These Sheltering Walls: A Cane River Romance (14 page)

            “Isn’t
it better to know who your enemies are? I can imagine that would come in
handy.”

            “Enemies?”
She considered that. “It’s usually someone I’ve just met telling me they love
history but it actually bores them to tears, or a friend saying they’re too
tired to go out but they really want to go with someone else because they don’t
like the way I talk through a movie, or a guy I like saying he thinks I’m
beautiful, he really likes me and he wants to date exclusively.” Residual shame
rose up as she finished speaking. Being around other people was sometimes like
hearing out loud all the terrible things she’d ever thought about herself.

             He
grimaced. “So, this guy wanted to date other people?”

            “Oh,
all three were a lie. He just wanted his grandmother off his case and he
figured that I would agree since I seemed sort of awkward and pathetic.” There
wasn’t any reason to hold back. “People lie about everything.”

            He
crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them. She could tell he was
still working through it.

            “I
try to turn it off. I don’t want to hear everybody’s business, I promise,” she
said.

            “I
bet,” he said. “I don’t want to know what’s going on in everybody’s head,
either.” He leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “So, how accurate are
you? Eighty percent? Ninety?”

            She
let out a laugh but it sounded bitter to her ears. “Freakish percent. Can that
be a choice?”

            The
lamplight flickered across his face. “Fascinating. Or, is that offensive. I
don’t want to offend you.” He meant it. “Do you mind talking about it?”

            She
didn’t quite know how to answer him. “Like I said, I’ve never told anyone. I
know some people make a good living with it, but I just don’t think I could
stand it, day in and day out, listening for lies.” She looked up at him, relief
edging out her shyness. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”

            “What
languages do you speak?”

            “What?”

            “Creole?
French?”

            “Yes,
and I took two years of Italian.”

            “No
German? I took two years of German in college.” He grinned. “Let’s try it in a
language you don’t understand.”

            She
laughed, catching a bit of his enthusiasm. She’d never been able to play with
her talent before. It had always been something dark and ugly, something better
kept hidden away.

             “I’m
going to say three things. One will be a lie. Ready?”

            She
nodded, and listened closely as Gideon lied to her. “The second thing was a
lie,” she said. “I don’t know what it was, but it was a lie.”

            “Good
guess. Let me try again.”

            She
listened. “The first thing was a lie.”

            “Try
again.”

            “I’m
going to close my eyes this time,” she said. After he was done she said, “The
first was a lie again.”

            “Unbelievable,”
he whispered, sitting back in his chair. “Why close your eyes?”

            “It’s
harder when I can’t see the person. Or all of their face. When you had a beard,
it was like talking to you behind a screen.”

            “So
you can tell better now?” He ran a hand over his face, as if smoothing his
beard. “Is it only people you know? Or strangers, too?”

            She
started to say that he was a stranger, but it wasn’t true. “Everyone. And I
don’t really know how it happens. It’s not any one thing, like blinking or a
stutter.” She thought back to that morning with Kimberly and her grandparents.
“But if I know someone well, I start to recognize the pattern, even when
they’re not speaking. If they disagree with me, even if they don’t say a word,
I can see it.”

             “That
could be awkward.” He voice had taken on a tone she couldn’t quite interpret.

            “Most
of the time, it’s nothing. Sometimes with family, there are things they don’t
want you to know, things you wished you didn’t know and could just give back
but can’t. Once you know the truth…” She couldn’t finish.

            He
nodded, as if he felt the weight of her sadness, the long years she’d carried
the burden of other peoples’ lies. Standing up, he came over and gently took
the picture from her fingers. “We should go,” he said.

            She
shuffled her papers into a pile and blew out the lamps. Gideon closed the door
and locked it behind them, following her up the steps to the street. Henry was
surprised to see the crowds of people on the river walk and the temporary
booths that had sprung up on the grassy river bank. The hour she’d spent in the
basement with Gideon seemed from another time, some other place.

            They
walked in silence for a while. When they reached By the Book, he touched her
elbow and she turned to face him. She could tell he was saying something important
but she didn’t hear the first few words. Her whole attention seemed focused on
the place where his hand was touching her skin.

            “―so
I’m sorry if I’ve lied to you.”

            Henry
felt suddenly shy. It was strange to discuss it so openly, as if he’d found her
looking through his diary and hadn’t been angry, but wanted to know what she’d
thought.

            “You
never have, actually. You’ve never lied to me.”

            The
tight lines of his face relaxed. “Good. When you said everybody lied, I assumed
that I had, somehow, even if I didn’t remember it.”

            She
bit her lip. This wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go. “You’re
right. Everybody lies.” She looked into his eyes and felt her world teetering
on the edge. Part of her was yelling to walk through her door and not look
back. The other whispered soft reminders of all the years she’d wished for
someone she didn’t need to hide from, someone who understood her.

            He
cocked his head, a question clear in his eyes.

            “Everyone
lies,” she said. “Except for people who have no one to love and nothing to lose.”

            His
hand dropped from her elbow and she felt its loss like a slap. He nodded,
absorbing her words and not arguing their truth.

            She
didn’t know why, but the fact he didn’t argue made her angry. She wanted him to
tell her that she was wrong, that he did have a weak spot somewhere. “And I
know- I know it seems easier, with nothing and no one. It’s safer, right? But I
don’t think we’re made to live that way.”

            He
looked over her head, as if unable to meet her eyes. “You sound like Tom. He
seems to think the more people you love, the stronger you are.”

            Henry
nodded. She wished she could be someone who made deep and lasting friendships,
who had a big family that would always be there. She wasn’t and that was a weak
spot in her armor against the world. When things got bad, she didn’t have
anybody to call but Patsy. She couldn’t imagine life without her, without
anyone.

            “I
know this sounds terrible to you, but someday I hope you have something to lose,”
she said.

             “I
guess you’ll know when I lie to you.” He smiled as he spoke, but his tone said
that she shouldn’t hold her breath. “Goodnight, Henry,” he said, and walked
away.

            She
unlocked the door and blindly made her way up the curving wooden staircase to
the second floor. Her apartment was the second down a long hallway and when she
made it to the door, she stood there, staring at the little golden numbers
nailed to the front. Her breath hitched in her throat and she fumbled with the
knob, trying to fit the key in the lock as tears blurred her vision.

            Finally,
the door swung open and she slipped inside, closing it tight behind her. She
didn’t bother putting down her purse or taking off her shoes. She stood there
for a long time, brushing hot tears from her cheeks and wishing she’d never
told the truth.

                                                            ****

            Gideon
shifted on the bench and fought to keep his eyes open. It was midnight on a
Wednesday but the river walk was busier than if it were five in the morning.
The Zydeco Festival was only a few days away and tourists were streaming in
from all over. A couple strolled along arm in arm, kissing awkwardly as they walked,
laughing softly at some secret joke.

            As
they passed, he felt an ache in his chest.
Except for people who have no one
to love and nothing to lose.
She was right. He had carefully constructed a
life that gave him complete freedom from risk. Tom was an exception, but only
because Tom simply wouldn’t give up and it had been easier for Gideon to let
him back in to his life than to keep fighting to keep him away. But he had
never really allowed himself to rely on Tom.

            The
breeze from the river touched the back of his neck and he shivered. He
understood Henry now. All the puzzle pieces fit together. She’d been cursed and
had lived her life wanting to have friends, wanting to be close to her family,
but she couldn’t. Except for Patsy, it seemed as if Henry was doomed to be a
solitary person and it was no fault of her own.

            Gideon
had reveled in living distantly from every other person. He tolerated Tom. He
avoided everyone else. He closed door after door, denied reconciliations,
refused apologies. It was a point of pride that he didn’t need anybody or
anything.

            He
leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hunching inward. He’d thrown away what
Henry could only dream of and the shame burned through him like fire.

            “You’re
not very good at this bodyguard bit,” someone said. “You’re not even watching.”

            Gideon
looked up to see Tom standing there. He held out a thermos and a paper bag.
“Brought coffee and some sandwiches this time. No sense in starving to death.”

            Gideon
stood up, sudden relief washing over him. He wrapped his arms around Tom and
hugged him tight.

            “Wow,”
Tom said, his voice muffled. “You must really need the coffee.”

            He
let go and motioned to the bench. “I’m just glad to see you.”

            Tom
shot him a look. “Okay,” he said, and there was an entire paragraph of
questions behind that word.

            He
poured out a cup of the steaming coffee and handed it to Tom. “She’s got to
call Alice tomorrow. I can’t do this much longer.”

            Tom
gulped and swallowed, letting out a hiss of air. “Too hot,” he gasped. “And if
we were smart, we’d take shifts.”

            “If
we were really smart, we’d have Bix call Alice so we weren’t sitting out here
in the dark.” Gideon said. “But we were never the sharpest tools in the shed,
right?”

            “Huh.
Speak for yourself.” Tom passed the thermos to Gideon. “How’s your new
mentoring project?”

            “Reggie?”
Gideon shrugged. “He got a few interviews but no job yet. Every time I see him,
he looks shiftier. I told him I wouldn’t work with him if he went back to his
old friends and he agreed, but I’d bet a hundred bucks he’s still in contact
with them. He was late to our meeting this morning and kept checking his phone
like he was expecting a call. He’s on the edge, more than when he was first
released.”

            “How’s
the son?”

            Gideon
shrugged. “He doesn’t mention him at all. I get the feeling things aren’t good
there. But running around with the same people that got him into prison won’t
help, either.”

            “It’s
hard to let go of old friends, even if they are a bad influence,” Tom said,
elbowing Gideon just as he started to pour out a cup of coffee.

            “You’re
trying to get me to spill this on my lap, aren’t you?” He squinted at him.
“Remember I’m a convicted felon who spends all his time lifting weights.”

            “And
reading sad love poetry.” Tom snickered. “Speaking of which―”

            “Nope,”
Gideon said. “We’re not going there. Again.” As soon as the words were out of
his mouth, he remembered Henry and how every conversation was tainted by lies.
Tom was right there, ready to listen, and Gideon pushed him away.

            For
a few minutes, the only sound was the quiet lap of the river and the occasional
car that passed. Tom relaxed against the bench.

            He
cleared his throat. “I mean, even if I did― I’m not saying I do, but if I
did… like her… she’s already dating someone. A young, educated someone who is a
much better prospect than myself.”

            Tom
turned and looked at him, complete surprise on his face. “Are we discussing
this? Or not? I’m getting whiplash.”

            A
car passed slowly by, the thump of bass music like a heartbeat in the darkness.
“I’ve never held a woman’s hand,” he said. His voice sounded foreign to his own
ears, like himself but much younger. “Never kissed anyone. I’m a thirty two year
old man who’s never been on a date.”