Tomorrow's Lies (Promises #1)

by S. R. Grey

“Just call me Bill,” he says.

  “Okay, Bill.”

  Bill walks around the counter and steps through a doorway that appears to lead to a small office. I lean forward. There’s a lamp on inside the back room area, illuminating a desk, a computer, and some file cabinets.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” he assures me before he disappears into the room.

  Alone at the counter, I blow out a breath. I’ve never felt so relieved. Bill Delmont was expecting me. Mandy really came through, which is great. Bill won’t be surprised when Flynn shows up next. This ordeal will be over soon enough, and Flynn and I can put it behind us and focus on our future.

  Bill returns with two cups of hot cocoa in one hand, a plate of dry toast in the other, and a towel tossed over his shoulder. In the crook of his arm, he’s carrying a fuzzy flannel blanket.

  “I thought you might need something to keep you warm,” he says as he sets the toast on the counter, hands me the blanket, and somehow manages to balance the steaming cups of cocoa so not a drop sloshes over.

  Damn, Bill Delmont is as nice and helpful as Mandy promised.

  Wrapping the blanket around myself, I ask about Mandy.

  “She’s doing great,” Bill tells me. He sets my cocoa down in front of me, then drags a stool over from behind the counter so he can sit across from me. “She made it to Morgantown a couple of months ago.”

  “Did she find Josh?” I ask excitedly. I secretly hope so, since one of us deserves for something to have gone right.

  Bill nods as he takes a sip of his cocoa. “Yeah, she sure did.” He sets his cup down next to mine. “She and Josh are together now, got their own place not too long ago, too.”

  “No way, that is so great.” I smile my first genuine smile of the night. “She can apply to foster the twins now.”

  The twins… My chest tightens. I’m afraid to ask the next question.

  With my eyes on little bits of cocoa in my cup that didn’t quite dissolve, I quietly inquire, “Do you happen to know what happened to Cody and Callie? Those are the twins. They were taken away from the house I was living in and thrown back in a group home. I just want to know they’re safe…” I choke up, unable to go on.

  Handing me a napkin to wipe away my tears, Bill says softly, “They’re okay, Jaynie. The twins are safe. Mandy has been keeping up with them. Cody and Callie are living with a young couple right now. Nice people, good foster parents. Only thing is, Mandy doesn’t think they want to adopt the twins.” Bill blows out a breath. “Which is actually a good thing since she’s still hoping to foster them. And, as you know I’m sure, Mandy and Josh are willing to adopt Cody and Callie. Mandy is gonna have an edge with knowing them so well. Plus, they get a say in the matter, and they want to be with her.”

  “So, you think it will work out?”

  I dare to look up, and Bill nods reassuringly. “I do, Jaynie. I think it will.”

  I exhale a relieved breath. “It’s what they’ve always wanted. Cody and Callie should be with Mandy.”

  We talk a while longer and the conversation soon turns to Bill’s business. He tells me how he pulled himself out of a bad situation, got his life together, and applied for a small business loan for the sandwich shop.

  “I never thought I’d get the money,” he says. “But I think the loan officer saw something in me.”

  I look around at the warm and cozy atmosphere of the shop. It’s hip and welcoming. A place you’d feel comfortable hanging out in after you finished your sandwich.

  “Your place seems really great,” I tell Bill. “The vibe is very…tranquil.”

  Bill laughs. “Just wait till you see how tranquil it is when it gets busy in here. You may change your mind.”

  We share a smile, and then he offers me a job.

  I immediately reply, “Yes! I’ll take it.”

  He laughs at my enthusiastic response.

  I’m running on the caffeine in the cocoa and the thrill of talking with a new person I seem to get along with. But exhaustion is creeping back up on me. When I start yawning incessantly, Bill mentions a tiny apartment above the deli. “You can sleep up there, if you want.”

  “It’s available?” I ask.

  “Yes. Though I have to warn you it’s not much. Just a bedroom and a small bath, there’s not even a kitchen. I do, however, have a small fridge and microwave hooked up for whoever rents it.”

  “It sounds perfect,” I say. “I don’t need anything fancy.”

  He mustn’t believe me because when he takes me upstairs to show me around the plain little room with a double bed, a wooden nightstand, and a closet in the corner, he says, “I’m sorry I can’t offer you something better, Jaynie.”

  “Are you kidding?” Though spartanly decorated, the light blue room is tidy, cheery, and clean. “I love it. How much are you asking for rent?”

  He thinks it over for a minute. “How’s one hundred a month sound?”

  “That sounds like not enough, Bill.” I look down at the shiny hardwood floor and white throw rug beside the blue quilt-covered bed.

  “I don’t want to take advantage,” I say humbly. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

  “Hey, look at me.” I do, and he says, “I’ve been in your shoes, Jaynie. And I know sometimes a person needs a break to help them get started on living their life the way they want. I got my break from that loan officer. I don’t know what he saw in me but whatever it was it made all the difference in the world. This is my turn to return the favor, pay it forward, if you will.”

  I sigh. “I don’t know.”

  Bill motions around the room. “Look, this place is just a single room with a bath attached, nothing fancy. Plus, no one has stayed up here for a while. You’d actually be helping me out by saying yes to renting it.”

  Quietly, I thank him, and then I tell him, “Yes. I’ll take it.”

  The first week in Lawrence is a whirlwind of activity, leaving me little time to think and dwell on all that has happened. The bruises on my body heal, but the wounds in my heart remain raw. I dig deep in my inner strength reserves and push my feelings to the background. I focus on setting myself up. I’ve been through too much to give up.

  Bill gives me an advance on my first paycheck, and I go next door to the thrift store and buy more clothes. Afterward, I stop at a drugstore for various essentials.

  And every day, with every customer who walks in the deli, I hold out hope that I’m going to look up and see Flynn smiling back at me.

  That day never comes during week one.

  At the beginning of my second week in Lawrence, I take a walk down to the riverbank to check on the locker. The backpack is still in place, untouched. Flynn’s clothes are stuffed inside exactly the way I folded them. Items waiting for a sandy-haired boy to arrive to give them life, just like I wait for Flynn to come to Lawrence and give me life.

  I keep a check on the newspapers, as well as scan news sites on Bill’s computer in the back room office. I search for any kind of headline mentioning the Lowry house in Forsaken, any reports of crimes, any arrests.

  Oddly, I find nothing. No news of a murder, no reports of injuries of any kind. Strange.

  For as much as I hate Allison, I have to say I’m relieved she’s not dead. I am not a murderer at heart. And I don’t know if I could go through life knowing I’d killed someone. I’m thankful she’s not dead for Flynn’s sake, as well. No murder means he won’t be charged as an accomplice.

  So, why isn’t Flynn here in Lawrence? Where could he be? What’s holding him up?

  With a lump in my throat, I begin to entertain the possibility that Flynn may have changed his mind. He may not be coming to Lawrence, like, ever. Maybe he never went back to the house. He could have jumped in the water later that night, but with a different destination in mind. Perhaps he swam to some other faraway place. Far away from me, miles from all the grief my actions rained down on him.

  Time marches on, and the vibrant autumn leaves begin
to turn brown. Dried up and dead, they fall from the trees, withered away, same as I feel. My initial enthusiasm to not give up on life wanes. My transformation occurs inside, though, and no one notices anything different about me.

  I go through the motions, putting on a happy face for the customers and for Bill. No one need be burdened by this fresh, new round of grief. But every night when I’m alone in my little room, I come to grips with how empty my life has become. This sure isn’t what I expected.

  Curling up under the covers, I think of all I’ve lost—Flynn, the baby, Mandy, and the twins.

  It always comes back to Flynn, though. The baby is gone, and Mandy and the twins are hanging in there, whereas Flynn’s whereabouts remain a mystery.

  The hole in my heart from not knowing if he’s well—or even alive—grows until it becomes gaping.

  What I end up feeling is something beyond sadness. This is the kind of deep-seated sorrow where you know your life has been severely altered and you will never be the same.

  Flynn

  Crafty Lo comes to see me before I’m discharged from the hospital. She wants to make sure I intend to keep my promise.

  Ha, like I have a choice in the matter.

  Bitch brings me a bag of my clothes, plus some papers—my ID, birth certificate, copy of my diploma, shit like that. She tries to hand me some money, too. I tell her to stick it where the sun doesn’t shine.

  She ignores me and places the small wad of cash on a stand by the bed. She then hands me a pay-as-you-go phone.

  “Why the fuck do I need a cell phone?” I say bitterly. “I’m supposed to be a ghost now, right?”

  “Just shut up and take what you’re given. It’s the last thing you’ll ever get from me.”

  With a resigned sigh, I take the money and the damn phone.

  Later the same day, it’s like the phone is burning a hole in the pocket of my jeans. Having a phone is wrought with irony, considering the situation I’m in. If I’d had a phone during my time with Jaynie, even if it’d had no service, I would’ve been using the damn thing all the time to take pictures of Jaynie. I’d have a thousand pictures now of the girl I will never see again. So, see, the phone can’t stay with me.

  I sell it on the street for twenty dollars. Twenty dollars, plus fifty from Mrs. Lowry means I won’t starve while I search for a job. Speaking of which, I head to the local job center on the east end of town to see what’s available.

  There’s a line out the door, guys standing around, smoking, yawning. Some look as desperate as I feel. I have an advantage, though. I’m young and strong, plus I have all my paperwork in order.

  I leave the first day with a work order to come back the next morning at seven. Some local construction job, a Wal-Mart or some shit needs to be up by spring. The pay is low, but to someone who’s worked the past two years for free, I have no complaints.

  I don’t have enough money to rent an apartment, even a shithole, so I search for a place to squat. Just someplace dry that provides shelter from the upcoming winter should be sufficient.

  After a few hours’ search, I stumble upon an unused warehouse that’s next to a derelict apartment building. Both are on the edge of town, not far from the job center.

  I break in the abandoned warehouse and discover a janitor’s living quarters in the basement. It’s nothing but a cement block room, with a cot and a toppled-over desk for furnishings, but that’s enough for me. The toilet and sink around the corner seal the deal. I can do something with that.

  The water service has been cut off for ages, but I tap into the neighboring apartment building’s water supply and rig up the toilet so it will flush. I only divert a small amount so as not to arouse suspicion. I get to work on the sink, as well, using some old hosing I find lying around, and then I make a sort-of shower near the drain.

  My makeshift living space is not the Ritz, but, hey, it’s good enough for me.

  When I find a couple of old flashlights, I bop down to the local convenience store to stock up on batteries. I also purchase some food while I’m there.

  Later that night, when I’m stretched out on the cot, freshly showered from my rigged-up system, I lie there and listen to the plop-plop-plop of water dripping down the drain. Finally, I allow myself to think of Jaynie.

  There has to be a way we can be together again.

  “Yeah, right,” I mutter as I roll to my side, the cot creaking beneath me.

  I have no doubt Mrs. Lowry is keeping close tabs on me already. I refuse to take any stupid chances and put Jaynie in jeopardy. Crafty Lo’s threats are far from idle, and I have a feeling she’d get a special kind of joy from sending Jaynie to prison, thus separating us forever.

  Still, as I nod off, I can’t help but recall all the old, great love stories I used to hate reading about in English class when I was a kid. Now I understand them better and they don’t seem so bad. I remember one theme always stood out—even in the direst of circumstances, love always found a way to prevail.

  So why should my and Jaynie’s story end any differently? But then, before I succumb to sleep, I remember life is not a novel.

  Too bad for me.

  Jaynie

  Forty-two days and still no Flynn… Forty-three days, forty-four.

  I remain on autopilot. I work my job, eat a little, and sleep a lot. I buy a pay-as-you-go phone, but I can’t bring myself to ask Bill for Mandy’s number. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to her, because I desperately do. I miss my friend like crazy. I’m afraid, though. If I talk to her and tell her Flynn never made it to Lawrence, it’ll make his being gone from my life all too real. And I just can’t handle coming to terms with yet another loss. Not yet.

  Bill invites me to a big Thanksgiving dinner he’s preparing for the homeless people in town. I decline, choosing instead to stay upstairs in my rented room. Smiling for and chatting up customers at the deli is tough enough. I’m feeling more than a little tapped out in the social skills department these days.

  I miss Flynn. I miss the family we once had, and I miss the family we could have been.

  Standing at the counter in the deli the Friday after Thanksgiving, as I’m closing out the register for the day, something snaps.

  I realize I cannot go on like this, dealing with all these problems alone. “I need people,” I whisper to myself.

  Bill is placing turkey sandwiches in the display case beside me. He stops what he’s doing and looks over at me. “What was that, Jaynie? I didn’t hear you.”

  I close the register drawer and wipe my hands on my regulation Delmont Deli apron.

  “Oh, nothing,” I reply. “But can I ask you a question?”

  He smiles and says, “Sure. Ask away.”

  I clear my throat. This is a big step. This is me moving forward, possibly without Flynn. This is me accepting that I’ve maybe lost him from my life.

  “Can I have Mandy’s cell number?” I say.

  “Of course you can.” Bill watches me curiously as he adds, “Does this have something to do with Flynn?”

  “No, not really,” I mumble.

  I’m surprised. Bill has never mentioned Flynn to me, and I’ve not said anything to him. I’m sure he knows about Flynn, though, from Mandy. Still, I suspect she never mentioned we were so deeply in love. Bill has probably long since figured that part out on his own. All he has to do is see the sorrow that never leaves my eyes to guess the reason why.

  Crossing his arms across his chest, he says, “Jaynie, you should know before you talk to Mandy that she hasn’t heard a word from Flynn.”

  “I figured as much,” I say, which is true. “I still want to talk to her. We have a lot of catching up to do.”

  Bill then apologizes. “I wasn’t trying to question your motives. I figured you’d want to talk to Mandy eventually. I just didn’t want you getting your hopes up, is all.”

  It’s weird to have a friend outside of the ones I had up at the Lowry house. But it’s in that moment I realize Bill is mor
e than an employer and a landlord. He’s also my friend, and he’s looking out for me.

  Softly, I say, “I appreciate that, Bill. Really, I do.”

  He nods. “Let me go grab my phone and get you Mandy’s number.”

  An hour later, up in my bed, wrapped up in the same fuzzy blanket Bill gave me the night I arrived, I scroll to the newly entered number for Mandy and hit call.

  Flynn

  I work, I sleep, and I eat. I don’t bother making friends. My circle of friends—my family—is dispersed to God knows where. And I’m not ever allowed to contact them. Fuck.

  I assume Jaynie is in Lawrence, making a new life for herself. How ironic that she’s the one who jumped in the water, but it’s me who is drowning, sinking in a life of nothingness.

  I don’t dare try to dig up any info on Jaynie, for fear of a reprisal from Mrs. Lowry. Eyes and ears are everywhere in Forsaken. People are waiting to report back, for money I’m sure. I can’t research where the twins might be, and I definitely can’t go find Mandy. I’m sure a maneuver like that would be reported back to Crafty Lo pronto. And she has those bloody scissors.

  My throat constricts, and I mutter what I feel, “Fuck my life.”

  The next morning, for some unknown reason, I start up a conversation with the guy next to me. “Shit, it’s colder than a witch’s tit today,” I say.

  It’s still dark, with sub-zero temperatures. There’s a foot of snow on the ground and more on the way. I am waiting out in front of the job center, with the one guy as desperate as I am. I know from talking with him once or twice that his name is Crick. He’s skinny as fuck and kind of squirrely-looking, but he seems like a decent-enough dude. Doesn’t ask a lot of questions, which I like. Guess it’s because Crick is dealing with his own demons. He’s an ex-meth addict, I’ve heard, and he’s trying to stay clean.

  I assume he didn’t hear my comment on the weather, seeing as he’s still turned away, staring down the road. We’re waiting for the rusty maroon van that picks up workers with no transportation, and then shuttles them to the construction site. Usually there are a few more of us standing around, but not today. No one wants to work in this shit, but some of us have to.