Whose Lie Is It Anyway?

by Abby Gaines

  “I was afraid to ask after…”

  “After I destroyed all the paintings. I still loved him, that was the damned problem. I was hurting.”

  Holly swallowed. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

  “Honey, you were eight years old. It wasn’t your job to comfort me. The trouble was I had no friends left and my mother wasn’t speaking to me for losing my husband. I think I went a little nuts.” Maggie’s face sobered. “You had to bear the brunt of that, and I’m sorry.”

  “There were good times, too,” Holly ventured, and realized with a shock it was true. Times when they’d had a car and it was actually running, when they’d driven out to the woods and picked wild berries. Mom couldn’t cook them so they ate them raw, juice staining their hands, faces and clothes. And with no TV they’d spent summer evenings outside, and winter ones playing Scrabble or silly card games in the trailer.

  “I spoke to the twins last week,” Maggie said. “I tried to persuade them to stay in college.”

  Holly stared. “What did they say?”

  Maggie shook her head. “I couldn’t budge Summer, and of course River won’t do anything she won’t do.”

  Holly smiled, resigned. “I probably pushed them into it in the first place.” Her gaze fell on a travel agency flyer on the table. Cheapest Flights to Europe!!! it screamed in large red letters. “What’s this, Mom?”

  “That’s why I called you this morning. To tell you I’m going away. To Italy.”

  “On vacation?”

  “I’m going to paint there. I don’t know how long I’ll stay. I bought a one-way ticket.”

  Holly tried to digest that. “Are you going with someone?”

  “No. I had hoped…” Maggie gave her head a small shake. “I’m going alone. I’ll be fine.”

  “Why so sudden?”

  “Honey, I’ve been talking about this for the past couple of years.” Maggie’s smile removed any sting from the words. “As soon as I heard you’d been cleared of the fraud, I booked my ticket.”

  “Can I— Can I come and see you over there?”

  Maggie hugged her. “I’d love it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  JARED KNEW EXACTLY what he had to do.

  He hit I-5 to Kechowa with a savage press on the accelerator and a sense of exultation that he could scarcely tell was fake.

  “Hypocritical suburban paradise, here I come,” he said out loud as, way over the speed limit, he blasted past a police car that had pulled another hapless driver over at the edge of the freeway.

  He got there in record time, relief almost overwhelming him as he passed the Welcome to Kechowa sign. Five minutes in the bosom of suburbia and he’d be screaming for his freedom.

  He wouldn’t mind betting he’d be on the road back to Seattle by tonight, driven out of his mind with boredom and one hundred percent sure he’d thrown away nothing he actually wanted. Bring it on.

  He gave a cheery blast of his horn as he pulled into his parents’ driveway. But Mom and Dad failed to make their usual joint appearance in the doorway. He was slightly disappointed not to see them do their scuffle to see who could greet him first.

  He checked his watch as he got out of the car. Midday. A growl from the region of his stomach reminded him he hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning.

  Leaving his bag in the car, Jared walked up to the door, rapped lightly with his knuckles, then turned the handle. As always, the door was unlocked, so he walked right in.

  “Mom? Dad?” He’d seen his father’s car through the garage window, so they couldn’t have gone out. He walked through the living room toward the hallway.

  “Mom? Anyone home?” Puzzlement turned to alarm when he heard a stifled shriek. Adrenaline raced through his veins. He was halfway down the hall, moving at lightning speed, when Beth appeared in the doorway of the master bedroom.

  She smoothed her skirt as she walked toward him. “Jared, honey, what a wonderful surprise.” There was something about her bright-eyed smile that bespoke something other than just pleasure at her son’s arrival. Before he could look more closely, she pulled him into a hug.

  Jared returned the embrace awkwardly. “What’s going on? Where’s Dad?”

  His unflappable mother actually blushed. “He, er, had a headache. He’s taking a nap, and I thought I’d keep him company.”

  Jared wanted to believe her, he really did. With all his might, he fought the dawning realization of what his parents had actually been up to—before midday! But it didn’t help when his father appeared in the bedroom doorway, his shirt tucked in carelessly. “Jared! We were just resting. Your mother had a headache and I—”

  “You wanted to keep her company,” Jared suggested.

  Edward darted an anxious look at Beth, but nodded his agreement.

  Beth hugged Jared again. “It’s lovely to see you. A wonderful surprise.” Then she released him and looked down the hallway behind him.

  “Where’s Holly?” his parents asked simultaneously.

  “How would I know?” he snapped. At their obvious disappointment, he added, “She’s probably off getting her skirt shortened.”

  Edward chuckled and fanned his face in mock over-heating. “Just as well she’s not here then—I don’t think my heart could stand it.”

  Jared glowered. If Dad was trying to suggest he was attracted to Holly…

  “He’s joking, dear.” Beth took his arm and led him toward the kitchen. “We grew quite fond of Holly and her short skirts, as you know. But if you two aren’t seeing each other anymore…”

  “We never were seeing each other,” Jared protested. Should he tell his mother her sweater was inside out? “It was business.”

  “Yes, dear,” Beth soothed. “Let me get you some lunch. I haven’t made bread today, but I have some rolls left over from yesterday and some cold roast beef. Then you can tell us what’s brought you back so soon.”

  Great. He could hardly tell them he’d come here to be bored out of his skull so that he’d stop thinking about settling down with Holly. Settling down. Next thing, he’d be thinking the M word….

  BY THE TIME they sat for lunch, Beth’s sweater had found its way back to right-side-out, and his parents were giving a convincing imitation of two people who hadn’t just been caught in the act of over-age sex in the middle of the day.

  Jared sat tense, ready to blow at the first hint of judgment or reproach, or at any attempts to pry into his private life. But his long absences must have trained his parents well. They kept the conversation light, though not dull, he registered.

  They were talking about what had happened in Kechowa since he left. Not much. Edward’s dry commentary was quite amusing.

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw Beth smile at Edward. His father, sitting opposite Jared, gave her a slow, meaningful blink in return. Holly was right. They did use a secret language.

  “What was that about?” he demanded.

  “What?” Beth was wide-eyed innocence.

  “That look you gave him, that he gave you.”

  “Oh…nothing,” she said infuriatingly. “Now, honey, tell us why you’re here.”

  He hesitated. Why was he here? “To think,” he said at last. “Just to think.”

  They had coffee after they’d eaten. Against his will, Jared’s mind kept wandering back to the idea of his parents making love. Not in specific terms, of course. More the question of whether people that age could still have a good sex life with a person they’d been with more than forty years.

  If he’d thought about it, Jared would have said he had every intention of having great sex until he was no longer capable—or preferably he’d die first—but it had never occurred to him it might be with just one woman.

  “So how is Holly?” Beth asked.

  “She’s in the clear. The FBI caught her business partner and has charged him.”

  “Wonderful news.” Beth couldn’t have sounded happier if Holly had been her own daughter. “She’s such a
lovely girl.”

  “She’s very uptight,” Jared felt obliged to point out.

  “But so sweet when you get to know her. She really warms up.”

  “She’s got a big opinion of her own abilities.”

  Beth nodded. “I guess that happens when you’ve built a successful business from scratch.”

  “She dresses like a floozy,” Jared said uncharitably.

  “Doesn’t she just?” The rumble of appreciation in Edward’s voice raised Jared’s hackles. “But there’s a class act underneath all that,” Edward said hastily. “Holly is the sort of woman you’ve got to respect, on all counts.”

  His dad was right about that. Holly was not the sort of woman you set out to use for your own ends. What he’d done hadn’t damaged who Holly was, Jared realized. It had damaged who he was. In all the years of plotting revenge against Transom, he’d never breached his own ethical code. Until now.

  “Honey, are you okay? You look pale.”

  He didn’t want to talk about Holly anymore. He didn’t know what the hell he wanted. On the other side of the table, Beth radiated the love and concern he’d thrown back in her face ever since… “Tell me about Greg,” he said to his parents. “Tell me the truth.”

  Edward started to protest, but Beth took hold of his hand and put her other hand out to Jared across the table.

  He took it, though it felt dumb, as if they were about to say a belated grace for the meal they’d just finished. But Beth clung tightly to his fingers, and they sat, the three of them physically connected, the circle broken between Jared and his father. The space where Greg should have been.

  “We should have told you years ago,” Beth said. “At first we were afraid. Later on we were too ashamed. And then it was too late to talk.”

  That was partly his fault, Jared knew. “Does the truth have something to do with the inscription on Greg’s gravestone?” He remembered Holly puzzling over the words. “Forgive us our weakness?”

  Beth let out a sigh that might have been relief. “I always told myself that if you asked about it I would tell you. But you never did. It was as if you never saw it.”

  “I didn’t,” Jared said. “All I saw when I looked at Greg’s grave was my brother who shouldn’t have been there in the first place. A good man with a great future that he’d choked out of himself, and no one seemed to care.”

  Beth flinched at the words but didn’t let go of Jared’s hand. “You don’t believe we didn’t care. You were angry, you still are, but you’ve never believed that.”

  “No,” he agreed.

  “Son, your brother suffered from manic depression,” Edward said abruptly, his voice overloud in the small dining room.

  It took Jared a moment to absorb this news. “You mean, he was depressed about the business?”

  Edward shook his head. “Greg was diagnosed as manic depressive when he was fifteen.”

  “It’s called bipolar disorder now,” Beth said, “but we still think of it as manic depression.”

  Jared knew as much about bipolar disorder as the average person—next to nothing. “Who diagnosed it?”

  “He had a number of psychiatric evaluations that all came to the same conclusion,” Edward said. “It wasn’t something everyone would necessarily see. But you’ll remember Greg was always way up or way down. He’d either be working harder and playing harder than everybody else, or he’d be exhausted.”

  It was true. Jared had always assumed Greg’s phases of exhaustion, where he would come home and stay with their parents for a couple of weeks and sleep around the clock, were the natural consequence of hard living and hard work.

  “Greg tried to kill himself when he was fifteen, when you were just a baby,” Beth said shakily.

  “How— How did he—?” Jared’s throat was painfully dry.

  Beth closed her eyes. “He tried to hang himself from a tree in the woods behind the house. I found him purely by chance. I’d gone to pick some ivy to decorate the table because your grandparents were coming for dinner, and I—” She pulled herself up short. “I always say God gave me wings that day, because I have no idea how I got up there. But I guess I climbed the tree. Greg had used a sheet and he hadn’t done a good job of tying it. It probably would have slipped undone in another minute anyhow. But I pulled it, and Greg fell down. He broke his ankle when he landed.”

  “Greg couldn’t explain why he’d done it. He just said everything got too much for him,” Edward added.

  “Surely they treated it?” Jared asked. “Drugs or something?”

  Edward nodded. “Drugs and counseling. Mostly they worked well. Greg had the occasional relapse when he stopped taking his medication—sometimes he’d say he couldn’t feel properly when he was on them. He’d be on a manic high for a few weeks and then the low would hit, and we’d convince him to start the pills again.”

  “We need to tell Jared everything, Edward,” Beth said gently.

  Edward hesitated, then nodded. “When Greg was first diagnosed a couple of doctors recommended ECT.”

  “What’s that?” Jared asked, though he was afraid he knew.

  “Electro-convulsive therapy,” Edward confirmed.

  Electric shocks to the brain. Jared shuddered.

  Beth noticed the movement. “That’s how we felt,” she said miserably. “We couldn’t put him through that. Even though the doctors said it might be the most effective treatment, that it might even cure him.”

  “There were other doctors who didn’t agree,” Edward said quietly. “They said it might make no difference, or even have detrimental long-term effects. We chose to believe them. We nixed the ECT, stuck with the drugs.”

  It took a moment for his father’s meaning to sink in. Then Jared realized this was the crux of his parents’ shame. “You think that if Greg had had the ECT he might never have killed himself.”

  To their credit, both of them met his gaze.

  “That’s right,” Edward said.

  Jared raked his free hand through his hair. “But you don’t know that. And presumably Greg could have elected to have the treatment himself when he was older?”

  “He could,” Edward said. “But deciding to put your own brain on the line is beyond most people. Greg couldn’t himself bring to do it.”

  “ECT worked very well for many patients.” Beth seemed determined to damn herself and Edward fully in Jared’s eyes. “It might have saved him.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t blame Keith Transom for Greg’s death—you blamed yourselves,” Jared said. Forgive us our weakness. All at once he was angry again. “Why didn’t you tell me this years ago?”

  “We were afraid,” Beth said. “You were fourteen when Greg died.”

  “So?”

  “You were one heck of a moody kid,” Edward said wryly. “We weren’t sure if it was just puberty, or if you—well, like your mom said, Greg was fifteen the first time he tried to kill himself.”

  “You were afraid I might be manic depressive, as well?” Jared said, stunned.

  “It can be hereditary, though it isn’t always,” Beth said. “We did actually get you a couple of preliminary evaluations. You remember those counseling sessions we took you to? The doctors said you were fine, but I couldn’t quite believe it. I was terrified that if we dwelled on Greg’s death too long, if we gave in to the despair, the grief, it might trigger a depression in you.”

  “And we didn’t want to push you into football or any of the other things Greg had done,” Edward said, “in case we put too much pressure on you.”

  “It sounds stupid,” Beth said, “but…”

  But. Jared was beginning to imagine what his parents must have gone through. Blaming themselves for one son’s death, and terrified their other son might descend into the same hellish pit.

  He thought about his brother, the golden boy—the football team, homecoming king, the adoring girlfriends, gaining his degree magna cum laude, the stellar career, the booming business…


  Then he thought about what Greg might have been if he’d had the ECT. The same? Maybe. But maybe he wouldn’t have brought that edge, that indefinable Gregness to everything he’d done. He might not have had the lows, but the highs might have proved just as elusive. Or maybe the ECT wouldn’t have worked. Greg might have gone through that for nothing. The scale of the dilemma his family had faced overwhelmed Jared.

  Jared cleared his throat and said what he’d never imagined saying. He absolved his parents. “You guys did the right thing for Greg. We all loved him as he was, and Greg loved what he was doing with the business. He wouldn’t have thanked you for taking a part of him away.”

  “But he might still be alive,” Beth said urgently.

  “And he might not. We can’t know.” Though Jared wasn’t sure what he was about to say was true, it needed to be said. “I would have done what you did.”

  He squeezed his mother’s fingers and reached his other hand across the table to clasp Edward’s garden-roughened hand.

  They sat like that, each caught up in their own thoughts, Greg’s memory in the center of their circle.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  HOLLY’S CELL PHONE rang at eight o’clock Monday morning as she was clearing away the breakfast things.

  Her mother picked the phone up off the counter. “How do I answer this thing?”

  “Just hit any number key, Mom.”

  “Hello?” Maggie spoke hesitantly, listened for a moment, then dropped the phone with a squawk. “How do I turn it off?”

  “I’ll do it.” Alarmed, Holly wiped her hands then switched the phone off. “Who was it?”

  “It was some creep wanting to know what color underwear I’m wearing.”

  “The pervert.” Holly held her hand out for the phone. “I’ll see if his number’s showing and give it to the police.” The phone rang again as she took it, and she recognized Jared’s cell phone number on the display.

  Despite her anger, which hadn’t abated one whit over the weekend, when she answered the phone she was laughing so hard she couldn’t speak.