My dad’s eyes have gone cold in a way I’ve never seen before. It’s like he can tell he’s lost control of me. “I’ve admitted that, Cleo. And I take full responsibility. Obviously, it would be very bad if the police found out about any of this. That detective already seems to suspect me of something. But you know as well as I do that your mom wasn’t exactly warm and emotionally available. She had her reasons for being a little closed off, sure. But it didn’t make her the easiest person to be married to.”
And the look on his face, eyebrows lifted, head tilted slightly:Come on, cave.Because I always do in the end. But this time I only stare back at him.
“Well, at least she didn’t pretend to be something she wasn’t.” I hop off the stool and gather my things.
“And I do?”
“No, you’re just a liar.” I turn away from him and start for the front door. “If I were you, I’d figure out what to tell Detective Wilson about the affair, though. And the money.”
“Why would I tell her anything?” he asks.
“Because she already knows. I told her. And for the record, that wasn’t a ‘mistake.’ I did it on purpose. Because I’m not covering for you anymore.”
I cry on the subway back to Manhattan. I can’t help it. And I’m not even sure what I’m crying about—except everything. WhenI’m back at my dorm, I text Will—even though it’s late, even though I know it will make me seem needy. Even though, all the rest.Could you come over?
Now?
I don’t do this—ask him to come over in the middle of the night. But I need Will here now. I need him to put his arms around me and tell me that everything is going to be okay. I need to be able to believe him.
Yes, now. Please.
Will also doesn’t usually come to my dorm. But I need for tonight to be an exception.
Of course. Be there in a few.
As I wait for Will, I return to my mom’s laptop, to the text messages I didn’t have time to read before my dad interrupted me. Sure enough, this is where her dating back-and-forths are, at least with that one guy Lauren mentioned, the one who died. There are lots of texts with my dad, too, but what catches my eye is a reply to an unknown number, a few down from the top.I SAID I WOULD PAY.
I tap on it—my stomach dropping when I see how far back the chain goes. There are at least ten messages. One of the last ones from my mom was in response to a photo of a bunch of parked cars. I scan the other messages. They’re all pretty much the same—some person, whoever it is, going on about “some terrible thing” my mom had supposedly done a long time ago. And my mom repeating some version ofI don’t know what you’re talking about.
No matter how many fancy degrees you get or how perfect you make your house, we both know you’ll never be anything more than a white-trash slut.
What the fuck?And then another:
I bet your own daughter doesn’t have any idea who you really are. What you’re capable of. But I do—I know everything. And pretty soon, I’m going to make sure everybody else knows what you did, too. You’ll spend the rest of your life in jail.
Jail?My mom?
I click back through the messages, but I can’t focus on reading them in a coherent way. My eyes keep jumping around from one to the next. I think of that last journal entry I’d read of my mom’s, about her having some kind of explosion. What did she do?
I startle when there’s a knock on the door.
I hurry over to open it and Will slips inside, wearing a casual blue button-down and jeans, a loose kind of canvas jacket. Cool, easy. His cheeks are a little flushed from the chill in the air, which makes his blue eyes glow even more than usual.
He smiles gently and tilts his head to the side. “Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, I reach for him. I want to disappear inside him—safe and hopeful and free. I need to. I press my lips hard against his. Feel the burn of his stubble against my cheek as I slide my tongue into his mouth. Will hesitates for a second—I’m not usually so aggressive. But then he moves toward me. Because he knows this is what I need right now. A second later he’s tugging off my shirt and pushing me back toward my bed. We don’t make it that far, only to the wall nearby. I tug at his shirt and then at my own jeans. When he pushes inside me, my back is up against the wall. And I am lost to the heat of our bodies becoming one.
I gasp when it’s over. Will is breathing even more heavily than I am. He laughs. “You may be the death of me, Cleo. Literally.”
I force out a laugh, too. But what we have feels serious. Right now it feels like my one good thing.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” Will asks once we’re curved around each other under the covers. He wraps an arm around my waist and presses his mouth gently against the back of my neck.
“Yes,” I say, pulling his arm tighter. “But not right now. Right now, all I want is this.”
The Wall Street Journal
TROUBLED EMPLOYEE LINKED TO DARDEN PHARMACEUTICALS’ DRUG WOES
