One Last Lie (25 page)

She took a step toward him. “Where’s
Jonathan
?”

The tone of her voice held such disdain, Philip felt a sudden throbbing inside his head.
Where was this coming from?

“He’s at the Starbucks filling up on caffeine. I thought it best if just you and I spoke first. We have a longer history together, and I think that’s important.”

He couldn’t remember ever feeling this uncomfortable with another human being. Sure, he’d met difficult clients and had disagreements with friends and family, but there always seemed to be an open channel through which they could discuss and solve any problem.

But Angela had completely shut him out. Still, he wasn’t going to give up until they patched things up or she kicked him out.

With both hands on her belly, she dragged herself to the couch and plopped down at the end furthest away from him. She caught her breath. “How was Florida?”

Philip wriggled in the chair.
More contempt. Holy shit.

“It was okay, but we cut it short when we heard from G.” Angela responsively looked down and intensified the rubbing of her stomach. Philip realized he’d hit a chord of some sort.
Guilt?
Whatever it was, he knew he had to keep playing off it. “We were shocked, Angela. I mean
really
shocked. If we knew things were bothering you so much, we would’ve come over here and talked about it with you. But you didn’t say a thing.”

“I
did
say something, Philip. That night on the phone before you left. You knew something was wrong, but you went on your sunny Florida vacation anyway.”

Philip took a deep breath and pursed his lips into a smile. “Angie, you didn’t say anything on the phone that night. You just sounded angry and upset. And I guess I was so busy trying to button things up before we left, I didn’t ask. I can’t read minds, Angie. When something’s bothering you, you need to tell us.”

Angela turned to look out the window, then slowly started shaking her head. When she finally stopped, she looked at Philip, her eyes filled with fury, her face looking larger.

“I am so sick of all this us and we crap, Philip.” She clapped her hands together and began to imitate him. “‘If something’s bothering you, you need to tell
us.
It’s always we, us, ours. Like you and Jonathan are one freakin’ person. Don’t you think it’s time you get your own identity?”

Philip leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, his only way of moving closer to Angela without getting up and sitting next to her. She was talking nonsense, and they both knew it.

“Oh, my, I didn’t know you had such contempt for personal pronouns,” Philip said, hoping for a laugh. He didn’t get one, not even a smile. “Angie, I say we, us, and our because three of us are involved in this thing. I use those words because it’s important for you to know we’re
both
here for you. Not just me.” He pointed to her belly. “It’s Jonathan’s baby in there, for God’s sake.”

She puffed out her cheeks and turned toward the television.

“And I don’t think that’s what’s really bothering you anyway. What’s the real issue? Are you mad at us for going away and not taking you?”

She chortled and her eyes rolled far back inside their sockets. “Like I’d be able to get on a plane anyway, Philip. Get real. Are you an idiot?”

From the rippling sensation feeding through his veins, Philip understood for the first time what the expression “blood boiling” meant. He closed his eyes. The rain pattered on the roof and he used the sound to help him wash away the notion that this was a losing battle. It couldn’t be. There had to be something he could grab hold of to make her see what she was destroying.

He stood up and approached her, knowing in the back of his mind this was his final opportunity. When she looked up at him, he saw, for the briefest instant, the gorgeous, vivacious Angela staring into his eyes. She was mesmerizing, like the night they’d reacquainted last July, pulling him in with her beauty and charm, allowing him to imagine for a flash of a second that she was open to his words. Then he blinked his eyes and the old Angela was back, leering at him with condemnation and loathing.

“I loved you, you know.” Her voice was low and hoarse. She peered into his eyes searching for something, piercing so hard it felt as if she was looking through him. “I knew I couldn’t have you, but that was okay. Being part of your family was enough for me. Until you both started treating me like a piece of trash.”

Philip ran his hands through his hair and shook his head.

“Treating you like trash? What are you talking about Angie? We cleaned for you, took you out for meals, shopped with you, watched TV and played video games with you. We went with you to see Dr. Jarrett all those times, and we called to check up on you if not every day, every other day. We treated you just like family. Actually, we treated you
better
than family.”

“Until I got fat,” she said. “Until I started to show and you didn’t want to be around me.” Her voice grew louder and her face looked inflamed. She wiggled around the sofa cushion until her arms were in the right place to help lift her up. When she caught her balance, she took a deep breath and dragged her feet toward him. “Just like in college, you didn’t want any part of me because I was fat. And now fifteen years later, you do the same fucking thing. Toss me aside like garbage.” She was yelling now, heaving after each sentence, trying to catch her breath and find the right words. She pointed to her belly and began to slap it with her hands. “And that’s why I was waiting until after the baby was born before telling you the surprise. I wanted to be skinny and pretty again when I told you.”

Philip was almost trembling; the moment was unreal, as if he’d been sucked into a movie he was watching.

“When you told me what?” he asked, his voice shaking with panic. “What surprise are you talking about?”

She looked up at him, her mouth forming a sinister smile.

“I lied to you and Jonathan. I was too embarrassed to tell you that…”

“You don’t have to tell him
shit
!” A man’s voice shouted from the other side of the dark kitchen. Philip squinted his eyes and pulled his neck forward, struggling to see who was there. At first he saw no one. A few seconds later the kitchen light flicked on and a man appeared, his face vaguely familiar, the look in his eyes identical to Angela’s.

In disbelief, Philip spun his head around toward Angela, who shifted from foot to foot, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. He thought about calling Jonathan right then, but decided against it, thinking it might create even greater hostility. He tried to remember where he’d seen this guy.

“Tommy, what the fuck? I told you to stay in the bedroom!”

“I know what you told me, Angie. But I don’t like the way he’s talking to you. And I didn’t want to miss meeting Philip again. Philip the fag. That’s correct, isn’t it Philip? You are a fag, right?”

Philip felt a cold tingle of panic rise up from his feet and spread through every fiber of his body. Once Angela said the name Tommy, he remembered the man from the brief encounter in front of her apartment building.

Now he was standing between two psychopaths, wondering what to do next.
Respond? Fight? Run?
Sweat broke out across the back of his neck and it seemed as though time was slowing down. His limbs felt weighted, his heart heavy, each beat thumping harder than the last. The television noise faded into the background as the ticking of the clock on the dining room wall grew louder. For a moment he swore he could hear Angela breathing on the couch behind him. He blinked his eyes and shook his head, trying to get his thoughts back on track.

Philip decided not to press Angela about her lie, knowing it would further antagonize Tommy. So he forced a smile and looked Tommy in the face, choosing his words carefully.

“I think it’s best I go. It was nice to see you again, Tommy.” He looked over his shoulder at Angela. “I’ll be in touch, Angie.”

He started for the door, leaving Tommy laughing from the kitchen.

“Oh, Philip! You forgot something.” Tommy held his umbrella aloft.

Shit.
Philip came back to the kitchen and reached for the umbrella, but Tommy snatched it away at the last moment.

“We don’t want him to get wet out there, do we Angie?”

“Tommy! Cut the shit!” Angela yelled from the living room. “Philip, just go.”

Philip took a deep breath and held out his hand. “Either give it to me or don’t. I’m not going to beg for an umbrella.” Philip looked at his outstretched hand, surprised it wasn’t trembling.

Without warning Tommy lunged forward and poked his chest with the tip of the umbrella. Philip smacked it aside, but Tommy jabbed him again, in his chest, his belly, the side of his ribcage. With a quick twist of his wrist, Philip grabbed the center of the umbrella, twisted it back and pulled it from Tommy’s hand. He lifted the umbrella above his head as though he were going to thrash Tommy with the handle, but then slowly lowered his arm.

“I don’t know what you’re problem is, asshole, but I don’t want any part of it. You’re nuts.”

Tommy edged toward him. “
I’m
the asshole?
I’m
the asshole?” Tommy was yelling and his voice clapped hard against the pine cabinets. “You and your fag boyfriend get
my
girlfriend pregnant, then go flying away on vacations and leave her here to rot. You use her like a fucking baby oven and
I’m
the asshole?”

“Tommy!” Angela screamed. Philip could hear tears in her voice and the strain of trying to be heard over the commercial playing on the television. “Stop it! Please!” She pleaded. “Philip, just go. Please!”

Philip half turned to Angela. He gripped the umbrella, unconsciously banging it mercilessly against his thigh. “Your
boyfriend?
Since when do you have a boyfriend, Angela?”

A forceful shove against his shoulder drove Philip sideways into the refrigerator and he grabbed the edge of the counter beside the sink to stop himself from landing on the floor.

“Since she decided she needed a
real
man to take care of her, not some fancy, shmancy faggot from Snob Hill, Connecticut.”

Tommy’s push caught Philip by surprise and came close to knocking the wind out of him. The moment he regained his breath, he was seized by a frantic rage that forced him to lunge at Tommy and push him backward against the sink’s counter. Tommy slid sideways and knocked over the dish rack, sending dishes, bottles, and silverware crashing to the floor.

Once Philip maintained his balance, he turned to rush out of the kitchen, run past Angela, and straight to the door. As he eyed his escape path, he felt movement behind and in an instant he knew Tommy was about to retaliate.

“Tommy! No! No!”

Angela’s high-pitched screams echoed in Philip’s head as he turned to confront Tommy. A second later, the razor-cold, steel blade of a chef’s knife pierced his skin and slid into his groin. Although the pain was excruciating, he was paralyzed. For what seemed like an eternity, he couldn’t move a muscle, not even his mouth to scream or his eyes to look away from Tommy’s face, now inches from his own. He caught a faint scent of alcohol off Tommy’s breath as his legs gave way and he fell to his knees.

His insides were ablaze as if he’d swallowed lighter fluid and someone lit a match in his intestines. He fought to breathe, slowly pulling out the knife and gazing up to Tommy, who stood with his bloody hands in the air and a look of disbelief on his face. Hot liquid surged from his abdomen, soaking his hands as he tried to cover the wound and stop himself from losing too much blood. But he could still feel warm liquid oozing from somewhere deep inside his belly and spreading within his body.

He fell onto his side, his left cheek flat against the cold kitchen floor. This time the fear that paralyzed him was the thought that his last vision on earth would be a one inch square of dirty linoleum floor. The high-pitched screams grew louder as the television noise seemed to move further away. He felt dizzy and nauseated. His head pounded, and with each beat he felt blood escaping and his energy withering. He tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt too much, causing him to choke. Warm liquid flowed from the corner of his mouth and dribbled onto the floor.

His vision blurred, the linoleum tile fading away as quickly as the sounds around him. Finally, he couldn’t feel anything and tasted only the distant flavor of iron. Closing his eyes, he tried to speak, but only a gurgled puff of air passed through his lips.

All he had left were his thoughts, and so he filled them with images of Jonathan: his face, his smile, his eyes. This was the only way he could be sure he’d die with a smile on his face.

19

Jonathan placed Philip’s coffee in the passenger side cup holder, backed out of the Starbuck’s parking space, and pulled onto Blackrock Turnpike. He’d waited in the car up the street from Angela’s house for nearly fifteen minutes before deciding to get them both a coffee and Philip’s favorite: a pecan danish, which he placed in the glove compartment to keep as a surprise. On his way back to the house, he decided he’d pull onto the driveway, call Philip’s cell, and ask him to come out. If things weren’t settled by now, another few minutes were not going to make any difference.

When he made the turn onto Jennings Street, the flash of police car lights cut through the misty fog of his rear window. He slowed down and pulled over, letting them pass at the gravelly section of shoulder where he and Philip stopped only twenty minutes before. Two cop cars flew by, one right after the other, hurling gravel and mud into the air as they veered to the left and turned onto Angela’s block.