Somebody's Daughter

by Rochelle B. Weinstein

  “Come on, Dad. You love that place. You’re joking, right?” Lily says.

  “It’s not a joke. Sit down, Zoe. I’ve had some time to think about it. Change is good. The hotel is ready for new ownership. I think we’ve run our course.”

  This is his battle. I’m silent.

  “The Ross is our home,” Zoe stutters, caught between sorrow and fury. “You can’t. That’s not fair.”

  I want to hug her. I want to make it so it isn’t so.

  Lily is uncharacteristically quiet. She lets her sister speak for the two of them.

  “Zoe, it’s not that simple,” Bobby says. “We have an offer we may never get again.” He pauses, and I can see this is hard for him, but he fights through it. “It’ll be good for you girls to have your own home—maybe something on the water with a pool and a big backyard.”

  “We have a backyard,” Zoe argues. “We have the entire ocean. It’s where we grew up. Why would you make us leave?”

  “It’s a building, Zoe. Don’t get carried away,” he says.

  “How can you say that?” Zoe’s eyes are aflame while her arms cross at her chest. “I’m not moving,” she declares.

  The waiter interrupts to take our order. He’s Latino with bushy eyebrows, and he looks like someone we know. At another time, we would have played a game, taking turns guessing, but tonight we’re not in the mood for fun.

  When he leaves, disappointed no one wanted their famous Greek sampler, Zoe persists. “I’m not moving. You’ve spent your whole life talking about how great it is. How could you make us fall in love with it if you were going to take it away?”

  “What about Alberto and Luz?” Lily asks. “And Kinsley and Elle? Where will they go?”

  “Mom,” Zoe says, “you don’t agree with this, do you?”

  I can’t face them when I say, “I don’t.” I look at Bobby instead, holding on to his eyes until he’s forced to look away.

  “Girls, it’s a good time for us to sell. The Ross may be where we live, but it’s also a business. We forget that sometimes. The hotel needs some major improvements. Now’s a good time to get out.”

  “This is what you do,” Zoe says, cocking her face to the side. “You give up. When something breaks, you just walk away.”

  “I love that place.” His fist slams the table, and the water glasses spill, startling the waiter, who’s serving warm pita and complimentary hummus.

  “Then how can you let her go?” Zoe asks.

  Lily grabs hold of her sister’s hand. “It sounds like Daddy’s trying to do the right thing for the hotel. I’m sure he’s thought this through. He thinks there’s no other way. Right, Daddy?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  Zoe continues her assault. “You always told us that the one thing that makes a hotel special is the people inside. Anything wrong with the Ross can be repaired.”

  Before he can respond, the shadow of two people approaches our table. They stand over us and stare. The restaurant is noisy, packed with customers, but suddenly it’s quiet. “It must be nice to be able to go out and enjoy your family,” says Drew Howard, with Lisa by his side.

  “Come on,” Lisa says, tugging on Drew’s arm. “Let’s not make a scene.” But he pretends not to hear her, intent on making that scene.

  I avoid eye contact with Lisa, though her presence shrinks me in my seat. Bobby stands up, throwing his napkin on the table. He towers over the shorter, rounder Drew.

  “Don’t do this here,” he says, wiping his hands on his jeans. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “You made the mistake, going after my daughter.”

  “The State went after your daughter,” Bobby corrects. “I’m asking you, respectfully, to step aside and let my family eat in peace.”

  I catch Zoe’s eyes to reassure her it’s okay, but she’s gone white.

  “We could’ve talked!” Drew shouts, raising a fist, while nearby customers pause from their meals to stare. “We could’ve resolved this between us . . . figured out a way to work through it. Charging her is reprehensible! The girls have been friends their whole lives.”

  “What kind of friend does this?” Bobby lashes back.

  Lisa is withdrawn and silent. Her blonde hair is pulled off her face, and deep swells of worry hide her eyes. She grabs Drew’s arm and again attempts to steer him away from the table. I can’t face her. I stare at my plate instead.

  “Both girls made mistakes,” Drew says, snatching his hand away from Lisa’s. “Hell, we all made mistakes at their age. You could’ve come to us. You should’ve come to us. Grace is sorry. She made a mistake. I don’t know if she’ll survive this.”

  I look at Lisa. I’m telling her with my stare, I don’t know if my daughter will survive this, either. She breaks away first, and I feel regret seep through my veins.

  Bobby’s face is explosive. His palm comes up in Drew’s face. “There was an investigation, Drew! We had no reason to think it’d be a friend of Zoe’s! Why would we? We were shocked to find out it was Grace!”

  Lisa thrusts herself forward, knocking into her husband and the table. Her voice, once familiar, sounds like a stranger’s. “The court will prove Grace’s innocence,” she says. “You’ll see. You’ll have dragged her through this for nothing. For what? You want to send my child to jail?” She begins to break down. “You were our friends!” Then she turns to me. “Emma, please . . . please don’t do this.”

  I can’t look up. I’m studying the table and the grooves in the wood, the cobalt-blue lanterns and jar of fresh olive oil. My mind whispers, Please go away. Please.

  Drew shifts his eyes from me to Bobby. “Is this what you really want? To punish Grace?”

  “Do you have any idea what she’s done?” Bobby asks. “The impact? How long that video will haunt Zoe? Grace needs to know the consequences of her behavior. She needs to pay for what she did!”

  “Think if it was your kid, Bobby . . .”

  “It is my kid!” he yells, pointing a finger in Drew’s face. “It happened to her! That video may never go away.”

  Drew’s voice is a pleading whisper. “I’m not threatening you . . . I could create lawsuits that will have you tangled up for years, but I won’t. I’m begging you, father to father, please don’t do this . . . please don’t do this to Grace.”

  I tug on Bobby’s jacket so he’ll back off.

  “What about Zoe?” he says, pulling away and motioning toward the silent figure, who is now hiding her face in her hands. “Do you have any idea what that video did to her? She has to live with it. And she’ll do it, because she has no choice. Grace . . . she had a choice.”

  “Bobby,” I say. “It’s enough. Sit.”

  Drew talks over me. “They’re kids, Bobby. They screwed up. I don’t know what happened with the two of them. I’ll make it my business to understand.” He turns to walk away but changes his mind and growls, “There were ways we could’ve dealt with this. You’re going to be sorry.”

  Defeated, the Howards and our long-standing friendship vanish. Patrons go back to their meals, and the breath I’d been holding releases into the air.

  “This is a mistake,” I say. “A terrible mistake.” It’s too painful to think about the repercussions.

  I lean into Zoe, smoothing out her hair. “Are you okay?” She doesn’t answer, falling farther into me instead. I hold her tight and feel her body wrack. “I’m sorry.” My heart hurts for the Howards. It hurts for Zoe, and it even hurts for Bobby. Lily pulls out her phone and snaps a picture of the Howards’ backsides. I demand she delete it or she’s going to lose her phone like her sister did. “Haven’t you learned anything from this experience?”

  “How is this our fault?” she asks.

  Bobby takes a swig of his drink before flagging down the waiter and asking for another. “It’s not,” he says. “They’re upset. Everyone’s upset.”

  All eyes rest on Zoe, who hides her face in her hands. “I did this.” When her main course arrives, she p
ushes the plate away.

  “You didn’t do this,” I argue. “You made a choice in that room. It was personal and private.” Bobby’s eyes shoot missiles in my direction, but I don’t stop. “It was your choice. Your body. Nobody got hurt in the process. What Grace did with it was wrong. She was the one who took advantage of you. Her actions were deliberate.”

  Bobby listens to me comfort our daughter and stabs at his food with a renewed vigor. “Zoe, I didn’t appreciate your outburst.”

  “Bobby,” I plead.

  “It’s the truth,” Zoe bites back in response to her father. “It’s what you do. You don’t like something. You leave.”

  “I can’t expect you to understand,” he says.

  She’s tough when she releases herself from my grip. “I understand. The hotel is a little broken. You can’t stand to see it that way. Are you embarrassed?”

  I bring the glass of water to my lips, hoping the cool liquid will quench the heat.

  “Watch your tone, young lady. After what you’ve pulled, you’re lucky you’re allowed out of the house. Keep disrespecting me and I’ll come down on you even harder. You won’t like it.”

  “Bobby,” I interrupt. “That’s enough.”

  Zoe shrugs and whispers to her sister, but loud enough for us to hear, “Whatever.” Lily finds her sister’s hand again and curls it into her own.

  “Zoe,” he begins again, this time his expression weakening, “do you have any idea how badly I want to fix this for you? To make it right? It’s my job to make it go away, to protect you.”

  “That’s just it, Daddy. It’s not going away. It’s always going to be there. Someone’s always going to remember me as that girl. They’ll have the video on their phone even if they never show it to anyone. They’ll have that part of me that not even you can fix.”

  “You’re wrong,” he says, digging his knife into a piece of lamb.

  “I’m not,” she says, summing it all up in two words. “I’m doing better than you are with this. I’ve had to get up for school every day and pretend it didn’t happen, that people aren’t looking at me, talking about me. And you know what? I’ve done it. It’s been tough, and it sucks, but I do it. Every day. And I’ll do it again tomorrow. And you . . . you need to stop figuring out ways to fix this, because you can’t. You’re going to have to accept it. And me.”

  My hand lands on Zoe’s leg, and I gently pat her thigh. My daughter has done what I should’ve done all those years ago. She freed herself. Had I done the same, it might have fused Bobby and me together, instead of tearing us apart.

  During the car ride home, it’s silent except for the breeze floating through the open windows. No one dares bring up the sale of the hotel. The encounter with the Howards leaves us lost in a flurry of thoughts that slam into each other. I watch the girls in the back seat. Lily is passed out, which happens after a grueling practice. Zoe is staring blindly out the window, the world different and imposing. I am struck by how she teaches us things we don’t understand ourselves.

  Hours later, the girls are asleep, the Shabbat lights burn, and Bobby informs me he’s going to meet Mr. Summer and his team of investors at the bar. Reality sets in and silences me. I want to ask if he’s coming home, but I fear the rejection.

  I get into bed, feeling horrible. My phone buzzes, and it’s Jo Jo calling. She asks me if I’ve seen the news about a certain school in Dade County that suspended students for receiving a sext from another classmate. Parents were outraged that some of the kids in question hadn’t even opened the text.

  “These phones are affecting the world around us. Too much access to too much stuff,” she says. “I’m not sure what it’s going to take for kids to realize the consequences of their actions.”

  But that isn’t why Jo Jo is calling. She’s calling because we received a tentative date for Grace Howard’s trial in juvenile court. “Assuming she passes the psychological screenings, pencil in December 4. We’re lucky we got in before the holidays. You’ll need to come down Monday for an informal meeting. That includes Zoe.”

  The finality of it all comes at me like crashing waves. Lisa is pleading for us to stop. Grace is begging for forgiveness, for absolution, and the phone call means there’s none. Though it’s the beginning, it’s really the end. The chain of events has spread like a virus across our porte cochere. We are powerless to stop it. I text Bobby with the date for his calendar. Before I hit “Send,” I add See what you’ve done.

  I’m not sure how long I’m asleep. A voice from the hallway trickles through our door and jostles me awake. I tiptoe to the living room. It’s Zoe. She’s seated in the living room with her back to me. I know it’s Zoe by her throaty voice. She’s comforting someone.

  “Grace,” she whispers into the phone, presumably Lily’s, “you shouldn’t be calling.”

  I am thankful for the dozens of times I told the girls not to hold their phones against their heads. Because of that, Zoe is holding the phone in her hand, and I hear Grace’s whimpering voice through the speaker. “I’m in the hospital for the night,” she says. “I’m sorry. It was stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking. You have to believe me.”

  “Why would you do this to me?” Zoe cries out. “We were friends!”

  Grace is sniffling into the phone. “I don’t know . . . I was mad at you. I was so mad at you!”

  “What did I do?”

  “You know what you did. With Price.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Come on, Zoe, you know. I told you!”

  “Told me what?”

  “I told you I liked him! I told you that night!”

  “What are you talking about? You never told me!”

  Grace quiets, and I hear her blow her nose. I think about her in the hospital. A dark room alone. Zoe sounds clearly shocked. Price Hudson? All this because of a boy?

  “We were walking into the party . . . I told you I wanted to hang with him.”

  “You never said his name, Grace. I would’ve never . . .”

  “I was in the bathroom. The room was spinning. I was so sick. I heard voices in the bedroom . . . I didn’t flush. I was drunk and furious.”

  “Wait. You filmed us?”

  I burst into the living room, needing to shield her from this bombshell. She’s stunned, motionless, and my arms come around her. She’s shaking. Her finger’s on “End” when Grace begins to cry again. I’m about to explain, but Zoe shushes me.

  “Zoe, please,” Grace cries, “you have to forgive me. I can’t live with this. I can’t live without you!”

  “You think videoing me and posting it on the Internet is the way to get back at me? Did you think that would get Price to like you? Are you crazy?”

  “I am,” she whispers. “I did it. I wasn’t thinking. I was upset.” She stops herself. “I made a horrible mistake. I wish I could take it back. I’m so sorry.”

  “If you were watching us, you had to know we were drunk and being stupid. You could’ve stopped it! You could’ve helped! You didn’t. You watched me. And you recorded it. And you put it on YouTube! Why would you do that?”

  The agony in Grace’s voice is difficult to hear. The mistakes these girls made—in the blink of an eye—and the fallout too deep to comprehend.

  “Zoe, I swear, I don’t know.” She is hysterical. Her words are a jumble of sobs and regret. “He was being so sweet with you. He was looking at you . . . the way I wished he’d look at me. You have to believe me. I couldn’t stand it! Remember how drunk we were? I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t remember even posting it. It didn’t go live for days. They said there could’ve been a glitch. I don’t know. I completely forgot about it! And then it went live, and it was too late.”

  “You sent a text to everyone. On my birthday! You blocked your number.”

  The line goes quiet.

  “I don’t have an excuse for that. I wish I could take it back. Google is full of information. It’s not hard to find ways to block
your number to send a text.”

  “You knew it was wrong. You ruined my life, Grace. It was mean. You hurt me. There’s no taking it back.” I tighten my grasp around her.

  “Why can you be forgiven, but I can’t?” she begs. “I swear I don’t remember posting it.”

  “I told you already. There’s a big difference between stupidity and being plain old mean.”

  Grace’s words are buried in her sobs. “Do you know what it’s like to do something stupid that you’re going to regret for the rest of your life? You did it at the time because you weren’t thinking. Everyone keeps asking me why, and my reason is stupid! I have no excuse. None. Zoe, I was so jealous. And mad.”

  “Why didn’t you take it down? You saw what it did to me! To my family. You sat in my house and lied to me. To everyone.”

  “I deleted everything from my computer and phone. I didn’t know it could be traced to me, and I didn’t want to go near YouTube again. I thought it would go away. I didn’t think the police would get involved and they’d be searching my room! I’m sorry, Zoe. If I could take it back, I would, I really, really would. Your family has always been so nice to me. I loved being at the hotel with you. You always made me feel like a part of your family.”

  Zoe is torn, mangled by indecision.

  Grace says it again. “Please forgive me, Zoe.”

  “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  Her finger presses “End,” and she collapses in my arms.

  “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  “I feel bad for her, and I shouldn’t,” she cries.

  “You’re human, honey. You have a wonderful empathy for others. Don’t punish yourself. It’s what makes you special.”

  The outline of her face is dressed in faint rays of light. I’m rubbing her hair, and tears drip down her cheeks.

  “I really had no idea she liked Price.”

  My mind ventures to Bobby and what forgiveness means. “You’re a brave girl, Zoe. Forgiveness is a gift. Not everyone can give it.”