The Stranger
Page 31
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“He denied putting it up, right?”
“Of course he did. He didn’t have the courage—”
“He was telling you the truth.”
There were people around them. One guy stepped in an elevator. Two women hurried outside. A concierge was behind the desk. They were all there, and right now, none of them were there.
Her voice was distant, hollow. “What are you talking about?”
“David Thornton didn’t put that tape online.”
“Are you a friend of his or something?”
“I’ve never seen or spoken to him.”
Michaela swallowed. “Are you the one who posted the video?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how can you—?”
“The IP address.”
“What?”
The stranger took a step closer to her. “The site claims to keep the user’s IP address anonymous. That way, no one can know or prosecute the person who put it up.”
“But you know?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“People think a site is anonymous because the site says so. That’s a lie by definition. Behind every secret site on the Internet, there is a human being monitoring every keystroke. Nothing is really secret or anonymous.”
Silence.
They were there now. The stranger waited. It wouldn’t be long. He could see the quake by her mouth.
“So whose IP address was it?”
“I think you know already.”
Her face twisted up in pain. She closed her eyes. “Was it Marcus?”
The stranger didn’t answer yes or no. There was no need.
“They were close friends, weren’t they?” the stranger said.
“Bastard.”
“Roommates, even. I don’t know the exact details. But you and David fought. Marcus saw an opportunity and seized it.” The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I have the proof right here.”
Michaela held up her palm. “I don’t need to see it.”
The stranger nodded, put the envelope away.
“Why are you telling me?” she asked.
“It’s what we do.”
“The wedding is four days away.” She looked up at him. “So now what do I do?”
“That’s not up to me,” the stranger said.
“Right, of course.” There was bitterness in her voice. “You just rip open lives. Closing them back up again—that’s not up to you.”
The stranger said nothing.
“I guess you figured, what, I’ll go back to David now? Tell him I know the truth and ask his forgiveness? And then what? He’ll take me in his arms and we’ll live happily ever after? Is that how you see this working out? You being the hero of our love?”
In truth, the thought had occurred to the stranger, though not the hero part. But that idea of righting a wrong, that idea of restoring balance, that idea of putting her back on the life path she’d been taking—yes, he had hoped for that sort of resolution.
“But here’s the problem, Mr. Secret Revealer.” Michaela stepped closer to him. “Even when I was dating David, I had a crush on Marcus. That’s the irony, right? Marcus didn’t have to do this. We would have ended up together. Maybe, I don’t know, but maybe Marcus feels bad about what he did. Guilty. Maybe he’s trying to make up for it, and that’s why he’s so good to me.”
“That’s not a reason to be good to someone.”
“Oh, so now you’re offering life advice?” she snapped. “Do you know what choices you’ve left me with? I can blow up my life or I can live a lie.”
“You’re still young and attractive—”
“And I’m in love. With Marcus.”
“Even now? Even though you know he’s capable of doing something like this?”
“People are capable of doing all sorts of things in the name of love.”
Her voice was soft now. The fight had gone out of it. She turned away and pressed the call button on the elevator. “Are you going to tell anyone else about this?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good night.”
“So you’re still going to marry him?”
The elevator doors opened. Michaela stepped inside and turned to face him. “You didn’t reveal a secret,” she said. “You just created another one.”
Chapter 18
Adam pulled over when he hit the Cedarfield town line. He took out his phone and texted Corinne again:
I’M WORRIED. THE BOYS ARE WORRIED. PLEASE COME HOME.
He hit SEND and put the car back into drive. Adam started to wonder, not for the first time, how he ended up spending his life in the town of Cedarfield. It was a simple thought, and yet the obvious implications weighed on him. Had something this important been a conscious choice? He didn’t think so. He and Corinne could, he knew, have chosen to live anywhere, but then again, what was wrong with Cedarfield? It was, in many ways, the winner’s spoils in the war we call the American dream. Cedarfield had picturesque homes with expansive yards. There was a lovely town center with a variety of restaurants and shops and even a movie theater. There were updated sports facilities, a modern library, and a duck pond. No less a nearly biblical authority than Money magazine had ranked Cedarfield the twenty-seventh “Best Place to Live in America” last year. According to the New Jersey Department of Education, Cedarfield was classified in the socioeconomic District Factor Group of J, the highest of eight categories. Yes, the government ranks towns in this way for real. Why they do this ranking is anybody’s guess.
In fairness, Cedarfield was a great place to raise your kids, even though you were raising them to be you. Some thought of it as the cycle of life, but for Adam, it felt more like a shampoo-rinse-repeat existence, with so many of their neighbors and friends—good, solid people whom Adam liked a lot—growing up in Cedarfield, leaving for four-year stints to college, returning, marrying, raising their own children in Cedarfield, who would grow up here and leave for four-year stints to college, in the hopes of returning, marrying, and raising their own children here.
Nothing wrong with that, was there?
After all, Corinne, who had spent the first ten years of her life in Cedarfield, had not, it seemed, been fortunate enough to follow this well-trodden trajectory. When she was in fourth grade, this town and its values already deeply ingrained in her DNA, Corinne’s father was killed in a car accident. He had been only thirty-seven, too young presumably to have worried about stuff like his own mortality or estate planning. His insurance coverage was a pittance, and soon after, Corinne’s mother had to sell the house and downsize with Corinne and her older sister, Rose, to a brick garden apartment in the somewhat less upscale city of Hackensack.
“Of course he did. He didn’t have the courage—”
“He was telling you the truth.”
There were people around them. One guy stepped in an elevator. Two women hurried outside. A concierge was behind the desk. They were all there, and right now, none of them were there.
Her voice was distant, hollow. “What are you talking about?”
“David Thornton didn’t put that tape online.”
“Are you a friend of his or something?”
“I’ve never seen or spoken to him.”
Michaela swallowed. “Are you the one who posted the video?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then how can you—?”
“The IP address.”
“What?”
The stranger took a step closer to her. “The site claims to keep the user’s IP address anonymous. That way, no one can know or prosecute the person who put it up.”
“But you know?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“People think a site is anonymous because the site says so. That’s a lie by definition. Behind every secret site on the Internet, there is a human being monitoring every keystroke. Nothing is really secret or anonymous.”
Silence.
They were there now. The stranger waited. It wouldn’t be long. He could see the quake by her mouth.
“So whose IP address was it?”
“I think you know already.”
Her face twisted up in pain. She closed her eyes. “Was it Marcus?”
The stranger didn’t answer yes or no. There was no need.
“They were close friends, weren’t they?” the stranger said.
“Bastard.”
“Roommates, even. I don’t know the exact details. But you and David fought. Marcus saw an opportunity and seized it.” The stranger reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I have the proof right here.”
Michaela held up her palm. “I don’t need to see it.”
The stranger nodded, put the envelope away.
“Why are you telling me?” she asked.
“It’s what we do.”
“The wedding is four days away.” She looked up at him. “So now what do I do?”
“That’s not up to me,” the stranger said.
“Right, of course.” There was bitterness in her voice. “You just rip open lives. Closing them back up again—that’s not up to you.”
The stranger said nothing.
“I guess you figured, what, I’ll go back to David now? Tell him I know the truth and ask his forgiveness? And then what? He’ll take me in his arms and we’ll live happily ever after? Is that how you see this working out? You being the hero of our love?”
In truth, the thought had occurred to the stranger, though not the hero part. But that idea of righting a wrong, that idea of restoring balance, that idea of putting her back on the life path she’d been taking—yes, he had hoped for that sort of resolution.
“But here’s the problem, Mr. Secret Revealer.” Michaela stepped closer to him. “Even when I was dating David, I had a crush on Marcus. That’s the irony, right? Marcus didn’t have to do this. We would have ended up together. Maybe, I don’t know, but maybe Marcus feels bad about what he did. Guilty. Maybe he’s trying to make up for it, and that’s why he’s so good to me.”
“That’s not a reason to be good to someone.”
“Oh, so now you’re offering life advice?” she snapped. “Do you know what choices you’ve left me with? I can blow up my life or I can live a lie.”
“You’re still young and attractive—”
“And I’m in love. With Marcus.”
“Even now? Even though you know he’s capable of doing something like this?”
“People are capable of doing all sorts of things in the name of love.”
Her voice was soft now. The fight had gone out of it. She turned away and pressed the call button on the elevator. “Are you going to tell anyone else about this?” she asked.
“No.”
“Good night.”
“So you’re still going to marry him?”
The elevator doors opened. Michaela stepped inside and turned to face him. “You didn’t reveal a secret,” she said. “You just created another one.”
Chapter 18
Adam pulled over when he hit the Cedarfield town line. He took out his phone and texted Corinne again:
I’M WORRIED. THE BOYS ARE WORRIED. PLEASE COME HOME.
He hit SEND and put the car back into drive. Adam started to wonder, not for the first time, how he ended up spending his life in the town of Cedarfield. It was a simple thought, and yet the obvious implications weighed on him. Had something this important been a conscious choice? He didn’t think so. He and Corinne could, he knew, have chosen to live anywhere, but then again, what was wrong with Cedarfield? It was, in many ways, the winner’s spoils in the war we call the American dream. Cedarfield had picturesque homes with expansive yards. There was a lovely town center with a variety of restaurants and shops and even a movie theater. There were updated sports facilities, a modern library, and a duck pond. No less a nearly biblical authority than Money magazine had ranked Cedarfield the twenty-seventh “Best Place to Live in America” last year. According to the New Jersey Department of Education, Cedarfield was classified in the socioeconomic District Factor Group of J, the highest of eight categories. Yes, the government ranks towns in this way for real. Why they do this ranking is anybody’s guess.
In fairness, Cedarfield was a great place to raise your kids, even though you were raising them to be you. Some thought of it as the cycle of life, but for Adam, it felt more like a shampoo-rinse-repeat existence, with so many of their neighbors and friends—good, solid people whom Adam liked a lot—growing up in Cedarfield, leaving for four-year stints to college, returning, marrying, raising their own children in Cedarfield, who would grow up here and leave for four-year stints to college, in the hopes of returning, marrying, and raising their own children here.
Nothing wrong with that, was there?
After all, Corinne, who had spent the first ten years of her life in Cedarfield, had not, it seemed, been fortunate enough to follow this well-trodden trajectory. When she was in fourth grade, this town and its values already deeply ingrained in her DNA, Corinne’s father was killed in a car accident. He had been only thirty-seven, too young presumably to have worried about stuff like his own mortality or estate planning. His insurance coverage was a pittance, and soon after, Corinne’s mother had to sell the house and downsize with Corinne and her older sister, Rose, to a brick garden apartment in the somewhat less upscale city of Hackensack.
