don’t be mad at me,” she says, twirling around and swiping a muffin from the tray.
Jonny turns to his brother. “What am I missing? Where’s Zoe?”
The sinking sensation makes it hard to breathe.
“I’m right here.” The hoarse voice strums through the kitchen. She enters, hair piled atop her head, each step a contemplation.
“Sweet fifteen!” Jonny hugs her, but her arms remain at her sides. “What’s with the sad face?” he asks.
I want to run to her and protect her, to smooth out the swollen skin, kiss away the tears.
“I’ve brought your gifts. You made out pretty well. All your favorite stores and your favorite muffins from your favorite uncle.”
“I’m not hungry.”
Jonny’s eyes narrow in on mine, and I turn away. Bobby drapes an arm over his shoulder, thanks him for the delivery, and guides him out of the kitchen. The girls and I are left with a deafening quiet. I busy myself with mindless routine like making coffee and toasting bagels. We circle each other, afraid of further hurt, afraid to say the wrong thing. The sparkly bows and shiny ribbons sit there like a tease.
Zoe rests her elbows on the table. Her silvery eyes are fixed on the food she doesn’t touch. Her lips are stuck in a frown.
Lily stares at her sister. “What the heck were you thinking?”
“Please, Lilo, not from you, too. You just don’t understand . . .”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you shouldn’t judge something you don’t understand.”
“You don’t even know Price Hudson. Why don’t you try talking to boys before throwing yourself at them?”
Zoe raises her voice. Her authoritative, debate voice. “I could’ve been drugged! You don’t even care!”
This obviously affects Lily and her tirade. “Mom”—she turns to me—“is that true?”
I’m sure there are the right responses for these types of situations, but I never received the handbook, nor did I think this could happen to us.
“Whatever. I could’ve!” Zoe expects me to back her up, but I don’t. “It’s none of your business, Lily. Not everything’s about you all the time.”
Lily stands up and gets in Zoe’s face. “It is about me. I’m your sister. And thanks to the luck of the gene pool, we happen to look a lot alike, which means your stupidity affects me.” Lily doesn’t stop to breathe.
Leave her alone. I’m torn. Part of me wants to help; the other wants to punish. There’s no in-between. Bobby returns, stepping into a pile of crap I can’t wipe clean. It doesn’t last long, because his phone rings. “I’ve got to take this call,” he says, and I’m left to stare at the back of his head as he leaves.
Zoe starts to cry. She tries to hide it from Lily, who realizes she’s gone too far. Her eyes lower, and she comes around Zoe with both arms. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “We’re supposed to be best friends. How could you keep this from me?” She’s about to cry, too. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A lump forms in my throat. I’ve never had the connection they share, the ability to communicate through sheer will. It’s an old twin tale, how one can sense the pain and need of the other. I long to feel their closeness. If only it could stop this nightmare.
Zoe’s hair tumbles out of the rubber band when she whimpers into Lily’s shoulder, “I don’t know, Lilo . . . I’m sorry.”
Lily’s response is softer and less hostile. “You should’ve called me. I would’ve talked you out of it. I would’ve found you and kicked that kid in the balls. You didn’t give me a chance to save you.”
I dab at my eyes with a napkin. A range of emotions clamor to come out. They seethe from that place inside my soul where attacks on my children are met with dangerous impulses. Zoe’s my baby. I watched her enter the world gasping for her first breath. And while she lives outside my body, her heart still beats in me. Whoever did this to my child, you broke my heart, and I am going to break you.
Lily grabs Zoe like she did when they were babies. It’s effortless and playful. “How can I love a dumb sister so much?”
Bobby finds us huddled around the table crying. “Zoe,” he says, like he’s addressing an employee. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER 5
Lily disappears into her room, and the three of us face each other. Zoe stares down at her plate with the untouched bagel; she picks at her nail polish and avoids our eyes.
Bobby begins. “Why don’t you start by telling us what happened.”
Her hoarse voice is tired. The tears dried up. “I already told Mom.”
“Is it true? Were you drinking?”
She sniffs. “Yes.”
“Did you pour your own drink?”
She thinks. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“It’s important for you to remember, Zoe. We’ve talked about this.”
She nods. “I did. I poured my own drink.”
“Did anyone hurt you?”
I brush Bobby’s arm. I get that he wants the facts, but it sounds like an interrogation, and Zoe squirms in her seat.
His eyes dig into mine. “We need to know, Emma. If someone hurt her . . . or forced her.”
Zoe sits up straighter and takes a deep breath. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Did anyone hurt you? Did they force you . . .”
She stares at the wall behind him, her eyes bright red. “Nobody forced me.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
“I’m sure,” she says.
His expression hardens, and he directs the next question at me. “Why exactly was she at a party with alcohol? Where were the parents?”
The blame he casts puts me on the defensive. “She told me the parents were home . . .”
“That’s what they told me,” Zoe says. “I didn’t know they weren’t going to be there.”
“So you decided it’d be okay to drink? Emma, how did this happen? Who are these people?”
I don’t appreciate being attacked, and I tell him, “We can’t control everything, Bobby! We can lecture all we want, but they’re going to face these kinds of situations. I’m just as upset as you are . . . I’m just as worried. I thought we taught them good judgment . . . and the risks.”
“Like getting drunk and letting a boy take advantage of them?”
The lashing whips at me. “They’re in ninth grade! They don’t know the first thing about good judgment,” I say.
A flush crawls up Zoe’s face as she holds back a fresh set of tears. “It didn’t happen like that.”
“So tell me how it happened, Zoe,” Bobby says.
I’m unable to move. I sit in the chair bruised and beaten like it’s me being attacked. “Bobby,” I say, though I’m too torn up to go on. If I speak, all my fears will land on the table, and I don’t want that. Zoe being touched. Zoe liking it. Zoe on a video spreading through Miami Beach. Zoe being like me.
“It’s fine, Mom.” Her eyes are vacant. Her words slow and steady. “I drank. It was vodka. It tasted gross, but after a while it was okay. Kids talked to me—some older—and I liked it. I think I had another. Maybe more. Then I felt lightheaded. Everything was spinning.”
I watch Bobby’s expression slowly shift from disbelief to rag
e. It forces him to sit, and he grabs the table for support.
“I needed to get out of there. I went upstairs. Price was sitting on the stairs. He saw me stumble and asked if I was okay. I wasn’t. I reached the top of the stairs and opened the first door I saw. I couldn’t go back out there.”
“Why didn’t you call us?” I ask. “We’ve talked about this. No matter what it is, you pick up the phone and call us.”
She takes a sip of orange juice. “It’s not that easy.”
Bobby shuffles in his seat, his forehead lined with worry.
“I wanted to rest for a minute. That’s all. He followed me into the room and kept asking if I needed help. He drank, too. He sat next to me. We were playing around . . . taking selfies with face swap . . . he was nice. We were hanging out. Being stupid.”
Bobby’s not amused with the cavalier way she repeats the events. Kindness can be misleading, especially when you’ve let your guard down. I imagine Zoe’s confusion, her pain. I grab ahold of her hand. It’s weak and lifeless.
“I’d never even kissed a boy before that night,” she says, her voice trembling. “He said, ‘Truth or dare?’ It sounded fun. He kissed me. I kissed him back.”
Bobby shoots up out of his chair and starts pacing.
“You wanted to know what happened,” she snaps at him.
I squeeze her fingers tighter. I know this upsets her, but I don’t let up. I can help her. “We kept playing the game. I kept losing. The answers were all coming out wrong. I kept saying ‘dare’ when I should’ve been saying ‘truth.’”
“Just stop,” Bobby shouts. “That’s enough.”
But Zoe talks over him. “And the next thing I know I’m doing what I’ve been taught my entire life not to do: hooking up with someone I barely know.”
Oh God. I can’t bear to look at Bobby. His disgust will overshadow everything else. I pull my robe tighter. “You were fourteen, Zoe. Fourteen,” he growls.
She has run out of answers and ducks her head instead. I feel sorry for her and for kids today. She got caught. She got videoed. The humiliation dots my cheeks.
“Did he force you?” he asks again. “Did you at any point change your mind? Did you tell him no? Maybe he got angry.”
Somebody's Daughter Page 4
