Lies You Wanted to Hear

by James Whitfield Thomson

  We passed the York exit in Maine. I hadn’t asked, but I figured maybe Griffin planned to stop at a motel outside of Biddeford near a flea market where we’d gone a few times. That’s where I’d found the silver hair combs with the intricate latticework I wore the night I met Matt, the same ones I was wearing now. When Matt admired them, I said they’d belonged to my grandmother, the lie coming as easily as my next sip of wine. In my family, lying was as basic as condiments—mustard on your hot dog, tartar sauce on your fish sticks. Actually, I hadn’t lied much to Matt, not unless you counted the lies of omission, like not telling him about the abortion or the story behind my tattoo. Anything that brought Griffin into the picture was basically verboten. I didn’t want to reveal how much Griffin had meant to me, which, I suppose, was another way of lying, not just to Matt but to myself.

  I tried to remember exactly what I’d said in the note I’d left on the door, wondering what Matt’s reaction might have been when he read it. He wasn’t a fool. Chances are he’d seen through my ruse and had already begun to hate me. But I hadn’t given up hope that I could get away with it. If I called him tomorrow and gave him some wild story about Amanda, maybe he’d fall for it, his gullibility and concern only proving how much he loved me. Or maybe he’d be a little suspicious, wondering why I hadn’t waited for him, why I wouldn’t let him help me in my time of trouble the way I’d helped him through his mother’s funeral. If he began to question me, I’d have to admit, Yes, I was conflicted. Yes, I was running. But only for one night, only for enough time to try to come to grips with my beautiful, scary secret. Our secret. His baby and mine.

  It started to rain. The radio station faded and Griffin found another, drumming his hand on the steering wheel to an Allman Brothers song. I began to feel sick to my stomach. I was still thinking about that note. Was it worse to keep the lie going or to tell Matt the truth? Sometimes the truth can be much crueler than a lie.

  The song on the radio ended. Griffin said, “Penny for your thoughts.”

  “Nothing special.”

  “Must be Matt, then.”

  “Don’t be a dickhead.” I hated that he was right.

  He laughed and squeezed my thigh. “Oooh, I love it when you talk dirty.”

  “Pull over!”

  “Jesus Christ, Luce, can’t you—”

  “Please, Griffin. Pull over quick! I’m gonna throw up.”

  We were in the passing lane. Griffin cut in front of a tractor-trailer and skidded onto the shoulder of the road, wheels fishtailing on the wet macadam, gravel pelting the underside of the car. The first eruption came as I flung myself out the door. Then I fell to my hands and knees, Griffin squatting beside me, holding my hair back from my face as I heaved, and heaved again.

  ***

  At the motel I took a long, hot shower and came out of the bathroom in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt, my hair in a ponytail. Griffin was sitting on the bed watching TV with his shirt off, smoking a joint. He had a new tattoo on his left bicep, four black Chinese characters still blistered with scabs.

  He said, “Feeling any better?”

  “Much. Must have been something I ate.”

  “I got you a can of ginger ale from the machine.”

  “Thank you. What’re you watching?”

  “Nothing. You can turn it off.”

  I switched off the television and sat next to him on the bed. He handed me the ginger ale, then put his arm around me and kissed my cheek.

  “You want a hit?” He offered me the joint.

  I took one toke, then another, happy to get high without Matt’s silent chiding. Just this once wouldn’t hurt the baby. I made a silent vow to throw away my stash of weed when I got back to the apartment.

  I touched Griffin’s arm. “What does your new tattoo say?”

  “It’s just some Chinese characters I like.”

  “Come on, tell me.”

  “Promise you won’t laugh,” he said. I nodded and crossed my heart. “It says I love Lucy.”

  I burst out laughing. “Oh, Griffin, you never quit, do you?”

  “Not when it comes to you.”

  I leaned against him. Then we were kissing, his hand under my sweatshirt, my nipples tender and swollen.

  He said, “This is why I came back, baby.” He lifted the sweatshirt and took one of my breasts in his mouth. He unsnapped my jeans and slipped his hand inside my panties. “This is all that matters.” His fingers were familiar. Accurate. “This is what we do best.”

  I shuddered with pleasure then pushed him away. “No, Griffin. I’m sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “I’m not giving you up, baby. Not without a fight.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “No complications, Lucy. Just give me one more chance.”

  “Griffin, I’m pregnant.”

  “Well.” He thought about it for a second, then shrugged. “We know that can be fixed.”

  I nodded, a rueful twist to my mouth, then dug my fingernails into the new tattoo and raked them down his arm.

  “Motherfucker!” He raised a fist to hit me but let it fall. “You crazy bitch!”

  I sobbed and covered my face with my hands. “Take me home. I want to go home.”

  He tried to hold me, but I got up from the bed.

  “Lucy, I’m sorry. I—”

  “No, it’s okay.”

  “Christ! What a stupid fucking thing to say.” Blood ran down his arm. “I’m sorry. I know how bad you felt the last time.”

  “No you don’t. You have no fucking clue what I went through. You’ve never asked me one single thing about it. Not then, not today.” I could feel my voice getting stronger. “You don’t want me, Griffin; you want to win. You just want to prove to yourself that I still want to fuck you.” I pulled the sweatshirt over my head. “Okay, fine, prove it. Make this the coup de grace. The fuck to end all fucks.”

  “Please, baby, stop. I’m sorry.”

  “No, I mean it.” I stepped out of my jeans, naked except for my panties. “Come on, let’s make this the fuck we’ll never forget. You want to do it here or go somewhere else? You want to get kinky? Find a roadhouse and screw me on the pool table in front of thirty other people? Great, let’s go. I’ll do anything you want.”

  “Lucy, I—” The look in his eyes went beyond contrition, almost as if he were afraid of me.

  “Then what? What’ll we do for an encore, Griffin? We have great sex, but so what. What’s the point? Carla’s right. This isn’t love, it’s an addiction.”

  “Not for me.” He stood up and put his hands on my shoulders. “I know exactly where I belong.”

  “For God’s sake, Griffin, try being honest for once. We’re not in love. What you and I have is like gambling. Like we’re in a casino running from one slot machine to the next, pulling those handles, hoping we’ll hit the jackpot. And the thing is we do. We win big! Lights flashing, bells clanging, silver dollars spilling onto the floor. But it’s never enough. We’re never satisfied.”

  “Isn’t that what we want, baby? That hunger? The way we keep pushing each other, always looking for ways to make it new. That’s what keeps us fresh, Luce. I can’t find that with anyone else, and neither can you.”

  It became a battle of wills. I couldn’t wear him down or hold on to my anger. I sat next to him on the bed and dabbed his bloody arm with the sheet. He began to kiss me and run his fingers through my damp hair. I told myself he wasn’t a bad man, only weak, and so was I. It was useless to resist. I needed to do this and get it over with so I could walk away and never look back.

  I guess it was all those months apart that made our lovemaking seem so good. Maybe we were some inseparable cosmic pairing like earth and moon, or Eros and Psyche. Except I was pregnant with another man’s child. When it was over, I hid my nakedness with the sheet and hugged my knees to my
chest.

  Griffin lit a cigarette. “Come on, don’t get all moody on me.”

  “Moody? This is real life, Griffin. I’m going to have a baby.” His face went slack, the conquest over and reality settling in. “You have to let me go,” I said. “I don’t know if things will work out with Matt. It could be a complete disaster, or maybe we’ll live happily ever after. I don’t know, but I have to try.” I touched his cheek. “Think about it, Griffin. You’re not going to settle down with me and someone else’s kid. You couldn’t even do it when it was your own. Please. Let me go. Stop reeling me back in.”

  He took a drag on his cigarette. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

  “You want to go back now?” he said.

  I nodded, afraid I might change my mind.

  We got dressed and headed back down 95. One of my silver hair combs was missing. I couldn’t find it after I took my shower at the motel; it wasn’t in the car either. It probably had fallen from my hair when I was puking on the side of the road. I took the other comb from the pocket of my jeans and ran my fingertip over the lacy whorls.

  Chapter 14

  Matt

  I drove home from Cambridge with my heart in my throat. On the way I kept thinking about two things Mrs. Stansbury said. The first was that before today she hadn’t seen Griffin in ages. The other was that she’d heard Lucy yelling at him. At least Lucy hadn’t been deceiving me for weeks or months, though a cynic (or a realist) might say she dumped me and bolted with Griffin the minute he came back. But what was she yelling about? I pulled over to the side of the road and took out Lucy’s note. I kept trying to read between the lines, hoping to find some clue that she had acted against her will. As if Griffin had come back and kidnapped her and forced her to write it. I kept wanting to believe she was something other than a cold-hearted bitch.

  When I got back to my apartment from Cambridge, Kreider was coming out the front door carrying his gym bag.

  “Hey,” he said, “I thought you were headed for the Big Apple?”

  “Change of plans. Lucy had to go home to her parents’ for the weekend.” I congratulated myself on the innocuous response.

  Kreider asked if I wanted to go to the Y and play some hoops. I said sure and went to grab my stuff. We rode in his car. I hadn’t played in any of the Friday night basketball games since I’d started seeing Lucy. Most of the guys were in their twenties and thirties, but there were a couple of older guys who were still pretty good. We played full court. No refs, no harm/no foul, a rough, punishing game that helped me get my mind off Lucy. As I was going up for a rebound near the end of the evening, a sergeant from the crime lab gave me a hip check and I landed hard on my left shoulder. Some guys on my team started pointing fingers, saying it was a cheap shot. When the sergeant told them to go fuck themselves, Paki Epstein walked over and doubled him over with a quick punch to the stomach. Paki was a wiry little guy who could dribble like Earl the Pearl. No one knew what he did for a living, but there were rumors he used to work as a bag man for the Winter Hill Gang. The sergeant didn’t try to retaliate, and we decided the game was over. As I was getting dressed, my shoulder hurt so much I could barely raise my arm. I didn’t mind. It was another distraction and fit my mood.

  A bunch of us went to a bar in Back Bay. Free drinks for Paki and me. Someone at the table ordered a Perfect Manhattan. Nice bit of irony given where I was supposed to be going. I had no idea what was in the drink but said I’d take one too. We laughed about Paki’s punch and bragged to one another about our exploits on the court. I drank the Manhattan quickly and ordered another. My shoulder burned deep in the joint. The second drink made everything fuzzy. Kreider picked up a girl with stupendous tits and a face like a ferret.

  I got up and went to the bathroom. While I was washing my hands, I looked at myself, bleary-eyed, in the mirror and let out a groan. I left the bar without returning to the table. I walked a few blocks and began to shiver. The temperature must have dropped twenty degrees in the past hour. I was wearing only a light jacket, my head turtled in the upturned collar. A few taxis passed, but I didn’t try to flag them down. I wondered what Lucy and Griffin were doing right now, then tried to chase away the images. I felt less anger and jealousy than a vast, unfathomable emptiness. I windmilled my left arm to get the kink out of my shoulder, or to punish myself with the pain. Lucy had tried to warn me not to fall in love with her, but I kept ignoring the cues, pretending I didn’t know how it would end.

  This wasn’t a matter of taking the road less traveled. Anyone with an ounce of curiosity could do that. This was about knowing exactly where the road will lead and taking it anyway, believing you could change your fate. She was everything I ever desired. There were times when we were making love or talking over dinner or simply sitting in a movie theater holding hands that I felt so connected my entire body seemed to be filled with light. And I would often find myself thinking, I’ll bet some people have never felt like this in their whole lives, not even once. Now it occurred to me that Lucy probably had never felt that way about me. Not even once.

  A working girl stepped out of the shadows and said, “Hey, handsome.”

  “Hey,” I said and kept walking.

  “I could show you a good time,” she called after me.

  Halfway down the block I considered turning around and going back to her. Or driving to Cambridge and knocking on Mrs. Stansbury’s door. Either/or—at least I’d be doing something. But I kept walking, not half as drunk as I wanted to be.

  ***

  I was dozing in front of the TV when the telephone rang. I had a hunch it was Lucy and thought about not picking up. She’d wonder where I was, wonder if I knew the truth. I wished we had an answering machine so I could hear her tone of voice. Would she try to keep the lie going? How would I react if she did—or didn’t? I still felt empty, no energy for anger, not yet anyway. It’s the way all dupes feel I suppose. You want to blame the swindler, but somewhere in the back of your mind you’ve known all along the deal was too good be true.

  I answered the phone on the fifth ring.

  “Matt? It’s me,” Lucy said. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

  “No, no, it’s okay. I’ve been hoping you’d call.”

  “Thanks, I…Boy, what a wild day.” She was trying to sound frazzled and relieved at the same time.

  “How’s your mother?”

  “Better. She’s…”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t her, Matt. It was me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m sorry I left that note. It was a terrible thing to do. There wasn’t any crisis with my mother.”

  A dash of honesty. I didn’t say anything.

  “Matt, this weekend… I’ve had some big things on mind. Maybe you have too. It’s no excuse, but I haven’t been feeling well the past few weeks. It was horrible to leave you a note like that, but I wanted…I needed some space. I got scared and ran. I’m so sorry.” She changed to the voice of a naughty little girl. “Can you forgive me? I don’t want to lie anymore.”

  “Where’d you run to?”

  “Nowhere. Just drove around. I’m home now. Can I come over? We need to talk.”

  “Talk about what?”

  “Us. The future.”

  She really thought she could get away with it. “Will that include Griffin?”

  She let out a soft cry. “Oh, Matt.” Which was the same thing she said the first time I told her I loved her. I let her dangle in the silence. “How did…? I swear I was going to tell you.”

  “Right.”

  “Please don’t hate me. I tried to get him to leave, but he wouldn’t. I was afraid of what might happen if he was still here when you came to pick me up.” I said nothing. “I know how cruel and stupid I’ve been. All I can do now is be honest and hope you’ll forgive me. Griffin showed up out of nowhere. I hadn’t
seen him or talked to him in months. We had a long, rocky relationship. The last time I saw him I…Listen, Matt, you’re the one I want to be with. Please, let me come over and I’ll tell you everything.”

  “I’ll come to Cambridge,” I said and hung up.

  I drove like a madman. Lucy left the front door open so I could let myself in. She was waiting at the top of the stairs in black flannel pajamas, shoulders hunched, her hands tucked under her armpits. Her skin was pasty and her eyes full of remorse. She wanted a hug, but I brushed past her. The apartment smelled of fresh coffee. I went into the kitchen and sat down, and she poured me a cup.

  “Are you hungry?” she said. “I could make you cinnamon toast.”

  “Okay.”

  She put bread in the toaster. Neither of us spoke. Her hair was pinned up carelessly. A long strand fell across her cheek. The yellow-and-white-striped canisters on the counter had come from my mother’s house. Lucy had admired them, and I said she should bring them home. She sprinkled sugar and cinnamon on the toast, then sat down across the table.

  “You’re not eating?” I said.

  “I’m feeling a little queasy.”

  A nasty retort came to mind, but I didn’t say it. She reached for my hand, then withdrew hers when I failed to meet her halfway.

  “Look, Matt, what I did today was the worst thing I’ve ever done in my life. You have every right to be furious, but nothing happened with Griffin. Nothing I’m ashamed of.” She looked me directly in the eyes. “I didn’t have sex with him. We argued and talked and argued some more. There’s a lot of history there. Some stuff that never got resolved. But that’s all over now. You have to believe me. I belong here with you, Matt. This is where I want to be.”