All the Lies We Tell

by Megan Hart

  “Thanks. I mean, I did, too, of course. It all ended so weird.” The words sounded hollow, probably because she didn’t mean it. Alicia pulled her mug closer to her to warm her fingers on it. The truth was that she’d rarely thought of Theresa after she’d left their lives. There’d been a lot going on. If not for the Internet, she doubted they would ever have reconnected.

  “It was not an easy time,” Theresa said. “But my dad and Galina splitting up couldn’t possibly compare to what you and your family had to deal with. I can’t really even imagine it.”

  Alicia didn’t want to imagine it, either. Years later, and the memories of that time were still strong enough to turn her stomach. Some of that must’ve shown on her face, because Theresa’s expression twisted.

  “I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it, I understand.”

  Alicia had spent her life not talking about it. She’d not talked about it so much there didn’t seem anything to say about it. She stood. “I should get going. I have a bunch of things I need to do at the shop, including running some numbers so I can get a better handle on this offer.”

  “Sounds good. If you need something else from me, just let me know. I mean about anything,” Theresa added.

  “Will you be going back to the house?”

  The other woman shook her head. “No. I don’t think so. But Ilya . . .”

  Alicia frowned. “Yeah? What about him?”

  “I’m a little worried about him. That’s all.” Theresa coughed uncomfortably. “We had kind of an argument a few nights ago. If you see him, could you tell him that I’d like to talk to him?”

  “I can give you his phone number—”

  Theresa shook her head quickly. “I have it. He’s not answering my texts or calls.”

  Alicia sighed. “Yeah. He can be like that.”

  “I know. I just . . .” Theresa cleared her throat again. “If you could tell him I said I was sorry. That’s all. I’d appreciate it.”

  “Sure.” Alicia nodded and stood to give Theresa a hug. It wasn’t the other woman’s fault she and Ilya hadn’t made Go Deep into what it might’ve been. It wasn’t Theresa’s problem that they were tied to each other and that place by what had happened to Jennilynn. And it wasn’t her fault Alicia had made the choices she had. “It was good to see you. I’ll be in touch.”

  “It’s a good offer,” Theresa said. “I know it might not seem like it, but I promise you I’ve worked with them to make it as fair as possible.”

  Alicia knew better than to think that any big real estate company was going to put anyone’s interests before its own, but she smiled anyway. “I’m sure. Thanks. I’ll talk to Ilya about it. I can’t make any promises . . .”

  “Of course not,” Theresa said. “But think about it. Okay?”

  “Sure. Okay.” Alicia nodded and watched the other woman leave the coffee shop.

  It wasn’t about money. It had never been. It was about the quarry.

  Then

  Alicia didn’t tell her parents she still went out to the quarry. She wasn’t sure they’d forbid her to go, not that they could, really. She was almost twenty years old. Yeah, she still lived in their house, ate their food, didn’t pay rent, but if they didn’t expect her to be home by any sort of curfew, she didn’t think they’d tell her they didn’t want her wandering around in her childhood stomping grounds, either. When they asked her where she’d been, she told them work. Out with friends. Shopping. She lied to her parents not because she didn’t want them to worry, but because she was more afraid they wouldn’t. That there wouldn’t be any comments about how morbid it was for her to go to the old equipment shed, where she sat as though the beat-up, old wooden shack with the light streaming through the cracks in the roof and walls was some kind of church. When she sat there, prayer was the furthest thing from her mind.

  Jennilynn had died three years ago.

  Alicia never brought flowers, but there was almost always a bouquet there. Sometimes more than one, in various stages of rottenness. In the summer, the stink inside the shed was enough to turn her stomach, but in the crisp autumn air, there was nothing but the lingering hint of cigarette smoke and the faint perfume of flowers only recently dead.

  They used to keep candles here, and matches, thinking it made them big shots to have access to fire. She was surprised they never burned the shed to the ground, filled as it was with various bits of old papers and junked office furniture, with dried leaves that blew in through the cracks and never blew out. She looked around now to see if there was a candle to burn, but no kids seemed to hang out in there anymore, not even the few who lived in the new houses being built all along Quarry Street. She couldn’t blame them. If there was a haunted place in Quarrytown, this shed would’ve been it.

  Jennilynn’s body had been discovered in the water. She hadn’t drowned. She’d stripped out of her clothes in the shed and left them there, then tried to go swimming, but had fallen off the rocks and broken her neck. When they were looking for her, the shed was the place where they’d finally found a clue about where to find her. It brought Alicia a sort of peace to sit there, in the silence unbroken but for the occasional cry of the crows outside or the scamper of squirrels in the leaves. She liked to sit with her eyes closed. Thinking.

  Once, her sister had said she didn’t know what she wanted to be when she grew up. She didn’t have to decide now, not ever. Sometimes, though, Alicia tried to think about what Jennilynn might have done with her life. It was easier than trying to figure out what she should do with her own.

  The crunch of feet in the leaves outside turned her head. From something much bigger than a squirrel. Not a dog . . . or a deer. It was the distinct sound of human feet pushing through the branches, and Alicia drew into herself. She put herself in shadows to keep hidden from some random glimpse from a stranger’s eyes through the old shed’s cracks, because surely whoever it was would keep on hiking by.

  When the door, hanging by one hinge, creaked open, her heart pounded so fast and hard that for a moment she saw the red-and-gray throb of a faint coming on in the corners of her vision. She had no weapon but the jagged, broken leg of a wooden chair she found in a corner. She gripped it, white-knuckled, not sure what she meant to do with it, only that she would do whatever she had to.

  The man in the doorway wore a slouchy knit cap over rumpled dark hair. An unbuttoned red-and-black flannel shirt over a mismatched green T and a pair of faded jeans with holes in the knees and ragged hems hanging over battered work boots. She was ready to hit him with the broken chair leg but held back at the last second when she recognized him.

  “Ilya,” she said on a gasp of relief as she lowered the leg. “What the hell are you doing?”

  “What are you doing?” He looked at the impromptu weapon, then at her face. Beyond her to the scattered remains of all the flowers. “I didn’t know you came here.”

  “I didn’t know you did.” Shaking, she put down the chair leg and dusted her hands off on the seat of her jeans. She thought about sitting—her knees were knocking enough to make her unsteady—but she didn’t want to with him there. What she did there in the equipment shed was private. She didn’t want to share.

  “I was just passing. I don’t always stop in here. But I like to go look out at the water on days like this.” Ilya cleared his throat.

  Alicia had always known she was not the only person who’d lost Jennilynn. Her parents didn’t talk about it, but here was someone who might understand at least the smallest part of what she felt. Ilya loved her sister, too.

  “I’ll go with you,” she said. “If that’s all right.”

  He hesitated, then nodded. “Sure. Okay.”

  “Haven’t seen you around.” She let him lead so he could bend the branches out of the way to clear a path. “I heard Niko was working in Antarctica.”

  She hadn’t heard it from Niko. Galina had told her one day when Alicia came out to get the mail. Waiting for a letter that never came.

/>   Ilya glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah.”

  “How’s Galina taking that?”

  He laughed. “She’s fine. Babulya is worried he’s going to freeze to death. We all tried to tell her they don’t live in igloos or whatever, but you know her.”

  “Right.” They crunched along without talking for a few more minutes until the trees and brush began to thin and they reached the chain-link fence.

  “How’s school?” He gave her a sideways glance.

  “Fine.” Two years, business degree. She hadn’t had to leave home and, better than that, hadn’t needed to think hard about what she wanted to do or be. She would graduate in a few months, though. Then she’d have to figure out what she wanted to do. “Are you still working at the warehouse?”

  “Yeah. Good money. Shitty hours.”

  On the other side of the fence, they both headed in the same direction. Not toward the old rope swing and the outcropping of rocks where they’d spent so many summer days swimming. The other way, toward the quarry’s steep drop-off.

  Together, they walked toward the place where Jennilynn’s body had been found.

  There was no marker or memorial, nothing even like people sometimes put at spots along the highway to show where a fatal accident had occurred. The bushes that had been broken to show the place where Jenni had fallen had long ago grown back. The rocks beneath covered with water after the last few weeks of rain.

  “I always think there will be . . . blood.” Ilya looked out, out, across the water to the high stone walls on the other side of the quarry.

  Alicia shivered. “There wasn’t any blood, not even when they found her. It had all washed away.”

  Ilya scuffed the dirt, kicking pebbles over the edge. Alicia listened but couldn’t hear the splash. She didn’t want to get any closer. Didn’t want to take the risk of slipping over and falling. She’d dreamed, a few times, of jumping. But she didn’t want to fall.

  “Hey, look.” Ilya pointed at the broad white sign with red letters set up on the quarry’s other, higher, side. It was the size of a billboard. “It’s for sale.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Ilya had finally made it in to work.

  He’d shown up in ample time to handle the in-water classes at the VA, which was where he would spend his morning and most of the afternoon. He’d also given Alicia all the updates about the trip to Jamaica that was due to leave the following week—a trip she’d been on the verge of canceling, even though it would’ve meant losing all their deposits.

  She had not yet spoken to him about the offer from Theresa. The thick packet of papers was on her desk in the plain white envelope. She hadn’t looked at it again since the meeting with Theresa earlier. She didn’t need to. The numbers inside it were burned into her mind enough so that all she had to do was go to her computer files and run some reports on what Go Deep owed and had earned over the past few years, and was likely to earn in the next few.

  The truth was, no matter what she and Ilya might want, no matter how hard—or not—each of them worked, the shop wasn’t making money. It wasn’t going to make money. It was always going to hover on the bare brink of bankruptcy, especially if Ilya, as he was certainly wont to do, intended to keep seeking out bigger and more extravagant items to sink into the quarry’s chilly, spring-fed depths so that the few people who did visit it for local dives could be entertained.

  Maybe, she thought, it was time to let it go.

  All of it.

  And then what? For the first time in a couple of decades, she allowed herself to contemplate what she could do or where she could go. What did she even want? What had she ever wanted?

  She didn’t know and really never had. Oh, in high school she’d thought here and there about being a teacher or a nurse or working in human resources, idle considerations based on the results of standardized career-placement tests. None of that appealed to her now.

  She’d spent her life doing nothing because her sister had never had the chance to do anything, and the realization twitched her hand so hard she knocked Theresa’s envelope onto the floor.

  “F-f-f-f-f,” Alicia muttered, biting off the curse before she could finish it. She picked up the scattered papers and shuffled them back together.

  “Trying to keep yourself from putting money in the swear jar?”

  She looked up at the sound of a familiar voice. Her heart leaped, catching in her throat at the sight of him; she thought it always would. A dozen more years could pass without seeing him, and she would still find it hard to breathe the first moment she saw him.

  “You caught me. I’m trying to be more ladylike.”

  Nikolai laughed. “Good luck with that.”

  She tossed a crumpled piece of paper at him. “Bitch.”

  “Jerk.” He grinned and ducked out of the way from another paper missile. He bent to pick up both bits of trash and tossed them in the can with his free hand. The other held a suspiciously delicious-smelling, grease-spotted paper sack. “So, what’s up?”

  Alicia leaned back in her chair. “Why don’t you tell me? Since you’ve shown up unannounced again.”

  He looked embarrassed. “I guess I could call or text first, huh?”

  “You could. But no worries. I’m just trying to keep this place from falling down, that’s all. The usual. Your brother’s back to work, by the way.”

  “Yeah, he was gone when I left this morning.”

  She waited, but that was all he said. She hated having to drag out the words, like pulling a splinter from a wound. “Nikolai.”

  “So, I feel like an asshole.” Nikolai held up the bag. “I brought doughnuts from the Donut Shack.”

  “Far be it from me to turn down a doughnut,” Alicia said, but made no move to take the bag, or motion for him to take a seat. “But I’m kind of over the whole doughnut thing.”

  He got her. Always had. His gaze flashed. He held the bag up higher, but his voice dipped lower.

  “Yeah? You sure? They’re really . . . really good.” He let the tip of his tongue dent his bottom lip for a second.

  She was absolutely not going to fall for that bullshit. No way. Alicia lifted her chin, gaze steady on his, not giving away even the tiniest hint that she’d just imagined that tongue someplace else.

  “Oh, I’m sure they’re delicious. I’m sure that even a day or so ago you might’ve convinced me to gobble up the entire bag.” She paused to narrow her eyes but couldn’t stop the corners of her mouth tilting into a small, tight, and humorless smile. “But like I said. I’m over it.”

  Nikolai opened the bag and peeked inside, then at her. “Mmmm. Just one? Just a taste?”

  “Nah,” Alicia said coolly and leaned back in her chair to prop her feet on the desk. “I’m not hungry.”

  His face fell. He closed the bag and set it on the edge of the desk. The good bakery smell was enough to make her stomach rumble, but she pretended she hadn’t heard it. Nikolai obviously had, though, because his crestfallen expression turned sly.

  “Sure I can’t convince you?” he asked. “Just one little bite?”

  Alicia tilted her head to make sure he saw how she was looking him up and down. Then, she shrugged. Without taking her gaze from his, she said, “Too many sweets make my stomach hurt.”

  “Allie.”

  “You know, I prefer to be called Alicia,” she answered in a clipped tone. She set her feet on the floor with a thump and turned toward her computer, putting her hands on the keyboard not only to wake the monitor from sleeping but also to hide the fact that her hands were shaking.

  “Alicia,” Nikolai said in a low tone full of apology and longing.

  She didn’t turn. She let her fingers hover over the keyboard, though the truth was she couldn’t focus on the screen in front of her. She gave up after a second, folding her hands in her lap, twisting her fingers together. She didn’t answer him. He said her name again. Rougher. Raspier.

  At last, Alicia twirled in her chair to face him
, but that wasn’t enough, so she got to her feet to walk to the side of the desk. She took the bag of doughnuts and thrust it at him, forcing him to take it. Making him back up a step toward the door.

  “Don’t bring me something you’re not ready for me to eat,” she told him. “Don’t do that to me again.”

  “I’m sorry,” Nikolai said.

  She shrugged. Chin up. Voice steady. Back straight. “That makes me feel so much better. Thanks. You can leave now.”

  “Don’t do that. Please,” he added. “Don’t shut me out like that. Look, you know we . . . we can’t.”

  “Right,” she said around the lump in her throat. “Of course we can’t. I guess it doesn’t matter that we already did.”

  Nikolai cleared his throat. “He’s my brother.”

  “He was my husband. You think I don’t know how messed up that makes this? Do you really think I don’t know?” When he didn’t answer her, she crossed her arms over her chest. With a sigh, she looked away. “Just go, Nikolai.”

  This time when he said her name, she couldn’t hide the shiver that rippled through her. Grateful for the thick sweater and her crossed arms that hid her tightening nipples from his gaze, Alicia frowned and closed her eyes. If he touched her, she thought, she would knee him in the junk. She would punch him in the face. She would . . . she would . . .

  She would let him kiss her mouth, softly, but with determination. She would let him put his arms around her and pull her close. She would let him tickle her lips with his tongue until she opened for him, and when he threaded his fingers through her hair, tipping her face to his, she would let him do that, too.

  “I don’t want to want you,” he said, his mouth on hers.

  She’d have pulled away but for the grip of his hand in her hair. “So stop, then.”

  “I can’t.” He kissed her again, harder this time.

  She pushed herself against him, her thigh going between his to nudge upward. Not to hurt him. She wanted to feel him getting hard for her. She wanted to touch him. When she tried, he captured her arm at the wrist and stopped her an inch from his body—for no longer than a heartbeat or three, however, before he was moving her hand to cup his thickening erection through his jeans.