The Truth Lies Here

by Lindsey Klingele

  “I can’t believe this,” Dex said. And then he was shooting up, out of his chair. He paced forward a few steps, then stopped. “How could you both just make that decision? How could you think it was better not to talk to me at all, to let me know what happened? To let me think . . . ?”

  He trailed off, clearly too angry or embarrassed to explain what he had thought. And what he’d thought didn’t even matter anymore, because every fantasy scenario he might have had to explain his dad’s extended absence from his life had just been snuffed out by one simple truth. His dad hadn’t been abducted. He didn’t need to be saved. He was just a regular man who’d made some mistakes and didn’t have the courage to tell his son.

  Without saying another word, Dex stomped out of the room, slamming the front door behind him.

  When he was gone, Cindy immediately crumpled.

  “I really thought I was doing the right thing,” she said, almost too softly for me to hear.

  I nodded, not sure what there was to say.

  After a few moments, Cindy looked up at me, wiping tears from her eyes. “You should know I called your mom.”

  “I . . .” My mouth stayed open, but I couldn’t figure out a way to end that sentence. Of course Cindy had called my mom.

  “When we couldn’t find you, I thought maybe . . . but she told me she hadn’t heard from you.”

  This time I was the one to hang my head, guilty. “I was going to call her,” I mumbled. “I just wanted to try to fix everything first.”

  Cindy gave a small pained laugh, then looked to the door Dex had run through. “Don’t we all.”

  She shook her head and stood up. “Your mom was real worried for you. She told me she was looking into flights. I called her from the sheriff’s office as soon as you were found, but I think she’s still planning on coming back. You really do need to call her.”

  I nodded, keeping my eyes on the ground. Maybe it was the mention of my mom, or the idea that she’d come here and pluck me out of Bone Lake before I got a chance to find Dad, but suddenly I felt like crying.

  “Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing,” Cindy said gently, “for your mom to take you home.”

  I kept my eyes trained on the carpet. “This used to be my home.”

  I realized in that moment what I’d tried so long to deny—how badly a part of me missed Bone Lake. Not just the town, but the Bone Lake I remembered—me and Mom and Dad, together. When everything had fallen apart, I’d pretended I didn’t need this place anymore. But things weren’t that simple.

  “Oh, Penny, this place will always be your home,” Cindy said. She leaned toward me. “I know how hard it is when you feel like maybe you don’t belong in a place anymore.”

  Cindy’s eyes went to a framed photo behind the couch, a picture of her and Dex with her parents. Sometimes I forgot that Cindy, unlike most of the people in Bone Lake, hadn’t been born here. She’d grown up a few hours away in Mount Pleasant and met Dex’s dad when he went to school nearby. She’d left her entire extended family behind to move with him to his mostly white hometown. And then he’d left her here, too, not just Dex.

  “But your home doesn’t have to be just one place. And, honey, no matter where you go, you will always belong here.”

  Cindy patted my hand. I sucked in a shaky breath, already feeling better.

  “Now, I think I have another person to go cheer up,” she said.

  “Mind if I try?”

  “Of course not. You probably have a better chance of making him smile than I do at the moment.”

  I got up and went after Dex. I hadn’t seen which direction he’d gone, but I knew exactly where he’d be.

  The ladder leading up to our tree house wasn’t actually a ladder, but instead some pieces of wood nailed to the trunk of the tree in erratic intervals. Some of the pieces of wood held steady as I climbed, while others creaked under my weight. Eventually, I pulled myself up through the house’s “door,” which was really just a rough opening in the graying slabs of wood.

  Sitting there, on the far side of the house, was Dex. His legs were splayed out, taking up nearly all of the floor space, and he was slumped against the wall. Soft light shone in through the slats in the wood, so I could make out his movements as he shoved something beige-looking into his mouth.

  “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is,” I said, crossing my legs and sitting down in the little bit of space not taken up by Dex.

  In response, Dex tossed something light in my direction. I picked it up, and sure enough, it was a Twinkie wrapper. I remembered the day we’d taken a small box full of Twinkies and Ho Hos from Cindy’s pantry and stashed them in the tree house in case of a zombie apocalypse. Now, the small shoe box full of snacks was opened, its cobweb-covered top sitting near the house’s door. Dex reached his hand in for another snack.

  “Dex, those are, like, six years old,” I said, reaching to grab the Ho Ho from his hand.

  He pulled away from me, opening the plastic package and shoving the chocolate into his mouth.

  “This stuff lasts forever,” he said around a bite.

  “Uh, I don’t know if that’s actually true.”

  Dex’s shoulders slumped as he swallowed. “Too bad we weren’t smart enough to store liquor in here.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Have you ever had liquor?”

  “No,” Dex mumbled. “But it seems like a good day to try it.”

  I sighed, scooting to sit next to Dex while surreptitiously edging the box of old snacks away from him.

  “I’m so sorry, Dex.”

  He gave a small, humorless laugh. “I should be relieved, right? I mean, going to prison is way better than being abducted by aliens. Probably.” Before I could respond, Dex smacked his forehead. “I’m such an idiot.”

  “No. You’re not.”

  “I am. You were right to Scully me. You were right the whole time.”

  I sighed. “After everything that’s happened in the past few days, I’m not so sure about that. I think I could use a little Mulder-ing.”

  Dex gave a small smile then, and seeing it made me feel oddly warm for a moment. But then the smile faded.

  “This whole thing with my dad . . . it’s why I started hanging around Ike in the first place,” Dex said. He drew his legs up closer to him and wrapped his long arms loosely around his knees. “I know it’s dumb, but I really thought your dad might have known something about where mine went. I thought if I helped him, showed him I was trustworthy, that I was old enough to know the truth . . .” He shook his head. “I was such a moron. The real truth was right there the whole time.

  “And I think a part of me knew it. I told myself I didn’t want to let my mom in on my suspicions because I didn’t want her to worry about me, but maybe I knew, deep down, that as soon as I asked her to tell me the truth, it would all be over.”

  Dex went quiet then, looking down at the old floorboards. In the dim light of the tree house, his long eyelashes cast triangular shadows down his face.

  “I know it sucks, but I think it’s better to know the truth,” I said tentatively. “Even if the truth is . . . not what you were expecting or hoping. It’s always better to know.”

  Dex gave another rueful smile. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  “Can I ask you something?”

  Dex nodded.

  “When you were trying to open my dad’s safe, you put in a number. . . .”

  Dex leaned back, his head knocking lightly against the age-softened wood. “The day my dad left. That’s the date I put in.”

  I nodded once, a puzzle piece clicking into place.

  “Like I said.” Dex sighed. “Idiot.”

  “Would you stop that? You’re not an idiot for believing in something you wanted to be true.”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I thought of my childhood self, holding on to stories about the supernatural. I’d felt so ashamed for so long, that I’d let myself believe in such enorm
ous lies. I’d believed in them because my dad said it was all true, but I’d also believed because I wanted to. I’d wanted the fantastic things to be real.

  For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just angry at how naïve I’d been as a kid. I was also a little nostalgic for the girl who’d believed so hard in werewolves and sea monsters and fairies. For the girl who could believe in anything, blindly. I understood why Dex would want to do the same.

  He still sat dejectedly, his mouth turned slightly down in a frown, his dark hair hanging over the tips of his ears and curling at the nape of his neck. He looked like the boy I’d always known and like someone different, all at once. There were parts of him that were as familiar to me as my own thoughts, and parts that felt as unreadable as a secret. I felt a sudden urge to uncover that secret, to see the parts of him I didn’t know.

  Feeling uncomfortable, I pushed the thought down and tore my eyes away from him. This was just Dex, after all. Dex wasn’t unreadable; he was Dex.

  And yet.

  I looked up suddenly to see him staring at me, a bemused half smile on his face.

  “What?” I asked.

  “Do you remember the last time we were up here together?” His question was straying weirdly close to my own thoughts, but it was so nice to see him smiling that I decided to just go with it.

  “Of course I do,” I said, keeping my voice light. “A girl doesn’t forget her first kiss.”

  Dex gave a small sigh-laugh. “My first kiss, too.”

  “Sorry it had to be with me,” I said, playfully kicking his foot with my own.

  But instead of laughing, Dex looked confused.

  “I know you were really into Reese,” I continued.

  “What?”

  The shock in Dex’s voice threw me off guard.

  “What would make you think that?” he asked, looking genuinely confused.

  “What do you mean? You were into Reese for years. Everyone knew it.”

  “Uh, I didn’t know it. Because it wasn’t true. Wait, everyone thought I was into Reese?”

  “Well, yeah. She said—” The stupidity of the statement stopped me before I could even finish it. It had been Reese who told me Dex was into her. I hadn’t even thought to argue. Why would Reese say something like that if it wasn’t true?

  Ha.

  “Wow. Now I’m the idiot,” I said, shaking my head.

  Dex’s hands were over his face. “Is it possible to die of retroactive embarrassment? I never liked Reese like that. Actually, she was the only one who knew that I liked . . .” Dex froze, his hands still over his face.

  “Liked who?” I asked, and felt my own insides go still.

  Dex slipped his hands, inch by inch, down his face. He shrugged and smiled then. But it was a jerky smile, shot full of false confidence. “I thought you knew. I always had a crush on you,” he said, quickly adding, “when we were kids.”

  I couldn’t help shaking my head in amazement. “You did?”

  “You really didn’t know? Reese used to tease me about it all the time. I think that’s why she dared me to kiss you. She wanted to embarrass me.”

  “Because she was jealous,” I realized.

  Dex’s eyebrows shot up. “Reese was into me?”

  I laughed, then felt bad and cut myself off. “I don’t think so . . . but I don’t think she would have liked you being into me. She hated not being the center of things.”

  “Ugh . . . Reese,” Dex said, wrinkling his nose. Then he cocked his head. “Still, she might have been a little into me.”

  “Sure. Totally.” I laughed. “You were a ten-year-old catch.”

  Dex laughed, then bumped his shoulder against mine. The movement caught me by surprise, knocking me over a little bit. When I pushed myself upright again, I was closer to Dex, just a few moldy floorboards between us.

  “I mean it,” I said, grinning. “All four feet, eight inches of you.”

  “Hey, I grew into myself eventually.”

  “I can see that,” I said, reaching out and gently pulling on the cuff of his jeans, which were starting to ride a little high up his ankle. “Nice Batman socks, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’m gonna pretend you meant that as a genuine compliment.”

  “Oh, it was totally genuine. These Batman socks are a huge step up from the Curious George ones you used to wear. More mature.”

  “Batman has very adult themes.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And Bruce Wayne is classy. He has a whole manor. And a butler. These are very grown-up socks, is what I’m saying.”

  I laughed, leaning my head back against the flimsy wood wall. “Man, Dex. I know so far this summer has been . . . messed up. But I’m glad we’re hanging out again, at least.” And it was true. Dex could irritate me like no one I knew, but I was suddenly glad it had been him by my side all week. And glad it was him sitting by me now.

  “Me too.”

  I felt a surprisingly strong flutter rise up in my stomach as he looked at me—and didn’t look away.

  “After you picked me up from the airport, you said I’ve changed,” I said. “But I’m not the only one. You’ve changed, too.”

  Dex shifted his body weight to rest on the arm nearer to me, bringing him closer.

  “Yeah?” he asked, his voice low and throaty.

  The flutters in my stomach increased, spreading outward through my whole body—my hands, my toes, the back of my neck. It was incredibly strange to be feeling this way—while sitting next to Dex, of all people. Dex, with his ridiculous theories on everything. Dex, who I’d started arguing with in my head. Who I was starting to miss when he wasn’t around.

  As Dex’s dark brown eyes stayed fixed on mine, Cindy’s words flitted through my head.

  You will always belong here.

  The flutters in my stomach continued. I was afraid that if I moved they would go away.

  Or get stronger.

  “I’ve changed . . . in a good way?” Dex asked. The fingers of his hand were splayed out on the wood, an inch or less away from my own.

  “Yes,” I managed. “In a good way.”

  I was about to make another crack about Batman socks, but the words fell apart in my mouth. Dex moved nearer to me, and I knew that this moment in the tree house had taken a turn, one I wasn’t sure I had a handle on yet. The eyelash shadows on Dex’s face lengthened as his lids dropped down, and his mouth opened slightly as he leaned forward. I realized belatedly that my body was leaning toward him, too.

  His features became indistinct, and it suddenly reminded me of Micah, how he’d almost kissed me on the back of his pickup truck in the woods. My stomach twisted as I thought about him for the first time in hours. Micah, who was probably still pissed at me, and had every reason to be. I hadn’t even gotten close to fixing that situation, and now here I was, on my way to potentially ruining another one.

  What if I regretted this?

  What if, once again, I hurt Dex? And what if this time, it was really bad? Like the kind of hurt it’s hard to recover from. The kind of hurt that pushes people away forever.

  Just like your dad. Not caring who gets hurt.

  I pulled back from Dex with a violent start. His whole body half shook in confusion, as if I’d just poured a bucket of water over him.

  “I’m sorry . . .” I said, shaking my head lamely. “I . . . um . . .”

  Dex still stared at me, his face transforming from confusion into something worse, something that twisted me up inside just to look at it. I quickly turned my head.

  “I’m just . . . sorry.”

  I headed for the tree house’s makeshift door, barely looking back at him as I set my shaking feet on the rungs, one by one, heading back down to Earth.

  Twenty-Six

  THAT NIGHT, I had trouble sleeping. Again. Though technically, I was still in the dark about the sleep—or lack thereof—I might have had the night before. The unease of having those missing hours just added t
o the ever-growing list of problems and mysteries that were currently keeping me up.

  Thinking about Dex made me feel prickly hot and guilty, and thinking about Micah just did the same. And I was trying to avoid thinking about Mom all together. I’d sent her a quick text letting her know I was okay, and then didn’t pick up when she tried calling immediately after. I just didn’t know how much I’d be able to tell her over the phone without worrying her more. She’d already left a voice mail that she’d put her sabbatical on hold, booked a flight from Spain to Detroit that left in three days, and was trying to get on an even earlier one.

  I knew there was no stopping her, and she was going to learn everything eventually, anyway.

  I pushed the old quilt off me, stamping it down to the far end of Cindy’s couch with my feet. Dex had gone straight to his bedroom after coming down from the tree house, and I hadn’t heard a peep from his room since.

  When I finally made it through to morning, I felt groggy and heavy. Cindy lightly shook me awake early, telling me it was time to go to Bryan’s and Cassidy’s memorial service. I hadn’t packed anything appropriate for such a horrible occasion, so Cindy let me borrow something of hers, a navy-blue maxidress that billowed up around me every time I moved. It felt weirdly appropriate, since the lack of sleep had put me in a dreamy state that made me feel disconnected and floaty.

  Dex pretty much ignored me all morning. I couldn’t get a read on whether he was more confused, angry, or embarrassed about our near kiss and my abrupt departure the day before. His feelings toward Cindy were much clearer, though. It was obvious he still hadn’t forgiven her. The tension in the car was thick as the three of us rode in silence into the heart of town.

  The Methodist church was a sturdy, one-story building made of light yellow brick. People were already filing inside; instead of their usual Sunday dresses and short-sleeved, button-down shirts in summer colors, they wore somber outfits that looked too heavy for the time of year.

  Cindy, Dex, and I sat silently in a pew near the back of the boxy room, which smelled like thirty-year-old carpet and fresh hydrangeas. The sheriff, in a stiff black suit rather than his uniform, sat iron-backed on a pew near Julie and Reese. Emily Jennings and Kevin Abnair were there with their families, heads down. Hector from the hardware store was passing out pale pink programs with somber nods of his head to everyone who came in.