She looked up, wondering about Tom and Gideon as children. Tom was shorter, more talkative, more open. They both had the same dark hair, although Gideon kept his cropped short and Father Tom always seemed to need a haircut. Although Gideon’s eyes were blue and Father Tom’s were black, they had the same brown skin and sharp cheekbones. The way the lamplight reflected off his features now put everything in sharp relief. Deep in concentration, there was a little line between his brows and a tightness to his mouth. The more she examined him, the more she suspected they weren’t related at all. Gideon’s mouth was different. Even though he didn’t smile as often, it seemed more expressive. A quirk of one side was like a laugh, when it straightened out in a line his anger was as clear as if he’d raised his voice.
He looked up, catching her eye. He didn’t say anything, but simply waited for her to speak. Henry scrambled to think of something innocuous to say but in the end, simply said what she was thinking.
“Clark said you and Father Tom grew up together.”
“We were in the same foster home.”
“That’s why you don’t have the same last name.”
“Yes,” he said. And then he leaned back in his chair. “And no. It’s complicated.”
She picked up the photo again. “These boys, I was just thinking of names and children and losing one’s sense of place.” She wasn’t making any sense but he nodded as if he understood.
“I lived with my foster family from the age of five and I took their last name when they adopted me. Tom arrived when I was thirteen and he was eleven. He chose to keep his birth name.”
“How do your parents feel about that?”
“My adoptive parents don’t mind, I don’t think.” He paused. “We’re not close.”
For the first time, Henry saw something in his face that she hadn’t before. His words weren’t quite a lie, but they weren’t exactly true. “You don’t speak to them at all?”
“No. But Tom is very close to them.”
Henry placed the photo back in the stack and picked up another. She was trying to put all of the pieces together but none of it fit.
Something in her expression must have told him what she was thinking because he sighed. “I told you it was complicated. And for someone who has always known their family and always been secure in their name, I can see how it’s confusing.”
She was the last person to look down her nose at complicated family dynamics, but there wasn’t any way to explain so she said nothing.
They didn’t talk for a while, the only sound the rustle of paper or the scratch of a pen. After a bit, Henry ran her fingers through her hair and stretched her arms over her head. “Next time, I’ll bring a little electric kettle to brew up some tea. With a few cucumber sandwiches, it’ll be just like a picnic.”
He shot her a look, trying not to smile. “Some jambalaya and sweet tea sounds better.” He paused as if remembering their agreement to cook a pot together and when he opened his mouth again, she was sure he was going to explain how it had been a joke, a silly exchange meant just for Father Tom’s benefit. Instead he said, “By the way, did you ever find your keys?”
“Not yet. I’m sure they’ll turn up.”
He rubbed a hand over his face and she noticed the weariness in his movements, the dark shadows under his eyes.
“I feel bad keeping you down here. You look so tired. Let me just sort through this last stack and then we should lock up,” she said.
“No, I can stay as long as you need,” he said and then covered a yawn. He caught her skeptical look and smiled. “But maybe you’re right. Let’s clear up what’s on the table and then head home.”
She was nearly at the last photo when he straightened his stack of papers and said, “You’re perceptive. That’s your super power, right? The one Patsy was teasing you about?”
Henry froze, her hand hovering over the papers. She wanted to nod and hope the subject never came up again. Of all the secrets she held, this was one that carried the most weight, the one that could prove the most disastrous if it came out in the open. It was the secret that held up all the others.
She was suddenly so tired of lying. The words stuck in her throat like thick chunks of bread. She thought of the way she smiled in the face of a lie, and the way she smoothly lied right back. Gideon’s hedge about his adoptive parents was the first time she’d sensed anything less than complete honesty from him and it made her realize how much she yearned for it.
“I don’t know how to explain,” she started.
“It’s a complicated super power?” he asked, his voice softly teasing.
“Oh, you have no idea,” she said. “I’m… I’m one of those people… a person that…” What if he didn’t want to be near her after he knew? Nobody wanted their darkest secrets exposed. All the problems she’d ever had with making friends or finding a boyfriend were suspended in the moment. Nobody liked a peeping tom, and that was what Henry was, psychologically speaking.
“Hey,” he said, concern shadowing his face. “It’s okay. Whatever it is.”
Truth.
“I’m a human lie detector,” she blurted. The next moment, she closed her eyes, unable to watch his reaction.
“A what?”
She cracked an eye.
“There are people who can always tell when someone is lying. Always.” The words sounded louder than normal in her ears. Patsy had always known from childhood and although they laughed about it, Henry had never said the words. Until now.
He leaned forward, realization dawning. “The people that the CIA or FBI use for interrogations?”
“Or to review confessions or to help solve murders,” she said, wishing it hadn’t come to that so quickly.
He looked up at the ceiling and didn’t speak for a few moments. “This explains a lot.”
“Does it?”
A slow smile spread over his face. “Yes, it really does clear up quite a few puzzles.”
Henry felt such a wave of relief that she was glad to be sitting down. “Don’t you want to try it out? Patsy calls it my party trick.”
“You show it off at parties?”
“No, no.” She shook her head. “Nobody knows. Patsy just thinks it’s funny when we’re in a group and someone lies and she can read it on my face.”
“But I bet you don’t think it’s funny,” he said.
She dropped her gaze to the table. “I hate it,” she said softly. “It’s terrible what people will lie about.”
“Isn’t it better to know who your enemies are? I can imagine that would come in handy.”
“Enemies?” She considered that. “It’s usually someone I’ve just met telling me they love history but it actually bores them to tears, or a friend saying they’re too tired to go out but they really want to go with someone else because they don’t like the way I talk through a movie, or a guy I like saying he thinks I’m beautiful, he really likes me and he wants to date exclusively.” Residual shame rose up as she finished speaking. Being around other people was sometimes like hearing out loud all the terrible things she’d ever thought about herself.
He grimaced. “So, this guy wanted to date other people?”
“Oh, all three were a lie. He just wanted his grandmother off his case and he figured that I would agree since I seemed sort of awkward and pathetic.” There wasn’t any reason to hold back. “People lie about everything.”
He crossed his arms over his chest, then uncrossed them. She could tell he was still working through it.
“I try to turn it off. I don’t want to hear everybody’s business, I promise,” she said.
“I bet,” he said. “I don’t want to know what’s going on in everybody’s head, either.” He leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. “So, how accurate are you? Eighty percent? Ninety?”
She let out a laugh but it sounded bitter to her ears. “Freakish percent. Can that be a choice?”
The lamplight flickered across his face. “Fascinating. Or
, is that offensive. I don’t want to offend you.” He meant it. “Do you mind talking about it?”
She didn’t quite know how to answer him. “Like I said, I’ve never told anyone. I know some people make a good living with it, but I just don’t think I could stand it, day in and day out, listening for lies.” She looked up at him, relief edging out her shyness. “I don’t mind talking about it with you.”
“What languages do you speak?”
“What?”
“Creole? French?”
“Yes, and I took two years of Italian.”
“No German? I took two years of German in college.” He grinned. “Let’s try it in a language you don’t understand.”
She laughed, catching a bit of his enthusiasm. She’d never been able to play with her talent before. It had always been something dark and ugly, something better kept hidden away.
“I’m going to say three things. One will be a lie. Ready?”
She nodded, and listened closely as Gideon lied to her. “The second thing was a lie,” she said. “I don’t know what it was, but it was a lie.”
“Good guess. Let me try again.”
She listened. “The first thing was a lie.”
“Try again.”
“I’m going to close my eyes this time,” she said. After he was done she said, “The first was a lie again.”
“Unbelievable,” he whispered, sitting back in his chair. “Why close your eyes?”
“It’s harder when I can’t see the person. Or all of their face. When you had a beard, it was like talking to you behind a screen.”
“So you can tell better now?” He ran a hand over his face, as if smoothing his beard. “Is it only people you know? Or strangers, too?”
She started to say that he was a stranger, but it wasn’t true. “Everyone. And I don’t really know how it happens. It’s not any one thing, like blinking or a stutter.” She thought back to that morning with Kimberly and her grandparents. “But if I know someone well, I start to recognize the pattern, even when they’re not speaking. If they disagree with me, even if they don’t say a word, I can see it.”
“That could be awkward.” His voice had taken on a tone she couldn’t quite interpret.
“Most of the time, it’s nothing. Sometimes with family, there are things they don’t want you to know, things you wished you didn’t know and could just give back but can’t. Once you know the truth…” She couldn’t finish.
He nodded, as if he felt the weight of her sadness, the long years she’d carried the burden of other peoples’ lies. Standing up, he came over and gently took the picture from her fingers. “We should go,” he said.
She shuffled her papers into a pile and blew out the lamps. Gideon closed the door and locked it behind them, following her up the steps to the street. Henry was surprised to see the crowds of people on the river walk and the temporary booths that had sprung up on the grassy river bank. The hour she’d spent in the basement with Gideon seemed from another time, some other place.
They walked in silence for a while. When they reached By the Book, he touched her elbow and she turned to face him. She could tell he was saying something important but she didn’t hear the first few words. Her whole attention seemed focused on the place where his hand was touching her skin.
“―so I’m sorry if I’ve lied to you.”
Henry felt suddenly shy. It was strange to discuss it so openly, as if he’d found her looking through his diary and hadn’t been angry, but wanted to know what she’d thought.
“You never have, actually. You’ve never lied to me.”
The tight lines of his face relaxed. “Good. When you said everybody lied, I assumed that I had, somehow, even if I didn’t remember it.”
She bit her lip. This wasn’t the way the conversation was supposed to go. “You’re right. Everybody lies.” She looked into his eyes and felt her world teetering on the edge. Part of her was yelling to walk through her door and not look back. The other whispered soft reminders of all the years she’d wished for someone she didn’t need to hide from, someone who understood her.
He cocked his head, a question clear in his eyes.
“Everyone lies,” she said. “Except for people who have no one to love and nothing to lose.”
His hand dropped from her elbow and she felt its loss like a slap. He nodded, absorbing her words and not arguing their truth.
She didn’t know why, but the fact he didn’t argue made her angry. She wanted him to tell her that she was wrong, that he did have a weak spot somewhere. “And I know- I know it seems easier, with nothing and no one. It’s safer, right? But I don’t think we’re made to live that way.”
He looked over her head, as if unable to meet her eyes. “You sound like Tom. He seems to think the more people you love, the stronger you are.”
Henry nodded. She wished she could be someone who made deep and lasting friendships, who had a big family that would always be there. She wasn’t and that was a weak spot in her armor against the world. When things got bad, she didn’t have anybody to call but Patsy. She couldn’t imagine life without her, without anyone.
“I know this sounds terrible to you, but someday I hope you have something to lose,” she said.
“I guess you’ll know when I lie to you.” He smiled as he spoke, but his tone said that she shouldn’t hold her breath. “Goodnight, Henry,” he said, and walked away.
She unlocked the door and blindly made her way up the curving wooden staircase to the second floor. Her apartment was the second down a long hallway and when she made it to the door, she stood there, staring at the little golden numbers nailed to the front. Her breath hitched in her throat and she fumbled with the knob, trying to fit the key in the lock as tears blurred her vision.
Finally, the door swung open and she slipped inside, closing it tight behind her. She didn’t bother putting down her purse or taking off her shoes. She stood there for a long time, brushing hot tears from her cheeks and wishing she’d never told the truth.
****
Gideon shifted on the bench and fought to keep his eyes open. It was midnight on a Wednesday but the river walk was busier than if it were five in the morning. The Zydeco Festival was only a few days away and tourists were streaming in from all over. A couple strolled along arm in arm, kissing awkwardly as they walked, laughing softly at some secret joke.
As they passed, he felt an ache in his chest. Except for people who have no one to love and nothing to lose. She was right. He had carefully constructed a life that gave him complete freedom from risk. Tom was an exception, but only because Tom simply wouldn’t give up and it had been easier for Gideon to let him back in to his life than to keep fighting to keep him away. But he had never really allowed himself to rely on Tom.
The breeze from the river touched the back of his neck and he shivered. He understood Henry now. All the puzzle pieces fit together. She’d been cursed and had lived her life wanting to have friends, wanting to be close to her family, but she couldn’t. Except for Patsy, it seemed as if Henry was doomed to be a solitary person and it was no fault of her own.
Gideon had reveled in living distantly from every other person. He tolerated Tom. He avoided everyone else. He closed door after door, denied reconciliations, refused apologies. It was a point of pride that he didn’t need anybody or anything.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hunching inward. He’d thrown away what Henry could only dream of and the shame burned through him like fire.
“You’re not very good at this bodyguard bit,” someone said. “You’re not even watching.”
Gideon looked up to see Tom standing there. He held out a thermos and a paper bag. “Brought coffee and some sandwiches this time. No sense in starving to death.”
Gideon stood up, sudden relief washing over him. He wrapped his arms around Tom and hugged him tight.
“Wow,” Tom said, his voice muffled. “You must really need the coffee.”
He let go
and motioned to the bench. “I’m just glad to see you.”
Tom shot him a look. “Okay,” he said, and there was an entire paragraph of questions behind that word.
He poured out a cup of the steaming coffee and handed it to Tom. “She’s got to call Alice tomorrow. I can’t do this much longer.”
Tom gulped and swallowed, letting out a hiss of air. “Too hot,” he gasped. “And if we were smart, we’d take shifts.”
“If we were really smart, we’d have Bix call Alice so we weren’t sitting out here in the dark.” Gideon said. “But we were never the sharpest tools in the shed, right?”
“Huh. Speak for yourself.” Tom passed the thermos to Gideon. “How’s your new mentoring project?”
“Reggie?” Gideon shrugged. “He got a few interviews but no job yet. Every time I see him, he looks shiftier. I told him I wouldn’t work with him if he went back to his old friends and he agreed, but I’d bet a hundred bucks he’s still in contact with them. He was late to our meeting this morning and kept checking his phone like he was expecting a call. He’s on the edge, more than when he was first released.”
“How’s the son?”
Gideon shrugged. “He doesn’t mention him at all. I get the feeling things aren’t good there. But running around with the same people that got him into prison won’t help, either.”
“It’s hard to let go of old friends, even if they are a bad influence,” Tom said, elbowing Gideon just as he started to pour out a cup of coffee.
“You’re trying to get me to spill this on my lap, aren’t you?” He squinted at him. “Remember I’m a convicted felon who spends all his time lifting weights.”
Along the Cane River: Books 1-5 in the Inspirational Cane River Romance Series Page 42
