I pulled myself upright and stood, ready to move Sam along. “Jacob’s full name is in the description; isn’t that illegal? He’s still a minor.” I took the hand towel from him, carried it into the kitchen, and returned it back to its hook.
“Jacob Smith is a common name. Any of his friends would recognize you, and he’s tagged in the comments, but ... it’s a video of two adultskissing and some really bad drunk dancing. No one would care about it, other than someone with a personal connection to you or the guy.”
Someone with a personal connection to me or the guy.
“His name is David,” I said faintly. I needed to figure out who had posted the video. Had that been an item on Mike’s list? It should have been.
“Sure—David.” Sam was watching me like I was an exposed wire that should be capped off. I glared at him and he looked away. “You should see an attorney.”
“Yeah, we’re meeting one at two.”
“You and Mike?” Sam shook his head. “I can’t believe he’snotfreaking out about you cheating.”
I tried not to bristle at theCword. “Like I said, he has a plan. You know Mike. We’re going to ‘get through this together’!” I made air quotes around Mike’s words.
Despite my bitter tone, I would follow whatever solution Mike proposed. When it came to making plans and controlling risks, Mike was always rational and levelheaded. And ... I, at this point, was one well-placed poke away from losing my sanity. Other than regularly refreshing the video—which was still up—I wasn’t contributing anything helpful to this disaster, and I knew that. I didn’t mind pushing all my problems onto Mike’s side of the table and letting him reorganize the issues into neat and compartmentalized boxes. Maybe we’d have to move. Enroll Jacob in a new school. Cut and dye my hair.
“Well ...” Sam glanced at his watch and then planted a kiss on my forehead. “It seems like you have everything under control.”
Thank goodness. He was leaving. I gave him my best attempt at a grateful smile and waved. “I’ll call you later,” I promised.
When he pulled the door shut, I went to the cabinet beside the microwave and pulled out the orange bottles that held my meds. Then I opened the fridge and considered my opinions. Bottled spring water. Milk. Sodas. Beers. I forced myself to grab a water.
Twisting open the first cap, I eyed the medication. I was feeling off, but the urge for a smoke and drink was outweighing the swing of emotion that the pill would bring.
From upstairs, my phone rang, its WhatsApp ringtone so faint that I almost missed it. Leaving the water on the counter, I ran up the stairs but got to it a minute too late, missing David’s call.
I stared at my cell but didn’t return the call.
Maybe he’d had us filmed. Maybe, in this fairy tale, he was the wolf in the sheep’s clothing and I ...
I yawned, then blinked rapidly, jumping in place a little to wake myself back up. Too mellow. I’d have to do something about that.
CHAPTER 37
LILLIAN
I fell victim to the cigarettes first—hunting down and finding a pack of Virginia Slims in the laundry room, hidden behind a box of dryer sheets. I withdrew two and smoked them in the backyard, behind the tree that still had a swing rope hanging from its largest branch. I’d pushed Jacob on that swing. I’d shown him how to spin, how to tuck his legs to increase the speed. That was back when we were close, before he hit his teenage years and became too cool for his mother, too interested in things that I had no knowledge or understanding of.
I hid the cigarette stubs in a rotten knot in the tree and replaced the box in the laundry room. I was chewing a piece of gum and washing my hands when Jacob came in the back door and stopped, startled to see me. “Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Your car isn’t out front,” he accused.
“Oh, your dad probably took it. I blocked him in when I got home last night.” In my hurry, I had parked at an angle that would have made it impossible for Mike to get his Volvo out of the garage. I glanced at the key hooks by the garage door and confirmed that my keys were missing.
Jacob edged toward the stairs. “Well, I was just getting something from my room. I’m staying at Dijon’s tonight.”
“Wait.” I caught his wrist and gripped it. If he had to drag me up the stairs, we were going to have this conversation. “I need to talk to you.”
“I really don’t want to talk to you.”
“Well, you have to talk to me.” I dug my nails into the soft skin of his wrist and he winced.
“Ow,” he said pointedly. “That hurts.”
“Look, I screwed up. Okay? I’m sorry. Your father and I are working to get the video down. We’ll do everything we can to fix this.”