Lie, Lie Again: A Novel, page 9
She tapped her phone to life and pressed “Recents.” Hugh’s name was at the top of the list. She had tried calling him four times in the course of six hours last night. A brewing rage sat across the room, ready to slam into her if he didn’t pick up this time. Thunder boomed outside, as if the universe shared her frustration. She touched his number and held the phone to her ear. If he didn’t answer, she would call the police.
One ring, then two. She held the phone in a death grip. Three rings.
“Hi, Jeff!” It was a woman’s voice.
A cold rush ripped through Sylvia. Who the hell was Jeff? And why was a woman answering Hugh’s phone? “Uh, no Jeff here. Who’s this?”
“Oh!” She sounded surprised. “Sorry. This is Lily. Hugh’s bathing the baby, and the caller ID said ‘Jeff Ulrich, Global Consulting,’ so I answered. This must be Krista.”
The room swayed, and Sylvia grabbed a fistful of sheets. Hugh is bathing the baby? As in their baby? She forced herself to focus. To think. “Yes, I’m calling from Jeff’s phone. We’re planning a surprise party for him, and I’m making sure we have all the right contact information,” she said in a steady voice.
“Oh! How fun. Do you need an email address?”
Bile rose in Sylvia’s throat. Her hand crept to her mouth, and she landed her feet on the floor, ready to bolt. “No, I’m texting invites.” Her hollow voice was better suited for planning a funeral than a party.
“Great. I won’t say a word. In fact, I’m not going to mention a thing to Hugh. He doesn’t like anyone touching his phone, but since I know Jeff, I figured it was fine. Husbands,” she added with a laugh.
“Husbands,” Sylvia repeated. “Bye now.” She let the phone slide from her hand and beelined to the bathroom.
After rinsing her mouth with Listerine and splashing cold water on her face, she was ready to address the facts.
Hugh wasn’t stuck on an airplane. He wasn’t in a hospital, a jail cell, or a shallow grave getting pounded by rain. He was married with a baby. Perhaps the saddest of all possible outcomes.
She wanted to scream but clamped back the desire. Her teeth scraped against each other as she ground them until they felt loose, an old habit she’d tried to overcome. It was astounding that her teeth hadn’t fallen out due to the amount of time she’d spent clenching and grinding them as a child.
Hugh had led her down a pretty pathway that had dead-ended in asphyxiating quicksand, a silent killer. The more she struggled against the news, the faster it would swallow her alive. She had to face the truth like the survivor she was: Hugh was a liar. A married daddy, and a motherfucking liar.
Her eyes burned with rage. It took every ounce of restraint to stop herself from picking up the phone and hurling it at the wall.
Don’t kill the messenger.
True, true. It was never the messenger’s fault.
Hugh, on the other hand, was guilty. She stood and pulled her nightshirt over her head. It felt symbolic, like shedding the skin of her former self—the Sylvia she had allowed Hugh to see. How unfortunate that he hadn’t seen her angry. It would’ve been helpful if he’d at least had a glimpse. But alas, he’d only known happy Sylvia. Happy, buttermilk biscuit–eating Sylvia. She’d enjoyed the newspaper, just like him! And the powdered creamer? A brilliant grocery-store find!
He had done absolutely nothing to anger her.
Up until now, that is.
She smiled. Actually, he was an idiot to have introduced her to powdered anything. It was all too easy to add a little something to it. Rat poison, perhaps. Shake to mix, and voilà! Powdered creamer turned lethal.
Fun to think about, but she wouldn’t poison him. It was impossible to torment a dead man. No, she really needed to keep him alive.
The question was, what did he hold most dear? That would be the quickest path to his demise. Her mind traveled back to the night they’d met, and it landed on his fake wedding ring. Odd, but genius in its ability to allow him to hide in plain sight. A lot of thought and energy had gone into protecting his image. And his wife.
He wanted to look like a good guy.
So bit by bit, she would make him look bad. It wouldn’t be too difficult to create the illusion that Hugh was becoming unstable. He was so polished and perfect that people would thoroughly enjoy his downfall. Oh, they’d talk about it in whispers, claiming how sad and surprising it was. But that talk would quickly shift to all-knowing smirks. I saw it coming. It was only a matter of time. If it seems too good to be true . . .
As for Lily, it would be unfortunate for her to learn that her darling spouse was a cheater. But she needed to know. Lily would unwittingly act as Sylvia’s right-hand woman. Literally, she thought with a laugh.
What would Lily do? Sylvia closed her eyes and imagined her pale hand wielding a kitchen knife. Would she go to that extreme? Could be. After all, Hugh had said he didn’t want to be responsible for her crazy.
Well, Hugh. Guess what? Now you are.
She could almost see his face, fraught with fear, as his lies scurried toward him like roaches at night. It was hurtful that he’d lied to her again and again as though it was nothing. But she wouldn’t dwell. Never did. Old wounds became armor. Why she had stripped herself of that armor for Hugh was beyond her understanding. It wasn’t something she did. But his lies had been so pretty. Shiny little things that she had run to like an eager child.
A cold chill shook her as she imagined herself as a little girl, her face open and trusting as she watched her dad smile before putting a finger to his lips and tiptoeing backward through the door. “Cover your eyes with both hands. Count all the way up to fifty,” he’d said in a whisper, and she’d eagerly played along.
But what if she hadn’t? What if she had run after him instead, claiming she didn’t want to cover her eyes? Would he have lifted her into his arms and nuzzled her neck as he had done so many times before?
She wouldn’t know. She had followed his rules.
The scars that he’d left had healed into a very tough skin. Untouchable.
So Hugh hadn’t hurt her. Not really. She would never truly fall for someone. He was only a pathway to my future, she reminded herself as she wiped away an unwelcome tear. One pathway of many. But he’d proven to be slippery. Deceitful. And for that, he would pay.
Oh, he would pay dearly.
Too bad, so sad.
There was nothing Sylvia hated more than a liar.
CHAPTER TEN
Glancing at the clock, Riki wondered if it was too soon to check on Sylvia. But it was almost eleven, so it should be fine. And the rain had subsided to a gentle mist. She pulled up the hood of her sweatshirt and headed to Sylvia’s apartment. The doormat was red with the words HOME SWEET HOME, printed in white font.
She tilted her head after knocking, listening for footsteps, but the door suddenly swung open without a sound. Sylvia stood in front of her, wearing a faux-fur robe and a darling pair of gray bunny slippers with ears that stood up. Kate Spade, she thought, noting the gold spade charm in the center of each. Only Sylvia would wear designer slippers.
“Hello, Riki. Or should I call you Florence Nightingale? What brings you out on this fabulous day?”
“Hi, I just wanted to see how you’re doing. I was worried about you last night.”
Sylvia smiled without showing her teeth. Her eyes were bloodshot, as though she’d been up all night. “Oh, that’s sweet of you. But I’m fine. It was just a sprain.”
“What a relief.”
“Indeed.”
She shifted her feet, waiting for something more. Seconds ticked by, and the silence became too loud. “Okay. Well, let me know if you need anything.”
“I will.” She smiled again, but it didn’t reach her eyes. In fact, if Riki were to simply go off the look in her eyes, she’d say Sylvia’s arm hurt a lot worse than she was letting on.
Riki turned to go, but Sylvia’s voice stopped her, and she spun around. “Thank you for taking me last night. I’m pretty sure I failed to say much yesterday. I wasn’t myself.”
“It’s okay,” she rushed out. “I figured you must’ve been in a lot of pain.”
Sylvia nodded. “Yes. It was a double dose. My boyfriend stood me up last night. I was thinking about him when I slipped. And then,” she said, staring off in the distance, “just this morning, I discovered that he’s married. Married with a baby. What kind of disgusting human being cheats on the mother of his child?”
Riki’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t even know! That’s awful. What an asshole!”
Sylvia narrowed her gaze like she was zeroing in on Riki’s thoughts.
She blinked, trying to block the piercing stare, but she couldn’t escape it. Oh, jeez. Had Sylvia caught her ogling Brandon the other morning when he’d waved? Or had she somehow witnessed her staring through the window on a random Saturday morning? Riki shifted her feet and looked at the brace on Sylvia’s wrist, trying to think of something else to say.
Sylvia finally answered. “Yes, that’s what I was thinking. What an asshole. Apparently, he lives in a mirrored bubble and can only see himself. He clearly wasn’t thinking about his child when he was busy seducing me. What a terrible role model for that poor baby.” She clamped her lips into a flat line and inhaled through her nose. For a second, Riki wondered if she would explode, but instead, with a sad smile, she closed the door.
Riki shivered and started down the stairs. This was a big, glaring sign that she needed to get control of the feelings she had for Brandon. She was becoming paranoid. Sylvia hadn’t said any of that to warn her. It was because she was completely freaked out right now. Her boyfriend was married!
Riki’s mind lingered on Sylvia’s vacant expression. It was like every emotion had seeped right out of her. As she touched the next step, her shoe skidded, and she slipped. Frantically, she grabbed hold of the handrail. That was close, she thought as she continued down, careful to avoid the seventh step. The last thing she needed was to fall in the rain like Sylvia had.
Jonathan eased to a stop across from the apartment complex and killed the engine. He exited his car and jogged over to the car parked in front of him, where a man was looking at the property with interest.
“Hey, Pat. Good to see you, buddy. Thanks for coming over on a wet Saturday.”
They shook hands. “No problem at all. So this is it?” He pointed to the complex. “Ten fifty-four Mockingbird Lane?”
“Yep. There she is. It’s a twenty-thousand-square-foot lot. Big for this area.”
“Sure is.” He nodded authoritatively. “Not a bad location either. I have a couple of contacts who are looking for development properties. This place could be interesting to them. Then again, we may find a buyer who wants to keep it as an investment property.”
Jonathan nodded. “Right. And your boy Dave said he’ll come over tomorrow to do the few repairs, weather permitting. Thanks for connecting me with him.”
“No prob. He’s a good kid.” He crossed his arms and turned to Jonathan. “It has the potential to go quickly with the way the market is at the moment. That can change in an instant, but I think we’re in a good position with this one. Let me know when you want to pull the trigger, and I’ll get things rolling.”
Jonathan held back the urge to do a victory punch to the air. He forced a serious look. “I’ll keep you posted on my decision. The old place has been in the family for years. It’s going to take the right price to get me to part with it.” Ha! I can’t wait to dump the place and the nagging tenants. But the harder Patrick had to work to convince him to sell, the harder he’d work for a stellar selling price.
“What about leases? Do you have any tenants with a lease, or are they month to month?”
He nodded assuredly, as though he’d expected the question. “The tenants won’t be a problem.”
They shook hands once again, and Patrick drove off. Leases. Shit! Why hadn’t he thought of that? If any of the tenants came up with some grand idea about him paying out their lease when he needed them to move, they had another thing coming. He wasn’t about to part with his hard-earned cash. With any luck, Ma had kept handwritten notes that he could easily destroy. He smiled. Maybe her refusal to use technology was a blessing after all. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he turned back to his car. He’d figure it out. Always did. And if the place didn’t sell right away, he’d figure that out too. Hell, he could set the place on fire and collect the insurance money if it came to that. Of course, he’d do it when the tenants were out and about. No need to harm anyone. He chuckled to himself. It’d be easy to tell them he had to tent the place for termites. Accidents happened, after all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Riki opened the door to Chris, his hair glistening with raindrops. “You don’t have an umbrella?”
“Nah. It never rains.”
She laughed as he stood dripping on her welcome mat. “Stay there. I’ll bring you a towel.” She took a bath towel from her linen cupboard and tossed it to him. “I think you might need to break down and get an umbrella. Every time I think it’s over, it starts up again.”
He wiped off his jacket before pressing the towel to his face and ruffling it across his hair. “Guess I’ll have to stay where it’s dry until the storm passes.”
A finger of dread scratched down her spine as she imagined him staying all weekend. Only until tomorrow—Sunday—but still. What if he stayed late on Sunday? Or even until Monday morning? Using the towel, he drew her into a hug, and the bad feeling vanished. What was wrong with her anyway? Would it be this way with any guy she dated?
This time, fear didn’t scratch—it clawed. Maybe she was someone who preferred solitude, and no one would ever feel like the yin to her yang. It’s possible no guy could ever be the one. What if she grew old all alone? How would she feel with no one there by her side when the inevitable happened?
She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. Don’t be dramatic and stupid, Riki. She stepped out of the hug and looped the towel over her arm. “I’ll hang this in the bathroom. There’s beer in the fridge if you want one.” And plenty of girls out there who aren’t secretly a mess, if you’d prefer one of those.
“Thanks.”
Chris was sitting on the sofa when she returned, a papier-mâché panda in his hand. He held it up. “What’s this ball thing for?”
She plopped next to him. “It’s a panda, not a ball.”
“Really?” he asked, spinning it from one side to the other. “A panda?”
“Yes. We’re doing an endangered-animal unit next month for Earth Week, and I’m having the kids make papier-mâché animals to go along with their reports.” Taking it from his hands, she said, “This little guy is my example. I spent a few hours making him the other day.”
He circled an arm around her shoulders and frowned. “Wow. It’s . . .”
“Is it that bad?” she asked as she placed it back on the table.
“It’s something. The good news is, your kids won’t feel like theirs suck because the teacher’s looks so much better.”
“Thanks a lot. Mrs. Fitzsimmons left her sample behind, but it was all dull and dusty. Even so, maybe I should just use hers.”
“No. Don’t. I hated it when my teachers made these amazing projects and mine looked like crap.”
“Thanks, I guess?” She playfully touched her shoulder to his. “Do you want to order pizza? It’s kind of too wet to go out, don’t you think?”
“It’s not that bad, and some of the guys are meeting up at the Lantern for drinks and appetizers. You love seeing everyone.”
Do I? Or did he just want to believe that? She didn’t even know his friends all that well. But then again, most girls would jump at an offer to go to a cool gastropub with their newly official boyfriend, wouldn’t they? Yes, Riki, they would. That’s what Rowan would say, and she was probably right. Rowan was always giving her advice on how to “act normal.” To be fair, sometimes it was helpful. Mostly, though, it was annoying, and she wasn’t in the mood to follow Rowan’s advice. She turned to Chris and patted his leg. “If you want to hang out with them, you should. I’m not up for it.”
He placed his hand on hers and sighed. “I’d really love for you to go with me. It’s Saturday night.” Tapping his thigh against hers, he smiled and said, “Come on.”
She struggled to come up with the right words. He was Mr. Personality, and she was a homebody. Which is exactly why I need to push myself, she thought. I’ll end up a complete recluse with an apartment full of cats. Not that she had one now. But she could see the path in front of her, and it was littered with cats. Or maybe she’d heard it enough from Rowan to start believing it was a real possibility. “Okay.”
“Really? You’ll go?”
She leaned forward to kiss him. “Yes. I’ll go. Give me a few minutes to change, okay?”
“Awesome. I told them we’d be there in thirty.”
She started to say something but instead headed for her room. What if she’d insisted on staying home? Would he have thrown her over his shoulder and strapped her in the car? She couldn’t imagine Brandon making assumptions about what Embry wanted to do. She sighed. It wasn’t fair to compare Chris to him. But it was like thoughts of Brandon had hijacked her brain. Maybe she could set up a point system for herself, and once she racked up enough points—earned by not thinking about Brandon as anything but her friend’s husband—she could buy herself a reward. Something she’d been wanting, like a new tote for her school things.
She pulled a black turtleneck sweater from the back of her closet and tugged it over her head. Her jeans were fine, she decided, and she slipped on a pair of black leather boots. They probably weren’t waterproof, but she didn’t have anything else to wear besides flip-flops and sandals.
