Reputation(114)

Fat tears fell on the drawings. I missed my family. I even missed Greg—though I let that emotion pass quickly. I still couldn’t reconcile what had happened between him and Sienna. Whenever I tried to fully confront what Greg had done—the fury and frustration, the disappointment and betrayal, the shame in myself for choosing a man who’d do such a thing—it felt like I could only go so far until a wall came up, and I had to turn away. My chest physically clenched at how badly he’d hurt me. It ached, too, with how happy we’d once been . . . and how strange it was that it was both a sham and the absolute truth, all at once.

But I’d been about to do it all over again . . . with Patrick. I had absolutely no idea who he was—and yet I would have tumbled wholeheartedly into a new relationship. I should have realized Patrick’s MO the very first moment we met, when we had that long conversation about our alter egos. But I guess I’m a romantic at heart. I thought that even in our lies, we were admitting important things about ourselves. Now I know that only I was doing that. For Patrick, it was all just a game to pass the time—a new identity to try on for the evening. Just like all those other women he saw. Just like all those other role-plays he was part of. Just a void to fill.

I grieve the idea of Patrick, but not the actual man—because that guy? I never met him.

I want California to feel like a new start . . . but to be honest, I still feel adrift. I could apply to another giving department—there are certainly enough universities around here—but my heart isn’t in it. I don’t care about snaring wealthy people and squeezing money out of them. All I can think of is the secrets that new university might have. Lies, betrayals, bad behavior, cover-ups. It was human nature to conceal.

So mostly, I just go to yoga. I cook elaborate meals for my kids on weekends—Sienna has transferred to UCLA, but she lives at home. I try to talk with her about what went on between her and Greg, but it’s more useful in front of a therapist. From what I’ve gotten out of her, Greg’s flirtation started out innocently enough not long after we married. She didn’t really see him as her family member—more like my boyfriend, and often not even that. They started e-mailing, but Sienna felt weird about using her regular account, so she opened another one, using two characters from books she’d recently read as her handle. She hadn’t meant it as anything, she said, though in the words of Freud, there are no accidents.

Greg’s flirtation was flattering, but then, as it began to get more sexual, Sienna started to feel trapped. She didn’t want to do the things Greg was asking her to do—the MRI machine and all that—but at the same time who could she talk to about it? Greg’s e-mails implied that if Sienna did tell, he’d twist things around and make her out to be the instigator. Why he thought I’d choose to believe him over my daughter, I don’t know. Then again, I was in the throes of love—of Greg, and of my new life. What would I have done?

But then, about a month and a half before Greg died, Sienna had enough. She was interested in Anton; she wanted to go into the relationship with a clean conscience. I remember her talking about him—and Greg asking her a lot of questions about Anton. At the time, I’d appreciated his interest. Now I see it another way.

She’d told Greg her decision to stop what they were doing, in person, in the kitchen one night when I was at a dinner. Greg replied by telling her how special she was, how beautiful. He’d come toward her, touching her leg—that was what Aurora had seen. But what Aurora didn’t see: Moments later, Sienna pulled away. Said Greg couldn’t touch her like that anymore.

Greg retaliated by icing her out—especially on that Barbados vacation. So that explained his mood, anyway. How annoyed he’d been at Sienna’s peppy attitude. It also could explain why he’d rebuffed me when I’d suggested—once again—that we try therapy. Greg was rejecting me because Sienna rejected him. Maybe he was done with all of us.

But it got worse. After that trip, Greg threatened to take away Sienna’s college tuition, to take away her car, her nice clothes, to drive a wedge between her and me. He said once again that he’d spin things so that she was the one who looked guilty—after all, he had lots of e-mails to prove it. Sienna’s last e-mails to Greg pleaded with him to put things back the way they used to be, not because she wanted the relationship to continue, but because she needed to be back in his good graces.

This had occurred only a few weeks before the hack. Right around that time, Aurora had noticed how on edge Sienna seemed, and she brought up how she caught Greg touching her, expressing that she was pissed that Sienna had just stood there, unresponsive. “Are you into him?” she’d asked, disgusted. Something in Sienna’s behavior must have given her away, and Aurora drew some damning conclusions. When the e-mails were leaked in the hack and Aurora read them, she was horrified—but she had an inside track to exactly what was going on. This man, her stepfather, was a predator. She needed to stop him from doing this to her older sister.

And that was that.

How do I feel about this, now that I know? Like I’ve failed as a mother for not giving my daughter better guidance about flirtation, appropriate touch, crossed boundaries—even with a family member you’re supposed to trust. I hate that Sienna was afraid of what Greg might take away, even for a moment—because I understand wanting things. But would it have been that big a deal? She always would have gone to college—my father would have made sure of it. But kids learn from their parents, don’t they? Maybe Sienna coveted those things because I did. And maybe, if I hadn’t been so caught up in what I had or how I looked to others, perhaps Sienna would have been brave enough to come to me about what Greg was doing, no matter the consequences.