Twisted Lies

by C. B. Clark

  The driver of the vehicle climbed out, grabbed a travel bag from the passenger seat, and slammed the door. He strode toward Russ. “Hey, Russ. How’s it goin’?”

  “Hey, Joe.” He cleared his throat. “Going for a sail?”

  Joe grinned. “You bet. After that storm yesterday, it’s a beauty of a day.” He held up a canvas fishing rod case and a tackle box. “I’m hoping to catch dinner.”

  The words washed over Russ like meaningless sounds. “Good luck.”

  Joe narrowed his eyes and stepped closer. “Say, is everything okay? You seem… I don’t know… distracted.” He waved his hand at Russ. “And you’re not really dressed.”

  Heat flooded Russ’s face, and with the fire came a flicker of anger. Who the hell did she think she was? She had no business treating him the way she had. He’d agreed to her fool’s quest. He’d promised to search Angus’s house and office and look for any mention of her parents and what might have happened to them. Did she still want him to do that? Or didn’t she care about that either?

  “Russ?”

  He forced his focus to his friend. “What’s up?”

  The corners of Joe’s mouth twitched. “Oh, I get it. Your hangdog expression has something to do with that hot redhead I passed on the road. She was driving like a bat out of hell. I don’t think she even saw me.” He clicked his tongue. “What happened? Did she dump you?”

  “Something like that.” The words strained between his clenched teeth.

  “Oh, man. Sorry to hear that.” An awkward silence settled between them. Joe cleared his throat. “You know what they say, right? Plenty of fish in the sea.” He hefted the fishing rod case. “Speaking of which, I’d better get going. I won’t catch any fish standing here.” He patted Russ’s arm. “Take care, man.” He trotted toward the pier, calling over his shoulder, “Hey, if you’re around when I get back, maybe we’ll cook up some fish and have dinner and a few brewskis. You in?”

  “Sure. That sounds great.” Even to his own ears, his voice sounded brittle.

  “Catch you later.” Joe’s heavy footsteps faded in the distance.

  Russ stared down the empty road.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  He tightened his hands into fists. If she wanted to keep relations between them strictly business, he could do that. Damn straight he could. The lady wanted business, that’s what she’d get.

  He about-faced and stomped back to his boat.

  ****

  The second Athena’s plane touched down at the Calgary airport, she used her cell phone, searched online, and found an AA meeting in the basement of a dingy office space downtown. Sipping a cup of bitter coffee loaded with two heaping tablespoons of sugar and a dollop of creamer, she sat on a hard metal chair and listened to the sordid tales of the other drunks.

  She didn’t like being there, felt too exposed, but she had to attend a meeting. If she gave in to her craving, one drink would lead to two, and then three. She’d drink until she passed out. And, riddled with guilt and disgust, she’d drink again, just to silence the inner voices.

  When the meeting was over, she called her aunt and asked her to come over. She had questions to ask, hard questions about Athena’s biological father and how much Clara knew. The drive to Athena’s house would take Clara an hour, allowing plenty of time for Athena to stop by the kennel and pick up Otis.

  When he spotted her, he whined and pranced around her feet like a puppy, slobbering, thrilled to see her.

  Guilt flooded her. She shouldn’t have left him, shouldn’t have gone to Vancouver. Hell, she shouldn’t have done a lot of things.

  Arriving home, she unlocked the front door and stepped into the house.

  Otis blasted past her, raced to his food dish, and crunched kibble, pushing his metal bowl across the linoleum, his tag dinging against the metal, and leaving a trail of hard, crumbled chunks of dog food.

  She plodded down the hall to her bedroom and tossed her purse on the bed. Her body ached with a deep-seated exhaustion, and all she wanted was a shower and sleep. But first, she needed answers, answers only Clara could provide.

  Fifteen minutes later, she stepped out of her bedroom, freshly showered and wearing clean jeans and a blouse.

  The doorbell rang.

  Otis lifted his head from his mat on the floor in the living room and let out a woof. Scrambling to his feet, he raced for the front door.

  She threaded her fingers through her wet hair and opened the door to her aunt.

  Otis barked in joy. Clara was one of his favorite people. His tail wagged, and his mouth hung open in a wide doggy grin.

  “Hello, Otis.” Clara petted his furry head. “How’s my boy?”

  Otis’s tail swept the floor, and he stared adoringly at Clara as she rubbed his ears.

  Clara looked up, and her eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?” She clasped Athena’s hand. “Are you okay?” She leaned closer and sniffed. “Are you drinking again?”

  “No. I haven’t had a drink in—” She paused. How long ago was her last drink? Three days? Four? She couldn’t remember.

  “Athena?”

  “It’s true. I haven’t had any alcohol, not since we last talked. I promised you I wouldn’t.” Her heart tugged at the older woman’s loving concern. Clara was her number-one supporter. “I’m fine.” Her lie filled the entryway. She was fine, unless a broken heart counted. “I…I found out some disturbing news, and I need to ask you a couple of questions.”

  “Certainly. Anything you want, dear. I’m anxious to hear what that lawyer in Vancouver had to say.”

  Athena gestured down the hall. “Let’s go into the kitchen and talk. I’ll make coffee.”

  A thousand questions painted Clara’s lined face, but she wheeled around and walked with a slow, jerky gait down the short hall to the kitchen.

  The afternoon sun streamed in thinly slatted light through the kitchen window blinds, painting the tile floor in bright stripes. The sun glinting off the gleaming countertops was too bright for Athena’s tired eyes. She hadn’t gotten more than a few hours of sleep the previous night. Her face heated as she recalled the reason for that lack of sleep.

  She’d gone into Russ’s arms knowing exactly what she was doing, but sometime during their long night of loving, she’d realized she was developing feelings for him, deep feelings. That realization terrified her and, like a coward, she’d run. Shoving those unsettling thoughts aside, she filled the coffee pot with water, poured coffee grounds into the machine, and set the switch to brew.

  Clara sat on a wooden chair at the table, her age-spotted, arthritic hands clasped on the table.

  A car horn sounded on the street, the coffee maker gurgled, and the earthy scent of perking coffee filled the air.

  Otis wandered into the room and settled on the floor beside Clara. His tail beat like a metronome.

  “I missed you too, boy.” Clara petted the big dog’s dark head. “Were you lonely in that kennel? No other dogs to play with?”

  Otis plopped on the floor with a grunt and rolled onto his back, exposing his belly.

  “You’re such a big baby.” Clara chuckled and rubbed his stomach.

  Ecstasy was written across the dog’s face.

  Athena didn’t want any distraction from the difficult conversation she was about to have, so she pointed at the back door with the inset doggie door. “Time to go out, Otis.”

  The dog regarded her with sad, soulful eyes, but he stood, stretched, and trotted out the door.

  Athena opened a cupboard, removed two mugs, poured steaming coffee into the mugs, and toted them to the table. Opening the fridge, she retrieved a container of milk. Two spoons and the sugar bowl followed.

  Clara added a teaspoon of sugar to her cup and stirred. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? Because I can tell something’s got you upset.” She grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table and wiped her hands.

  Athena stared into the steamy swirl of cream-scented
coffee in her mug. All the way home from Vancouver, she’d thought about this conversation. She wanted answers. That’s why she’d called the one person who’d know the truth. But now that Clara was seated in front of her, Athena’s courage wavered. Did she want to know? Her stomach rolled over. But could she live with never knowing about her past? Inhaling a breath, she faced Clara. “Angus Crawford is dead.”

  Clara’s gasp filled the kitchen. “Dead? How…how do you know?”

  “The lawyer I met with told me. That’s why she was looking for me. She’s in charge of Angus’s will.”

  “What?” Clara slumped on her chair, her hands pressed to her chest. “Angus is dead?”

  Athena nodded. “According to the terms of his will, he left me the majority of his money and his company.” She swallowed and pushed on even though Clara’s face had drained of color and tears pooled in her eyes. “The only asset he didn’t leave me was Shelter Island. He left that to his adopted son.”

  “He left the island to Russell?” Clara wrung her hands.

  Athena sucked in a sharp breath. “How do you know Russell Crawford?”

  “I don’t.” Clara’s face flushed. “Not at all. Your…your mother must have mentioned him, or maybe I read about him in the paper.” She fiddled with the tissues in her hands, tearing off tiny strips that littered the floor.

  The skin on the back of Athena’s neck prickled with the certainty Clara wasn’t telling the truth. But why would her aunt lie? No, she was tired and on edge and reading guilt in the older woman’s actions where there wasn’t any. “I met Russell Crawford at the lawyer’s office.”

  Clara dabbed at her damp eyes.

  “He offered to take me sailing for a couple of hours, but the weather turned, and we had to shelter off Shelter Island and—”

  “Wait a minute. You were on Shelter Island?” Clara blew out a shaky breath. “I…I thought you didn’t want to go there. Why did you go with Russ?”

  “It’s a long story.” Athena grimaced. As much as she loved her aunt, she wasn’t prepared to reveal everything that had happened while she was on the coast, especially any details involving her complicated relationship with Russell Crawford. Instead, she gave her the edited version. By the time she was finished, Clara’s mouth was open, her cheeks were flushed, and she was fanning her hand in front of her face as if she were having a hot flash.

  But Athena wasn’t finished. Not nearly. She gulped a swig of coffee for courage. “We found a box of old photographs in Angus Crawford’s cottage. The box was filled with dozens of photos—all of me. Most were taken when I lived on Shelter Island, but some were from when we lived in Regina, Ottawa, and even here in Calgary. One was as recent as last December.”

  Clara’s hands fluttered about her hair, fussing with her short gray curls. “Oh, my goodness.”

  Athena tugged the envelopes she’d found in Angus Crawford’s safe from her back pocket and tossed them on the table. They landed with an ominous thump.

  Clara’s gaze met Athena’s. “What’s this?”

  “Look at them.”

  The furrow between Clara’s gray eyebrows deepened. She picked up the top envelope and studied the front. Her hand shook, and she dropped the letter like it burned. “Where…where did you get these?”

  “They were stored in a safe in Angus’s cottage on Shelter Island.” Athena patted the top envelope. “What do you know about them?”

  Clara shoved the stack of envelopes away as if it were a coiled heap of venomous snakes.

  “Aren’t you even going to read them? They’re from my mother to Angus Crawford.”

  Clara’s face paled even further, and her mouth opened and closed, but no words escaped.

  The truth punched Athena like a blow to the stomach. “You knew.” Her accusation hung in the air, swelling and gaining in power with each second of strained silence.

  Tears glimmered in Clara’s eyes. “I—”

  Athena shoved her chair back and shot to her feet. “You knew Angus Crawford was my biological father, didn’t you?”

  A single tear slipped from Clara’s eye, slid down her lined cheek, and trembled on her chin. “Yes, I knew.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Athena slammed her palm on the table. “All these years you’ve known that bastard was my father.” Her breath blasted out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Clara tugged another tissue from the box and blew her nose. “I…I promised your mother I wouldn’t tell you. I swore I’d keep her secret.” She sniffled again. “You have to understand what things were like back then. The…the situation was…difficult for your mother, for everyone.”

  The situation.

  Clara was talking about her. She was the situation. Athena bit hard on the tender skin on the inside of her cheek, fighting to control her outrage. “Tell me everything.”

  “All right. I’ll tell you.” Clara looked like she’d aged a dozen years in the span of a few minutes.

  A thick lump blocked Athena’s throat, making swallowing difficult. How could she browbeat Clara? She adored the old woman. She could never repay her for her years of selfless love. Clara had taken in a traumatized young girl who’d lost everything and offered her a home filled with warmth and compassion. But Athena had to know the truth. No matter the cost. “I’m sorry to put you though this, Aunt Clara. I know it’s not easy.” She clasped Clara’s cold hand. “My parents are gone. They’ve been gone a long time. Please. It’s time the truth came out.”

  Chapter 30

  Clara wiped her streaming eyes. “Your father, William, and your mother went on a few dates, but their relationship wasn’t serious, at least not on your mother’s part. They were just friends. She met Angus Crawford at a party in Vancouver hosted by close friends, and the second she saw him, she fell in love.” Clara blinked back tears. “Do you believe in love at first sight, Athena?”

  “Of course not.” She tore her gaze from Clara and stared into her mug to hide her lie. An oily scum floated on the surface of the cooling coffee. She hadn’t believed in love at first sight. That was the stuff of romance novels, but then she met Russ. Now she wasn’t so sure.

  “Your mother loved Angus with all her heart. And he loved her.” Clara’s voice cracked. “Their…their affair lasted six months.”

  A knot twisted in Athena’s stomach at the thought of her mother loving the tall, spare, dour Angus Crawford. “What happened?” Though she knew, oh, she knew the ugly truth. The letters had revealed all the sad details.

  “If you read those letters—” Clara pointed a shaky finger at the stack of envelopes. “—you know the rest. Your mother became pregnant. Angus wasn’t ready to settle down. He offered her money for an…an abortion, but she refused.” Clara sought Athena’s gaze. “She loved you even then.”

  Athena wiped her face, surprised at the dampness.

  “His rejection broke her heart.” Clara blotted her damp eyes with the soggy tissue. “But the good Lord has a plan, and in the end, the situation worked out for the best. William loved your mother. He offered to marry her and help her raise you. He didn’t care that you weren’t his biological child.” Her lips trembled in a shaky smile. “He was a good man, and he was head over heels in love with your mother. He’d have done anything for her.” She huffed out a shaky breath. “She grew to love him, and they were happy. You saw them together. You know that. They had a good relationship.”

  Athena’s head throbbed. Was this sordid story of love and rejection really her life, or was she in the middle of a soap opera? “So, Dad knew about me? I mean—” She clenched and unclenched her fingers. “He knew Angus Crawford was my father.”

  Clara stared out the window. “That didn’t matter to him. He loved you and your mother with all his heart.”

  Athena couldn’t dispute her aunt’s claim. Her father had loved her. In countless ways he’d shown her the depth of his love. He’d comforted her when she was frightened, tended to her scrapes and bruises, and read to her even when she was
long past the age of needing a bedtime story to fall asleep. Grabbing her cup, she lurched to her feet and crossed to the sink and dumped the cold coffee. She hefted the coffee pot and refilled her cup. Setting her cup on the table, she topped up Clara’s cup from the pot and sat.

  She scooped two heaping tablespoons of sugar into her cup and stirred. The clatter of the metal spoon against the ceramic cup added to the pain in her throbbing head, so she stopped stirring. In the ensuing silence, she asked the question that had haunted her since she’d discovered her mother’s letters. “Why did Mom and Dad move to Shelter Island? Angus Crawford owned the island. Wouldn’t Mom have wanted to be as far away as possible from the man who’d broken her heart?” She wrapped her chilled hands around the hot mug.

  Clara’s hand shook as she poured creamer into her cup. A puddle of white slopped onto the table. She grabbed a handful of tissues and mopped up the spill. “You…you were only a few months old when Angus reappeared. He was having second thoughts, and he wanted to be part of your life. No matter what your mother said, he wouldn’t leave her alone. He was determined to be your father.” She lifted her mug with both hands and sipped.

  Athena drummed her fingers on the pine tabletop. She wanted to grab her aunt by the shoulders and shake the truth out of her, but one look at the elderly woman’s pale, stricken face, and she gripped the edge of the table and held back. “Go on. Tell me the rest.”

  “Angus wanted to acknowledge you as his daughter. Your mother and he argued for months over your custody.” Fresh tears filled Clara’s eyes, and she tugged more tissues from the box and mopped her face. “He was rich and powerful. Your parents realized they couldn’t win a custody battle. His team of lawyers was too good.” She sniffled and dabbed her eyes. “They reached a compromise. Your parents agreed to move to Shelter Island where Angus would have limited access to you. In return, he promised not to tell you or anyone else that he was your biological father.”

  Athena’s heart stalled. “My parents moved to Shelter Island because of me? I thought living off the land on an isolated island was their dream. I thought they were like hippies or free spirits.”