THE SKIN BENEATH Theo’s eye has turned a sickly shade of yellow now, a sign that the damage is starting to heal. My partner’s psyche is slower to mend. He’s still angry about the incident, surly and uncommunicative when I suggest we accept Martha’s dinner invitation, to break bread, to move on. I know we can’t avoid my best friends indefinitely, but I’m not going to force the issue with my partner. And I have other things on my mind.
“I got more prank phone calls,” I tell him as we sip coffees in the public market, not far from Theo’s shop. The vast warehouse space is relatively quiet, but it’s early, and it’s a weekday. Soon the market will be overrun with locals and tourists alike, lured by the photogenic towers of fruit, the handmade pasta and sausages, the fresh fish. It is still bearable this time of year. During the summer, Granville Island market is not a place for the faint of heart.
“It has to be kids,” Theo says. “You blocked one phone number, so now they’re using another kid’s phone.”
“Probably.” Something has been weighing on my mind, a thought I have yet to articulate. “I think I saw Wyatt hanging around outside our apartment when I came home the other night.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“He was in a car, and he took off when I spotted him. But Liza said he wasn’t there.”
“She’s probably lying,” Theo says, breaking off a piece of donut. “You were out, and they saw an opportunity for some alone time. You remember what it’s like to be that age.”
Not as well as Theo does. “I guess. But Liza doesn’t lie to me.”
“All kids that age lie.”
I’m about to argue the point, but then I remember that my daughter may be taking a gap year that she failed to mention to me. “What if Liza didn’t know Wyatt was outside, either?”
“What do you mean?”
“I found some concerning texts from him on Liza’s computer.” I fill him in on Wyatt’s “where are you” messages and my daughter’s explanation. “I talked it through with Adrian and Tori. They’re not concerned.”
“But you think Wyatt might be obsessed with Liza?”
“It could have been triggered by her leaving for college. But now she’s considering traveling to Australia with him, and I’m afraid he manipulated her into it.” My voice is thin, and my eyes are damp. Theo puts his hand over mine.
“Liza is a smart girl. And you’ve done a great job raising her.”
“Do you think I’m too strict?”
“You’re pretty strict by today’s standards. But then Adrian and Tori’s house is like a nightclub in Ibiza, so it balances out.”
I smile at him, grateful for his support and sense of humor.
“Liza is strong like you are. And Wyatt seems like a good kid.” He pauses for a moment. “You’re exhausted, Cam. You’re feeling vulnerable and attacked. It could be coloring your perception of the situation.”
I nod, my throat full of emotion. He’s right. I’m tightly wound, on the edge, and I’m not sure I can trust my own judgment right now.
“Take the day to relax,” Theo says. “Maybe I can come over after work and cook for you and Liza?”
It’s such a kind gesture, but I feel like I should spend some quality time alone with my daughter. I tell him so, gently and appreciatively.
“I get it,” he says, downing the remains of his coffee. “She’s not going to open up about Wyatt if I’m around.”
He walks me back to my car in a parking shed, the rafters full of cooing pigeons. When he leans in to kiss me goodbye, I wrap my arms around his strong shoulders.
“Thanks for your support,” I mumble into his neck.
“Of course,” he says. “I’m always here for you… except right now because there are eleven Japanese people waiting for me to take them windsurfing.”
I chuckle and release him. Then I duck into my car, wary of pigeon droppings.
When I get home, there’s an email from my agent.
Hi Camryn,
I really like your new outline. It’s original and intriguing. The third act feels a little rushed, like it needs one more action beat. Could you flesh it out before we send it to Nadine? Let me know if you’d like to get on the phone to brainstorm.
I’d like to send this asap.
Onward!
Holly is ever positive, embracing the future, focusing on the next project. Because it’s her job to be. And she has other clients. If my career is over, Holly will be fine. I won’t be. Because writing is more than a paycheck to me. It’s my passion and my calling, my greatest achievement after Liza. With my daughter leaving home, with my role as a mother changing, I need to be a writer. Rightly or wrongly, it feels like my identity.
I respond and tell her I’ll make the changes asap. And I will. But instead of focusing on the outline now, I grab my phone and bring up Megan Prince’s Instagram page. It’s still set to private—she’s not about to open up access after a shrieking stranger showed up on her front lawn—but I realize I can send her a message. It will appear as a request that she can accept or deny, but it’s worth a try.
And so, with a deep breath, I summon the words. I am a writer, after all. I can make Megan Prince understand the fear and anxiety that drove me to show up at her doorstep. I can convince her to help me find my tormentor. And I can tell her that I’m sorry.
Hi Megan, I want to apologize for showing up at your house the other day. I realize now that I made a huge error in judgment. I scared you, and I’m sorry for that, because I know that feeling all too well. I’ve been living in fear for the past few weeks due to the relentless harassment I’ve received online and in real life. Someone is scaring me, Megan. Someone you know. I’m begging you to help me identify them so I can find out why they’re attacking me. I won’t press charges or harm them. I just want it to stop. Thank you, Camryn Lane
I don’t know if she’ll ever read it. Or if it will persuade her. But it’s worth a try. I press send and turn back to my outline.