Kim stared into the metal bowl of the KitchenAid mixer and watched the butter and brown sugar cream together. She was lost in thought, her mind still on the beach, listening to her husband’s confession. Jeff had lied to her, lied to the police, lied to the lawyers. . . . He had removed evidence from the scene, asked children to lie for him, asked his own daughter to perjure herself. He had given alcohol to minors, brought LSD into their home. . . . What else was Jeff capable of?
Something jolted Kim back to the present and she flicked off the mixer. She had overcreamed the butter and sugar and now it was a wet, greasy paste. The cookies would be flat and leaden, but she was pretty sure Aidan’s soccer team wasn’t too discerning. Most parents brought a box of granola bars when it was their turn to provide snacks, so there would be no complaints. A soggy frozen banana laid dripping and thawing in a bowl. Kim oozed it from its blackened skin, then proceeded to mash it with a fork, harder than was necessary.
Oddly, Kim didn’t feel angry at Jeff. Perhaps she’d grown accustomed to him letting her down. Or maybe her expectations were so low that nothing he did could raise her ire. Or maybe, she was just angry at herself. She didn’t go in for Lisa’s New Agey crap, but Kim believed that everyone created their own life. She, alone, was responsible for the way her husband treated her, her kids, her sister, her friends, everyone . . . so it was Kim who had built a family that lied to her, that disobeyed her and kept secrets from her.
What really stung was the fact that Jeff and Hannah were in cahoots together. They were a deceitful little team, keeping Kim in the dark. She could imagine how that evening had played out, could almost hear the exchange as Jeff gave Hannah the champagne.
Don’t tell Mom. You know what she’s like.
Hannah would have laughed. She’d totally freak out. Then she’d thank Jeff for being the cool parent, and all her sneaky little friends would agree.
It wasn’t that Kim was jealous, exactly, but she had hoped for a different relationship with both her husband and her daughter. She couldn’t fault Hannah for her deceit; she was just a kid after all. But Kim had wanted an open, honest marriage, one where Jeff talked to her, colluded with her on issues like providing champagne to underage girls. “Just this once? Just a glass each?” Given the opportunity, Kim might have said yes. She might have said, Let me call all their parents and if they’re okay with it, so am I. Then there would be no question of their liability. But instead, Jeff and Hannah had sneaked around behind Kim’s back, laughed at Kim’s naiveté. She added chocolate chips to the mixing bowl—someone had been eating them despite the label she had affixed: FOR BAKING. DO NOT EAT. At least she still had a chance with Aidan.
She had just taken the last tray of cookies out of the oven, when she heard a key in the lock and Hannah let herself into the house. “Hey, you,” Kim said cheerily.
“Hey.” Hannah marched directly to the stairs, headed for her room.
“I made power cookies,” Kim called. “They’re for Aidan’s soccer team, but I’ll leave a plate for you.”
Hannah didn’t pause. “I’m not hungry.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Kim hurried to the foot of the staircase and spoke to her daughter’s departing back. “Stop!” Kim wasn’t entirely sure that Hannah would listen. A few months ago, she would have had no doubts, but Hannah was a different kid these days. But the girl halted and turned to face her mother. Kim had been about to launch into a stern lecture about being polite toward those who offer you fresh-baked cookies, but Hannah’s expression stopped her. Her sweet, youthful face was pale, her features contorted with anger, or grief, or both.
“What happened, Hannah?”
“Oh, not much,” Hannah said, aggressively sarcastic. “My boyfriend dumped me.”
“What?” Hannah had a boyfriend? Kim had no idea. God, their relationship was even worse than she’d thought.
“Yeah. He broke up with me because I don’t want to join in in bullying Ronni.”
“Kids are bullying Ronni? Why?”
“Like you care.” Hannah turned and stomped up the stairs.
“Of course I care!” Kim cried, hurrying up after her. By the time Kim reached Hannah’s room, the girl had thrown herself onto her soft-yellow bed and covered her head with a pillow. “Why are kids bullying Ronni?”
Hannah kept her face buried. “I don’t know. I guess because she was pretty and popular, and now she’s not.”
“I’m sure she’s still pretty. . . .”
Hannah sat up then. “Everyone says her eye looks scary. Her eye socket is like deformed.”
“That’s unkind, Hannah.”
“No, it’s not! It’s the truth! You’re the one who’s unkind!” She was screaming now. “Everyone’s being horrible to Ronni. They’re saying cruel and nasty things. Even her friends have turned on her. I want to be there for Ronni, but I’m not allowed!”
“I didn’t say you weren’t allowed. . . .” Kim’s voice was tremulous. “It’s just . . . very complicated with Lisa’s lawsuit.”
“That stupid lawsuit again.”
“Lisa’s trying to ruin us, Hannah.”
“And everyone at school is trying to ruin Ronni! But all you care about is money.”
“I care about this family!”
“No, you don’t! You and Dad hate each other!”
“We don’t hate each other. Being married is just hard sometimes.” But it sounded unconvincing, even to Kim’s ears.
Hannah climbed off the bed and moved toward her mom. “You care about the house, and the cars, and the stuff!” She was in Kim’s face now, screaming. “You don’t care about me! You don’t care about Ronni! You don’t care about what’s right!”
Kim instinctively stepped back in the face of her daughter’s rage. She wasn’t afraid of Hannah, but the girl was so angry, so incensed, that Kim felt helpless. She struggled to find the right words, but no parenting manual had ever addressed the complicated scenario they now found themselves in. And what had all those carefully chosen parental platitudes gotten her? A child who lied, a child who kept secrets, a child who did not respect her mother.
“You know where I stand,” Kim managed, her voice hoarse.
Hannah looked at her mom with such overt contempt that it felt like a physical blow. The girl started to say something, something ugly, something horrible, something that would damage their relationship forever, but she stopped herself. Instead, Hannah burst out laughing.
Kim stood, for several awkward seconds, until her daughter got some sort of grip on her hysteria. She glanced at Hannah’s bedside clock. “I’ve got to take Aidan to soccer. I’ll pick up some dinner on the way home.” For some reason, this set Hannah off again. She threw herself onto her bed, giggling uncontrollably. Kim left, her daughter’s inane laughter getting quieter as she hurried away.
HILLCREST MIDDLE SCHOOL was conveniently adjacent to Hillcrest High School; Aidan would move to the larger school next year for ninth grade. Her son was waiting in the parking lot, as arranged. He barreled into the passenger seat in his soccer uniform, displaying a surprising lack of coordination for a gold-level soccer star.
“Hey, hon.” Kim smiled at her boy. “No one else needed a ride to the game?”