Chapter One #2
the greater good, and I’m some sort of menace to society. And that would be fine if it were just about me, but what if she’s
sinking her finely manicured little hooks into my kids? Could there really be a scenario where Ray would win custody? She
literally has a file folder full of allegations and accusations. I get out of the car and take out my phone and stab at the
camera icon.
Before Tia gets inside, she sees me practically speed-walking toward her back gate. I snap a photo of the grass in the side
yard.
“Overgrown grass. HOA violation,” I say, then swing open the gate to the backyard, where Ray sits on a deck chair, drinking
a craft beer and listening to Journey. I take a video.
“Noise violation! The music is too loud,” I yell over the Bluetooth speaker on the table, and it is pretty loud so I feel good about that one.
The kids are inside, no doubt eating pizza in front of a video game, so I keep going.
Ray has been startled to his feet and Tia is marching over to me, holding up the ends of her weird linen dress with fire in her eyes, but I duck past her and march to the opposite side yard with both Tia and Ray following behind, and I hear some mumbles from Ray about “taking it easy” and “going on home,” but I ignore him.
I knock over the recycling bin and start snapping photos.
“Look at all this shit that shouldn’t be in the recycling. Jesus. Bubble Wrap? An aerosol can? Are you some kind of Neanderthal?”
Just as I notice she’s hovering over me in a rage, Tia swats the phone out of my hand and it hits the grass with a thud. Then
she pushes my shoulder.
“Get off my property! You’re trespassing!”
“Oh, is it yours? Is it your property? I guess I thought Ray bought the house. Am I mistaken? Can a part-time Pilates instructor
afford a three-point-two-million-dollar house these days? Well, pardon me, I guess.” With this, she slaps me across the face.
I’m a little shocked she had the balls to do that, so it stuns me into silence for just a moment. Then I pick up my phone
from the ground. Soft landing, thank God, so it’s not broken. I press Record on the camera.
“This woman just assaulted me. For the record,” I say, camera in Tia’s face. I’m not trying to be one of those women who ends
up on the Dr. Phil show. I’m really not trying to be petty, but goddammit. This is about my children and someone actively
plotting to get them taken from me. It’s time I get a little angrier and stop taking the high road, because nobody can see
me way up here on this freaking road. My voice can’t be heard way up here. I keep thinking surely people will eventually see
who Tia is, that her true colors will come through, but nobody can see through her. This can’t go on.
I turn off the camera, satisfied I have something to show now, too. Even though I didn’t get the slap on video, it’s something.
“All right, Andi, get the hell outta here, come on,” Ray says weakly, and he tries to put his hand on Tia’s shoulder and walk
away with her back into the house, but she loses it. She absolutely loses it and lunges at me with a shriek, and before I
know it, I’m on the ground with grass-burned knees, breathlessly trying to push her off me.
“Give me that fucking phone,” she growls. She’s trying to wrench the phone out of my hand as she straddles me on a bed of
Russian sage.
“Are you out of your mind?” I scream. I can see a couple neighbors watching now. Tia is small but wiry, it turns out, and
she manages to get the phone out of my hand, just as Ray finally pulls her off me. She takes the phone and flings it into
the driveway, shattering the screen.
I really cannot believe what I’m witnessing. I push myself to stand. I brush wet grass off my jeans and pull a leaf out of
my hair and just stare at both of them.
“Go inside, Ti,” Ray says. She pushes his hand away.
“I can sue you for this, you know. Assault. Destruction of property!” I yell, infuriated now.
“Just try it. You’ll see what I can really do to you,” she hisses under her breath.
“Is that a threat? Everyone hear that?” I say, looking to the neighbors who pretend not to see now, all of a sudden, and go about their business.
“You’re the one who better watch your back!
You think breaking my screen erased that video, psycho?
You want a fight? You have one. I’m done.
That’s it!” I peer into the living room window and get a glance of the kids.
Thank God for loud PlayStation games and a well-built house—it looks like they didn’t hear anything.
So I pick up my phone and walk to my car, resisting holding up my middle finger because this doesn’t really need to sink any lower than it already has.
“Don’t threaten us,” Ray says pathetically, probably feeling like he has to do something.
“Oh, fuck off, Ray,” I say. Then I drive away.
I drive around the lake blinking back tears, partly because I’m just so pissed off, but also because of how everyone has witnessed
my war with Tia and I’m embarrassed, honestly. It’s not the person I want to be. It’s not the person I am.
Do I need to wear a sign that says Ray begged for me to stay and forgive him after I caught him with her? I was the one strong
enough to walk out—she got him by default, and I’m not some victim here. I’m not the jealous scorned ex causing drama, but
that’s what it looks like to everyone. And how am I even thinking about this after what happened to Ally? It makes me feel
even more pathetic that this is what my energy is focused on. I know this is similar to the way people see Regan. She pops
pills and flies off the handle and snaps at everyone, but because of what happened to her, there’s a sense of quiet pity,
and people rally around to support her. My husband’s not dead, so I don’t get to act like this. There was a certain window
of time allotted for me to lose it, and now I’m expected to shut up and move on.
I try to shake it all off as I walk into the kitchen and put my shattered phone on the counter, grabbing a kitchen towel to
wipe the wet leaves from my hair. I see Carson standing in front of the sliding glass doors leading out to the back deck.
He’s on the phone and I can tell something is wrong by the tension in his posture and the way he hasn’t turned around to give
me a silent greeting. Shit. What now?
He hangs up the call and turns to see me.
“What the hell happened to you?” he asks, and I’m just too humiliated to tell him about what was essentially a catfight.
“I had a tumble. The grass was slippery. I’m fine. What’s wrong? I can tell something’s going on.”
He sighs. “Let’s sit.” He nods to the door and I follow him to the deck, where he’s already poured a couple glasses of wine.
We sit on the sofa next to the fireplace.
“What?” I ask.
“There was . . . a sort of bomb threat at the elementary school.” I put my wineglass down and leap to my feet.
“Oh, my God. Dez!”
“Babe, you just dropped the kids off at what’s-his-face’s house. He’s fine.”
“I know that, but it could have been . . . What if it was . . . God, what happened?”
“Everyone is fine. It was a prank—like a false threat. Someone left a box—a wrapped package with a kitchen timer inside—in
the middle of the hallway.”
“Why? Who?” I sit back down, my mind trying to wrap around what the hell is happening. Bombs? Another bomb, for Christ’s sake. It’s too much.
“I don’t know any more than that, really. They say there was a note taped on it that said, Bang. You’re dead.”
“Jesus!”
“Yeah.”
“There are cameras in the halls, though.”
“Well, a few, but they only pick up some main traffic areas. There was nothing caught on security cam from what I’m told.”
“And who did tell you all this?”
“The school. They’re calling all the parents. Said they left a message for you. They’re trying to get ahead of it before it ends up on the news and they’re raked through the coals for not having a clue.”
“Right,” I say. “God, what’s the world coming to?”
We sit for a little while and he pretends not to be distracted by the game on the TV, but I don’t care. Our date night at
home is no longer on my mind. I drain my glass of wine, pour a second, and kiss him on the cheek before announcing I’m headed
to take a hot bath and change.
The sun begins to sink and paints purple and crimson watercolor strokes across the horizon as I lie in the hot water and gaze
out the picture window. I think about my kids in the slimy grips of Tia fucking Hainsley—how she micro-manipulates them, puts
bugs in their ears attacking my character in a carefully crafted way so they won’t know that’s what she’s doing. I blow out
a hard breath and pick up my wineglass from the side of the tub and tell myself to let it go for the rest of the night. Just
let it go.
When I finish and exit the master bath, drying my wet hair with a towel and slipping my feet into UGG slippers, I notice something
odd. The locked bedroom safe is open, and the gun case we keep inside is lying on the bed—and the gun is missing. I feel my
heart skip a beat. I rush out to the deck, whipping open the door and staring at Carson.
“Uhhh. Anything you wanna tell me?” I say. He clicks off the game, saying something about it being a blowout anyway, whatever
that means. I see the gun on the coffee table in front of him.
“Was there an intruder when I was in the bath or something?” I say, sarcastically gesturing around. “What the hell?”
“Well, with everything going on, I think it’s time you at least learn to protect yourself. What would you do if there was an intruder?”
I sit in the armchair across from him and set my empty glass on the table. He fills it. Two is usually my limit but I’m riddled
with anxiety and so I take it to calm my nerves.
“Bomb threats. You want me to learn to use the stupid gun against a bomb? Solid plan,” I say.
“Andi. We don’t really know what’s going on, do we?”
“Do you know something I don’t?”