Somebody's Daughter

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  “She didn’t want it!” Lily shouts. “And she definitely didn’t want it filmed!”

  “I’m going to kill this kid,” whispers Bobby. He takes a single step, and fear spreads through my veins. One hand grabs hold of his shoulder while another comes around his waist. His body tightens beneath my grasp; I’m restraining him with all my might.

  Dr. Mason shouts, “Lily and Price, now!” while Grace Howard, with a flip of her hair, tries to intervene. “Lily! What are you doing? We have to get to class.”

  Price yells back, “I would’ve never forced her. It was a game. She lost. She said it was fun!”

  The words are hardly out of his mouth, lingering in the air, when his head yanks to one side, and he grunts. It takes me a moment to realize what happened—Lily has just punched Price.

  “Lily!”

  The boy is holding his jaw and whimpering, dazed by the force of her fist. I am angry and ashamed, but I restrain myself from rushing to Lily with praise or punishment.

  “That’s my girl,” Bobby says under his breath.

  The crowd splits, and the boy hides his face. Grace seems torn between defending Lily and comforting Price. Her cheeks are blushed, and confusion clouds her eyes. I come around Lily and lead her away. She calls over her shoulder, “Never say those things about my sister again!”

  Dr. Mason fumes when he addresses Lily. “In my office.”

  Which is how both Lily and Zoe end up seated in the principal’s office at the strike of the bell for first period.

  I remain standing, and glower at Lily. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Price Hudson is a complete jerk,” she rants. “He shouldn’t be allowed in school. What a putz.”

  “Lily!” I hiss, while Bobby’s unmistakable grin crosses his face.

  Zoe slides down the chair and melts into its plastic.

  “Lily,” begins Dr. Mason, rolling a pen between two fingers, “we appreciate your concern for your sister, but one act of misconduct won’t negate another. Thatcher has rules. We abide by them.”

  Price passes the doorway, followed by the school nurse. He has an ice pack against his face. Lily turns to Zoe. “You can’t let people treat you like that and get away with it. If I can’t defend you, who will?” She nurses her hand while continuing her assault. “I’m not sorry. He deserved it. He took advantage of my sister. I should’ve done it a few more times.”

  Zoe’s face is a spectacle of color. It starts out a pale, filmy white and ends with a fiery red. Bobby’s beside her, pleased. His smug look is hard to miss.

  “That doesn’t give you the right to touch him!” I raise my voice. “What’s happening to you girls?” I drop into the chair while the chaos swirls around us. “Bobby, say something!”

  “You don’t want to hear what I have to say,” he replies.

  I cover my face with my hands, humiliated that Dr. Mason sees us like this. Then it hits me. And when it hits, it hits hard. Dr. Mason was a small fraction of the humiliation. Zoe’s on a video in the digital universe, and we’ve been judged by hundreds if not thousands. It doesn’t matter that we do our best. It doesn’t matter that we thought we did everything right. It doesn’t matter that Zoe loves dogs and gets straight A’s. She will forever be marked with her own scarlet letters: B and J.

  My mind plays this spectacle over and over again, and concentrating on Dr. Mason and the broken pieces of my family is difficult. He tells Lily to compose herself. I hear the phrase “forced to suspend you.”

  Dr. Mason’s eyes fill with sympathy. The cringe-worthy kind. “The Hudsons are my next appointment. Perhaps they’ll be willing to overlook this matter.”

  Fantastic, I think. They’re going to walk in here any minute. I’m furious with Bobby. His silence is a personal affront. “You’re condoning your daughter hitting someone,” I whisper.

  “Typical,” Lily adds. “My sister gets a reputation, and Price is a hero.”

  The reminder of this unwanted label transforms Zoe from her catatonic state to impulsive. She jumps up and makes a beeline for the door, her red shirt and face a shock against the pale yellow walls. I stand up, annoyed with Lily, and knock over a pile of papers on Dr. Mason’s desk. Bending over to pick them up, I fume at her, “You’re treading on thin ice.”

  “Lily,” Dr. Mason admonishes, clearing his throat, “I’m not going to say it again. Watch yourself.”

  Bobby remains seated while I chase after Zoe. As I leave, my eyes are on Lily, but hers lower. She mouths, “I’m not sorry.”

  “You’re going to be when I get through with you,” I say.

  I step out the doorway and collide with the Hudsons. They look like any normal Thatcher parents, but I can tell by the sorrow that lines their faces and the way they’re hunched into each other that, like us, they’re a family under siege. Sympathy turns to dislike and grips my body, making it difficult to take the next steps. Mr. Hudson holds the door open because he has no idea who I am. Our gray eyes meet, and my heart beats so loudly I’m sure he can hear it. Mrs. Hudson looks away but soon returns her eyes to me. My mouth opens, but it’s more out of shock than having something to say. The loathing floods my senses. What I saw moments ago as normal is now a woman who’s too thin and blonde and a man who’s big and overbearing.

  We slip through the small space, and my breath fills my starving lungs. I turn around and study his arm draped around her shoulder. How he’s holding her up. My eyes are shouting, Your son is the devil.

  I quicken my pace to catch up to Zoe. The kids disperse into their classrooms, and the hallway is deserted and quiet. Zoe exits a door leading outside, and soon she’s gone from my sight. I find her seated on a lone bench that borders a pond separating the high school from the middle and elementary schools. A nearby tree drips with vibrant green leaves, and the contrast blinds me.

  “I shouldn’t have come,” she says. “I made a huge mistake. It’s all too much.”

  “We can leave,” I tell her, taking a seat. She’s still, hunched over, and I assure her it’ll be okay. But I’m not sure it will. “Let’s get in the car. We can try again tomorrow.”

  She thinks about this. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s all right. You’ve been through a lot.”

  “No,” she says, changing her mind, “I should stay. The first day of anything always stinks. I want to get it over with.”

  “I know how you feel,” I begin. A leaf lands in her hair, and I want to believe it symbolizes something. How things fall down and get back up.

  Zoe’s empty stare disagrees. “You could never know how I feel.”

  This is what it’s like to be on the edge of a cliff staring down at the jagged rocks and water below. Oh, Zoe, I do. I was made fun of once. I walked into a room with a label stuck to my back. And it multiplied into something far worse, a horrible mistake that I’ll never be able to erase. Ever. But I could never tell her. No matter how much she pulls, it would kill me to tell her. “I do, Zoe.”

  The wind swipes at Zoe’s face. If she replies, the breeze picks it up and carries it away.

  There’s space between us on the bench—not a lot, but enough for me to be concerned. “We all screw up,” I tell her. “It’s part of growing up. There’s nothing you can do that will change my love for you. Nothing.”

  “I don’t believe you,” she blurts out. “You’d never do something like this.”

  She has no idea what her words mean to me, no idea of the visceral power of their suggestion. It’s been harder and harder to silence the sounds of my fight with Bobby all those years ago. “Monty’s there? He’s in your apartment? Are you fucking him?” How one lie became a lifetime of lies. How his accusations became the truth. And the sin lay dormant through milestones and memories, until now. This moment. When it landed in my daughter’s soul. I’d been plugging the holes in the dam, confusing my story with hers, and trying to understand her through my colored lens. It’s unbearable for me to watch her suffer so intimately and publicly. I give
her the only thing I can. “I’ve made questionable decisions like you.”

  “Please. What did you do? Sneak onto an airplane before they called your group number?”

  How they love to tease me about being a rule follower. I haven’t always been. There’s a knot the size of a grapefruit forming in my belly. The secret part of myself unravels, the one I hadn’t wanted anyone to see.

  Her eyes fix on the grass. Small, purple flowers make the weeds look alive and healthy. “No one has any idea how it feels. Everyone talking about you . . .”

  “I can’t imagine,” I whisper, leaning in closer, lessening the gap. Modern technology had stripped Zoe of her privacy. There were no devices recording my transgression and what came after. Either way, the shame didn’t have to be seen to be felt.

  She shakes when she speaks. “What I’ve done, the reach is too far and too fast.”

  I hug her tighter and feel her heart against my chest. Tears sprout from my eyes. I can’t make them stop.

  “There’s a monster out there,” she says. “It can be anyone pushing a button and ruining my life. I can’t see them, but they’re out there, and I’m terrified.”

  I feel the monster, too. So close.

  “We’re fighting back, Zoe. You’re not alone. The school’s e-mailed everyone . . . they’ve deleted it . . . your friends will back you up . . . and we will, too. Everyone knows who you are.”

  She pulls back and faces me with her freckles and damp eyes. “It’s unrealistic for you to think you can fight the Internet, Mom. And Dad is mad. He wants to blame this on someone.”

  “You’re his little girl,” I say, stopping to catch my breath. “He wants you to make smart decisions. So do I.”

  The sun peeks from behind a puff of white and casts a glow on Zoe’s face. It’s the kind of shine that highlights everything she wishes to hide. There’s remorse, there’s humiliation, and something else bouncing off her skin. “Why is this happening to me?”

  Her eyes glaze over. I’m sad to see her so distraught, so distrusting of the world. I swallow my inner torment and tell her what she needs to hear. “Bad things happen to good people, Zoe. It doesn’t mean you’re bad. It means the universe found a warrior in you. It chose carefully. It’s up to you how to move forward. You can choose to be the victim, or you can choose to be the warrior.”

  “I don’t know how,” she sniffles.

  “Hold that beautiful head of yours up high. Show everyone that you’re better than their stares and daggers. You’re bigger and stronger than what’s on that recording. It captured your body, but it could never capture your spirit.”

  Her posture relaxes. She unfolds her fingers and takes my hand.

  “We’re going to have a helluva fight,” I tell her. “But we won’t give up. Even when it hurts.” She wipes her eyes, and I can hear the soft inhale. “That’s what you do for people you love, Zoe. That’s what you do.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Zoe squeezes me hard when we walk back inside and say goodbye.

  “You can do this,” I assure her, cupping her face in my hands so she’s forced to look at me. “Talk to Dr. Rubin. She can help sort out some of your feelings.”

  Bobby waits in the car out front. He’s angry and short. He curses the Hudsons and their irresponsibility and blames Price for pretty much everything including global warming.

  “Is Lily in trouble?” I ask.

  “Let them come down on my daughter for defending her sister.”

  My head throbs, and I buckle my seat belt. “I don’t know how to handle much more of this.”

  He doesn’t answer. He tries to console me by caressing my arm. His fingers feel cold. Wrong. Like the first time I saw him after our big fight about Monty. Zoe’s suffering feels like déjà vu, and I slowly pull my hand away.

  “I’m impressed with Dr. Mason,” he says. “He seems to have the situation under control.”

  I’m thinking about far more important things. “How will she get through her classes?”

  “Kids are resilient.”

  “Do you think she should see a real psychologist? Maybe there’s something else going on.”

  “She was drunk and fell prey to a boy, Emma. There’s your diagnosis.” He scratches at a surface that soon gives way. “I blame that boy,” he says. “He did this to her.”

  I cross my arms against my chest and stare out the window. Miami is a bright, beautiful city, though today it hurts my eyes.

  We take the steps up to the lobby side by side, but there’s an ocean between us. He leaves me for the executive offices, and it’s a relief to be alone. Nearby guests are oblivious to the heaviness of my heart. Every time my phone rings or beeps, I prepare for “Come pick me up.” I approach the front desk with a list of tasks I can’t complete. It’s useless to think about burying myself in hotel responsibilities. I’m on heightened alert, my children filling every viable space in my body. The delivery of Chiavari chairs and LED screens for this weekend’s wedding will have to be monitored by someone else. Concierge can handle placing the order for our new guest room amenities. Alberto can reschedule the meeting with the new landscapers. And I beg Heather to ask our IT consultant to come as soon as possible to figure out why the Wi-Fi keeps dropping on the seventh floor.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Ross?” she asks.

  I tell her I am, though I’m not. Then I text Lily. You OK? Everything OK with Mason?

  She sends me the thumbs-up emoji, and I try to relax.

  The apartment is quiet, and the sun streams through the windows and brightens the walls and furnishings. I disappear down the hall into the office I share with Bobby and see the laptop open on the desk. During ordinary times, I’d scroll through Facebook or search for inspiration on Pinterest. Now those time-sucking activities elude me. Besides, I am afraid to see the notifications piled up—all that I’d missed—other people’s happiness. I stare at the blank screen and wonder how an honest status update would bode: “What’s on your mind? My teenage daughter has publicly embarrassed herself and most of your kids have seen it.” Like me now?

  I’m surprised to see Bobby come up for lunch. He folds his jacket on the back of a chair and rolls up his sleeves. He’s brought two kale salads and my favorite guacamole from the beachside restaurant and suggests we eat on the balcony. It’s a peace offering, and I take it, but I should have been paying closer attention to his motivation. My instincts are off, and my obsessing over what’s going on at school makes it worse. I want to talk about Zoe. But his olive branch precludes me from bringing her up.

  He’s preoccupied, and we discuss the restoration. “It’s going to be expensive and disruptive.”

  “What’s our alternative?” I ask, deferring to him and his knowledge of these types of things. “Don’t we have to do it?”

  A gentle wind ruffles his hair, and a strand falls in front of his eye. “We do. And we have the money to cover it . . . it’s just . . .” I lean in to brush the hair away, but he gets there first. I sit back and think about the grand decisions we’ve made together on the hotel’s behalf. Decisions about her care and growth, how to maintain her beautiful charm. I wait for him to continue, but he stops. “I don’t know.”

  “What is it, Bobby?” It’s a stupid question, considering, but he’s acting strange. There’s a different kind of distance pulling us apart. He has to feel it, too. He drops a chip into the guacamole, and our fingertips touch.

  “I think we should sell.”

  The wind picks up, and I’m sure it’s mangled his words. It sounded like he said we should sell.

  “The market’s ripe. It’s a good time to consider options.”

  I wasn’t imagining it. The wind hadn’t deceived me. He’s talking about selling. It’s why he questioned the girls. I laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

  “We should have a house.”

  I don’t know who this man is, because the person I know never expressed any interest in a house. This is our home. The prospect
weakens me. The food that moments ago looked appetizing has me squeamish. I manage another bite of salad, but it’s like dust scratching my throat. “I don’t want to move.”

  He grabs an ice cube out of his glass and pops it in his mouth. After hearing about what happened to Zoe, I didn’t think there was any room left in my body for fear, but something tells me I need to be afraid. Very afraid. He’s entertaining this idea for reasons he’s too proud to share. We’re far apart, like that night all those years ago. And this is what we do when we don’t want to hurt each other—we lie.

  No, Em, I tell myself, you’re being paranoid. He’s thinking out loud. You stopped trusting yourself, so you don’t trust him.

  “Are you being serious?” I ask him. “You’re planning to sell the hotel?” My heart has been hit with so many things I’m sure it’s gone numb.

  “I’m thinking about it.”

  Lily walks in first. I’m staring at the ocean with Bobby’s announcement weighing on my mind when I hear her spring through the door. We’re not selling. It’s what I told him, and I would tell him again. But he left for work, and the conversation ended abruptly. She throws her backpack on the floor and meets me in the kitchen.

  “Where’s Zoe?” I ask.

  “She’s coming. Someone in the lobby has a mini doodle, and she’s playing dog whisperer.”

  I wish I hadn’t handed off my projects. Then I could pretend I didn’t waste an entire day worrying about their every move and cursing Bobby under my breath. I should wait a few minutes to pounce, but I can’t. “How was it?”

  Lily stands at the table drinking Gatorade that turns her lips blue. Her eyes dim when she says, “It was pretty bad.” My heart sinks, and I don’t reprimand her for drinking out of the bottle. She details the texts and Instagram posts and Snapchat stories that highlighted Zoe’s public shaming. Zoe and Price were the stars. I am shocked that kids can be so mean. “Someone needs to tell the school. They shouldn’t be allowed to do these things!”