Listen for the Lie (14 page)

“Right?” she says.

“What?”

“I have an idea!”

“The truth,” Mom says. “That's all any of us have ever wanted. To just find out the truth.”

“Yes.” I nod. “The truth.”

I take a long sip of my wine, which I should
not
do, but I want to quiet the voice. It works.

“And the truth involves digging up people's personal lives?” Keith's face is even redder. Anger and alcohol coming together to make one very crimson man.

“Keith,” Janice says quietly, putting a hand on his arm.

He shakes her off. “I'm sorry, but why are we all acting like this man is welcome here? He—”

“You're very welcome, Ben,” Grandma interrupts, patting his arm.

He looks at her in amusement.

“Mom!” Keith throws his hands up. “For god's sake. He went on that podcast and he said that—”

“Keith,” Mom snaps.

“—Kathleen slept with a twenty-year-old in a car!”

“Wow,” Ashley says.

“Oh my god.” Brian actually puts down his phone.

“Dammit, Keith,” Dad says.

“What? It's not even true!” Keith points a furious finger at Ben. “You just get on that little podcast of yours with your fake news, and you spout these accusations from ‘
anonymous sources
.'” He does finger quotes around
anonymous sources
.

“Maybe it's time for the pie?” Mom asks.

Keith ignores her, his attention locked on Ben. “Who are these sources?”

“I'm sorry, I can't reveal that.”

“Or presents?” Mom suggests.

“Of course you can't! Because they don't exist!”

“Or more wine?” Grandma suggests, holding up her glass. A waiter scurries over to refill it.

Betsy leans across the table. “Maybe I should go,” she whispers.

“Are you kidding? Things are just getting good!” Grandma exclaims gleefully.

Keith has both hands on the table, ready to fight. “And you implied that she and that boy—”

“Colin,” I supply.

“Wow,” Ashley says.

“—that
Colin
boy killed Savannah! We all know who did it—”

I raise my hand. Betsy's mouth drops open.

Grandma pulls my hand down. “Not the right crowd for that kind of joke, hon.”

“No offense, Lucy,” Keith says.

“Really, Dad?” Brian asks.

“But we all know who did it, and you're throwing around lies and telling people Kathleen killed her!”

“I'm just trying to get a handle on everyone's alibis.” Ben seems remarkably unrattled.

In fact, his lips are twitching. The smug bastard might be enjoying this.

“That is not—”

“Oh, for fuck's sake!” Mom yells. Everyone freezes. “Yes, I had sex with Colin in my car the night of the wedding! Are you happy, Ben? You got me! I slept with the twenty-year-old, and to be honest, I enjoyed it.”

“Wow.”

“So that's where I was when Savvy was murdered,” Mom finishes calmly. She smooths a hand over her perfectly coiffed hair, and it barely moves. “He's my alibi.”

Uncle Keith gapes at his sister like he just realized she knows how to have sex. Dad lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Oh, give it a rest, Don,” Mom says. “Like you have any room to talk.”

I try so hard not to laugh, but a snort-giggle escapes my lips.

Neither of my parents has ever been all that discreet about their affairs. Dad used to leave his laptop open on the kitchen table and walk away while it dinged with messages, until Mom would scream for him to come answer his girlfriend. Mom, I'm pretty sure, only started sleeping around to get back at Dad, but it sounds like she's enjoying the hell out of herself now. Good for her, I guess.

I'll never understand why they're still married. I thought for sure that they were just waiting for me to move out before they split, but it's been over a decade since I left for college. I guess they've decided that tormenting each other for the rest of their lives is preferable to divorce.

Grandma puts down her wineglass and reaches across the table for Mom's hand. “Kathleen, I just want you to know that I mean this sincerely—I'm deeply proud.”

We eat pie in near silence. Grandma's friends try to liven things up again while she's opening presents, but we're all still stuck on “
I had sex with Colin in my car
.”

Everyone scurries out as soon as they can, and I help Grandma into a sleek black car that has shown up to whisk her away. It's another mystery man, this one at least ten years younger than she is. His fancy car smells too strongly of cologne, but his smile is friendly as he nods at me.

Grandma pats my cheeks as she settles into the front seat.

“I told you I'd ruin your birthday,” I say.

“My dear, you made it the best birthday ever.”

I shake my head in amusement and close the door. She waves as they drive away.

I trudge back into the restaurant. It's nearly empty, the waitstaff clumped together around the hostess stand. They abruptly stop talking as I walk by.

I head to the back room to grab Mom's mason jars and the rest of the cake. I hear murmured voices as I approach, and I slow as I reach the door.

Dad stands near the end of the table with Ben, his arms crossed over his chest. Smoke from a recently extinguished candle billows up next to them. I stand back, out of view, absolutely shameless about eavesdropping.

“I know you don't care about this, but I implore you to consider what's best for Lucy,” Dad says.

“How do you mean?” Ben asks. He drank far less wine than the rest of us. His voice is much clearer than Dad's.

“She's told her story several times. It doesn't need to be repeated.” Dad's already frustrated.

“She's never told her story.”

“Of course she has.”

“Not directly. It was always filtered through the police or you and her mom or her lawyer or the media. No one has ever heard directly from her.”

“But why do you think that was?”

“Because you were protecting her?”

“Yes!”

“And that's what you're doing now?” Ben asks. I wonder whether Dad hears the skepticism in his voice.

“Of course.”

“I'd love to interview you, if you'd like to go into more detail,” Ben says.

“I'm not doing an interview,” Dad snaps. He starts to turn, and I quickly backtrack a few steps. I wait until he's coming out of the room to start down the hallway again. He frowns as he passes me.

Ben is typing on his phone as I grab a box and head to the table for the mason jars.

He looks up, and then walks over to grab a few of the jars. Our eyes meet as he puts them in the box.

My story is still being filtered through him. I wonder whether he realizes that. Savvy's story is being filtered through him. Through everyone he's interviewed who has sanded off the edges of the real girl to present the world with a perfect victim.

“I'll see you Monday,” he says softly. He heads to the door but pauses, looking over his shoulder at me. “You know I'm only interested in finding the truth, right? For Savannah.”

“I know.”

He nods and starts to walk away.

“Wait, Ben.”

He looks back at me.

“That's what I want too,” I say. “The truth.”

In my head, the voice snorts.

“To figure out what happened to her,” I amend. “I'm going to help you figure it out, no matter what those dumbasses say.” I gesture vaguely to the table, where the dumbasses (my family) were seated a few minutes ago.

Ben smiles. “I'm glad to hear it. We'll figure out the truth together, Lucy.”

I swallow nervously as he waves, then turns and walks away. I listen to his footsteps fade.

The truth.

“
The truth doesn't matter
.” The voice—Savvy's voice—is so clear now, clearer than it's been in years.

It's always been Savvy talking to me. Since the first few days after she died, when her screams were so loud I thought my head was going to explode, to later, when she quieted to a murderous constant companion.

To now, when she's apparently had enough of me ignoring her.

“Let's kill—”

I close my eyes, willing the memory away, but it won't go. She's been there for days now, on the edge of every thought I have, yelling at me to notice her.

The memory forms, bright and clear, like it sharpened over the years instead of fading.

“I know the truth doesn't matter,” I said. I was sitting at the empty bar, the sounds of laughter from the staff coming distantly from the kitchen. The restaurant had just opened, and the dining room was deserted. It was just me and Savvy.

She stood across from me on the other side of the bar, leaning her forearms against the counter. She was in a tank top that showed her tattoos—flowers on one arm, and Harley Quinn on the other. She had a thing for supervillains. No one ever mentions that. Maybe they think it's not important.

She was beautiful—big, downturned eyes, and dark blond hair tied up in a messy bun. Her eye makeup was nearly always smudged. I was pretty sure she rarely remembered to take it off at night. She just touched it up the next day and called it good.

A guy once said to her, “You look like the fun kind of mess.” Rude, but not wrong.

I, on the other hand, was a mess and not even a little bit fun.

I had a bruise on my cheek. It was small. I could easily cover it with makeup, but I'd wanted Matt to see it and feel bad. He hadn't. Instead, he pointedly held up his hand to show where I'd scratched him.

Savvy was right. It wouldn't matter if I said I'd scratched him because I was defending myself. That he started it.

Well, no, he'd dispute that. Matt would say I started it, by screaming at him again. “Don't start shit you can't finish,” he'd always say.

“He said he'd tell my parents about me pushing him down the stairs if I went to stay with them,” I said.

“You didn't push him down the stairs,” Savvy said.

I hadn't, but I was fairly certain that Matt actually thought I had. He'd said the lie so many times he'd started to believe it himself.

Hell, I was starting to believe it. The (fake?) memory of me violently shoving him now plays next to the (true?) memory of me flailing out my arms in anger and of him tripping because he was drunk again.

“But the truth doesn't matter,” she said again.

“I should have controlled my temper,” I said softly. I should have just cried. Taken the hits and crawled away to show my scars. I should have been a better victim. The truth doesn't matter if you fight back.

“I have an idea.” Savvy leaned closer to me. She met my eyes. Her mouth was set in a hard line, her gaze steely and serious. “Let's kill your husband.”

Nina calls me the day after Grandma's party.

“You seriously invited Ben to your grandma's birthday party?” she says, by way of greeting.

I stretch out on my bed. The sun filters in through the blinds, already high in the sky. I'm hiding from my parents in my room like a teenager. “My grandma invited him. Wait, how did you know that?”

“Three different people called me and told me that he showed up at the birthday party and caused a scene.”

“He didn't so much
cause a scene
as sit there and enjoy the chaos that his presence caused.”

“Oh, dear lord.”

“Honestly, I'm sad I didn't film it.”

I would have liked to replay that smug little smile of Ben's. That wasn't a superhero smile. That was the grin of a man who liked to watch shit burn.

“You're really going to do an interview with him?”

“Yeah. I'm helping to fill in some gaps for him.”

“I'm not sure if that's brilliant or stupid, Lucy.”

“Same.”

She laughs. “You want to come for dinner tonight? Emmett wants to join us, and he doesn't work on Sundays.”

“Sure.” I need an excuse to get out of the house.

“Great. I'll text you the address.”

Nina Garcia lives in what I'd always considered to be the most boring part of Plumpton. A builder had quickly erected a clump of homes on the northwest side of town, all of which looked vaguely similar. Driving down the street is like the beginning of a horror movie. It's too perfect to be real.

I park my car on the street and climb out.

I guess I was wrong about Nina—she actually meant it when she said I should come over to see her kids. She always was just a little bit too nice for her own good.

A small, dark-haired child with something blue smeared across his mouth opens the door after I knock.

“Hello,” I say.

He says nothing. He just stares. I've always admired the way kids unabashedly stare at you. They don't care whether you're uncomfortable. Kids have zero fucks to give about your feelings.

“Mijo, go find your brother.” Nina appears and ushers the giggling child away. “Sorry. He loves answering doors. He's been obsessed with it lately.” She steps back, sweeping her arm out. “Come in, come in.”

She's wearing a casual green dress, her soft curls loose around her face. I'd never noticed Nina and Emmett taking much romantic interest in each other when we were younger, but I can see why they've hooked up now. They're both just very pretty.

I can't help but think that Nina is here to torture me. She's the living embodiment of what I could have been, if I'd had an hourglass figure and a touch more common sense.

I walk into the house and through a surprisingly neat living room. All the toys are stacked nicely in bins in the corner.

From the back of the house, a child lets out a shriek. I jump, but Nina looks unfazed.

Emmett walks into the room, a child hanging off either arm. The blue-mouthed one who opened the door is upside down, giggling. Emmett smiles at me. His dark blond hair is mussed, like there was a playful struggle back there with the kids. The kind of hair that's begging to be touched again. Maybe pulled a little.

Jesus Christ. I'm such an idiot.

“
Is it just me, or did he get really hot?
” Savvy's voice is in my head suddenly. I let her back in and now she won't leave.

A memory of a random day with her in the restaurant takes shape, almost against my will.

“I've always thought Emmett was cute,” I said, glancing over to where he was standing by the door to the restaurant.

“Yeah, but he's like ‘shove you up against a wall and fuck you' hot now,” she said, and then laughed at the expression on my face. “You're ridiculous, you know that?”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You blush like a schoolgirl every time I bring up sex. I wish we'd hung out in high school. I would have had the most fun corrupting you.” She reached across the bar to pat my hand. “But I'm glad I have the opportunity now. Better late than never.”

“What's better late than never?” Emmett asked as he slid onto the stool next to me.

“For me to corrupt this angel,” Savvy said sweetly.

Emmett barked out a laugh as Savvy walked to the other side of the bar to help a group of guys.

“You and Savvy Harper are friends now, huh?” Emmett gave me a deeply amused look.

“Yeah, I didn't see that one coming either.”

“That's what you get for moving back to your hometown. Eventually, you end up becoming friends with the former prom queen cheerleader.”

“I heard that!” Savvy called as she grabbed a glass. “And I was homecoming queen, not prom queen. We didn't have a prom court.”

“The fact that you even know that,” Emmett said incredulously.

“Some of us didn't pretend to be too cool for everything.” She gave us a meaningful look.

“Hey.” I swung an arm around Emmett's shoulders. “We weren't pretending. We actually were too cool.”

“No, we weren't,” Emmett whispered.

I shot him a grin. “No, we weren't.”

Savvy winked at me. “Good thing you're hanging out with me now.”

Emmett is staring at me. I try to look like a sane person who isn't being bombarded by past memories. I don't think I succeed.

Nina grabs the upside-down child and sets him on the ground. Emmett puts down the other, taller one.

“This is John and Chris,” Nina says, pointing to the little one, and then the bigger one. I've met the older one before, but she correctly assumes that neither of us remembers it all that well. “This is Lucy.”

I wave awkwardly. I'm never around kids. I don't know how to act with them.

“Lucy is an old friend,” Nina says to them. Neither of them look like they give a shit. The smaller one—already forgot his name—is staring at me again, though.

The doorbell rings again, and the older one shrieks. “Abuela!”

“Come on,” Emmett says, casting an amused glance at me. He ushers the boys out the door.

“I asked my mom to watch them tonight so we could actually have some adult conversations,” Nina says.

“They're cute,” I lie (all kids look the same to me).

“Oh, thanks.” She smiles.” They're a handful.”

Emmett returns, minus the kids. He walks to Nina, slipping an arm around her waist. She leans into him with an easy familiarity. The sort of couple that's been together for a while but still remembers casual affection.

When we were in high school, Emmett used to talk about leaving Plumpton. Of the three of us, he was the one who seemed the most restless, the most eager to explore the world.

I wonder whether he's disappointed he never got out. Or whether he's jealous of me, for up and moving to Los Angeles.

But I didn't really get out. I wasn't here physically, but in a way, I've spent every day of the last five years here. Other people moved on with their lives. Look at Nina and Emmett.

I'm still defined by everything that happened to me in my hometown. By my first husband, and the life I had in my early twenties. I'm like the football jock who never gets over peaking in high school, except I'm the tragic murder version.

Fuck, that's depressing.

Emmett gives me a concerned look, like he can read that emotion on my face, and I quickly look away and pretend to be fascinated by the family pictures hanging on the wall.

“Can I get you a drink?” Nina moves toward the fridge, covered in papers with scribbles that are supposed to be art, and Christmas cards of smiling children, even though it's August. “Emmett and I don't drink alcohol much, but I can offer you a Topo Chico.”

“Sure, thanks.” I don't need any alcohol after yesterday's extravaganza. My head still hurts a little.

She opens the glass bottle of mineral water and hands it to me. “I'm really glad you came.”

“Well, I'm not exactly flush with invitations, if you want to know the truth.”

Emmett leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are people nicer than when you left?”

“Maybe. Less hostile, at least.”

He half smiles. “Folks have had some time to think about it.”

“And what conclusion have they come to?”

Emmett and Nina exchange a look, and I know exactly what conclusion people have come to. The same one they always come to.

“I think some people are realizing they were quick to judge,” Nina says. “The DA would have tried you if they had enough evidence.”

I suppress a smile by taking a drink of my water. Nina says it like she's trying to convince herself. She's been lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, coming up with logical excuses why I might not have done it.

“We always had our doubts,” Emmett says quietly.

“I appreciate that.”

They're both quiet for a moment, exchanging another look I can't quite pin down. Nina grabs a towel from the counter and twists it nervously in her hands.

“I still don't remember anything, if that's what you wanted to ask,” I offer helpfully.

Nina twists the towel so hard I think she's going to rip it in half, and then turns away to open the oven a crack. “Hope you like lasagna!”

And then Savvy's standing next to Nina, grinning with her smudged eyeliner, dark blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.

I freeze. She's a horrible, perfect hallucination. Everything I've been shoving into the deep recesses of my mind for five years come back to life to haunt me.

I want to force her out again. She shouldn't be whispering to me, and she sure as shit shouldn't be standing here with that familiar smirk on her face. Nothing good will come of it.

Of course, desperately pushing her away for five years hasn't gotten me anywhere at all. My first therapist, the one I saw right after moving to Los Angeles, would barely be holding back an “I told you so” if she were here. She told me that ignoring Savvy's voice wasn't the solution. “She'll come back,” she'd said. “You can't ignore the past forever.”

The therapist was right, I was wrong. What else is new.

“
Lucy doesn't like lasagna
,” Savvy offers helpfully. “
This woman continues to be the fucking worst, Luce. No surprise there
.”

I wince. Emmett looks concerned again.

Savvy saunters over to him. “
He's still super hot, though
.”

“You okay?” Emmett asks quietly.

Next to him, Savvy sticks her tongue in her cheek like she's giving him a blow job. She doesn't look the way people always describe her now. They talk about her on the podcast like she was an angelic blond angel. Gliding through life with a halo shimmering around her head.

The Savvy in front of me is the real version. Highlights grown out, makeup half-assed, frayed red bra strap sticking out from her tank top.

I clear my throat and force a smile at Emmett. “Yeah. Fine. Great.”

I am not okay. Letting myself think about Savvy again has brought her back to life, and I don't think she's going to leave until I figure out what happened to her. I will be haunted by my friend and her murderous musings for the rest of my life unless I get my shit together.

Savvy lets out a long, disappointed sigh. “
Are we going to kill a dude or what?”

“Why don't you sit down?” Emmett gestures to the table.

“Yes, please sit!” Nina says. “Dinner is almost ready.”

I force a smile as I slide into a chair, and brace myself as the memory of that day with Savvy forms again, as clear as ever.