Dear Debbie, page 14
I stare at her, waiting to hear the punch line to what has got to be a joke. She wants me to drive an hour out to some nursing home to hold hands with a vegetable who—full disclosure here—I didn’t even like very much when he was healthy. Physically, Edgar wasn’t my type, but his wealth made him sexy. Once that was gone, my feelings for him deflated.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I snort. “I’m not doing that!”
Lisette flinches. “You don’t have to go every week…”
“I’m not going ever.” I readjust my purse on my shoulder, keeping my hand on the spray bottle. “I’m sorry Edgar couldn’t even manage to kill himself properly, but that’s not my problem. There’s no way I’m wasting even one more minute of my time on him.”
Circles of pink appear on the older woman’s cheeks. “You bitch,” she breathes.
She raises her hand, and now I’m fairly sure she means to slap me. But I’m ready for her. I yank the bottle of pepper spray from my bag, and it turns out that it’s actually quite easy to dispense. I press the button at the top of the can, and a cloud of toxic mist releases into Lisette’s face. She halts with a screech, followed by a lot of coughing and rubbing her eyes.
“Stay away from me, lady.” My voice is firm and devoid of emotion. “If I see your car around here ever again, I’m calling the police.”
She’s still rubbing her eyes, which probably need to be washed out with water. But that’s not my problem, any more than her brother is my problem. What’s done is done. I turn around, go into my apartment, and lock the door behind me.
40
FROM DEAR DEBBIE DRAFTS FILE
Dear Debbie,
Oh, I don’t know what to do, Debbie! My husband doesn’t like my cooking, and it just about breaks my heart. He jokes that I should win an award for the worst cook in the whole country, and while I try to laugh it off, I can’t help but feel like I’ve let him down.
I have tried everything to make myself into the wonderful chef my husband deserves. I’ve followed new recipes, watched online tutorials to improve my skills, and most of all, I put a large dollop of love into every meal. The funny thing is, my kids and I think they taste just fine, but my husband has a much more refined and sophisticated palate. I hate disappointing him every night.
Do you have any advice on how to become a better cook and bring a little more joy to the dinner table?
Sincerely,
Hopeless in the Kitchen
Dear Hopeless in the Kitchen,
Cooking a delicious and nutritious meal is important in any family. Have you tried taking a cooking class? Getting instructions from a real person can be extremely helpful! Also, encourage your husband to cook something for the family so he can show you the sorts of dishes he enjoys (and understand how difficult it can be).
If none of that works, I would encourage you to try some new and interesting way to flavor his food. For instance, ethylene glycol, also known as antifreeze, has a lovely, sweet taste. If you put a healthy dollop into his food, it will enhance the flavor, and I promise you, he will have no complaints once he finishes!
Debbie
41
COOPER
When I get home from the gym, Debbie is cooking dinner in the kitchen.
She doesn’t need to do that every night. I could bring home food, or I could try to cook. My cooking isn’t anything to get excited about, but I’m a smart enough guy. I can figure out how to put together a meal. Especially now that I’m not going to have a job.
“Is dinner almost ready?” I ask her.
Debbie looks up from the saucepan and smiles at me. But there’s something off about her smile. I can’t quite put my finger on it.
“Almost,” she confirms.
“Can I help?”
She pauses for a beat, then nods. “Can you set the table? And fill up the water glasses.”
I take four glasses from the cabinet over the sink and set them down on the counter. I grab the jug of spring water in the refrigerator, but there’s only enough in it to fill two glasses.
“Do we have any more?” I ask her.
“Just fill it up from the tap,” Debbie says.
I raise my eyebrows. “I thought Lexi won’t drink water from the tap. She says it tastes metallic to her. Isn’t that why we have this?”
Debbie laughs. “Cooper, I’ve been refilling that jug from the tap for the last two years. Lexi doesn’t know the difference.”
I had no idea she was doing this. I agree that Lexi’s teenage obsession with not drinking our perfectly fine tap water was weird, and it’s sort of funny that she can’t tell the difference, but I don’t know how I feel about the fact that Debbie has been lying to our daughter for two years. And even worse, I had no idea about any of it. Aren’t we partners in this whole parenting thing?
I finish setting the table, and then I do one better and let the girls know to come down to eat. Izzy bounds down the stairs almost immediately, but Lexi is slower on the descent. She’s also uncharacteristically silent. Lexi has been so moody ever since she turned fourteen. Is that typical for girls? Thank God Izzy isn’t moody like that—I don’t think I could deal with two kids telling me that I need to find a new barber because my haircut makes me look like a dork.
“The police were at school all day today,” Izzy babbles as Debbie brings out a large plate of food. We always get served family style, especially since lately you never can predict how much the girls want to eat. They will consume anything between a full plate of food and five noodles. “They were even still there when I left the building!”
“The police?” I repeat.
Izzy stares at me in amazement. “You didn’t hear? Mom didn’t tell you?”
I look at Debbie questioningly, but she is busy scooping pasta and white sauce on her plate. It seems like an issue involving the police would be something that Debbie would have thought to mention to me. Apparently not.
“No,” I admit. “What happened?”
“Coach Pike was arrested,” Izzy says. “He had a camera in the girls’ locker room in the shower.”
I let out a gasp. “He was recording teenage girls taking showers?”
“I heard the camera was just put in and hadn’t started recording yet,” Izzy says.
Thank God. The thought of what could have been on that footage is traumatizing.
“My friend Ayan told me he’s saying he didn’t do it, but, like, I heard they found a program on his phone that connected to the camera. So he definitely did it.”
A program on his phone that connected to the camera. Just like what we have at our front door.
“I’m sure he did it,” Lexi mutters. “Coach Pike is a total creep, and everyone knows it. I’m just surprised he was stupid enough to get caught. I mean, did he really think he could put a camera in the girls’ locker room and nobody would notice?”
She’s right. Anyone who did that is just begging to get caught.
“So, Izzy,” Debbie says, “now that Coach Pike is gone, do they know who will be coaching the girls’ soccer team?”
“Mrs. Laslo is going to take over,” Izzy says. “And she says even though Coach Pike told me I was off the team, I can join up again. She’s not strict like he was.”
“You were off the soccer team?” I ask in surprise.
“Jesus, Dad,” Lexi says. “Get with the program.”
She’s right. I clearly have no idea what’s going on in my family right now. But in my defense, I did just quit my job yesterday.
Izzy lowers her eyes to her plate of food. “The coach said I wasn’t fast enough.”
“And that was ridiculous,” Debbie chimes in, her eyes suddenly animated. “You were the best player on the team. I don’t know what he was thinking. Not only was he a despicable pervert, he was also a terrible coach.”
Izzy shrugs.
“Well,” Debbie says, “thankfully, that’s a mistake on his part that will now be corrected. I suppose at least some good came out of the terrible thing he did.”
I look over at Debbie again, sitting across from me at the dinner table. She has already made a dent in her food, but the lump of pasta on my plate is just sitting there. Izzy and Lexi have also piled pasta on their plates, although Lexi seems to be eating only one noodle every several minutes. I’m the only one who isn’t eating at all.
“Aren’t you hungry, Dad?” Izzy asks me.
Actually, I’m not. I don’t think I’ve ever been less hungry in my life.
I wipe my hands on my napkin and push my chair back from the dinner table. It makes a loud scraping sound on the floor. “I’ll be right back,” I announce.
All three faces look up at me questioningly.
“I just need to run upstairs and…” I clear my throat. “I need to check something for work. It’ll just be a minute.”
Debbie gives me a funny look. My excuse sounded weak, because it is weak. I don’t need to check something for work. But there is something I need to take a look at, and my thoughts won’t stop racing until I do.
I hurry up the stairs to our bedroom. I shut the door behind me, although it’s not like anyone will be following me. I perch on the edge of the bed, on the side where I usually sleep, and wrench open the drawer of the nightstand.
The crumpled paper that I stuffed inside this morning is still there. The one where I wrote down the address that popped up when I did the search for Debbie in her Findly app. And now I dig my own phone out of my pocket.
I don’t know the full name of Izzy’s soccer coach who kicked her off the team. However, typing a few keywords into Google quickly brings up the news article about a high school sports coach named Robert Pike who was arrested for filming minors in the girls’ locker room at the high school.
He’s saying he didn’t do it, but, like Izzy said, they found a program on his phone that connected to the camera.
I scroll away from the news article, and the next thing I search for in my phone is “Robert Pike home address.” Instantly, the address of the home he owns in Weymouth pops up on the screen.
My scribble from last night is hard to read, but there’s no doubt the street name is the same.
Debbie was at Coach Pike’s house in the middle of the night. Then the next morning, he was arrested for having incriminating software on his phone.
There’s no way that could be a coincidence.
But it also seems impossible. Could my sweet, unassuming wife really have broken into the coach’s house while he was sleeping and installed something on his phone? Mild-mannered housewives don’t do things like that.
Just like they don’t break into the neighbor’s basement to destroy their fuse box. Or post pornographic videos of their bosses online.
I stare at the piece of paper with Pike’s address on it, trying to figure out what to do with this information. If my wife did all those things, she is an incredibly disturbed individual. She would be somebody in need of serious psychiatric help. Because if she could do all that, who knows what else she could be capable of?
She could be dangerous.
42
DEBBIE
It seems like Lexi has broken up with Zane.
Ordinarily, this would be cause for great celebration. I do not like that boy, and I’m grateful that he won’t be in my house again or blasting his horn in our driveway. Lexi could do way better. Nobody would be way better.
But it’s hard to celebrate when Lexi is clearly upset. She’s barely said five words during dinner, and she took only a few bites of the pasta I made. It wasn’t exactly a gourmet meal, but she usually eats what I put in front of her. Tonight, she’s completely uninterested.
Cooper also seems distracted. He went upstairs with an excuse about checking something for work, but his laptop is sitting on our coffee table. So what was he checking? All I know is that when he came back downstairs, he looked pale.
Only Izzy is happily scarfing down her food. One out of three isn’t bad, but it could be better.
“I have to do homework,” Lexi mumbles as she pushes her chair back.
“You barely ate anything,” I point out. “Didn’t you like the dinner?”
She lifts a shoulder. “I’m not hungry.”
“Do you want me to make you something else?”
“Oh my God, Mom.” Lexi glares at me. “I told you, I’m not hungry. Stop asking me a million times if I want to eat something else.”
I bite my lip to keep from pointing out that I only, in fact, asked once. “Fine. Go do your homework.”
Izzy announces she has homework too, although at least her plate has been practically licked clean. I’m thrilled she’s eating normally again, but it’s hard to celebrate when Cooper is at the table, pushing a clump of noodles around his plate.
“Not hungry either?” I ask him as the girls climb the stairs to go to their respective rooms.
Cooper lifts his eyes, blinking as if surprised to see me still sitting at the table with him. “Oh,” he says. “I, uh, I guess not.”
“Are you okay?”
Of course he’s not okay. Instead of getting a promotion, he just lost his job. He’s got to be worried sick about how we’re going to pay the mortgage and afford Lexi’s college tuition. But there’s a look in his eyes that makes me think there’s something more going on. Something that he hasn’t shared with me.
He opens his mouth as if to reply, but before he can, his phone’s familiar generic ringtone fills the room. It’s the same chimes the phone came with, because he doesn’t know how to change it. He digs it out of his pocket, angling the screen so I can’t see it. He sucks in a breath.
Who is calling him? What is he hiding from me?
“I, uh…” He jumps from his seat, an uncomfortable smile on his face. “I better take this.”
He rushes away from the table, his phone pressed to his ear. As he’s leaving the room, I can just barely make out the sound of a voice on the other end of the line. A female voice. A few seconds later, the door to our bedroom slams shut.
Hmm.
I rise from my own chair to clear the table. Not one person in my family thought to take their dishes to the sink. Cooper will occasionally load or unload the dishwasher, but the kids never do. Do they think there’s poison fumes trapped inside and if they open it to put a dish inside, the fumes will be released, killing us all? Based on their behavior, I have to assume that yes, they do think this.
I scrape the uneaten pasta off the plates and into the garbage disposal, wondering what’s going on with Lexi. She’s never in a good mood, but she seemed even more upset than usual tonight. Should I try to talk to her? Unfortunately, it never goes well when I initiate conversations with my daughter about her love life. Yesterday, she practically bit my head off when I mentioned Zane.
Also, I have enough problems of my own. I was fired from my job, although that wasn’t much of a loss. Cooper also just quit his longtime job, and even before that, he was acting incredibly strange. And that mysterious phone call that made him dash off to our bedroom has made me uneasy. Really, I should be sitting him down for a talk. (Although I also think it would be better to keep my mouth shut when it comes to my husband. At least until I’m ready to share my own secrets.)
Something about Lexi keeps tugging at me. There are times when the best thing to do is leave her alone, but my gut is telling me something more is going on right now.
I’m going to try to talk to her.
I load the dishes into the dishwasher, then walk through the kitchen to the stairwell. I climb the stairs to the second floor, and when I get to the door of Lexi’s room, my fist poised to knock on the door, I hesitate. The door to the master bedroom is at the other end of the hallway. Cooper is likely still on the phone, and if I press my ear against the door, I’ll be able to hear his end of the conversation.
Maybe I should do it. There’s something going on with Cooper that he is reluctant to talk to me about, and a little spy work is the only way to find out the truth. And it’s not like Lexi is going to spill her guts to me if I try to talk to her. She’ll likely be mad at me, because she’ll have decided I’m not allowed to talk to her when the moon is in waning gibbous or something along those lines.
I’ll try this weekend. I’ll offer to take her shopping, and I can gently probe about what happened with Zane. Not that we have a lot of money to drop on a shopping trip, but maybe we can go to that thrift store she likes. We can probably get her a whole wardrobe there for two dollars.
I drop my arm, ready to walk away. And I almost do, but at that moment, something stops me. Something makes me freeze in my tracks.
It’s the sound of sobs coming from Lexi’s room.
I turn around, and this time, I knock on Lexi’s door without hesitation. The crying immediately ceases, and she calls out. “What is it?”
“Lexi, honey?” I say. “Can I come in?”
There’s a long silence on the other side of the door. I suspect she’s debating whether she should tell me to get lost. But then she calls out in a voice laced with resignation, “Fine.”
Lexi is curled up in her bed, her knees tucked close to her chest, her lanky arms wrapped around them. Her face is streaked with tears, her eyes bloodshot. It looks like she’s been crying for a while and was just managing to keep it quiet until now.
If Zane hurt her, I’ll kill him.
Actually, I won’t have to. Cooper would do it first. He may not know every detail of our children’s lives the way I do, but if anyone posed a threat to them, he’d risk his life to save them just like I would.
I close the door behind me. I approach her cautiously, like she’s a scared animal that might scurry off at any moment. I finally settle down at the edge of her bed, my right butt cheek half hovering in the air.
“Sweetheart,” I say as gently as I can, “what happened?”
