A Little Pig

Chapter 2: One Name

I slept for three hours and spent the rest of the night rereading the posts.

At seven, I drove to the museum with a coffee I didn't taste. The account had been public, so I saved the pages to a folder on my work computer and printed the posts that appeared to include information only Eli or Simon could have known. I didn't print all 1,097. I wasn't ready to sit in a room with a stack of paper that thick.

My closest friend, Leah, called before I could start work.

"You sound like you're waiting for an answer," she said.

"I found something awful."

"Tell me."

I told her about the account, the pig avatar, the posts, Eli's reaction. I didn't read the worst of them aloud. I was afraid that if I did, the words would become part of the museum office.

Leah listened without interrupting. When I finished, she said, "Are you safe?"

"Yes. It's online harassment, not a threat."

"I meant with Eli."

I glanced at the glass door. My supervisor was in the adjacent office, speaking on the phone. "I don't know yet."

"Then let's leave it there until you do."

I appreciated that she didn't tell me what I already knew: that a thousand posts were a thousand choices.

"I want to ask Simon directly," I said.

"I'll go with you."

"You don't have to."

"I know. I want to."

We met at a coffee shop near the waterfront that afternoon. Simon had agreed to come after I sent a message with no explanation. Eli offered to join us, but I told him not yet. I wanted one conversation at a time.

Simon arrived in a dark denim jacket, carrying a small recorder. He set it on the table like he might need to document the meeting.

"I thought you were going to ask me about the ferry project," he said.

"I'm not."

He glanced at Leah, then at me. "All right."

I placed a printout in front of him. The top line included the account name and one post: "Some people collect farmyard junk and call it a personality."

His gaze went to the pig illustration in the corner of the page. He didn't touch it.

"What is this?" he asked.

"A Little Pig. I found the account last night."

"Lots of people use Spindle."

"I know."

"You think it's mine?"

"I recognized the pig in your apartment. I recognized the details. I recognized the way the account talks about me."

He gave a short laugh. "You think I'm the only person who's ever seen you in a yellow coat?"

"No. I think you knew about things that happened inside my home."

Simon looked toward the front window. A delivery van pulled over outside and stayed there with its hazard lights on.

"I've never posted about your mother," he said. "I've never posted anything about her."

I felt my stomach tighten. "I didn't mention my mother."

He stared at me. Then he looked down at the page.

Leah leaned forward. "That's an answer."

"Don't," Simon said.

"Don't what? Ask a question?"

"This isn't about you."

"It became about me when you decided my friend was material."

Simon shifted in his chair. "I haven't confirmed that I wrote anything."

"You confirmed enough," I said. "You knew there was a post about my mother."

"I guessed."

"You guessed the exact detail?"

"I didn't say I knew what was in it."

I watched his hands. He had a small scar across one knuckle, white against his skin. I remembered him getting it years ago when he tried to pry open a jammed studio door. I had held the flashlight.

I slid another printout toward him. It described the raincoat and the museum project, then a recent post about my application. "Did you know I was applying for the grant?"

"I heard about it."

"From Eli?"

"Probably."

"Did he tell you the account existed?"

Simon's mouth tightened. "No."

"Did you write it?"

He folded his arms. "I'm not going to answer questions about some anonymous account because you've decided a pig belongs to me."

I took back the pages. "I haven't decided. I'm asking."

"Then ask the platform."

Leah pushed her chair back, but I touched her arm. "I'm done," I said.

Simon stood. He picked up his recorder and slipped it into his pocket.

"You know," he said, "sometimes you turn everything into a case. Maybe that's why people feel like they can't talk around you."

The sentence landed with the neatness of a line I had already seen online.

I looked at him. "Did you just quote your own account?"

He didn't answer. He walked out.

Leah waited until the door shut behind him. Then she said, "That was not a denial."

"No."

"I'm going to post about it."

"Please don't."

"Why?"

"Because I need to know what Eli did before I turn this into a public fight."

"That isn't a reason for me to stay silent."

"It is if I'm asking you to wait."

Her expression changed. The anger remained, but she let it rest. "I can wait until tonight."

I thanked her. We walked out together and stood under the awning while the rain tapped at the metal roof.

Eli had texted three times during the meeting.

Eli: Did you talk to Simon?

Eli: He says you accused him.

Eli: Please call me.

I put the phone away.

Leah touched my elbow. "You don't need to protect both of them."

I didn't answer. I wasn't sure yet whether I was protecting anyone, or just trying to keep the facts from getting buried beneath all the things I still loved.