Secret of Lies

by Barbara Forte Abate

“My sister.”

  “You have a sister?”

  “She died.”

  “I don’t think I understand.”

  “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you everything ...”

  “That’s a lot for one person to carry around on their own, Stevie,” Ash said quietly, once I’d concluded the chronicle of events unfolded a lifetime ago. “And what about your aunt? Was that her body they found after the fire?

  “Inconclusive. They really have no idea. Sometimes I think it has to be her, but then I’m convinced it couldn’t be.”

  “And your uncle?”

  “After I finally explained it all to my mother she called the detective who’d handled the case from the beginning and told him everything. I don’t know, maybe it’s too late to expect resolution, but the thing is it’s never really felt finished. Every once in a while Mom calls and asks if they’ve found anything, but it’s as if Cal–well he vanished so perfectly it’s almost as if he never even existed.

  I never thought I’d be able to talk about it so I didn’t. It just seemed like it would be easier if I could pretend it was over.”

  Ash reached for my hand, pulling me to my feet. “No matter whatever happens between us or how things may change, I want you to remember I’ll always be here for you, Stevie. Don’t ever forget that.”

  I pressed my face against his neck, his worn cotton shirt soft against my cheek as I inhaled the balmy aroma of his skin–soap and hay–a scent belonging only to him. “I won’t, Ash. I won’t forget.”

  “How about meeting me for lunch this week?” Esther’s voice invited over the phone.

  I hadn’t seen my friend in months, and in all honesty, up until now, I hadn’t thought much of it. After all, our lives had turned at the corner and headed off in opposite directions shortly after graduation from high school. We’d gone off to separate colleges–Esther to return with a diploma and a husband, and me to end up back where I’d started, captive of the same life I’d always had–except now there was Ash.

  We agreed to meet at Tootie’s the following Thursday. Mr. Saxon would be out of town that day which meant I’d be free to take an extra long lunch.

  It had been months since I’d been out for a meal, preferring to eat a sandwich at my desk most days, and I’d somehow forgotten how crowded the diner got during the noontime hour. I stood just inside the door, my eyes scanning the tables until I caught sight of Esther waving her arm from a corner booth.

  It was as if nary a day had passed since we last sat in this diner together, laughing across the table as we ate French fries and gravy after school, pooling meager funds and ordering a single hot fudge sundae we would then be forced to share. And for the next hour we giggled over our memories, easily falling into animated tittering over the various happenings in our lives.

  “So what’s it like being married?” I asked, dragging the last of my French fries through a splotch of ketchup left on the plate and popping it into my mouth.

  “It’s great. I love having someone there all the time.”

  “Um ... that must be nice. But wouldn’t a sweet little puppy serve the same purpose, Esther,” I smirked, enjoying the chance to tease her.

  “A dog won’t rub your back at night when you’re exhausted, or fix you a drink and help with the dishes after supper.”

  “Maybe not, but he won’t leave socks on the floor or the toilet seat up either.”

  “You’re still such a buffoon, Stevie,” she laughed, lifting her glass and drinking the last of her cola. “So … aren’t you wondering why I wanted to see you?”

  “To have lunch?”

  “Ha ha, very amusing.” She leaned forward across the table. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  I stared at her blankly, far from relishing her announcement. This wasn’t the first time she’d uttered those dreaded words to me. “Did you notice how greasy the fries tasted today? They need to change the oil or something.”

  “His name is Drew Bartles. He was Bob’s roommate in college. Just wait till you meet him, Stevie, you’re gonna love him,” she gushed, instantly reminding me of her identical high school era self.

  “He’s plant manager over at the bottling works in LaGrange. Really good looking and–”

  “Stop,” I said, raising my hand like a traffic cop to cease her recital of Mr. Bartles resume. “I’m not interested.”

  “What? Why not? It won’t hurt to just meet him, would it? I’ve already told him all about you.”

  “Well you shouldn’t have. You know I never liked that sort of thing. You’ve been trying to arrange dates for me since third grade.”

  “That was before I knew you were planning on being a nun,” she said, tossing her crumpled napkin on top of the half-eaten remains of her chicken salad sandwich.

  “Look, Esther, it so happens I’m seeing someone,” I announced easily, deliberately avoiding her eyes.

  “Oh, really?”

  I found her disbelief irritating–the suggestion that I couldn’t have accomplished such a feat without her assistance.

  “Yes, oh really.”

  “How come you haven’t mentioned him before? You never said a peep all through lunch.”

  “I guess I don’t have the need to publicize my personal life like some other people do.”

  “Well pardon me,” Esther instantly bristled, snatching up her purse.

  I reached out, clutching her arm before she had the chance to escape across the vinyl seat. It was so like her to react irrationally when she didn’t immediately get what she wanted. “Come on, don’t get mad. We haven’t seen each other since last Christmas. Let’s just forget it,” I said, releasing her arm only once she’d nodded her consent and returned her purse to the table.

  “Fine. Do you have any lipstick? I forgot mine and I hate bare lips.”

  I fished through my bag, searching for the single tube of lipstick I’d carried around for the past five years like a talisman. It had become a bizarre kind of tradition to transfer it along with my other staple belongings each time I changed purses, thinking it of little consequence that I’d never actually used it. “Here,” I said, handing the relic across the table.

  “Hot flaming cherry? Sounds illegal.”

  I shrugged, swirling the melting ice in the bottom of my soda glass with a straw.

  “So, who is he?”

  “You’d better blot that a little,” I suggested, indicating her newly ripened lips.

  “Who’s the guy, Stevie? Do I know him?” she repeated, stubbornly refusing to be diverted.

  “I don’t think you would–no, probably not.” I glanced at my watch in an obvious suggestion that we hadn’t the time to discuss it.

  “Name please.”

  Cripes, the girl was diligent. “I don’t think you know him.”

  “For Pete’s sake, will you tell me his name already?” Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “I think you’re not telling me because you’re making him up.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I make up a boyfriend?”

  “Okay, then, how long have you been dating him?”

  “Since July,” I fired off rapidly.

  She made an obvious display of counting off the months on her fingers.

  “Umm, five months. Interesting. How come I’ve never bumped into the two of you?”

  “For Heaven’s sake, Esther, I haven’t even bumped into you by myself in three years.”

  The crumbs of ice in my drink now melted, I began tearing off pieces of my napkin, dropping them into the glass.

  “Well, what’s his name?”

  “Ash ... Ash Waterman,” I said just loud enough to be heard over the chatter of lunchtime diners.

  “Ash? That’s an interesting name,” she said, brows wrinkling, her expression turning contemplative as she tried to recall where she might possibly have heard it before.

  “Yeah, so anyway, I really need to get back now.” I reached in my purse for my wallet, glancing up just in time
to see her eyes widen–her mouth unhinge in exaggerated surprise.

  “No way! Don’t tell me it’s that guy who hangs around your place,” she leaned forward, whispering much too loud.

  “He doesn’t hang around our farm, he works there.”

  She waved away the correction. “You’re involved in an affair with your hired help?”

  “He’s not my hired help.” Technically that was true.

  “You can’t be serious. I mean, I thought you didn’t even like that guy.”

  “So, I guess I changed my mind,” I answered, staunchly dropping two singles on the table. “I have to get back.”

  Outside the sky was cold and bleak. It wouldn’t be long before the snow started.

  “Look, Stevie, will you just come over and meet Drew? I’ll have you both over for dinner,” Esther appealed, trailing out the diner behind me.

  “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said, Esther?”

  “I’m only asking you to meet a nice guy. So okay, you’re dating someone. But what’s the harm in a little dinner with friends?”

  I didn’t fail to notice how her voice tripped in mild hostility over the barbed reference to someone.

  “It’s not like you’re married and I’m suggesting you cheat on your husband,” she added, clutching her dark wool coat tight against her throat.

  I stood facing her, glancing past her shoulder at the occasional traffic passing along Main Street in a purposeful bid to avoid eye contact.

  “One little dinner. That’s all. If you don’t like him you can leave before dessert.”

  “Alright. Fine. Give me a call over the weekend,” I agreed reluctantly, angry with myself even before I’d finished uttering my concession.

  She flashed a victorious grin before starting across the street to where she’d parked her car. “I’ll call you with the details. And I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  But I already was. And I trudged toward the newspaper office on cinderblock feet; angry and disgusted over the way I’d so easily betrayed Ash. I was no better than Judas, the way I’d hedged and squirmed when she’d asked his name, behaving as though he was someone to be ashamed of. And just as bad, possibly worse, was how I’d been so cowardly as to agree to meet some other man. The truth, as I was starkly beginning to see it, was that I really didn’t deserve Ash at all.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  The telephone rang for the fourth time that afternoon and I knew without having to lift the receiver that it would undoubtedly be Esther again.

  “If it’s Esther, tell her–”

  “I know–you’re not home from work yet. Or was it shopping?” my mother asked, reaching for the phone.

  “Work. She knows I’d never shop this long.”

  “Hello? Yes, hello again, Esther. No dear, I’m sorry she’s not home yet. Um hum ... yes, I agree,” she said sympathetically into the receiver, at the same time smiling at me conspiratorially. “Um hum … Yes, I’m sure the newspaper should be the size of an encyclopedia tomorrow with all the overtime she’s putting in. All right then, I’ll tell her you called. Good bye, dear.”

  “Cripes, why doesn’t she just quit calling? Do you want me to chop up one or two stalks of celery?”

  “Two,” she answered, returning to the potatoes she’d been peeling before the interruption of the ringing phone. “So, when are you going to tell me why I’ve had to make excuses for you all morning and now apparently all afternoon?”

  “She wants me to go over there for dinner.”

  “Oh … is Esther that bad a cook?”

  “Ha, ha, very funny,” I said, absently chopping the celery into microscopic bits. “She’s trying to play matchmaker with me and some friend of Bob’s.”

  “And what’s the harm in that? It can’t hurt to meet someone.”

  “I don’t want to meet anyone.”

  “Because of Ash?” She continued peeling the vegetables without missing a beat, though the shock of her unexpected statement nearly resulted in my lopping off a handful of fingers.

  “Ash?” I repeated stupidly, the knife poised in midair.

  “I have eyes, Stephanie,” she said, cubing the potatoes expertly and dropping them into the pot simmering on the stove.

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “Were you, dear?” She was so calm, so cool, such a contrast to the impossibly tangled mass of my own jangled nerves.

  “Ash wanted me to tell you, but I was afraid you’d be angry.” I waited for her response but she said nothing. “Are you angry, Mom?”

  “No, I’m hurt. It hurts that my children have felt it necessary to hide their lives from me.”

  “Mom,” I laid down the knife. “This isn’t the same. It’s not like Eleanor and ... ” I let my voice fall away, unable to bring myself to utter my uncle’s name in the same breath as my sister’s. “I’m not doing anything wrong with Ash. He’s just very sweet and I–”

  “Then why are you hiding it?” her voice inquired serenely though her eyes held the glint of steel and the wisdom of ages. “People don’t go sneaking around unless they have something to be ashamed of.”

  Ashamed. There was that word again. “That’s not true. I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. Maybe I just don’t want Ash and me to be another meal for the starving gossips around here.”

  “Oh, you mean gossips like your mother?”

  “No, of course I don’t mean you. But I didn’t know what you’d think. You’ve been so detached from everything lately.”

  Right then would’ve been the perfect time for a knock at the door or the ringing of the telephone to interrupt before I’d had more of a chance to complicate things, but unfortunately, no such diversion came.

  “Honestly, I don’t know what people want from me. Ash gets mad because I didn’t tell you about us, you get mad because I didn’t tell you about us, and Esther gets mad because I did tell her about us. Will I ever be able to just live my life without having to check with everyone else first?”

  “Stop and listen to what you’re saying, Stevie. Then you tell me who’s being unreasonable. Is it the people who care about you, or is it you yourself?”

  After twenty-three years together my mother still possessed the ability to effectively cut me down a sobering size or two. There had never been another person more capable of making me feel like a thoughtless idiot than she could, and with relatively few words.

  “I guess I can vaguely see your point,” I grinned sheepishly.

  She smiled. “I’m surprised to hear you admit that so quickly. You’re usually a good deal more stubborn.”

  I pulled out a chair from the table and sat, elbows propped on the Formica surface, chin resting in my palm. “Mom, are you angry about Ash?” I asked, relieved it was finally out in the open after so many months of supposed secrecy.

  “No.” She sat down opposite me. “Surprised though.”

  “Why surprised?” All at once I was eager for her impressions. “Because you remember how much I disliked him for so long?”

  “Heavens no,” she chuckled. “I could see right through all that.”

  “That was no act,” I protested. “I didn’t like him one bit. He was obnoxious. Until, well, I don’t know … he just changed.”

  “I never said it was an act. You may very well have believed you disliked him. Sometimes that’s the easiest defense for a woman when she’s trying to figure out what to do with feelings she’s not quite ready for.”

  “So why did you say you were surprised then?”

  “I’m surprised he waited this long for you to wake-up, is what I meant.”

  “Mom!” My mouth fell open in mock astonishment.

  “And I must say, Stephanie, that’s something that’s been a long time coming.” She laughing gleefully–something I hadn’t heard her do in some time.

  “You’re not bothered that Ash ... well, that he works for us?”

  She studied me for a long moment before answering. “Why in
the world would I find fault with a good man just trying to make an honest path for himself in a dishonest world.”

  Nearly three months had passed since I’d received one of the peculiar letters, six of them currently pushed into the corner of my desk drawer. Even so, I recognized the handwriting even before I opened the envelope, mildly curious, while at the same time annoyed that whoever it was sending them hadn’t yet tired of their game.

  Do you understand? Have you put them together? I stared at the sheet of paper in my hand, the feel of blood turned icy coursing through my veins, as if some part of me sensed what my mind as yet had failed to receive. What was it supposed to mean? Did I understand what? Have I put together what? I picked up the envelope where I’d dropped it on the desk, for the first time turning it to look at the postmark. Callicoon, PA.

  It made no sense at all.

  “What’s wrong, Mom? Are you all right?” I cried out, rushing over to where she’d been standing only moments before breaking up the winter-hardened earth of the flower garden with a hoe. It was as I’d glanced up to ask her a question that I’d seen her press her hand to her forehead, then slowly sink to her knees.

  “Mom?” I gripped her thin shoulders, shaking urgently, imploring her to respond. Her eyes seemed to stare at me without seeing, her face blank, unreachable.

  “I’m … I’m alright,” she said after a moment. “I just got so dizzy …”

  I helped her to stand, painfully aware of the frailty of her body against my own youthful fortitude. “Let me help you inside, Mom.”

  “No, no, I’m alright–I’m okay.”

  The color had come back into her face in a slowly spilling flush, but as I released her I felt her stumble against me for the briefest instant.

  “I can finish this myself. Will you please go and sit down for awhile,” I insisted. Didn’t she understand how much these spells of hers frightened me? This had been the third one in two weeks.

  “I said I’m all right, Stevie. Just let me finish what I was doing.”

  “Mom, I think you should see the doctor.” I crossed my arms, standing my ground. I wasn’t going to let her brush it off this time.