Love and a Little White Lie

by Tammy L. Gray

  “I’m not sure you did yourself any favors,” I say on our way up the flagstone.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Without the getup, you look, I don’t know, nice. Some women might even say handsome.”

  A small grin appears. “Some women? You mean someone other than you?”

  I don’t bother responding. He’s too good at baiting me, and I don’t have the energy to rise to the occasion. I need to breathe and focus on forgetting about Cameron.

  The music grows louder as we climb the hill. Groups gather everywhere, both inside and outside, and the dance floor is full of half-inebriated guests.

  “Just play along,” he whispers and slides his hand in mine. It’s rough and warm and so different from Cameron’s that I feel guilty when I wrap my fingers with his.

  “Who was it again that said, ‘Skirting your real thoughts and feelings is the most hateful thing you can do to another person’?”

  He shoots me a deadly stare. “Bridezillas are an exception to that rule.”

  “So now there are exceptions? That’s convenient.”

  He pulls me along, and it’s more than a few prowling women who zero in on our joined hands. Mr. Kyle nearly spits out his drink.

  My cheeks burn. “I don’t think you thought this through very well. Your family is going to think we’re . . . you know, together.”

  “Who cares? It’s no one you’ll ever see again.”

  “I’m talking about your dad, who happens to be best friends with my uncle, who happens to be married to my aunt, who will unquestionably have something to say about this.”

  “Doreen has something to say about everything.”

  “Dillon, I’m serious.” I halt, and he turns until we’re face-to-face. “My aunt and uncle’s opinion means a lot to me. So does your dad’s.”

  His gaze softens and so does his voice. “Dad knows what I’m doing. He looks surprised because he said you’d never agree. As for the rest of these people, they think it’s their personal mission to find me a replacement wife, and if one more person talks about setting me up, I’m going to lose it.”

  My frustration fades when buried hurt leaks through his voice. “Okay, fine.”

  His relief is palpable. “Thank you.”

  As we mingle our way through the crowd, I quickly understand Dillon’s desperation. Whispers seem to follow us, as do the unmasked stares.

  “Isn’t she lovely? Is Dillon dating again?”

  “That wife of his really did a number on him. Glad he’s found a new girl.”

  “They’ve both had such a brutal year. Didn’t expect to see them here.”

  I grit my teeth but keep silent solely out of respect for Dillon and his dad. How can they not see how uncomfortable he is? Or maybe they think grief makes someone deaf. Idiots.

  We find an abandoned table by the dance floor. Dillon collects the empty cups littering the top and the ground below and tosses them in the trash. “How hard is it to clean up after yourself?” he mutters.

  “I’m guessing pretty difficult when you can barely stand.” I set my purse down on the now-clean surface and subtly point to the trio of women heading our way. Their arms are linked like they need the extra support, and every one of them is swaying.

  “Dillon,” the tall one calls in a pathetic plea. “I need you. My partner bailed on me.”

  Either she doesn’t see me standing next to him or she doesn’t care. Based on the looks I’m getting from her friends, I’m guessing the latter.

  Dillon slides his arm around my waist, tight and secure. “Sorry, but I need to spend a little time with my girl.”

  Not only does that draw a very unflattering pout from the woman, but I get a visual dressing down that practically sends me back to high school. Unfortunately for her, I’m not only fluent in Mean Girl but also hold the reigning title at Northside High.

  Snubbing her, I place my palm to Dillon’s chest and press up against him. “Dillon?” I coo, fluttering my eyelashes twice. “Dance with me.”

  He glances down, and the amused lift of his brows almost sends me into a fit of giggles. We somehow don’t break character, even when he says, “Whatever you want, my dear.”

  I do a pirouette on my way to the dance floor and wave sweetly at the three girls, who seem to have sobered up quite a bit. The song is a fast one, and two rows of line dancers are stomping to the beat.

  We join on the far side, and while I pick the moves up pretty quickly, Dillon is operating on two left feet.

  I sashay to the right and then pull Dillon back in line. “Just watch the person in front of you.”

  “I am watching,” he grumbles. “Every time I get it, they turn.”

  The song ends shortly after, replaced by a slow ballad that Dillon obviously feels more comfortable with because he sweeps me in a hold that is tight and confident. Soon we’re lost in the midst of dancers, circling with the lazy grace of a falling feather. Dillon is a stronger lead than I expect, but it allows me to relax and sneak a peek at the threesome we ditched. They’re gone.

  Mission accomplished.

  “I guess I can now add female repellant to my growing list of Dillon Kyle duties.”

  “What duties?” He snorts.

  “Hmm . . . let’s see . . . there’s nurse . . . dance instructor . . . spades partner . . . food storage assistant.”

  “That one’s reaching.”

  “All the same, you keep food in my cabin so it counts.”

  The corner of his mouth turns upward into a half smile. “Is that all?”

  “Nope. One more . . . internet provider.”

  “Come on, I watched two movies on there, that’s it.”

  “Except those two movies are now in my recently watched file and will dictate my suggested titles forever.”

  “Good. You need to pull your head out of all those cheesy romance movies anyway.” He spins us to avoid a two-stepping couple moving much faster than the music. “None of it is real.”

  “I know. I just like happy endings.”

  He grows silent, and as much as I like the bantering, I also can’t help but ask the next question. “Dillon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why don’t you ever want to go home? I don’t mind or anything. My kitchen has never been so organized. But it does seem like you’re hiding.”

  He sighs, and it’s so weighty I immediately regret my intrusion. “She’s everywhere there. Some weeks it’s not so bad. Others, I suffocate on her memory.”

  We’re quiet for a while, both in our heads, aimlessly moving to the music. “Do you think you’ll ever fall in love again?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Maybe. If I do, I’ll be more careful next time. That’s for sure.”

  “I know what you mean. I’ve wished a million times that my first love had been anyone other than Jason.” I flinch at his name on my lips. It’s been months since I’ve allowed myself to utter it.

  Dillon spins me out, and somehow our chests end up closer when we reconnect. “Jason?”

  “San Antonio guy.”

  “Ah.” He nods, making the connection. “Why is that?”

  “Because I think I might be ruined now,” I say honestly. “Love scares me. I don’t trust it. Even with Cameron. The minute Darcy said the word love, I began my retreat.” My thoughts drift to the father who never wanted to know me, then to Stepdad #1 who never once called like he promised, and finally to all the many men since who couldn’t be bothered to stay. “It’s like the minute I get past that reckless, heart-throbbing, throw-caution-to-the-wind euphoria to something deeper, I want to run.”

  “Do you think that’s why you finally told him? To drive him away?” Dillon’s voice is soft, even though his words reveal a truth I haven’t wanted to admit.

  “Maybe. Or to test him. I don’t know.” Moisture nips at the corners of my eyes, and I fight to keep the tears back. “But if it was, how is that fair to anyone who dares to care about me?”

  Warm br
own eyes meet mine and I cling to them, cling to the security I find whenever he’s around. Somehow, through all the tumultuous storms and unknowns these past few months, Dillon has become the one unwaveringly honest, steadfast presence in my life.

  “You’re not ruined,” he finally says, his voice roughened by some unidentifiable emotion. “You just need to pick a stronger man. Someone who isn’t going to let you hide behind a quip and a smile.”

  “I’m not sure I’m worth the effort.”

  “Trust me. You are.”

  I don’t realize we’ve stopped moving or how close our faces are to each other until a couple bumps into us.

  Fire races to my cheeks as the horror sets in that for a few seconds there I’d forgotten the rest of the world existed. I disentangle myself from his arms. Why would I tell him all that?

  “Dad looks cornered.”

  “What?” I dare to look back at the man who just completely annihilated my defenses.

  Dillon tilts his chin toward the refreshment table, where two women flank Mr. Kyle, who isn’t even trying to hide his misery.

  The picture is just ridiculous enough to end my embarrassment and douse whatever crazy connection we just had. “Well . . . I am in rescue mode tonight.”

  Dillon winks at me. “I don’t think you’ll pass for his date.”

  “No, probably not. But I’m sure there’s some emergency I can come up with.”

  He stretches his hand out, and I try to ignore the fact that it, too, is trembling. “Alright, Wonder Woman. Lead the way.”

  thirty-two

  Cameron doesn’t text until Sunday night, and when he does, it leaves me no clue as to how he’s feeling.

  Can we talk or are you busy?

  Not busy at all. Would love to talk.

  Okay. I’ll be there in 20 min.

  Nothing more. Not even an emoji, which makes these twenty minutes the longest of my life.

  I peer out the window, searching for headlights, but it remains dark except for my porch lights. Grrr. I let the blinds fall from my fingers and go back to the kitchen to reclean the counters.

  A hesitant knock comes minutes later, and I feel it all the way to my toes and back up. My hands shake as I toss the paper towel into the trash and wipe the remainder of the moisture on my jeans. “Coming.”

  I open the door, and my heart reacts as it always does when I see Cameron. It’s one of the things I’ll miss most when all of this is over—that thrill of anticipation.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  He’s in jeans and a T-shirt, one that’s more wrinkled than any I’ve seen him wear. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and he makes eye contact only for a brief second. “Hey,” he says back but doesn’t move.

  The resulting silence is so awful, I throw out, “I’m really glad you came,” just to end it.

  “Yeah, well, I felt this conversation needed to happen in person.” I can’t read his expression. It’s not angry or sad or even tortured the way he appeared when we last talked. It’s just empty, and somehow that feels worse.

  “Do you want to come in?” I move out of the way, and he takes his first step across the threshold. It seems to break some kind of barrier because he immediately shoves his hands in his hair and exhales.

  “I had this entire speech planned all the way here, and now I can’t remember any of it.”

  Since I don’t know if he planned a goodbye speech or an I-forgive-you one, I don’t know if his forgetfulness is a good thing or not. Based on his body language up to this point, I have a sinking suspicion I should be grateful for the lack of memory.

  “We could sit down?” I offer. Cameron stares at me, his eyes moving from my freshly braided hair to my sock-covered feet. The scrutiny makes me squirm, even though I worked hard to look nice for him. “Or we could take a walk?”

  “I don’t want to take a walk.” He pulls at his neck with his right hand. “I just want to say what I came to say.”

  Any hope for a positive outcome leaves with those words. “Okay.”

  He falls back against the kitchen counter as if he needs the extra support. “I resigned from Grace Community this morning.”

  My stomach drops, as if his words opened up a swirling vortex. “What? Why?”

  “Because I’m miserable there and have been for months. I had my resignation letter typed and ready to turn in until you showed up. And then I thought . . .” He presses his wrists to his eyes, and the hardened, curt man who showed up finally disappears. “I don’t know. Nothing makes sense anymore.”

  “Cameron . . .” I rush to him, unwilling to let him suffer alone. “You don’t have to do this.” I take one of his hands in mine and crush it to my heart. “We can find our way.”

  He closes his eyes like it physically hurts to touch me. “It’s not that simple.”

  Encouraged by his struggle, I press my head against his chest and wrap him in the tightest hug I can. “So it’s complicated?” I swallow. “Aunt Doreen and I have an amazing relationship and we’ve never agreed on this subject.” I look up at him, a fresh wave of tears threatening to ruin my makeup. “Can’t we try?”

  His thumb slides to my cheek and wipes away the moisture. “I lay awake all last night trying to figure out how I missed such a monumental thing about you. Six weeks.” He shakes his head. “I’ve replayed each conversation a hundred times, and what I realized was that every time we approached anything remotely serious or meaningful, you’d change the subject or make a joke or distract me. And I let you, because deep down I wanted to believe that God gave me this perfect girl instead of the music, when really it was just me filling a void you had no ability to fill.”

  Ouch. I pull away and stare down at my sock-clad feet.

  “I’m going on tour with Bryson. We leave tomorrow.” Cameron’s decision feels more like defeat than a true choice. “I think us getting some space from each other for a while will be a good thing, at least until my head clears.”

  Space. I know all about that word. Stepdad #1 used it when he hugged me goodbye. “I’m just taking a little space from your mom, not you.” I never saw him again.

  I back away, practice and instinct taking over. “Go. Do what you have to do.”

  “I’m not trying to hurt you.”

  I cross my arms. “Who’s hurt? We dated a few weeks. Now it’s over. No big deal.”

  His mouth presses into a thin line, but I don’t care. It’s not my job to make him feel better about leaving. I walk to the door and hold it open for him. Cameron huffs and takes his final step out of my life. “It didn’t have to be this way.”

  I shut out his voice with a slam.

  Christian, non-Christian. It’s all the same. Men leave. It’s simply what they do.

  I call in sick the next day. It’s one thing to be a pillar of pride and strength when you’re kicking someone out of your house. Another to do it for hours at the very place we met. Not to mention, I feel pretty sure that as soon as I go back, Pastor Thomas will call me into his office and fire me for lying. Cameron and I didn’t exactly end amicably, which means he has no reason not to rat me out.

  I shouldn’t care. The job wasn’t permanent anyway, but I do care. I’ve never fit so well anywhere else. Ralph and I make a great team. He loves people and visiting and going a million miles an hour. I’m good at organizing and administration. Not to mention his time away has turned him into a completely different person. He smiles more readily, speaks optimistically about the day instead of hanging his head, and has even cracked some jokes.

  Of course, this could all have nothing to do with me and everything to do with Victoria, but I’m going to believe I had a small part in helping him.

  I tug my brush roughly down my hair, half tempted to cut it all off. I need to get out of here. Out of my head and this stuffy cabin that seems determined to break me.

  Forgoing my task, I opt for a quick ponytail, a pair of faded jeans, and a thin long-sleeved shirt. Two minutes later I’m driving
, and even though I had no conscious thought as to a destination, I end up at the Serenity Hills Nursing Facility.

  I want to talk to Sandra about last night, to tell her I told the truth, and maybe even ask her more about the whole conquering-fear thing she mentioned. It’s strange. Sandra is blind, and yet sometimes it feels like she sees me more clearly than most others.

  Victoria waves when I push through the nursing home doors. It’s warm in here, and not just the temperature. Everything about this place makes me feel comforted now. “Jan, hey.”

  “Hey. How was your trip?” The most I’ve gotten out of Ralph is a snort and an “It was nice” comment.

  She sets down her clipboard and meets me at the counter.

  “Wonderful. The best vacation we’ve ever taken. Half the places we stayed had little-to-no cell service. It was like we were in our own little cocoon.” Her voice has a singsong quality, and watching her I’m amazed she’s the same woman I saw crying in the bathroom. “The Ralph I married has returned.” She giggles and presses her palms to her cheeks. “I feel like we’re newlyweds again.”

  She looks like a newlywed. Her skin is brighter, her hair fixed and styled versus pulled sharply into a ponytail. Maybe it is true that the act of loving another person makes us more beautiful people. If so, I’m sure I look like Medusa today.

  “Now tell me about you. Anything new on the boyfriend front?”

  I don’t want to talk about Cameron or our breakup. “Nope,” I lie. “Same old, same old.” I keep a smile plastered on my face, even though I want to cry. “I’m really glad you two had a good time.”

  “We did.” She sighs like she still can’t believe it’s real. “The change is more than I prayed for, but then God seems to be doing that a lot lately.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Here, I’ll show you.” She steps around the desk, and I follow her down the green hallway that leads to Mrs. Cox’s room. We stop outside her door, where Victoria lifts her finger to her lips, then points to her ear. I strain to listen for what she wants me to hear and then it comes. A voice reading the very passage I ended on in the hospital.