I thought about our children, waiting in the playroom with the Secret Service agents. Did they sense life would never be the same? My mind raced through the hazy echoes of when the police arrived to tell Mitch about my mom, how I’d heard him collapse to the floor while I ate Frosted Flakes. How quickly did I realize the only world I’d known had ended?
Today could never be undone. I was forever the fool who stood idly by while he’d run rampant. How many sacrifices had I made for him? How many times had I kept quiet while he “did what was necessary” to secure the lifestyle he’d insisted on? How had I blindly upheld the empty illusion—so perfect, so respectable, sopalatable—and missed the rot beneath?
A year before, I’d lost Andie while chaperoning her class trip to the National Zoo. He’d received his fifth death threat that morning. “Why is it only the fringe onourside? Can’t one radical liberal plan a credible bombing?” he’d emptily joked. Still, we’d gone about our day; him to the office, me to the animals. Andie’s teacher made me accompany a sniffling boy to the bathroom, and when we returned, Andie had vanished. I raced to security, a thunderous pounding in my head as I understood the lunatics had succeeded, striking where it would hurt most, the cosmic punishment for every wrong step we’d taken… until I saw her by the pandas, totally unbothered.
“Where were you?!” I screamed, practically shaking her.
“The bathroom,” she whispered. “Idon’t need help to pee.”
I’d been certain she was gone. How could I forget that? How had we returned to normal? We’d changed nothing, now here we were. Ruined.
My husband was still talking when his arm draped across my back. His forehead boldly pressed against my temple, and it finally hit me. He thought he would get away with this.
“You should say goodbye to the kids.”
His hands strained for my face. “Luke, no…”
I shrugged him off, recoiling from the marble island and its swirlingteeth. “You can see them this weekend. Jenny will bring them wherever you are—”
“Please, I’ll doanything. Just say what you want!”
He stared at me desperately, like I still had something to give him. But never again. I would reclaim my life, starting with one sentence.
“I want a divorce, Barnes.”
4
2003
SEASON 1, EPISODE 1:
“Pilot”
Upon landing in the Caymans, we were greeted by perky, curvy Mary Peach (her God-given name, she swore) and Clem Cooper, a grizzled veteran of daytime soaps whose penchant for conspiracy theories prompted Arjun to nickname him “Papa Cuckoo.” They would be our showrunners, as much lead producers as head counselors. We were last to arrive, completingEndeavor’s inaugural roster of nineteen reality stars and one washed-up college athlete.
The seaside villa we’d inhabit was a stunning terra-cotta palazzo drenched in vivid blues and greens. I was so entranced walking up that I didn’t realize we’d begun filming, accidentally crashing into some poor sound guy. I pleaded apologies as Mary Peach swooped in, her walkie blaring chatter. “Crew can’t speak to cast, honey,” she explained. “It’s network policy to guarantee you only interact with the other on-camera talent. Keeps the storylines clear.”
“Um, okay… Am I allowed to talk toyou?”
“Bless your heart, you can always talk to producers,” she said, her warmth sincere. “Now, grab a bed before the best ones get taken. Thenyou’ll meet Drew!”
I nodded dumbly. “Right… Who’s Drew?”
Drew Ecklund swaggered in soon enough. He was the show’s host, a young white guy in head-to-toe FUBU who embraced Arjun while mumbling something about “hustling and flowing.”
Arjun laughed, so at ease in the circus. “Drew’s harmless,” he promised.
Imogen was less convinced: “If that man puts a grill in his mouth, restrain me…”
“I’ll do better,” I replied. “I’ll help you bury the body.”
We were divvyed into Team Green and Team Blue. Barnes, Imogen, and Arjun were all assigned to Team Blue. I waited with bated breath, but thankfully I too went Blue, Barnes clapping loudest. Arjun meanwhile kept cool, like no other outcome had been possible, and Drew Ecklund outlined the game exactly as Arjun had prophesied, even down to the Tribulations and Trials. After filming some goofy shenanigans on the beach for the opening credits, a night of carefree partying followed.
The next morning, our first Tribulation was a glorified water polo match in the villa’s Olympic-sized lap pool. On the sidelines, I fidgeted with my T-shirt, dreading the idea of displaying my tattered body. It was like I was back at School in the Sticks, waiting for Mr. Adamson to strip me, until Imogen appeared, squinting at the pool.
“I can wear my shirt too.”
“We’ll get weighed down,” I sighed. “Probably lose.”
