Hannah stood. “Leave me alone.” She strolled toward her room.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Kim screamed after her, but it was clear the girl was done listening.
“Let her go,” Jeff said.
“She beat a girl up! She destroyed her personal property! So we should just give her a time-out?” Kim was pouring more wine.
“This has been hard on her.”
“Hard on her?” Kim let out a harsh laugh, drank her wine. “It’s been hard on all of us, but you don’t see us beating the shit out of people and destroying their electronics.”
She was getting drunk now and becoming irrational. Jeff wasn’t in the mood. “I’m going back to work.”
His wife’s angry words followed him to the door. “Excellent parenting, Jeff! It’s no wonder Hannah’s acting like a fucking hooligan!”
BUT JEFF DIDN’T go back to work. He went to a hole-in-the-wall bar near Chinatown and ordered a Scotch. He’d been doing this lately—sneaking out for an afternoon drink or two—not getting drunk but taking off the edge. When he’d first visited a bar, he’d been surprised to find a lively culture of day drinkers, not the sad, lonely alcoholics he’d expected. Who were these guys (they were 80 percent male) and what afforded them the means, flexibility, and desire to go for several pints in the middle of the afternoon? Shift workers, maybe . . . Or sailors . . . ?
Jeff sat alone at the rough-hewn wooden bar. He wasn’t there to mingle or make friends—that was considered exceedingly creepy in the day-drinking scene—he was there to relax, to numb himself to the shit going on in his life. The Scotch burned pleasantly in his belly and the knots of tension in his shoulders were loosening, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Hannah. And Lauren Ross. He didn’t want to think about Lauren anymore, but she was stuck in his head like a fly in his mind’s web.
The evidence of Jeff’s relationship with Lauren had been destroyed. When Hannah flushed Lauren’s phone down the toilet, she had erased the texts, the nude photos, any proof that Jeff and Lauren had ever been in contact with each other. There was a chance that Lauren had backed up her data, but Jeff knew she hadn’t. The girl probably didn’t know how, for one. And he’d pressed Hannah to back up her devices and she’d blown him off. Teenagers didn’t want to leave a paper trail; that’s why Snapchat was invented. And restoring contacts was as simple as a Facebook post: new phone, send digits. So Jeff and Kim could go to trial now. Jeff could shoulder the blame of giving the girls a bottle of champagne if Lauren decided to turn on him. It wasn’t even a glass each! Kim could nail Lisa to the wall, could make sure she and Ronni got nothing. His wife would be thrilled.
But what had Lauren told Hannah to make her destroy the phone? When Hannah drowned the device, she had erased the confirmation that things between Jeff and Lauren were basically innocent. The texts clearly illustrated the unrequited crush of a young girl on an older man. Jeff had never laid a finger on her; he wasn’t some pedo creep! And now . . . he couldn’t prove it.
He needed to see Lauren. He wasn’t exactly sure why, but the yearning was visceral. As he downed the rest of his Scotch and ordered another, his motives became even more fuzzy, but no less urgent. He had to see the girl . . . to ask her what the hell had happened in the school bathroom. And for some fucked-up reason, he needed to know that she was okay. Lauren didn’t deserve his pity, he knew that, but the kid was weak and alone and confused. Hannah had positive self-esteem. Hannah had parents who loved her. Lauren Ross was a mess and she had no one.
Of course, Jeff had no way to contact her now. Their only link had been destroyed when Hannah killed that phone. He could look for Lauren at her mom’s run-down apartment or visit her dad’s expensive high-rise, but that would be weird, crossing the line. But lines had been crossed already, hadn’t they? Not the line . . . but lines. His kiss on the top of her head, her lingering kiss on his cheek, the texts, the photos, the confidences . . . So it wouldn’t be completely insane for him to search her out, ask her what she had told Hannah, make sure she was okay—not completely insane, just a little. His mind was reeling and he couldn’t think straight. He drank more Scotch.
His phone in his jacket pocket buzzed; work or Kim. He debated not checking it, but he had rushed out of the office with little warning and he had projects that demanded his attention. Alternatively, things could have devolved into a melee at home. Kim and Hannah had been at each other’s throats for weeks now. . . . He dug the phone from his pocket and checked the text.
Text me if you want to talk about what happened
A chill ran through him. It was her. She’d always gone on about their connection, a line he’d dismissed as teenaged romanticism. But maybe she was right. He’d been thinking about her, worrying about her, wondering how to contact her, and ding! She had reached out to him, just like that. But if she still had his number, did that mean she’d backed up her data after all? Did she still have his texts?
You lost your phone but you still have my number?
You left a business card in your car
I kept it
So that’s how Lauren had gotten his contact info in the first place, how she’d found his office . . . Another thought flitted through his cloudy mind. The girl’s phone had been destroyed less than four hours ago and it had already been replaced. A fistfight in the school bathroom? You get a brand-new phone! Darren and Monique Ross should be nominated for parents of the year! Jesus. The girl didn’t have a chance. She was so pretty, so lost and confused. . . .
He took another drink and realized what he wanted to do. The Scotch was probably clouding his judgment, but fuck it. He was going to follow his instincts for once. Kim would have murdered him if she knew what he was planning, but fuck Kim. She didn’t really care what he did, she only cared how it looked. Fuck appearances. Fuck being a pillar of the community, never pissing anyone off, never rocking the boat. Look where that had gotten them.
He texted back.
I need to see you.
Nothing for a few moments and then . . .
Are you mad
He didn’t hesitate with his response.
No. Not at all. Where are you?
Apple store Union Square
I’ll pick you up.
Another slight hesitation . . .
kk
SHE SAT IN his passenger seat, all lip gloss and mascara and dewy soft skin. If her face bore any evidence of the fight, she’d covered it expertly with makeup. “Where are we going?” Lauren was smiling, she was thrilled to be with him. It was wrong, but it felt kind of nice. He hadn’t had that effect on anyone in years.
He smiled back at her. “It’s a surprise. Something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time.”
She bit her lip. “Will I like it?” She was flirting again, egging him on. There was no way this was wrong.