Just Jada

by Anna Cove

  "The nurses are nice. For the most part."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah." We walked along, the bright lights drilling into my mind. Why was Jada here? What was wrong with her? "Ugh. Get in here." I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty room smelling of disinfectant.

  Jada stumbled after me.

  I closed the door, my heart in my throat. "What's going on?"

  "You haven't seen Twitter yet? Or the news?"

  "I've been here for days. You know that."

  Jada set the flowers down on a plastic chair. She put her hands up like she needed to calm me down. Finally, she met my eyes. "Now, I want you to hear me out. Remember your story with Jimmy and how it went viral?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  "There's this phenomenon where sometimes people who become famous online—like you—encounter a backlash after a couple of days."

  "Okay," I said. "Jada, please. The suspense is killing me. Just tell me everything."

  "It's complicated." Jada squeezed her eyes shut. "I want to make sure you understand."

  "I appreciate you taking the time to explain to me, the luddite."

  Jada cringed as if I had pounded on piano keys.

  "Just say it, Jada, please. Nothing can be worse than not knowing."

  She pulled out her phone and tapped on the screen. Then she turned it to face me. Tweets lined the screen. Tweets about Jimmy and how he stole things. Tweets about me dropping out of school. Tweets about my money troubles. And all of them were angry as if I'd gone out and deliberately deceived them. As if I had personally hurt each one of them.

  "I don't understand. How did this happen? Why is this happening?"

  "Because of me." Jada dropped her arm by her side and looked away.

  "You—"

  "I didn't want you to win the Calver, so I tried to stop you from winning it."

  "Okay." I wasn't quite processing all of this. I walked over to the bed, perching on the edge. "I never thought I would win, anyway. But I don't—I can't—why would you try to sabotage me? Are you friends with this Luisa woman after all?"

  Jada lifted her chin a tiny bit. When we'd first met, I'd thought the movement arrogant, but now I realized she did it to give herself an extra boost of courage. Her heels clopped on the linoleum floor as she made her way to me. "I am Luisa. Luisa Jada Garcia."

  Oh, lord. Oh Lord. Oh. What? It didn't make any sense. If she was Luisa, why had she befriended me? Why had she... sabotage. It was starting to come together now. I stood, pushing past her, around the bed and toward the window. She was taking all the oxygen in the room. I needed to get out of here. I needed air. Then I could think.

  "Erika?"

  "Just. Hold on."

  Outside the door, hospital life went on. The laugh of nurses jarred against someone crying in the hall. Electronics beeped and buzzed. The wheels of a walker droned, then halted. How could it all go on when my life had stopped short? When something I thought was true and solid was no longer true and solid? When the whole world threatened to dissolve around me?

  I turned toward her, my hands cold.

  "I tried to stop it," Jada said, picking the flowers up from the chair and setting them in her arm again.

  "You knew about this? Did you do it?"

  "It was my father, technically."

  "Your... father."

  "I take full responsibility." Jada—Luisa—took a step forward. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't see her as anything but Jada. My Jada. But she wasn't my Jada. She was another woman entirely. Someone I didn't know.

  "Why didn't you tell me the truth?" I asked.

  "I—I tried."

  "No, you didn't. You're only telling me now because you had to. Because I would have found out soon enough."

  "Erika," Jada said, her voice a hoarse whisper. "I never—I didn't want to hurt you. I've been trying to fix it. You have to believe me."

  There was so much emotion in her voice, but I felt nothing. My hands and heart and stomach were numb. "I still don't understand why."

  Jada swallowed and nodded. "At first, I wanted the Calver."

  "It was yours all along."

  "No it was yours. You're the sincere one. You're the one who's doing truly good stuff and not just acting like you're doing truly good stuff. I'm a fraud. Even before I met you I was a fraud."

  Blinking against the bright lights, I walked into the hall. Sounds blurred around me as I retreated into my head. How was this happening? "I never asked your last name. What kind of idiot doesn't ask the person she's sleeping with her last name?"

  "Erika, please."

  I shook off her attempts to reach me like she was a pesky fly.

  "Erika. I want to fix this. Please."

  I kept shaking my head back and forth and back and forth, like a life-sized walking bobble head. Then I stopped short and it took me a moment to realize Jada had grabbed my hand.

  This woman who had barely shown anything but sarcasm and biting wit and strength now had tears streaming down her face. "Please forgive me. Please. I'll do anything."

  She held my hand, but I felt none of the warmth. None of the fire of our relationship. An icy chill spread from our joined hands up my arm and through my body. It gave me a strength I'd never had, this coldness. It was not natural, but a steely, man-made cold.

  I lifted my chin. "I don't think you can fix this."

  "Please..."

  "We're done."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  JADA

  My father occupied two floors of his apartment building in Manhattan. The first floor—his living area—was homey and inviting, with soft, warm touches and pastel colors chosen by a hired decorator. It was this floor, rather than his second-floor office, that I entered the next morning using the key my father had given me.

  He had summoned me for my Calver interview at his house like the incident at McNabb's had never happened. Like nothing had changed. Like he hadn't just destroyed Erika's life and my relationship with her. At first, I typed out a refusal message, but then I realized this was my opportunity.

  It was time to bring him down.

  My father violated the ethics of his position all the time. He'd bragged about times where he'd blurred the line between patient and friend, or patient and business partner. I had a feeling I didn't know the half of it. There had to be something here, some piece of evidence. Or, even better, something illegal like drugs, to use against him. Anything so I wouldn't have to drag Mrs. McNabb into this mess.

  With that in mind, I set to work rummaging through his things, beginning with his bedroom. I opened all his drawers, finding nothing but socks and pants and shirts, pressed and folded in perfect squares. His bedside table contained a stack of condoms, but that wasn't exactly illegal. Nothing behind his expensive paintings. The bathroom was spotless. By the time I reached the living room, I knew I wouldn't find anything. The drawers in there were emptier than mine, filled only with a manual for the TV and a pen.

  While my father was close to me, I wasn't close with him. I rarely visited his home, rarely ran in the same circles with him. But I did know one thing. He spent a lot of time in his library.

  I walked to the small room off the living room and sat in the plush leather chair behind his desk. Performing a task I'd seen many times, I pulled open his top drawer and set his laptop on the desk. I opened it, but a lock screen came up. I tried to enter a few of his potential passwords. None of them worked.

  Just then, the bell for the elevator—which ran exclusively from one of his floors to another—rang and I slammed shut the laptop, slid it into the desk, and closed the drawer. Then I scurried around the desk and out into the living room.

  My father exited the elevator, another man following him. "The kitchen's through there, feel free to grab a glass of water while I—oh, hello, Luisa."

  I smiled, struggling to control my breath.

  "Is this your daughter?" the man asked. He wore a navy tailored suit, his gray hair slicked back. He look
ed vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place him.

  "Yes, it is," my father said beaming, doing a remarkable impression of a good father.

  "Hello," I said. The way they talked around me like I was an art piece irked me, but letting that show would not be helpful in this situation. It wasn't enough to protest. That was the child's way. I had to play on his level.

  "Luisa is a therapist as well," my father said.

  "Ah," the man said. "As good as your father, I suspect?"

  "Better." I shot my father a wicked grin.

  My father chuckled, gesturing to the kitchen. "Do you want that glass of water, Tim?"

  "On second thought, I better be going. My meeting with the board to break the news is in an hour. Need to leave space for traffic." He strode to my father and clapped him on the back. "Thanks for the clarity, buddy."

  "My door is always open." My father inclined his head.

  They said their goodbyes and my father waited for Tim to leave before his demeanor changed entirely.

  "You're early." He turned and walked to the library where I'd just been. "Which is good because I want to speak with you about something."

  I followed him into the room and past his desk to the window, praying he wouldn't notice anything out of place. He paused for a long time. His chair squealed and I turned to see him facing me, his elbows on his knees. "I'm sorry I lost my temper at Dr. McNabb's."

  My father had never apologized to me. I opened my mouth to say something, but that something never came. I simply watched as he hung his head, drooping, like he'd googled "contrite" and found a picture to copy.

  He lifted his hand. "I see now you were just trying to make the competition fair. That you wanted to really win it, and not just by default."

  My heart made its presence in my chest known. Yes, yes, but also no. I shrugged my shoulder. How was this going to play out?

  "It's a brilliant move, my dear. I must admit. I couldn't see it because I was so caught up emotionally. But objectively, it was a good play."

  I lifted my chin.

  He glanced up, then looked away. "I deserve that," he said. "I shouldn't have put my hands on you. It will never happen again. I promise."

  "Thank you."

  My father met my eye. "Do you forgive me?"

  I only had a second to decide. Hesitate too long and my answer would seem insincere. There was no upside to arguing with him, though. "Yeah, I forgive you. Let's forget it. I already have."

  My father nodded once, his sharp gaze on my face. I tried to put an ease into my posture, relaxing my shoulders.

  He twisted around, pulling his laptop from the drawer. "Now that's settled."

  That was it? I hadn't had to say anything. He'd made up a whole story to suit his narrative. It hadn't been far from the truth, a truth... what was the truth anyway? My truth in this moment was that his apology surprised me, but it wasn't enough. It was only a means to an end for him. He hadn't changed.

  He opened the laptop and tapped on the track pad. I took advantage of his lack of interest in me and silently peered over his shoulder. He pecked his password into the computer. Luis1234. Seriously? Way too easy.

  Then, something clicked.

  "Was that Tim Wazinski?" I asked. "The head of that... company that was being investigated?"

  "Not officially..."

  "He's not officially the head?"

  "They're not officially being investigated... yet." He navigated to a stock trading website. He was... oh, my God. He was selling the stock of GlobalInvest Collective. That was the name of Tim's company. I pulled out my phone and brought up the photo app, taking a silent photo. Then I hit the record button and prayed it worked.

  "What's going on with him?" I asked.

  "The FBI is indicting him tomorrow on charges of embezzlement."

  "Did he do it?"

  "Oh, yeah," my father said. He clicked and it was all done. Just like that. Cocky asshole. He never looked back to see if I was peering over his shoulder. He still thought he could read me. He read me all wrong.

  It thrilled me, pressing me on. "Did he tell you that today in your session?"

  My father swung around in his chair. A cool panic shot down my throat. I slipped my phone into my jacket and breathed in so it wouldn't slip through and fall to the ground and reveal what I had been doing.

  He scrutinized me from under his thick brows. His gaze moved to my now empty hands. "Are you ready for the committee?"

  "I could use some help with last-minute prep. Would you mind?" My heart beat in my throat.

  "Sure. I'd love to." He stood and took my elbow, guiding me into the next room. For fifteen minutes I tried to figure out the answers he wanted to hear, placating him so he wouldn't suspect what I was about to do. Using Erika's breathing techniques, I managed to remain calm through it, to convince him I was truly here for his purposes. He'd always prided himself on his ability to read me, but I was fooling him.

  When it was almost time for the committee to arrive, he tilted his head. "You're going to kill this."

  "I hope so," I said, my voice clear.

  "This is no longer about you. It's about us. About our family's legacy."

  I nodded, my mind using the break from the grueling questions to think about how I would gather more evidence against my father. He had closed his laptop, but he hadn't closed the web browser. If I could sneak into his office at some point, maybe I could download his transaction and show it to the committee.

  The plan was flimsy and it made me nervous, a feeling I wasn't accustomed to. I was about to lose everything. Everything. My trust fund. My business. My family. Probably Erika, too. Yet, I knew it was the only thing I could do. The right thing.

  One by one, the committee members arrived. My father offered them refreshments as they arranged themselves around me. Then, he excused himself and retired to his library.

  The committee consisted of six elder psychologists and psychiatrists in the field. Dr. McNabb sat across from me, resembling a king on his throne even in my father's home. With a lift of his arthritic hand, the rest of the committee stilled.

  "This will be an informal interview, Dr. Garcia, more like an information session about what you can expect."

  I stilled my bouncing leg, steeling my voice. "Thank you, but that won't be necessary."

  Dr. McNabb frowned. "I don't understand."

  "I'm here because my father forced me to be here—threatened me with physical harm." My voice was so calm and steady it felt like it was coming from another person.

  Colleen Hannigan's mouth dropped open. Dr. McNabb grew ghostly pale. No sounds emanated from my father's library. Was he listening? No, he couldn't be. If he was, he'd be here right now smoothing this over. I had to make it so he couldn't ever smooth this over.

  "Why would he have to do that?" the old man asked.

  "Because I told him Erika deserves the award and the money more than me. And it's true." This wasn't exactly how it had happened, but it was close enough. "So I hope the information you're about to give me is how I'm going to handle losing."

  "Oh, dear," Colleen Hannigan said. "You must be aware of what's being said about her online."

  "My father started those rumors about Erika and the kid."

  "Why? I don't understand." Dr. McNabb glanced toward the library, his brow furrowed.

  "Because he wants me to win." I shrugged. "He has a strong sense of family pride. We—and trust me, it's his prize as much as mine—couldn't lose to a girl who wasn't even qualified."

  "That doesn't sound like him," Colleen Hannigan said.

  Two other members of the committee exchanged a look. I could tell by their stares they didn't believe me. Why would they? My father was on TV, was their friend. He was the man who attended dinner parties and brought the best wine they'd ever had. He made them laugh with his stories, made them cry. They just didn't realize how much he was manipulating them.

  I would need more.

  "I didn't want to tell you
this, especially in this setting, but I just witnessed my father selling stock after he gleaned information from a client." In my mind, my father stood in the doorway of his office, his look darkening. Maybe, like a western, he wore a vest and drew a pistol from his belt. My body flinched as I imagined a bullet plunging through my skin. I tore my gaze away from Dr. McNabb and glanced toward the library door, but it was still empty. "I can't give you specifics now... but in a few days you'll see for sure."

  "Those are very serious allegations you've got there, young lady." Dr. McNabb's face colored as he spoke.

  My god, could this man be any more condescending? "I'm aware."

  "They could destroy a man's career."

  "Sometimes a man's career deserves to be destroyed."

  "And you're certain," Colleen Hannigan said.

  I nodded. "I witnessed it. I'm certain."

  A man who hadn't spoken yet, the youngest of the group at fifty or so, sat forward and splayed his hands. "I'm sorry. I can't see what this has to do with you and the Calver."

  Others in the group nodded.

  "I tried to sabotage Erika at first. I told her to email all of you." Though it seemed like small potatoes now, it was something I had done. "If I accept this award, I would be another Garcia who duped everyone into thinking she is what she isn't. Erika deserves the prize."

  They all blinked at me like I was crazy, and perhaps I was. But if doing this meant I was crazy, you could call me crazy all day long.

  "Look. She can't be here right now since she's nursing her ailing father back to health, but I want you to call her..." I fished my phone from its spot in my jacket and turned off the recording app, still on from when I'd tried to document my father's latest indiscretion. Then I found Erika's number. "Tell her she won." I held out the phone to Dr. McNabb, but he was already shaking his head and growing pale again.

  "I've already left her a message," he said.

  "We couldn't offer her the prize after all her negative attention," Colleen Hannigan said. "It wouldn't have looked good for us."

  "It won't look good for you when this whole thing with my father blows up either. And when I share with the press the evidence of my own sabotage." I shook the phone. "Call her. Tell her you've change your mind."