Page 27 of The Fall of Iris Henley
She’s got a shovel slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back to reveal the shaved undercut beneath. Her hair is naturally dark, but she’s been bleaching it and dying it bright colors since middle school. Right now it’s a faded, bleached-out blue. She stares at me with her hard, dark eyes.
“Oh,” I say faintly. “Hi.”
“What’re you doing here?” Kendra asks. “Feeling guilty?”
She’s seen Sekrit, then. And she believes it. My heart sinks.
“I didn’t… Kendra, I would never…”
She doesn’t move. She’s not going to give me an easy out.
I back toward the car. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here. I didn’t mean… I’m sorry.” I barely know what’s coming out of my mouth, what I’m apologizing for. I just want to be gone, away, as quickly as I can.
She watches, unmoving, as I pull back out to the street. My hands are trembling. I step on the gas and put as much distance between us as possible.
CHAPTER 17
MONDAY, OCTOBER 10, 6:43PM
HAYDEN O’HARA’S HOUSE
When Sophie and I arrive at Hayden’s house, the O’Haras have just finished their family dinner and are documenting the cleanup process. By “documenting” I mean there’s a full film shoot happening in the kitchen, with lighting equipment and cameras on tripods and an actual boom mic Mr. O’Hara keeps angling into the shot by accident. Hayden is at the sink washing dishes, with her ten-year-old sister Lexi drying and thirteen-year-old Bria holding and distracting two-year-old Topher.
The O’Haras are professional influencers. Well, Mrs. O’Hara is, but it’s become a family business. Mr. O’Hara also works in real estate, but it’s the YouTube channel and the Instagram and the mommy blog that paid for their big buttercream-colored McMansion with its pool and jacuzzi, and for Hayden’s Jeep, and for all Hayden’s clothes and makeup. Mrs. O’Hara—who, unlike the other mothers I know, has never once asked me to call her by her first name—has been documenting life with her kids since Hayden was a baby.
“All right let’s do one more take. Put Topher on the floor,maybe he’ll do something cute,” says Mrs. O. Then she catches sight of me and Sophie. “Oh, hello, girls, we’re almost done here. Just getting a little B-roll.”
The instant Bria puts Topher down he starts to fuss. He tries to grab a mixing bowl out of Lexi’s hands, and when she holds it up over his head, he starts to scream. Mrs. O ducks down to get his tantrum on camera. When he sees her he tries toddling over to her with his arms outstretched, but she just keeps filming. “Oh, no, Topher, what’s wrong? Why are you so upset?”
Hayden turns to watch with an expression of mild disgust. “Don’t, Mom.”
“Oh, come on, he’s fine.” Mrs. O keeps filming as the baby’s face turns red with rage. “Come on, Topher, talk to Mommy. Did you want that bowl? Did Lexi take that bowl away?”
Hayden throws the washcloth she has been using into the sink and turns away. “Cool, I’m sure the subscribers will love seeing you taunt your own child.”
“He’sfine, Hayden. It’s not going to hurt him to fuss a little.” Mrs. O switches off the camera and turns on Hayden. “And before you disparage our subscribers, let me remind you that they—”
“Pay for all this. I know.” Hayden takes off her apron and slings it over the back of a chair. “Can I go? We’ve been at it for almost an hour and the girls are here.”
Mrs. O’s eyes narrow. I brace myself, wondering if we’re about to witness an “opportunity for correction,” as she likes to refer to her attempts to discipline her kids. But before she can do anything, Mr. O holds up his hand.
Even though she’s the one who runs their social media, he’s supposed to be the big authority in the household. The O’Haras buy into the whole “biblical patriarchy” thing, where at the end of the day the woman is supposed to be subservient to herhusband. In general I agree with Sophie on this one—it’s pretty gross. But at least this time he’s ruling in our favor.
“Let them go, Kaye. It’s almost Topher’s bedtime anyway,” he says.
She brightens up at that. “We can get some footage of the toothbrush routine,” she says. “Ooh, won’t that be fun, Tophie?”
Topher, still red-faced and reaching for her, does not look convinced. But Hayden’s already ushering us toward the back patio.
“We’ll be in the pool, enjoying the fruits of my labor,” she says. Neither of her parents respond.
Outside the pool glows blue on the pink sandstone tile. The sun is little more than an orange line across the horizon, and some of the early evening stars are out piercing through the sky. Hayden kicks her flip-flops off and one flies into a potted plant.
“I hate this place,” she says. “I hate her.”
“It’s so weird,” Sophie says. “Why does she want to film a video that makes her look bad?”
“Oh, don’t worry, she’ll edit it down and set it to her own voice-over and add some Bible verses that make it look how she wants it to look,” Hayden says. “It’s all just content, don’t you know? Crying, disobedient children, disrespectful teenagers, all being whipped into shape by the wonders of Christian parenting.” She whips her T-shirt off over her head to reveal the swimsuit beneath. “I can’t wait to be out of here.”
