Chương 8
Emily was not in it.
A date stamp had been cropped away, but I recognized the angle.
My mother-in-law had taken that picture.
I knew because I had watched her do it.
Daniel was already calling her.
“Dad.”
Emily sounded tired.
He ignored her.
His mother answered on the fourth ring.
“Daniel?”
“Mom, did you send pictures from your birthday to anyone?”
There was a pause.
“What pictures?”
“The ones of the girls with the bags.”
Another pause.
Longer.
Emily looked away.
Daniel’s voice changed.
“Mom.”
“I sent some pictures to Susan.”
“Who’s Susan?”
“You know Susan.”
“I clearly don’t.”
“My friend from church.”
“Why?”
“Because she asked how the party went.”
Daniel closed his eyes.
“Did you tell her what happened with Emily?”
“I might have mentioned it.”
“Why?”
“I was upset.”
Emily stood and walked toward the sink.
Daniel followed her with his eyes.
“What exactly did you tell her?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Try.”
“Daniel, don’t talk to me like I’m being interrogated.”
“I’m trying to find out how a private family dinner became an article.”
His mother exhaled.
“Well, I certainly didn’t send anything to a newspaper.”
“It isn’t a newspaper.”
“That is not the important part.”
I watched Emily turn on the faucet.
She rinsed a glass that was already clean.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Did Susan know Emily won the competition?”
“Everyone knows.”
“That happened Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“And the article went up today.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“The truth would be useful.”
His mother went quiet.
Then she said, “Susan’s daughter works for some website.”
There it was.
Daniel leaned back.
“You knew that?”
“I forgot.”
“You forgot?”
“I didn’t think she was going to make a story out of it.”
“But you sent her the pictures.”
“I send Susan pictures all the time.”
“And told her Lauren humiliated Emily.”
“I did not use that word.”
“What word did you use?”
“I said there had been an uncomfortable moment.”
Emily turned off the faucet.
“Grandma.”
Daniel looked at her.
She held out her hand.
He gave her the phone.
“Grandma, did you tell Susan what Aunt Lauren said?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“Did you tell her I asked everyone to drop it?”
“I don’t remember you asking that.”
“I did.”
“Well, maybe I didn’t hear you.”
Emily stared at the floor.
“Okay.”
“Emily, sweetheart, I’m sorry this happened.”
“I know.”
“I was defending you.”
That made Emily look up.
“By telling somebody?”
“I was angry.”
“So was I.”
“I couldn’t just sit there and pretend Lauren hadn’t said something terrible.”
“I didn’t ask you to pretend.”
Her grandmother’s voice sharpened slightly.
“Then what was I supposed to do?”
“Nothing.”
The answer came quickly.
Her grandmother went quiet.
Emily’s grip tightened around the phone.
“Just nothing.”
“That doesn’t sound very realistic.”
“It was my thing.”
“You’re my granddaughter.”
“I know.”
“And she hurt you.”
“I know.”
“I was upset.”
Emily closed her eyes.
“So you told your friend because you needed to feel better.”
The kitchen became completely still.
Her grandmother answered softly.
“That’s not fair.”
Emily swallowed.
“Maybe not.”
She handed the phone back to Daniel.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Em.”
“I’m not mad at you.”
She looked at me.
“I just don’t want to talk anymore.”
She picked up her backpack and left.
Daniel remained on the phone for another ten minutes.
The conversation got worse before it got better.
His mother cried.
He apologized for his tone but not for the accusation.
She insisted she had never imagined Susan’s daughter would use the photographs.
He pointed out that intention did not erase consequence.
By the time he hung up, he looked exhausted.
I sat beside him.
“We’re doing badly at this.”
“As parents?”
“As a family.”
“That too.”
He looked toward the stairs.
“Should I go up?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
Then he said something that surprised me.
“I almost want to blame Lauren for all of it.”
“That would be easier.”
“Wouldn’t it?”
“Very.”
We sat there while the dishwasher hummed.
A dog barked somewhere down the street.
Daniel eventually stood and put the untouched cheese from dinner back in the refrigerator.
Neither of us mentioned that he put it in the wrong drawer.
The next morning, somebody had written PORKY PRODIGY beneath one of Emily’s runway photos on a public account.
That was the first time I saw her cry.
Not dramatically.
She was sitting in the passenger seat while I drove her to school because she had missed the bus.
Her phone lit up.
She looked at it.
Then she turned her face toward the window.
At the next red light, I saw tears moving down her cheeks.
I reached for the phone.
She pulled it away.
“Don’t.”
“I’m not going to read it.”
“Yes, you are.”
“I’m your mother.”
“That is not a legal warrant.”
“Emily.”
She laughed once, but the laugh broke in the middle.
I pulled into a pharmacy parking lot.
She wiped her face hard with the heel of her hand.
“I’m so stupid.”
“No.”
“Mom, don’t.”
“Fine.”
I put the car in park.
“I won’t do the automatic reassurance thing.”
“Thank you.”
We sat quietly.
A man in scrubs came out of the pharmacy carrying an energy drink and a box of allergy medicine.
A delivery truck blocked half the driveway.
Emily stared at the dashboard.
“I thought winning would make me feel different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Different good?”
“I guess.”
She pulled at a thread on her backpack.
“I thought maybe I’d stop caring what people said.”
“That sounds unlikely.”
“I know.”
Another tear slipped down.
She wiped it away angrily.
“I stood in front of all those people.”
“You did.”
“And now some guy with twelve followers calls me a pig and I’m crying in a Walgreens parking lot.”
“Fourteen followers would have been easier.”
She looked at me.
I shrugged.
“I’m trying something.”
May you like
Her mouth twitched.
Then she covered her face.
