This Story Might Save Your Life(61)
Stupid. That was the word repeating in my brain as I turned the corner onto Benny’s street. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I didn’t see Ted until it was too late.
“Joy,” he called from behind his DSLR. “How about a wave for the camera?”
I froze in the middle of the asphalt, a thousand thoughts whirling through my head at once. I’m not supposed to be here. Why is he recording me? Is Benny right—is Squirrelly Ted my stalker? What am I wearing? What will Xander do when he sees this? Can’t I have at least one moment of privacy? Is there anyone I can trust? Why me? Why why why why WHY?
I lost control. I threw some things. I screamed. You’ve all watched it. You know what happened. And now you know why.
Be kind, friends. You never know what someone is going through.
* * *
THE NEXT FEW weeks were ugly. The internet is a dark pit of despair when you’re its target. People can be cruel. We had to put out a lot of fires with Apex Plus, and all the while, everyone was watching me sidelong, waiting, like I might lose it again at any moment.
I didn’t end up telling Benny. I couldn’t. I couldn’t let that shitstorm be the way our podcast ended. But I couldn’t bring myself to confront Xander or Mallory either. Instead, I chose door number three. I enlisted the help of someone who wasn’t inextricably entwined with the podcast. Over a few clandestine conversations she helped me see a way out that might not ruin my life, but I was afraid.
I am still afraid.
Benny Abbott
Day Three
My sides ache, and I’m dripping in sweat by the time I’m home.
“Can you please tell me now?” Sarah demands breathlessly, sliding in behind me through the front door. The dogs jump all over her as she presses hands to knees. Her hair is plastered to her head; round blotches of perspiration darken her tank top.
“Joy said something a few weeks ago. When I mentioned her computer password was too easy to guess.” I beeline toward Joy’s laptop, navigate back into the XYZ folder, and click on the PDF. “She said she liked to imagine Potsie and Richie and Fonzie all squished together holding hands on the Happy Days set couch. That’s why she mashed their names together.”
“Random.”
“Not random. She knew I would remember her saying that. Which was why she sent the holding hands emoji. It was part of the clue.”
All this time I’ve been trying to piece together meaning from the episodes, when in fact the answer’s been staring me straight in the face. Typing carefully, I mash the raw track titles into one long entry, with no spaces, no caps, just like Joy’s computer password.
atticdismembermentsappliances The file opens. “Thank god,” I breathe.
Sarah joins me at my side. “What is it?”
“It’s…” I scroll, and then stop when I see the words “I can sleep anywhere.” My body goes slack. “It’s her memoir.”
“I thought you already found that.”
I don’t know what I was hoping for, but it certainly wasn’t this.
“Hold on,” Sarah says. “How many pages did you read before?”
“I don’t know.” I can’t even look at it I’m so disappointed. “Couple chapters.”
“Benny, this is more than a couple chapters.” She taps the screen at the top of the document. “It’s a hundred and ten pages.”
* * *
WE READ WITHOUT stopping, without moving, without even breathing, until we reach the end.
I am still afraid.
My heart jackhammers my chest.
“That can’t be the end.” I frantically search Joy’s computer for other files, other drafts, but find nothing.
It’s worse than I imagined. So much worse.
Arriving at 7:00 p.m. sharp that night, I’d assumed something was amiss, but even when she led me downstairs and sat beside me at the recording table, even when she took my hand and said, “We’re gonna need to take a break from the podcast for a while,” I still had no clue.
“Is this about your health?” I eyed her pajama shorts and oversized long-sleeved shirt. “Are you sick?”
“It’s not that.”
My thoughts careened in every possible direction. Was it the Shake Awake stuff? The stalker? Did it have anything to do with our negotiations? She said no, no, not exactly.
“Wouldn’t a break be bad for negotiations?”
She lowered her head until her bangs hid her eyes. “I hope not.”
“Joy.” I dipped my own head, forcing her to look at me. Her furtiveness felt like a ticking bomb. “What’s going on?”
“I…” Her eyes were moist; she kept blinking them, trying not to cry. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I thought I could, but…”
“Maybe I can help. How can I help?”
“You can’t. Not yet. I just thought I should warn you. Since it might mess things up for a while. I need to know if you’re okay with that.”
Was I okay with that? How could I possibly know? I realized then that the sound equipment was on and ready to go. I regarded it with growing concern. “What is this?”
“I wanted to put out a statement … to announce our break.”