Dangerous Lies

by Becca Fitzpatrick

  Sitting stiffly, Chet spoke first, his voice flat. "Fine. I'll take you home."

  I found Carmina in the backyard, latching the storm shutters while tumbleweeds and leaves pelted the house.

  "Bad feeling in the air," she called over her shoulder as I ran to help. "This storm isn't holding back." She saw my face. "What on earth's the matter, Stella?"

  Even though I wished I didn't have to tell her, I didn't see an option. Between doing what I wanted and doing the smart thing, there was only one answer. So I told her that Trigger had figured out I was from Philadelphia. Then I told her my mom had left rehab. She didn't ask how Trigger had pieced together my past or how I'd gotten the clinic's number; she immediately went in and called Deputy Price.

  Trigger's discovery was a threat to my safety. A minor one, but he would keep digging. Eventually he might find something that could genuinely endanger me. I wasn't safe here anymore.

  I was leaving Thunder Basin.

  32

  THAT NIGHT, I LISTENED TO THE STORM HOWL AND rage. Gusting air lashed the windowpanes and hail bombarded the roof. From my bedroom window, I watched the frozen pellets paint the lawn white and turn the road to ice. The world was so dark, it took flashes of lightning to illuminate the landscape. Cattle and horses had vanished from the pastures, and prairie grass flapped like the waves of an angry sea.

  The wild tempest mimicked my own raging heart. I thought of my secrets, trapped there, dashing themselves like wild birds to get out. Even now, I felt them overcoming me, and I wondered where Estella's vicious strength had gone. Months ago, I'd made the decision to lie to the authorities. I'd told the detectives the story I wanted them to believe. Even if I hadn't fully realized what I was doing, I'd trusted myself to be strong. I'd promised myself I'd guard my secrets until I died.

  I did not know they would kill me.

  The violent thrashing outside made my ears ache, and at last I put my headphones on. But tonight the throbbing, guitar-heavy music of Nathaniel's cassette tapes didn't distract me.

  The next morning, the sky was a brilliant shade of sapphire. Trash and branches littered the yard, and puddles of mud pocked the road, but they were the only evidence of last night's storm. Birds sang merrily and the dew on the grass caught the morning sun. The air was calm, enveloping my shoulders like a warm, thick shawl.

  A note on the kitchen counter told me Carmina had gone to the grocery store for milk, but I wasn't fooled. She was buying food for my trip. I imagined crusty sourdough rolls, roast beef, cheese, and chips would find their way into a brown paper sack with my name on it. In Carmina's mind, nothing was worth doing without food, especially meat, potatoes, and bread.

  Deputy Price was scheduled to arrive tomorrow night to transport me to my new living quarters. This time, I was determined not to resent him for it. It was his job. My job was to let him keep me safe. End of story. No attitude this time, and no longing to stay where I could not. To prove my point, I reminded myself I would have been leaving Thunder Basin in a couple weeks anyway. So what if the date had been pushed up? Get over it.

  I inhaled deeply. I would not think about tomorrow. I had nearly thirty-six hours left in Thunder Basin, and I wanted to make the most of them. Chin up, be brave. That was my strategy. But deep down, I was scared of so many things. Of leaving this place I'd learned to love. Of breaking Chet's heart. Of letting go of Carmina. Of facing the world without both of them. I didn't want, or know how, to say good-bye.

  Maybe it was better this way. When Deputy Price came for me, there wouldn't be time for a sappy, drawn-out farewell. We'd have to keep things quick, tidy. I'd be in the car, Thunder Basin miles behind me, before the loss and heartache hit. I'd deal with it alone, like I always had.

  Outside, I fingered the petunias in Carmina's whiskey barrels. I drank in their fragrance, searing it to memory. I ran my bare feet over her warm grass. I felt the sun on my face and listened to the sweet, friendly song of the meadowlarks.

  I was padding barefoot up the drive, sifting through the morning mail, when I heard tires chew the road behind me.

  Sunlight glinted off the car's windshield as it pulled into the drive. The driver swung out, shielding her eyes as she sized up the white clapboard house. She wore a floral dress--cleaned, ironed--and sandals. Her soft brown hair swung over her shoulders; it was freshly washed and full of bounce. The hollow look in the woman's eyes was gone. When her gaze came to rest on me, I saw an eagerness, a brightness, that whirled me into the past.

  "Mom?" I said, stunned.

  "Baby doll!" She sashayed toward me, her arms stretched wide. The next thing I knew, I was smashed against her chest. "Oh, honey. Your mama's missed you!"

  I detached myself. "What are you doing here?"

  She pinched my cheek. "Is that any way to greet your mama? Let me have a look at you." She held me by the shoulders, her eyes drinking me in. "I can't believe how dark you are! I see how it is, me cooped up under fluorescent lights all summer while you're out here sunbathing." She clucked her tongue. "Hardly seems fair."

  I just stared at her. Seeing her here, washed and sober--it didn't seem real.

  "Well," she said, plopping herself down in Carmina's porch swing and crossing her slender legs prettily. "Tell me about your summer. Tell me everything." She glanced around the yard with a smirk. "I'm impressed you lasted as long as you have. What do people do for fun around here, anyway?"

  "How did you find me?"

  She let out a hoot. "How do you think? I'm your mother. Those Feds had to tell me where they were keeping you. I demanded to know right from the start. Did you think I'd let them drag you off and hide you without my knowing?"

  "I called the rehab center. They said you checked out. I thought--"

  "Surprise!" she said, throwing her hands up and wriggling her fingers. "I checked out early. What kind of boring suss would I be if I told you I was coming? I wanted to surprise you. Anyway, don't worry a thing about me. I'm clean. My whole outlook has changed. Much as I hated that place"--she wrinkled her nose--"I'll be the first to admit it was what I needed. You were right, sweet baby girl. I needed help. Well, I got it. This is our chance to start fresh. A do-over. Things are going to be different this time, Estella."

  "Stella," I corrected automatically. But she was right. Things were different. Way different. Who was this overly affectionate woman? Two years ago, my mom had taken a path that led her straight to the intersection of depressed and strung-out. It was hard to remember her as anything but lost, disinterested, and, intentionally or not, very cold and indifferent toward me.

  She flapped a hand dismissively. "You're Estella to me. And I'm Mama to you. The Feds and their documents don't change that."

  "I--What are you doing here?" I repeated, still dazed.

  "Would you stop asking that? Makes me feel unwelcome. You don't have to stay here anymore, baby girl. We're done with this place. I came to pick you up. It's me and you again. We're going to buy a house, get jobs, put down roots. Oh, we'll miss Philly, but we'll find something almost as good. I know you love Boston." Her tone was rosy, full of hope. "Just a hop, skip, and a jump away from our old life. Now, tell me you don't like the sound of that."

  "Boston," I echoed.

  "That's right, sweetheart. We're moving to Boston."

  Stunned, I found myself unable to draw up a response. Before I could draft one, Carmina's truck rounded the drive. She braked at my mom's car, clearly not expecting it, then backed up and parked alongside it. I didn't know what it said that my first reaction upon seeing her was sweeping nervousness, a strange tingle in my bones of wanting to step away from my mom, to dissociate myself from her. I'm ashamed of her, I realized. I felt uneasy at the thought of introducing her to Carmina. I didn't know how to explain what she was doing here. Carmina hadn't planned for this. She didn't like surprises.

  Carmina hopped out, her red boots landing solidly on the drive. She looked between me and my mom, and her face changed. It grew watchful. I guessed she
saw a resemblance, because her first words were "You must be Savannah."

  "That's right. And you are?" It seemed to me that my mom's voice was unnecessarily cool, and I cast a quick glance of apology at Carmina.

  "Carmina Songster. Welcome to Thunder Basin."

  "I'm here to pick up Stella. This shouldn't take long. Stella, darling, why don't you go on inside, pack your bags?"

  I eyed Carmina, whose expression was unflappable. "I wasn't aware you were coming to fetch Stella today," she said.

  "I wasn't aware I needed your permission," my mom returned, her voice tainted with something subtle. Resentment, perhaps.

  "Permission? Heavens, no. Not from me, anyway. You're her legal guardian."

  "I'm her mother."

  "Yes, of course. I wonder, though," Carmina mused patiently. "Have you thought this through? If you take Stella from Thunder Basin, you'll have to notify the U.S. Marshals Service. They need to keep tabs on her, since she's agreed to testify for the prosecution. This was all explained in the contract you signed with the marshals upon entering WITSEC."

  "I don't need to tell them anything," my mom said loftily. "The program is voluntary. We can leave witness protection at any point. If Estella and I go, they can't tell us what to do."

  "Would you do that?" Carmina asked, her voice still measured. "Would you put Stella in that kind of danger? If you leave, you'll have to return to your old identities. The U.S. marshals will no longer be responsible for your safety. I know you want your old life back, but it's no longer safe. It isn't an option. I know moving on is hard, but you have to try. You need to think about your daughter now. What she needs."

  "I know how to keep my daughter safe," my mom said, clutching my shoulders protectively. "I'm not taking her back to Philadelphia."

  "You're making a mistake," Carmina told her bluntly.

  "Go on, Stella," my mom repeated more firmly, her eyes flaring as they locked with Carmina's. "Our flight leaves at noon."

  "You bought tickets?" Panic seemed to close my throat. She was really going through with this. What about rehab? She was clean now, but how long would it last? Would she even make it to Boston before relapsing?

  "You still have weeks of rehab left," I said.

  "I told you I'm clean," she said, flustered and irritated. That Southern charm was chipping away, revealing the anxious, defensive woman I remembered. "I always said I'd quit when I was ready. And I've quit. Now, get your bags. We don't have a lot of time."

  I suddenly feared I wouldn't have time to say good-bye to Chet. To Inny and Dixie Jo. I couldn't go without letting them know how much they meant to me. How could I leave Chet without apologizing for last night? Without setting things right? This wasn't how I wanted to remember him: hurt and frustrated while I shut him out. It wasn't fair to him. It made me ache just thinking about it.

  "Why don't you come in and I'll make you both breakfast," Carmina suggested to my mom. "You can't travel on an empty stomach. Have you eaten, Stella?" she asked me, before my mom could reject the offer.

  I shook my head no, grateful for the opportunity to slow time. Everything felt rushed. How many nights had I lain awake in my cramped bedroom upstairs, counting down the days until I was back on the East Coast, surrounded by strangers in a city brimming with energy and opportunity? I'd dreamed of returning to Estella's life. But that was a fantasy. A secret wish you kept inside, because it didn't belong in the real world. I couldn't go back and I couldn't leave WITSEC. But I also couldn't abandon my mom.

  "Carmina makes the best breakfast," I told my mom. "Pancakes and eggs and bacon. It won't take long."

  "I had coffee on the drive," she answered brusquely. At my fallen face, she sighed impatiently. "A couple minutes, Stella. Then we really need to go."

  Carmina showed my mom to the downstairs powder room to freshen up, and I went upstairs to pack. One bag was all I needed. I hadn't amassed much in the way of belongings over the summer. Most of what I'd be taking, I realized, were memories carefully collected and stored inside me. For no apparent reason, a surge of tears brimmed my eyes.

  The door opened. "Stella," Carmina said gently.

  I drew my sleeve across my eyes. "I'm okay. Really. I'll be fine. Everything will be fine," I blubbered. "This won't take long. I don't have much to pack. I've hardly gained anything." I glanced at the meager spread of clothes I'd placed on my bed. My yellow sundress. The boots Carmina had made me. Chet's hat.

  "Funny," she said, sitting on the edge of the mattress, "I was just thinking how much I've gained by having you here this summer. You were a blessing, Stella. I went to bed every night, my heart filled with a little more joy. I thank God for the time I had with you."

  Unable to contain myself, I threw my arms around her. "Oh, Carmina. Do you really want me to go?"

  "I don't want you to go," she said, blinking, but not fast enough to keep her eyes from dampening. "Oh, Stella. I don't want you to go. Can't you see that? Deep down, I don't think you want to go either."

  "I don't want to take care of my mom, but if I don't, who will? She'll never make it alone."

  Her smile was sweet and sad. She bent my head to her shoulder and ran her worn, loving fingers over my hair. "Stella, if you leave, there is nothing stopping Danny Balando from finding you and your mother," she said gravely, the first note of concern seeping into her voice. "She may tell herself Boston isn't Philadelphia, but she's walking as close to the fire as she can without getting burned--or so she tells herself. You can't get in that car with her. Do you understand? Legally I can't stop her from taking you. She's your guardian, and as much as I don't want to, I have to follow the law. Deputy Price and I can help you file for emancipation, but it will take time. If you go with your mom, the clock will work against us."

  "What are you saying I should do?"

  "Go to Chet's. Go out the back door. Stay there until I come get you. Let me deal with your mother. I'll try to help her see the danger in her plan."

  Three months ago, that's exactly what I would have done. Run away. Dodged my problems rather than solved them. Wished my mother away. Pretended she didn't exist, then resented her for doing just that. Running away hadn't worked three months ago, and it wouldn't work now.

  For once, I had to be honest. And show her how strong I'd become. I needed to tell her I wasn't going to Boston and I hoped she didn't either. If she really wanted to try to make things work between us, she had to finish rehab. I knew it wasn't the be-all and end-all, but it was a step. A show of good faith.

  "No. I should be the one to tell her," I said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  Carmina squeezed my hand. "Do you want me to come with you?"

  I shook my head no. My mom would be more defensive if she thought this was Carmina's idea.

  I moved down the staircase, my hand slick on the worn banister, feeling the weight of each footfall. I didn't know how my mom would react. Or maybe I did. And that's why my legs felt watery and my stomach tight. I tempered the feeling of nerves and dwindling confidence, and entered the living room to see my mom bent over Carmina's purse.

  "What are you doing?" I sputtered.

  She jumped. In one swift movement, her hand was out of the purse and in her own pocket. When she turned, her smile was as smooth and sweet as candy. "Hi, sweetheart."

  "What did you put in your pocket?"

  "Listen, darling, I was thinking we could stay in the city tonight. Play tourists through the weekend, then start looking for an apartment in the suburbs the following--"

  "What did you put in your pocket?" I demanded, striding forward. I tried to grab her, but she swatted my hand away.

  "Don't touch me, Estella. I'm--I don't like the way you're looking at me."

  "What did you take from Carmina's purse?"

  "I thought I dropped a hairpin--"

  "Money. Is that what you took?" My voice was edged with anger. "So you can buy drugs? I knew you didn't clean up. Too easy." I could have kicke
d myself for believing her--no, for wanting to believe. We were rewinding the clock. My mom was back to being a fountain of lies. I was back to being undeserving of any respect. "You checked out early because you couldn't go another day without getting high!"

  "Hush, Estella," my mom snapped. "Don't you say those things about your own mother. It's not nice."

  "You stole from Carmina." My jaw was quivering. "After everything she's done for me. She took me in when no one else wanted me."

  "I wanted you, baby--" she began, reaching for me.

  I threw my hands up, shielding myself. "Stop it. Just--stop." I closed my eyes, tears squeezing out. "You have to leave. You need to go. Back to rehab, somewhere else, I don't care. But you're leaving. And I'm not going with you."

  I felt ill. My knees were doing a poor job of holding me up, but I had to keep it together and get her out. It was the only thought drumming in my head. I gripped the wall, trying to flush out the worst of the nausea. I didn't want to remember all those times I'd come home to find her lying in a puddle of vomit, her skin blue, her pupils tiny pinpricks. I'd wonder if she was dead, secretly hope she was. . . .

  "I need you, baby." Her voice cracked.

  "Stop. Leave. Please. Just go." I was begging now.

  Her eyes were wet. But all those nights before, her eyes had been dry. She'd stared vacantly at her bedroom ceiling, and I'd pulled off her shoes and covered her in blankets, then watched over her through the night. Would she live? What would become of me? I'd spent hours pondering those questions.

  For years now, I'd taken care of her. I'd wanted to believe I was helping her. It had taken coming to Thunder Basin to see the truth. I wasn't helping anyone. Least of all her. The longer I protected her, the more people she would hurt.

  "I can't go alone," she whispered, her face a blotchy mix of pink and translucent white. In that moment, she really did look like a child. Small and frightened.

  "If you stay, I'll tell Carmina."

  "You can't do this to me."

  "I won't let you steal from Carmina."

  My mom made a bewildered sound. "Where will I go?"

  "If you're smart, back to rehab."

  Now her eyes flashed. "Don't look at me like that. Don't judge me. Don't stand there all self-righteous and look down at me. You have no idea what it was like for me. I kept the perfect house, I hosted the best parties, I made his friends laugh. I gave him a beautiful baby girl. I did everything right, and he left me!" Her voice was inflamed, bordering on hysterical. In the next moment, it tumbled to weeping despair. "It wasn't supposed to be like this. I had dreams. I had--I had--" She covered her face with her hands. "I have nothing. It's all gone," she sobbed. "If you leave me too, what will happen to me?"