by Chris Beakey
She went down to the family room without looking back. Stephen felt a heaviness in his chest as he watched her hastily moving away. The light in the hallway seemed to dim as he looked toward his bedroom at the end of it. The lightheaded feeling worsened, and made him feel as if he had no choice but to lie down.
His legs were unsteady as he stepped into the room.
This is the way it’s going to be now.
He sat on the edge of the bed and looked toward Lori’s dresser, and saw himself in the wavy glass of the antique mirror as he sat back against the upright pillows, still feeling the nervous, uncomfortable energy that had passed between himself and Sara in the hallway. He tried to imagine some point when they would get beyond it—a time when his kids could look at him without thinking about what he had done.
You need to tell them why you’re doing this, he thought. Why it’s all right.
But when he looked in the mirror again he was not sure that he could. He tried to envision sitting them down, explaining his reasoning. The certainty that drunk driving and manslaughter would land him in prison. His belief that the willingness to swear under oath that he was innocent was morally acceptable given the tragedy that they faced as a family.
Justifying the lies
Again and again
His stomach tightened, triggering a shot of heat that ricocheted through his rib cage, inflaming the pain of the injuries he had suffered a week before. He felt an uneasy sense of motion and had to lean forward; his hands covering his face, shutting out the overhead light that suddenly seemed painfully bright.
It wasn’t enough to stop the wave of nausea that swept up the back of his throat. He stood up and stumbled into the bathroom. He hit the light switch with his forearm and found his way to the toilet and leaned over it. He gagged violently, in spasms that made the room spin around him, powerless to resist and losing all track of time until the sensation ran its course and he was able to step back, one hand gripping the side of the marble vanity and the other pressed against the wall.
He turned the light off and went back to his bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed.
It’s the lying that will make you lose them.
He knew it for certain as he gazed out the window and thought of how Sara had been barely able to look him in the eye.
The knowledge—like a curse.
He pressed his palm against the mattress on Lori’s side of the bed, feeling suddenly and strangely serene, knowing what he had to do.
“I’m sorry honey,” he whispered.
He felt a faint, calming pressure on his shoulders, a warmth that enveloped his chest and held him in an embrace. He reached for the pillow and wrapped his arms around it and stifled a sob.
You’re going to change this.
Show them what you taught them.
A cool sweat brought beads of moisture to his forehead. The sensation was oddly pleasant and peaceful, like the breaking of a fever.
He heard a slight crack in his backbone as he sat up and went back to the list of recent calls, then dialed John Caruso back and listened to what seemed like an endless number of rings before he heard Caruso’s voice mail greeting.
He waited for the prompt, then said:
“Let’s meet tomorrow John. I’ll tell you the truth.”
He paused, conscious of the stillness in the room, the certainty and finality of his decision.
“Just name the time and the place, and I promise I’ll be there. Just please make it then and not tonight. I need tonight, with my kids.”
He put the phone down as he stood up and opened the bedroom door. The sound of the television drifted up from downstairs. He went down to find Sara and Kenneth standing side by side at the kitchen island, nibbling on the cheese and crackers and dip he had laid out before going upstairs; their attention drawn immediately to him as he stepped into the room, watching him carefully, as if they knew that something had changed.
His eyes stung as he looked at them, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, close enough for him to know they had been talking quietly, sharing confidences or secrets or fears. Because they had each other, Stephen thought, taking solace in the knowledge that their closeness had as much to do with the childhood that he and Lori had created for them as the natural affinity that had always been there. A closeness that had ultimately saved their lives.
He thought of all of the things he needed to tell them. “I’m so sorry, but I made a terrible mistake and then made it worse. You know what I did. Know I’ve been lying. And now it has to stop.”
He thrust in the pockets of his jeans and scrunched his shoulders against his neck and felt a raw, scraping sensation at the back of his throat as they stared back at him, waiting.
He allowed himself a long moment of sadness, knowing that they were strong enough to withstand what was coming, yet wishing, once again that Lori was standing with them; that they were all together.
We’re going to get through this, he thought. As a family. No matter what.
“Who loves you?” he asked.
They shared a look and then a smile as he reached out and wrapped them in his arms, and pulled them close.
By now, if you read this story from start to finish, you know it’s about people who aren’t quite as good or bad as they seem to be. Fortunately in my own life I’m surrounded by people who only become more wonderful day by day. Thanks to Brian Sharp, Jiles Shipp and John Shanks, law enforcement professionals who offered expert advice on crime scene investigations and procedures. And to many fellow writers, who helped me work my way through so many different drafts. And also to my “work family” at Council for a Strong America, an organization of “unexpected messengers” who truly are building a better world.
But mostly to the two best editors I know, Jeffrey S. Stephens and Kevin Smith, and to Anthony Ziccardi and the entire team at Post Hill Press, who worked so well to bring this story to life.
Chris Beakey tells stories of good people caught in bad places. He writes fiction from his homes in Washington, D.C. and Lewes, Delaware, and nonfiction as a ghostwriter for an organization that promotes bipartisan policies that strengthen the nation through smart investments in youth. His first, novel, Double Abduction, was a finalist for the Lambda Literary Award.
