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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“Do you need to take that?” my client asked with a slight eye roll. Usually, I turn my phone on silent and tuck it away during any meeting with clients—it was inconsiderate to have it on the table. But today, I couldn’t take the chance of missing a call from Chloe. So far, she hadn’t called, but lots of other people had. The phone had been vibrating through our entire meeting.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know it’s rude to have my phone out, but I’m waiting on a really important call. I can’t miss it.” I’d already explained that to her before we sat down.

She raised her eyebrows as if to say: Wasn’t she important? She really was the worst client to be doing this with, because she already required delicate handling. One of those people who thought the world revolved around them, and everyone else was just a pawn in their universe. If I’m being honest, it didn’t surprise me that her husband was divorcing her.

“Maybe you’d like to reschedule?” She said it so snottily, and any other day, I would’ve been able to ignore it and push through. I dealt with difficult and hostile people all the time, it came with the job. But today, I didn’t have it in me.

“You know what?” I asked, starting to gather all of her financial disclosures, which I’d laid out on the table for us to go over. “That’s probably a good idea. Let’s just reschedule this meeting.”

Her jaw dropped, and she was clearly annoyed. She’d said it, but she hadn’t really meant it. She was only trying to make a point, but now it was too late. Maybe next time she wouldn’t be so passive-aggressive.

I tucked all the papers into their respective folders and quickly slid them inside my briefcase. “Why don’t you call my assistant and have her book a new time for us?”

She huffed, insulted, but I didn’t care. I turned around and headed out of the conference room before she had a chance to say anything else. Let her find different counsel if she wanted to. It wasn’t like I didn’t have a wait list of clients who would be more than happy to fill her spot.

I headed down the hallway toward my office but, at the last minute, took a turn and hopped on the elevator instead. I couldn’t be here today. I’d cleared my entire afternoon for this client, so now it was free, and I couldn’t spend it working. I didn’t know where I was going, but I had to get out of there and clear my head.

I took the elevator down to the parking garage and decided to head to Saul’s for lunch. There was nothing like comfort food to make you feel better, and an order of pancakes slathered in their homemade syrup might be exactly what I needed.

The server recognized me immediately and brought me to my favorite table. I’d been coming here for breakfast since before I had Hunter. Breakfast food was my favorite, and I was always one of those people who believed it was perfectly acceptable to eat it for any meal—lunch or dinner. Hunter was the same way. This was his favorite place, too. We used to come here on Saturday mornings after his swimming lessons.

Thoughts of Hunter got me running through the conversation I was going to have with him when he got home tonight. Now that the assault had been blown wide open and everyone knew about it, I didn’t have to pretend like I didn’t. I could have an actual conversation about what happened without being so secretive.

Was he one of the kids on the list to be interviewed today? I couldn’t imagine the ensuing shitstorm when parents found out the police were interviewing their kids at school without their consent. Parents always thought police needed their permission to talk to their kids, but technically, they didn’t. I wondered how they were going to figure out who was at the party. Or were they just interviewing the entire school? I had so many questions, but I knew I’d definitely exceeded my limit with Stan. He’d already given me more than he was supposed to, and I didn’t want to push it.

I felt much better after a good meal followed by a nap in my favorite chair in the living room. I took a nice long shower when I woke up, and by the time Hunter got home from practice, I was refreshed, clearheaded, and ready for our conversation.

“Hey, hon,” I called out when I heard him at the front door. “Can you come into the living room? I want to talk to you about something.”

His footsteps padded through the house. “What’s up?” he asked, taking a seat across from me on the leather chair. He plopped his feet on the ottoman. His forehead shone with sweat and his hair stuck up all over the place. It was always wild after his practices.

“I wanted to talk to you about Jett’s party again,” I said slowly, gauging his face for a reaction. Instant annoyance. Then, a dramatic eye roll.

“Mom, good lord, we already talked about it. How many times are you going to ask me the same question? It wasn’t even a big deal. I told you—me and Shai are fine. We worked it out. You worry too damn much,” he said, giving me a dimpled smile at the joke we’d had since he was ten.

It was funny, because the first time he said it was also the first time he’d ever sworn at me or in front of me. One of those milestones you didn’t know was happening until after it was over. He was in fifth grade and getting ready to go on his first overnight sleepover at the wilderness adventure club outside of Madison. He was fine, but I was a nervous wreck, scurrying around the house and snapping at him about everything he needed to pack until he finally reached his limit and snapped back.

He froze after he said it. Afraid he was going to get into trouble. It was one of the worst things he’d ever done—said a swear word. Big trouble in his mind, and he was a rule follower. But I’d just burst out laughing because of how strange it sounded coming out of his mouth and because he was right: I was being ridiculous. Relief had swept his face and he started laughing along with me. We’d been laughing about it ever since. “You worry too damn much” had become one of our favorite inside jokes.

“That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about. I’m not worried about the fight, that’s between you and Shai, I’m just glad it’s resolved,” I said. “I want to know what happened while you were at the party.”

He raised his eyebrows. Tucked his hands into his hoodie. “What do you mean?”

I cocked my head to the side. Did he really not know what I was talking about? I asked directly. “Weren’t the police at your school today?”

He balked. Hesitated. “The police were at my school?”

I nodded. “Yes. I heard they were interviewing kids about the party at Jett’s.”

A confused expression crossed his face along with something else—something I couldn’t quite make sense of, but it quickly passed. “I didn’t see any police on campus. I don’t understand. What happened?”

“You haven’t heard?” I probed his eyes, searching for clues, but I’d lost the ability to read them. He felt like a stranger in that moment. It made me dizzy. I scooted forward on the couch and planted my feet firmly on the ground like that would steady my insides. “A girl named Chloe Danes was assaulted at that party, and a group of boys recorded her afterward. She just went to the police and filed charges. Her dad is determined to find out who did it. I heard the police were at the school today, interviewing kids who were at the party. I figured since you were there, they might have interviewed you…”

“Who told you that?”

“Told me what? About the assault? It was on the news.”

He scowled at me and shook his head. “No, that the police were at the school today.”

That struck me as an odd question. What did it matter? “My friend Stan. We’d been talking about it.”

“You talked about it before they went there? But how did you know?”

These weren’t any of the questions I’d expected. Suddenly, I felt like I was being interrogated, and I didn’t know why. “We met for drinks last weekend, and he mentioned something about it.”

Hunter stared back at me like he was trying to decide whether or not he believed my story. I was a terrible liar, always had been, so the truth was probably written all over my face. But he didn’t press any further. Was he angry? Why on earth was he reacting this way?

I gave him my most serious face. “Hunter, if you know anything about what happened to Chloe or the video, I need you to tell me.”

“I don’t know anything about what happened, but I can tell you this”—his scowl quickly faded into a cocky grin I’d never seen—“Chloe really likes to party.”

“You know her?” I asked, trying to pretend I wasn’t horrified by his response.

He snorted. “Of course I know Chloe. Everyone does. She’s one of those girls.”

“Hunter!”

“Sorry, Mom, but she is. Chloe is always partying. She’s all over that scene. And the other thing about Chloe you probably don’t know? She loves attention. You should see her Instagram. Go look at it. You’ll see exactly what I’m talking about. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if she made this entire thing up for attention, to get everyone talking about her.”

I wanted to slap the words out of his mouth. I remembered our first conversation—how young and lost she sounded, explaining that she didn’t even drink. I spoke through gritted teeth, “Even if she likes to party, that doesn’t mean she deserved for such a horrible thing to happen to her. I can’t believe you’d say something like that. Have some compassion!”

He casually shrugged his shoulders like it wasn’t a big deal, but I was horrified. “I’m sorry, Mom, but it is what it is. You have no idea what girls are like these days. They’ll do anything for attention. And the video? She’s probably the one that posted it.”

“Are you serious right now?” I shook my head. I was disgusted with him, and I’d never been disgusted with him before. “I can tell you this—there is absolutely no way she posted that video of herself. It’s degrading and awful.”

“You’ve seen the video? How’d you see the video?”

“I didn’t, but there was a piece about it on the news this morning, and that’s what her dad said.”

“The news?”

“Yes, Chloe’s dad went on the morning show to ask for help in finding her attackers. They’ve created a tip line and a reward for anyone that provides information leading to their arrest.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Hunter,” I admonished again. “Don’t act like that. This is very serious. A crime has been committed.”

He pushed the ottoman away and stood. Jutted his hip out while he adjusted his backpack. “Are we done now? I’m super smelly, and I really need a shower.”

I stared at him, trying to reconcile his response with the kind, compassionate son I’d always known. The one I’d raised to respect women. To treat them with dignity, and as equals. “So, to be clear, you don’t know anything about what happened at the party or the video?”

“God, Mom, no, I already told you that,” he said, turning his back to me and heading up the stairs. He stopped right before he got to the top. “Please stop asking me about it, too. I’m over this conversation.”