I’d done it. Holy shit, beautiful sweet baby Jesus, I had done it. All I had to do was sign and then she’d lead me back to the clubhouse and I’d be on my way to providing all the info I needed to the fact-checkers. The women would open up to me now, letting me in on the secrets, their history. Fuck yes, I thought as I skimmed the legalese about membership responsibilities like when dues were to be paid (within a week of joining, and then monthly on that date, so thank God for Miles stepping in to help). Yup, there was the nondisparagement agreement that Libby had mentioned, saying that members agreed not to speak ill of the organization publicly. (Ridiculous! Was that some kind of free-speech violation?) I turned the page to read the last bit of it.
Clause 16: Nondisclosure, the text read. Shit. So these women didn’t just keep their secrets for fun, or because of some unofficial omertà. There were real legal consequences for blabbing. I read the section once, then again, trying to make sense of it. Member agrees that all identifying information of the organization, including membership, location, and member activities, shall remain confidential. It went on for a full paragraph in confusing legal terms, but I got the gist. By signing this contract, I wouldn’t be allowed to share information about Nevertheless with anyone outside of it. Okay. I could handle this. Miles had said that sometimes, it was possible to get out of nondisclosure agreements. I just needed to check with him before I signed. That was the deal.
“Do you have a question about something?” Caroline asked.
“Oh,” I said, my voice cracking like a preteen boy’s. I cleared my throat. “I’m just trying to understand this nondisclosure agreement. I hadn’t realized that would be a part of it.”
“Yes,” she said. “We had to add that somewhat recently to protect ourselves. A member told her boyfriend all about us, and when they got in a fight, he showed up at the building trying to cause trouble. Luckily we have an excellent security guard. You’ll meet her later.”
“Smart,” I said. “So now if someone blabs, you can sue the pants off of them?”
“Basically,” she said pleasantly. “Is there a problem? Otherwise, it’s time to sign.”
“Oh, I was just wondering, would it be okay to look this over with a lawyer before signing it?” I asked, then said breezily, as if it were a joke, “One can never be too careful with contracts. I learned that from The Little Mermaid.”
“Love The Little Mermaid! And isn’t it so great that the remake has more diversity?” she said. And then her smile dropped entirely, revealing the steel underneath. So Caroline could turn off her politeness with one firm twist, like a faucet, when different methods were called for. “But no,” she said, and I shivered. “It’s actually now or never.”
Plan B, then. I’d do what Miles had said originally: call it right here and now, write the article about what I had already learned, and live with the fact that I’d written something good instead of something discourse-defining, scandal-uncovering. I’d been riding a grand roller coaster, but it was time to ask it to let me off, disoriented and unfulfilled, right before the loop-de-loops began. No chance to see the clubhouse again, to solve the mystery of Nicole, to get behind the door. I’d never untangle the complications behind Margot’s blithe facade or get a smile out of Vy. It’s not like they’d deign to talk to me in the real world if I turned down membership, if our paths ever crossed again.
But I’d get over that. I just needed some kind of evidence before I left. And both my phone and my camera were inside my bag, with Libby. As my brain ran through possibilities of how to make this work, Libby reappeared from her walk down the pier. She waved, beaming as she saw the contract in my lap, then leaned against the railing, watching and waiting for things to be official. Two sets of eyes burned a hole into me. My throat constricted. My brain turned sluggish, lazy. Now or never. If I didn’t sign, Nevertheless would be done with me. They couldn’t be done with me just yet.
“Jillian?” Caroline asked, a note of impatience creeping into her voice.
“Sorry,” I said. “Just excited!” I had no choice. Miles would understand. The pen slipped against my sweaty fingers. I grasped it tightly, pressed it to the paper, and signed my name.
As soon as I’d finished, Libby squealed and clapped her hands. Caroline whisked the paper away, tucking it back into her portfolio. “Congratulations, Jillian,” she said. “Let’s head back to the clubhouse.”
As Libby skipped ahead of us and Caroline and I rose from the bench, I asked, “So, what happened to that member? The one who told her boyfriend about everything?”
Caroline tilted her head to one side. “What member?” she asked sweetly. Then she turned and began to power walk east. “Come on,” she said over her shoulder as my stomach dropped. “Time for your initiation.”
FIFTEEN
I never would have picked
