Dreamers Often Lie (14 page)

“For
a while?
” Repeating the words only made them seem stranger. “When?”

“You know . . .” A little frown appeared between Pierce’s eyebrows. “The last couple of months. When he was living with us.”

The watery room froze. It tilted sideways, everything sliding out of place. “What are you talking about?”

“Like—from November to February, I think. Yeah. When the accident happened.”

“You’re saying . . . my dad
lived
here with you? For months?” I almost laughed out loud. “No, he didn’t. That’s— No. He didn’t.”

“Yeah, he did.” Pierce went on frowning at me. This clearly wasn’t unfolding the way he’d expected it to. “Maybe you don’t remember, because of your . . .” He pointed to his own forehead. “You know.”

Anger lanced through me. “No. I didn’t
forget
it. It didn’t happen.”

“Yeah, it did. For, like, three months, he was—”

“That’s crazy.”

Pierce leaned back, his jaw hardening. “Oh.
That’s
crazy. Okay.”

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t put the right words together before Pierce went on.

“Where did you think he was all that time?”

“When he was gone? Well, first, it wasn’t for
months.
It was just a few weeks. Off and on. He and your dad were traveling, for the business. Checking the new stores.”

Now it was Pierce’s turn to look confused. “You thought he was just on some business trip?”

“He
was.
” I clenched my fists on his fancy bedspread. “Stop trying to gaslight me.”

Pierce looked even more confused. “Gaslight you?”

I sighed. “Never mind. It’s—Ingrid Bergman. This old movie. Her husband tries to make her think she’s crazy by messing with the lights in their house.”

Pierce stared at me like I’d started speaking in Pig Latin. “That’s not what I’m doing. Your dad came to stay here because your mom threw him out.”

Now I actually laughed aloud. “My mom? My mother threw my dad out?” I got to my feet, shoving the shoes and T-shirt off onto the bed. “I can’t even . . .” The ache was pulsing. I rubbed my forehead with both hands. “I don’t
know who told you that, or if you just made it up, but that did
not
happen. That could never have happened.”

“Okay. Fine.” Pierce’s voice was cool. He took a step backward. “I’ll drive you home. And you should take that stuff, either way. I kept it for you.”

I wadded the shoes and shirt under my arm. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want their nearness, their memories, the ghost of Dad’s scent still on them. But I wasn’t going to leave them here either, where they could be some kind of proof for Pierce’s messed-up story. I stalked past him, back down the steps and out the front door into the cold.

He drove me home without saying a word. When I opened the car door to climb out, he finally turned to face me. “I didn’t—”

I hesitated, halfway out of the car.

“I didn’t mean to
upset
you,” he finished.

“I’m not upset.” Total lie. But I kept my face blank.

“Okay.” There was a beat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He flashed me that perfect half smile, the one that makes the dimple in his left cheek deepen. “Good night, Stuart. Go check your socks.”

I gave him a half smile back. “Shut up.”

On the front porch, I stopped to stuff Dad’s shirt and shoes into my book bag. Then I let myself inside.

According to the clock, I was only twelve minutes later than I should have been. No one would have noticed the difference. If anyone had been around to notice. Mom
still wasn’t back from work, and Sadie was out of sight. As I climbed the stairs, I heard the sound of the shower running, and I caught a hint of green apple shampoo.

I lay down on my bed and closed my eyes. The ache swung back and forth in my skull like a wrecking ball. If I didn’t move, it seemed to swing a little less, but furious thoughts still crashed and tumbled around it.

Pierce had remembered wrong. Or heard wrong. Or gotten something wrong. There was no way.
No way.

God, I wished we’d just gone out for coffee with the rest of the group. Maybe they were still at the coffee shop. All of my friends, without me. And Rob with them. He could be sitting between Hannah and Nikki right now. Tomorrow he’d probably be dating Hannah. Or in love with Nikki.

Empty stage. Empty stage. Empty stage.

The spotlight, the shining boards, the rippling curtain drifted into place.

Titania’s lines. Act Four. “Come sit thee down upon this flowery bed . . .”

As fast as I could, I filled the stage with words. Soon there wasn’t room for anything else.

I
was still lying on my bed, eyes closed, when damp fingers touched my ankle.

I jolted up.

Ophelia stood beside me. Rivulets of muddy water dribbled from her hair onto the carpet. Her eyes were blue-white. Dead eyes. Corpse eyes. She touched the book bag where Dad’s stuff was hidden. “I have remembrances of yours that I have longed long to redeliver . . .”

“You what?” I whispered.

“I said, what did Pierce do to you that it brought on a fainting spell?” Sadie folded her arms over her pale green bathrobe. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” I wormed up onto my elbows. “I’m okay.”

“Was it a better day at school?”

“I think so. I mean, yes. I don’t know.”

“Very confidence-inspiring.” Sadie flicked a strand of shower-wet hair over her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. I just have a headache. I
always
have a headache. I have arms. I have knees. I have a headache.”

“Okay.” Sadie stepped back, raising her hands. “And you’ve got a great attitude too.” She moved toward the doorway. “Would you like a grilled cheese sandwich? I told Mom I’d feed you.”

I rubbed my forehead. “That makes me sound like a guinea pig. Thank you very much.”

“Guinea pigs don’t eat grilled cheese.” Sadie gave me a sharp look. “Did you and Pierce have a fight or something?”

“What?” I sat up, crossing my legs and looking away. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you look like you do after every fight. Kind of sulky and sad and Victorian.”

I snorted.

“So, what did you two fight about?”

“Oh my
god,
you’re nosy.”

“I’m well-informed.” Sadie mussed her hair with one hand, sending little droplets over the quilt, over the bag where Dad’s stuff was hidden. “If you don’t want to talk about it, fine. I’ll just assume Pierce was the one who was wrong.”

I gave a tiny laugh.

Sadie stepped through the door. Before she could disappear down the hallway, I called out, “Sadie?”

She turned back. “What?”

The door with the cold wind on the other side inched open.

“You don’t—I mean—this is going to sound weird, but Dad didn’t ever
stay
with the Caplans, did he?”

Sadie’s face did that thing it always does when we talk about Dad. Or I should say, the thing it’s done the few times we
have
talked about Dad. The color washed out of it until she was like a sketch of herself. Flat. Gray. Incomplete.

“Stay with them? Like, for a weekend?”

“No.” I shifted, crossing my legs tighter. The ache in my head reared again. “Like—for a few months. At the end.”

Sadie’s nose crinkled. She looked almost disgusted. “What? No.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Pierce told you he was
staying
with them?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he’s wrong. Or confused.”

“That’s what I said. I remember Dad being gone a lot—”

“They were opening the new stores. They had to spend, like, a week at each one. And then they had that conference in Chicago or somewhere, and all those trade shows . . .”

“Yeah. I know. I
knew
Pierce was wrong, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

“Well . . .” Sadie shrugged. “Who knows what he heard? He just obviously got things mixed up.”

“Yeah. Obviously.”

“Okay, guinea pig.” She stepped back through the door. “I’m going to go make dinner now.”

“Sadie . . .” My mouth was there before my mind. “Why don’t you ever talk about him?”

Sadie stopped. She turned to face me. “Why don’t
you
?
”

“I asked you first,” I said, like we were eight and nine again.

Sadie glanced through the doorway, listening for a second to make sure the downstairs was still empty. “Because of Mom,” she said, turning back to me. “Because even hearing his name makes her just—shut down. I guess she . . .” Sadie paused, tightening the belt of her bathrobe. “She can’t deal with some of it at all. Yet.”

“Yeah.” The memory of Mom’s face during the months afterward clawed its way to the surface. Gaunt and white and haunted. Literally haunted, as if something the rest of us couldn’t see was clinging to her with all of its weight. “But . . . even when she’s not around . . . why don’t
we
ever talk about it?”

“Because it hurts,” Sadie answered. “There. Your turn.”

“Because I think . . . maybe it’s because I don’t want to remember. But I’m remembering anyway. All the time.”

Sadie leaned against the doorframe. Her long, slim body looked graceful, even in a bathrobe. “Sometimes that helps, though,” she said quietly. “Remembering the good things.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Behind my right eye, the ache
moved like a piston. “I can almost hear his voice sometimes. Telling me what to do. What
he
would want me to do. Telling me everything I choose is wrong.” I pressed my fingers into my temples.
Keep going. It’s still your line. Say it.
“Sometimes all I can remember is how bad things were at the end. All the stupid things I did. How disappointed in me he always was. How angry he was.”

“Jaye—you were in
middle school.
Of course you did stupid things.”

“Oh? What did
you
do in middle school? Mouth off to Mom a couple of times? Everything I did was wrong.
Everything.
Dad hated everything about me. My clothes. My friends. Things I liked. Things I didn’t like anymore. He thought I was just—I was a loser. He
said
it.”

Sadie folded her arms again. Her face was stern. Teacher-like. “Jaye. You did some dumb things. You got scolded. Like every thirteen-year-old.”

I shook my head. “That’s not all it was. Did he ever say that to you? That you were pathetic? That he didn’t want to raise someone like you?”

“No. And I’m sure he didn’t say that to you, either.”

I sat up straighter. “Yes he did.”

“Oh my
god,
” Sadie burst out. “You’re so overdramatic. You turn getting grounded in eighth grade into some Cinderella story. Poor little Jaye, huddled in the corner, while the family goes off to the ball—”

“That’s how it was!” I shouted back. “You all went
off together on trips, to games, out for meals, all kinds of things, and you didn’t even—you just left. Without me.”

“You
stopped coming.
You whined and complained about
everything.
Or you wormed your way out of it. Like those trips? Oh my god. Mom and Dad would try to plan something special, and—”

“I was terrified! I was afraid of heights, and I wasn’t good at the things all of you could do, and I
knew
I was going to hurt myself, and I was just supposed to suck it up because we were going skiing or hiking or waterskiing or—”

“I am so sick of hearing about the skiing trips!” Sadie shouted. “This is what you do: You play this sad outcast role, but nobody put you in it. You
chose
it. You chose it for yourself.”

“Did he ever lock you in your room? Did he stop coming to your events? Did he say you were ruining your life? Did he tell you that you couldn’t see your friends anymore?”

“No.” Sadie spoke loudly and clearly, as if she were confronting an idiot on the opposite side of a stage. “And he
didn’t do that to you.
”

I threw up my hands. “Why is everybody talking to me like I’m crazy?”

“If
everybody
is, maybe that should tell you something.”

The words struck like a slap. I sucked in a breath.

Sadie stopped, her hand clenched around the doorframe. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But he was just trying to make you
better. He was trying to push you to the right choices. That’s what parents
do.
It’s what they’re
supposed
to do.”

I shut up. If I opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure what would come out. I didn’t want it to be a sob. I stared down at my socks instead. Pierce was right: They were two different shades of black.

“Let’s stop,” said Sadie. “You’re not supposed to be getting upset. I shouldn’t have gotten into this with you.” She shook back her damp hair, straightening her shoulders. “Okay.” She took a breath. “Back to cheese-related subjects. Do you want tomato soup with your sandwich?”

“I’m not very hungry,” I whispered.

Sadie gave an exasperated sigh. “Jaye—”

“Fine. Soup. Sandwich. Whatever.”

I heard Sadie’s footsteps thump down the staircase.

When I was sure I was alone, I opened my bag. Then I bundled Dad’s T-shirt and running shoes into an old blanket, dropped down on my knees, and stuffed the whole thing under my bed, as far into the dusty darkness as it would go.