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I wouldn’t make things too hard for him, I said. All I needed were some public appearances. Some regular social media content. Family time. Sex, sometimes—I’d even indulge in his stupid robbery fantasy. I wanted a man on my arm. A dutiful father mowing the lawn on Sundays. You know, the works. The dream.
It’s not like the status quo is evenbad.Because look at us. Look at the stealthy glances people are sending our way. We are perfection, Patrick and I. We are going to rule this town, be the envy of everyone who lives here. No one will see our cracks. No one would ever imagine what we’re hiding beneath. I’m keeping Patrick in line, making sure he’s being a good actor.
Because respect, envy, a good reputation? It takes a little work—but it’s so, so worth it.
50
WILLA
OCTOBER 17, 2017
Our homes are within walking distance of the surf break at Venice Beach, but because of all the equipment we’re hauling, it’s easier to drive. At this time of day—the sun just rising, the sky an ombré of pinks and oranges—the public parking lot is nearly empty. The only other vehicles here are banged-up Jeeps or Subarus of fellow surfers, also hoping to catch a few waves before the day properly starts.
I drag our boards off the top of the car and drop them to the concrete with a thump. Sienna and Aurora pounce on theirs and slather them with wax so naturally, you’d think they’d been doing this all their lives. Their full-body wet suits are unzipped to their waists, and their long hair has become sun-streaked. They already look the part of California girls. It didn’t take long.
“How about you, Kit?” I point to my sister. “Swim today?” But she shakes her head. She’s wearing shorts and a sweatshirt, as always. “Come on,” I goad. “The water is great. I promise.”
“It just looks socold,” Kit murmurs, shivering. “And what about sharks?”
“Thanks for the mental image, Mom.” Aurora hefts her board and tucks it under her arm.
“Oh, go easy on her,” I scold Aurora. It doesn’t really matter to me if Kit surfs of not—what’s more important is that she’shere,in California, with me.
I still can’t believe Kit and the girls made the move, that they’re now living a few blocks away in a cool, small house along one of Venice’s canals. We’re so close in proximity that we can meet for coffee every day and have brunch on the weekends if we wanted, which we sometimes do. I can attend the open-mic nights Sienna started doing at a space in West Hollywood. I take Aurora to tae kwon do and therapist appointments. I take Kit to therapist appointments, too, and try to calm her down as she drives through the crazy city traffic.
Basically, we’re a family again. And to think that it rose from the ashes of such tragedy and lies.
Sienna hands Kit her phone. “Hey, can you take a picture of me? I want to send it to Raina.”
“Raina, huh?” I say, surprised. Kit raises the camera and gets Sienna in the frame. “You guys are still texting?”
“Here and there.” Sienna glances at me guiltily. “Is that weird?”
Kit snickers. “A little weird, but probably not the weirdest.”
I zip up my wet suit to my chin and slide on booties, humming to myself. I feel good. Better than I’ve felt in a long time. It’s hard to believe there were a few days back in April when I wasn’t sure if I’d be arrested. Finally, several days into our dad’s stay at the hospital—the cancer had indeed spread to other organs, including his brain, and because he’d confessed, there was now an armed guard sitting outside his room—the NSA agent who had taken over the hack case, a stout man with a perpetual five-o’clock shadow, named Carruthers, met with me, Kit, and my new lawyer.
Carruthers said that the charges against me had been dropped. It wasn’t right that I’d had a discussion with Blue, and it wasn’t right that I’d put the idea to hack Aldrich into the hacker’s mind, but because no money had officially exchanged hands, I couldn’t be heldaccountable for everything Blue did. Blue had hacked the Ivies and Aldrich becausehe’dwanted to; he’d exposed the universities due to a vendetta he had against institutional learning as a whole.
The news of Blue’s arrest would hit airwaves and the Internet the next day, Carruthers went on, but Blue and only Blue would be to blame. My involvement, including what prompted me to want to look into Aldrich’s files, wouldn’t be part of the story. I was free.
And my story was still a secret.
I paddle over the shallow breakers. Farther out, a few of the younger guys twist around and break into broad grins at Sienna and Aurora, who are only a few steps behind me. Nothing sexier than surfer girls.
Cold, salty water splashes my face. We reach the break, push up onto our boards, and bob. A wave crests toward me, and I start to paddle for it, but the current’s too weak, so I stop midway through.
Both girls wait back at the sandbar. Sienna meets my eye as I sidle up next to her. “So have you seen what’s been going on online?” she hesitantly asks.
I spit out a column of water. “Another hack?” In the months that have passed, dozens of other businesses, institutions, political campaigns, and celebrities’ private photo albums have been hacked and released to the world. More reputations have crumbled. More people have been shamed. Practically every week, I cover another one at “The Source.” You could say I’m sort of the hack expert these days.
Sienna shakes her head. “No. All those posts on Facebook. The MeToo stuff.”
Out at sea, a pelican dives for a fish, coming up with the thing flopping around in its jaws. “Oh. Yeah.” The posts began popping up on my Facebook feed a few days ago. They’ve even been one of the meeting topics at work.
“Have you thought about writing something?” Aurora asks quietly.
The girls’ shoulders have broadened since they’ve moved toCalifornia. In the evenings, when I come home from work, I often find them hanging out in my apartment, wanting to show me a new poem they wrote, or a funny Instagram post, or to tell me about a new cold-pressed juice place they tried. It is hard to imagine I was afraid that after finding out I’d initiated the hack—and ruined so many lives—they’d never speak to me again.
