Chapter 19
CLINT AND I FLANK OUR DAUGHTER as we walk back to the car. My body feels like I overdid it at the gym and then got beat up as I left the locker room.
Erika’s gaze doesn’t stray from the concrete in front of her shoes.
“Anyone up for a Blizzard?” Clint asks. The first words spoken since we left the principal’s office.
“Ice cream?” The incredulous words fly out of my mouth before I can consider. My throat clenches. This is the tone that constantly gets me in trouble. What is wrong with me?
“I could eat junk food.” Erika’s voice is light, almost like it once knew how to laugh.
“Meredith, want to live on the wild side?” Clint cranes his neck to glance at me.
His levity makes me trip.
We drive to Dairy Queen. At just after 1 p.m., the parking lot is not empty. Clint drives to the back of the squat building and finds a place.
As we walk into the fast-food restaurant, the stench of grease and freshly mopped floors assails me. I spy the restrooms to the rear. “Maybe get me just a plain dish.”
I use my shoulder to push open the door and walk up to the mirror. My makeup is gone. I don’t even see streaks of leftover mascara. I’m certain I put some on this morning. My brown eyes with golden streaks radiating out from the pupils stare unblinkingly back at me.
This is all my fault.
How could I not know about this guy? This man? There has to be more to this story. The picture has to be related.
Honestly, is it really a surprise? I’ve been so distracted.
So focused on myself. Not to mention my job.
A job I could be losing as we eat mass-produced ice cream.
There’s a meeting right now that will decide my fate, and this is the first time I’m even giving it a thought.
Maybe I don’t care what they decide. I can’t do it all.
I can’t be present here and know the right things to say to my kids and husband at just the right time and also be on top of all the firm alliances while coming up with their next big thing.
It’s just too much. Even without the ridiculousness with Betsey.
Oh, Betsey.
The small white envelope smolders in the bottom of my bag.
After sprinting to catch my train and find a seat, I almost tore into it, but then Clint’s texts started, and of course the emails from the rest of my sales team, who’ve lost their leader.
I haven’t had a spare moment to give yet another person power over me.
I wiggle my index finger under the seal and rip along the fold. A jagged piece of the flap flutters to the damp tile floor. The envelope is ready to spill its guts. Even before I pull out the picture, I know what it will be. Who it will be.
How did she know to follow me? Or did she just happen upon us, taking a picture in case she wanted to blackmail me?
The image is not what I expected. There are no faces.
No way to know definitively that it is us.
But she knows I know. That’s enough. Lucas’s hand hovers over my lower back as he escorts me from the Rotterdam Room.
I squint down at the image. He wasn’t touching me, but you can’t tell from the angle.
The picture was taken from within the bar. How had I not seen her?
The restroom door opens and a preschooler in pigtails runs in chanting about sprinkles and whipped cream. A young woman in impossibly short shorts comes laughing in behind her.
I slide the picture back into the eviscerated envelope and wave my hand under the paper towel dispenser. Ripping off a long sheet, I place it under the tap and then pat my cheeks, forehead, and neck. The coolness tingles against my hot skin.
My whole body aches with what I need to tell Clint and what Erika will tell us next.
I return to the table. They sit slumped on the same side of the booth. Erika’s head rests on her dad’s broad shoulder.
Clint glances up at me. “I didn’t get you any ice cream.”
I awkwardly bump in on the other side of the table. “Fine. Wasn’t really hungry.”
Clint grins down at the top of Erika’s head. She looks so young cuddled up to him. “That’s the thing. We decided we were. We ordered burgers and fries. Blizzards will come later. We weren’t sure what you were up for.”
“Burgers?” There is the tone again, but the thought of food makes me want to vomit.
“Yeah, burgers.” As he looks at me, his face loses its mirth.
A blue-clad employee pushes two trays onto the table and then grabs the plastic numbered tent.
My stomach lurches at the smell of grease. But instead of wanting to empty itself, it moans with hunger. I had a nice dinner last night and don’t often eat breakfast, so I shouldn’t feel as ravenous as I suddenly do.
“Here you go.” Erika empties half her fry sleeve onto a napkin and pushes it over to me.
“Thanks.” I pop a warm, salty fry in my mouth. My stomach growls. I follow up with two more. Wow. Delicious. I glance at the registers.
“You want to go order?” Clint asks.
A couple large families with wound-up preschoolers tumble into the lobby. “In a minute.”
Clint shifts his focus. “Erika, your mom and I are out of our depth here. You’ve got to tell us what’s going on.
” He takes a bite of his burger, oozing with ketchup, and uses his thumb to keep the lettuce from sliding out.
His jaws appear to be wrestling with the food instead of eating it.
This all must be a brilliant ruse to keep it casual without the pressure of school or home.
“I’d just had enough. I didn’t plan it. He just needed to be stopped.
” Erika takes a bite of her burger. The apparent ease with which she’s now speaking gives me whiplash.
It’s as if she’s decided this part of the story, this part of her life, she’ll allow us to see.
“Full disclosure, I wasn’t the one who filmed it.
You can tell by the angle. But I did share it.
” Her eyebrows race to her hairline as if she’s daring us to accuse her.
“Can we see it?” I ask. Either she can show us now or Clint and I will find it later.
She seems to come to the same conclusion and places the phone in the middle of the table.
The video starts with a shaky frame—the shoulder of Erika’s light-pink fleece and a few strands of blonde hair drift into view.
A young man with close-cropped black hair and a heavy jaw comes into focus.
Has to be Danny Doward. He stands rigid in front of a student desk, his broad frame looming over a skinny teen slumped low in his chair.
The classroom is quiet at first, the audio too low to catch the words, but then the voice—sharp, female—is unmistakably Erika’s.
There’s a sudden swell of noise—students jeering, chairs scraping.
Danny’s posture shifts, his stance morphing from aggression to shock to something sharper.
Anger. His eyes lock on the camera. He stomps forward, his face twisting.
His massive hand blurs as it shoots forward.
Suddenly we’re looking at the scuffed linoleum and the toe of a white sneaker—then the screen cuts to black.
I fall back into my seat. Had Dr. Singh even watched the video?
“I couldn’t hear. What were you saying?” Clint blinks a few times as if trying to clear the video from his eyes.
“I, uh, it wasn’t clean. You don’t get all of it in the video, but I swore at him and called him a bully. And then at that point, you can’t really hear everything I say, but I accused him of being a predator.”
“A predator?” Clint says the word slowly.
“Yeah. The video stops because he tries to grab it and then it’s just footage of the floor.”
“Why a predator?” I ask, not really wanting the answer. Calling her beautiful in the hallway was creepy; I can’t stomach thinking it could be more than that.
“He seemed the type, but honestly, he looked confused when I said it. I don’t know.”
Clint wipes his mouth. “So, you were protecting another kid. I appreciate that.” He glances at me. “We appreciate that. You met this man at a party?”
“I knew you’d make the party a big deal. It was nothing.” She sweeps a couple fries through a mountain of ketchup.
“All evidence to the contrary.” Clint’s words are sharp, and Erika drops her next bite onto her tray and shoves her hands in her lap.
“So, you met him.” I try to put a smile into my words before we lose her. “Maybe you didn’t know how old he was? Did he look young? Did he know how old you were?” My tone, which began normal, has developed a bit of a shrill.
Clint’s eyes flash to mine as if he’d expect me to focus on the age gap.
I swallow. This is our daughter with a grown man. Get over yourself.
“No. I don’t know. You’re missing the point.
The party was after the football game. There were lots of people, college-aged and probably beyond.
I don’t know. He upset me this morning and I’ve just—never mind.
I have learned my lesson.” Erika’s shoulders slump as she pushes away her tray. “I’ll go back to being me.”
Clint picks up his burger but just holds it in front of him, his eyes still trained on me.
Are we missing the point? Probably. I feel like I’m way too close to an impressionist painting made of colored dots. I know I need to step back to see the bigger picture, but my nose keeps getting pressed toward the canvas. “What else were you going to say?”
“Nothing. I’m done. Are you guys almost ready?” Erika grabs her tray.
“You’ve only taken one bite.” I gesture to her burger.
“Tell us why you took the picture.” Clint lays his hand on the table and loops a pinkie finger over Erika’s tray, keeping it on the table.
Erika slumps against the ribbed red-vinyl cushions of the booth.
“Honey, we just want to talk about it.” I look away from Clint’s nail turning white as he bears down on the molded plastic of her tray. “We’re not mad. We only want—”
“I know you want to talk about it. You want to talk about everything.” Erika furtively glances around as if she realizes how loud she’s gotten. The place is busy. Three tables of little kids with their families surround us. No one is paying attention.
Clint takes another bite of his burger. One I am sure he has to choke down. My stomach has lost all appetite, again. No way do I want to eat a fry. I pop one in my mouth anyway. We both seem to know it is our turn to be quiet and appear patient.
“The picture was nothing. I’m sorry I took it. I don’t know why. I can’t believe you saw it.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“Did you send it to anyone?” I ask as quietly and as neutrally as I can.
Erika yanks the tray from the table and lurches from the booth. “No.”