Two Truths and a Lie

by Meg Mitchell Moore

  She expected Alexa to be asleep but she was sitting on her bed, fully dressed, in shorts and a tank. Rebecca was carrying a plate of Ritz crackers slathered with peanut butter. She didn’t think Alexa had eaten since the funeral, and maybe not before. When Alexa was young, this was the snack that could draw her out of a bad temper or disappointment.

  Rebecca had a very strict no-eating-in-the-bedrooms rule, and Alexa’s eyes shot up in surprise when she noted the plate.

  “I know,” Rebecca said, interpreting the look. “I made an exception. Extenuating circumstances.” She put the plate on the nightstand and sat down on the edge of the bed. Alexa moved over to make room for her.

  What to say to her brokenhearted daughter?

  By the time Rebecca had gotten back to the house on the night of Brooke’s party (it had been no easy task to find a sober driver who could access a car), she felt like she’d had fourteen separate heart attacks. Esther’s uncle, who worked for the Newburyport Police Department, had been the one to let Esther know a white Acura had been involved in an accident. Until they had more details, naturally Rebecca thought it had been Alexa driving the Acura. Alexa hadn’t answered the phone the first dozen times Rebecca had called, in her mind confirming her very worst fear.

  “Listen—” said Rebecca. She found Alexa’s calf under the blankets and laid her palm against it, flat and firm. “Listen,” she said again. “Sweetie.” Her voice was authoritative, but she had nothing to say and no confidence that she’d be able to come up with anything. They sat like that for a moment, mother and daughter, until Alexa spoke.

  “It’s my fault,” she said.

  Rebecca had anticipated this. She was ready. “It’s not your fault, honey. It was an accident. You weren’t driving. You didn’t give Tyler the keys. It’s not your fault.”

  Alexa looked straight ahead, not at her mother. She hardly blinked. “But if Cam hadn’t met me, he’d still be alive.”

  “Oh, honey.” Rebecca’s heart twisted for Alexa. “Honey,” she repeated. “You can’t think like that. You can’t let your mind go down those rabbit holes. There is absolutely no point to it.”

  “But it’s the only way I can think! I can’t think any other way. I’m just lying up here, thinking and thinking and thinking.” Alexa’s face crumpled and she began to cry—first tentatively, then harder and harder.

  Rebecca reached for a box of tissues on the nightstand. She said, “Can I tell you a story about Peter?”

  Alexa nodded and gradually her sobs subsided. She sniffled and swiped at her nose.

  “Two months before he died—” Even now, all this time later, Rebecca had to stop and catch her breath when she said that. “Two months before Peter died, he was offered a different job, with another company. It was more money, but he wouldn’t have liked it as much. It wasn’t hands-on, and the hands-on parts were the parts he loved. Nevertheless, he felt he should take it, for us. To provide more.”

  Alexa’s face spasmed briefly. That was Peter for you was what her face said.

  “But I didn’t want him to be unhappy in the service of money. I convinced him to keep the job he had.”

  “And that’s why he was in Dubai,” whispered Alexa.

  “And that’s why he was in Dubai,” affirmed Rebecca. “Do you know how many times I’ve lain awake at night trying to figure out if that aneurysm was just waiting for a reason to rupture? If it was going to rupture at that point in time no matter where he was, or if it was the long trip to Dubai that did it? Do you know how many times I’ve wondered if Peter would still be alive if he’d taken the job I convinced him not to take? The job he was leaning toward taking?”

  “Mom. No.”

  “It’s true. I have. I’ve thought about it so much. But the point is, I’ll never know. So I understand what you’re going through. But I also understand—I one hundred percent know, sweetie—that you can’t blame yourself for what happened to Cam.”

  Alexa started to cry again. “I think I loved him, Mom. I really think I did. And I don’t think I’m ever going to fall in love again. I think that was my one chance, and look what happened.”

  “Oh, Alexa.” Rebecca thought of all the twists and turns her life had taken since she’d been Alexa’s age. The early boyfriends, the missteps and misstarts. Alexa’s father. Rebecca thought it had been all over for her after that; she thought she’d used up her chances. Then she’d met Peter and she’d thought that those blissful years were here forever. But she’d been wrong about that too. Now she knew Daniel, and there was nothing that said that he would be in her life permanently. You could take nothing for granted. Nothing. A lump in the breast, a slip of the ski, a turn of the wheel, a deer in the road—who was to say what was waiting around the corner for any of them. “That wasn’t your only chance. I promise you. It wasn’t.”

  “Mom?” Alexa motioned to the spot next to her at the head of the bed, and Rebecca, who hadn’t cuddled with her daughter in who knew how long, leaned back against the headboard and put her arm around Alexa. Alexa pressed her head into her mother’s neck—it wasn’t the most comfortable thing in the world for Rebecca’s neck, in truth, but she didn’t want to spoil the moment. “How long until it stops hurting, Mom?”

  Rebecca thought about that for a long time. Six months? Definitely not. A year? No. Longer. There was only one real answer in the end. “I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll let you know when I get there.”

  Alexa didn’t stop crying, and she didn’t say thank you or please help me through it. But she did reach over Rebecca to take a peanut butter cracker, and that was something.

  87.

  Alexa

  Morgan wanted to go surfing one final time before sixth grade, so she asked Alexa and Rebecca to take her to Jenness Beach on the penultimate day of summer, the week after Cam’s funeral. The day was almost cruel in its perfection, a big tease for all of the kids about to ready their backpacks and sharpen their pencils.

  Rebecca said, “Parking will be a nightmare.”

  But Morgan persisted—she had checked the surf forecast, and the waves looked promising. So off they went, packing their stuff up in the rental car that insurance was paying for while the details of buying a replacement for the Acura got sorted out. It was the only time all summer that the three of them had spent the day together with nobody else around.

  When they got their smoothies and coffees at Summer Sessions Alexa’s mother refused Alexa’s money and threw down her credit card. Alexa, feeling generous, stuffed a five in the tip jar that said “bikini fund” on it, even though she thought it was unnecessary for the surfer girls to have a bikini fund when clearly they got, like, the biggest discount ever from the Summer Sessions shop.

  Alexa helped Morgan carry her board. Alexa’s mom set up the chairs and the umbrella they’d had the foresight to drop off before parking in the backup lot. Then Morgan stepped into her wet suit and presented her back to Alexa for zipping. Despite all of the ice cream she’d eaten this summer, Morgan was still very, very skinny—she was the only person Alexa knew on whom a wet suit was actually baggy. When she was zipped she turned around and faced Alexa and gave her a giant smile. The zinc she had applied to her face was uneven, making her look like a clown who’d partied too hard after last night’s circus.

  “Don’t go out too far,” Alexa told her. “Be careful.”

  “I’ll be careful,” Morgan promised. She dragged the board down the beach, the leash trailing behind her, and Alexa watched to make sure she fastened the strap around her ankle once she got there.

  Alexa and Rebecca had just settled themselves in their chairs when they saw Morgan flip off her surfboard. They stood as a unit and started toward the water, but before they got there Morgan’s head popped out of a wave. Her board was bobbing beside her and she put one hand on it to steady it. She gave them the shaka sign, which Alexa took to be Surf-ish for I’m okay. They sat back down.

  “Morgan is going to be all right,” Alexa told her mother
. “She’s more resilient than we give her credit for.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know it. I’m positive.” The beach was starting to fill up; everybody wanted to get in one last day. “Mom?” said Alexa. “What do you think I should do about—” she couldn’t call him Dad, but Jacob seemed strange too. “About my father,” she said finally. She knew that Rebecca had been in touch with Jacob Thornhill to let him know about what happened the night of Cam’s accident and that Alexa needed some time. Rebecca had all of Jacob’s contact information for when (or if) Alexa was ready, and Alexa still had his card. “He didn’t seem terrible, you know. He seemed—nice. Sweet, even.”

  “I believe it,” said Rebecca. “He wasn’t not nice. I loved him for good reasons, a long time ago. He meant well, even when he was sick. But he was really sick for a really long time.”

  “So what should I do?”

  Her mother’s eyes, behind her sunglasses, were inscrutable. “That’s up to you, Alexa. You’ll be eighteen soon. You’re in charge of your own destiny. No pun intended.”

  “But should I call him, when I go out to L.A.? Should I see him?” (There had been talk of a Realtor, after all . . . and beyond that, maybe it would be nice to have a connection, starting out somewhere new. A family connection. Would it? Wouldn’t it?) Alexa watched a black Lab race toward the water after a ball. Dogs weren’t supposed to be on the beach at this time but the Lab looked so happy that Alexa hoped nobody said anything to the owner.

  “I can’t decide that for you, Alexa. And even if I could, I wouldn’t know what to say. I mean, do I think you need to be careful, if you get in touch with him? Yes. Unequivocally, I do. I don’t want him to hurt you. Again. I guess I don’t want you to hope for too much.”

  Alexa flexed her foot in the sand and examined her toenails. “Because maybe he hasn’t changed as much as he says he has.”

  “Right.”

  “But maybe he has.”

  “Well, sure. Maybe he has. And even if he hasn’t completely changed—” Rebecca took a sip of her coffee. “Even if he hasn’t. Part of growing up is acknowledging not only our own imperfections, but everybody else’s imperfections too. And maybe even forgiving them.” Did Alexa imagine it, or did her mother’s voice catch? Alexa considered her mother’s words. They made sense. And she didn’t have to decide right this minute.

  “Anyway,” Rebecca continued, “I’m sure this is a moot point because there’s no way you’re going to move so far away from me. Why would you leave all this?” She waved a hand to indicate the beach, the happy Lab, the surfers.

  Alexa snorted. “A hundred reasons. This water is freezing, you can’t even go in for more than three seconds without a wet suit. In California you can go to the beach year-round. And you won’t be alone. You have the Mom Squad! You have Daniel! You have Morgan!”

  Sixth grade for Morgan, with lockers and (ugh, poor Morgan) changing for PE for the first time and the springtime overnight trip to Camp Kieve in May. Kids around Morgan would start vaping or being interested in the opposite sex (or the same sex) and life would get confusing and sometimes intolerable for Morgan, the way it did for everybody who had to go through the onerous process of growing up.

  Alexa looked down the beach and saw two familiar figures walking toward her: Caitlin and Destiny. She steeled herself. She had hoped that she and her mom and Morgan could pretend they were on vacation somewhere far away, just this once. Just today. Every time she’d seen anyone who knew about her and Cam since Cam’s funeral she had had to endure their awkward condolences, or, worse, their bumbling attempts not to say Cam’s name at all.

  Caitlin was wearing a two-piece with a bandeau top which actually looked really good on her, Alexa had to admit, even though she would never in a million years have picked that style for Caitlin. Destiny was wearing a Summer Sessions sweatshirt with the neck cut out, Flashdance style. Alexa was going to leave the jury out on the sweatshirt for a bit longer.

  After they said hello Caitlin and Destiny stood there uncomfortably for a minute, looking down on Alexa and her mom. Finally Caitlin crouched on the sand next to Alexa and spoke to her.

  “Hey,” she said softly. “I’m really glad we ran into you. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you after everything happened.” She was wearing sunglasses, so Alexa couldn’t see her eyes but her voice sounded shaky, as if she was about to cry. “But I am so, so sorry for what you’re going through. I thought a lot about what you said that night at Haley’s, I really did, and I think I”—she glanced up at Destiny—“We owe you a big apology.” Destiny nodded her agreement.

  “Thank you,” said Alexa. And then, truthfully, “That means a lot. It really does.”

  There was a pause then, and Rebecca stepped into it and did that mom thing where she made conversation with the girls, asking them if they were excited about college (yes!) and when they were leaving (day after tomorrow!). Alexa zoned out, watching Morgan. Morgan wasn’t exactly setting the surfing world on fire, but every now and then she did catch a legitimate wave, and from this distance she looked almost graceful.

  Maybe now that they were all moving on, she and Destiny and Caitlin didn’t have to be former friends any longer, or frenemies. Maybe they could just be friends.

  Then Destiny’s eyes flicked over to Caitlin and she said, “I think we’re gonna bounce now.” Okay, Alexa did roll her eyes at that point, because nobody was saying “bounce” anymore, if anybody ever really was. But the eye roll was brief, and she kept it to herself, and she knew her own soul well enough to know that therein lay some redemption. “But we’ll text you later, okay? We should do something, before we go. Like the old days.”

  “I’d like that,” said Alexa. “I’d actually like that a lot.” She didn’t meet her mother’s eyes because she knew they would be full of hope.

  “Bye, girls!” said Rebecca, all hopped up on her Summer Sessions iced coffee. She stood up to hug both Destiny and Caitlin and Alexa thought, Okay, let’s not take it too far, Mom.

  After Destiny and Caitlin had gone she thought about what Confucius told her, via Cam, Wherever you go, there you are. It wasn’t the worst saying in the world, if you really thought about it.

  “It was nice to see those girls again,” said Rebecca, sighing happily. “I’ve really missed them.”

  Alexa let out a soft grunt in reply, because she’d missed them too.

  The next night Rebecca and Morgan were going out to an early dinner with Mr. Bennett; Rebecca had told Morgan about him, and Morgan was uncertain but definitely curious. They’d go early, because school started the day after that, and Morgan had to do the important packing of the middle school backpack. Alexa was on the schedule at the Cottage, but she might try to meet up with them for dessert. Then again, she might not. She might give Morgan her own chance to get to know Mr. Bennett—Daniel, although thinking of him as Daniel seemed really weird—on her own terms, at her own speed.

  Alexa heard her name and looked toward the sound. Morgan had beached her surfboard and was waving at Alexa, motioning her toward the water. Alexa rose from her chair. She knew she looked good in her bikini, and she could feel eyes on her, but that didn’t matter now as much as it had in the beginning of the summer.

  Although, please. Of course it still mattered.

  88.

  Sherri

  In the late afternoon the day before the day before the first day of school, Sherri got home from work early and called up the stairs to Katie, “We’re going to dinner!” Katie didn’t come down immediately and of course Sherri’s heart started up the old ticking of alarm, so she called again, trying to keep her voice steady.

  And here came Katie, holding a book, her finger tucked between two pages, acting as a bookmark. “Sorry,” she said. “I fell asleep reading.” She held up the cover of the book, which featured a pair of legs in blue jeans and the title The Second Summer of the Sisterhood.

  “That looks like a nice book,” said Sherri. “Where’d yo
u get that?”

  “Morgan,” said Katie. “It’s a series. This is the second one. But we’re not allowed to read past book three yet because then there starts to be sex and stuff.” She yawned as though the whole idea of that was terrifically boring. “That’s what Morgan’s mom said.”

  “Grab your shoes,” said Sherri. “I’m taking you out to dinner to celebrate.”

  “To celebrate what?”

  Sherri wasn’t exactly sure. To celebrate the fact that they were still alive? That Katie would have someone to eat lunch with? That over the course of the summer Katie’s nightmares had abated, so Miss Josephine stopped complaining about the noise?

  “To celebrate the first successful summer of our new lives,” Sherri said finally.

  “Okay.” Katie shrugged, maybe unimpressed, and got her flip-flops.

  Brown’s Lobster Pound in Seabrook was one of the many places Sherri had driven by this summer and said to herself, We have to try that! That happened to her all the time—the hazard and joy of a coastal town in the summer. Try me! called the taco truck that parked at the Plum Island Airport. And me! pleaded the gelato shop downtown. Don’t forget about me! The food stands at Yankee Homecoming. The oysters at Brine. The sandwiches from Port City Sandwich Company. The whoopie pies at Chococoa Baking Company.

  They took Route 1 toward the Salisbury Bridge, stopping at the hideous intersection where Merrimac Street and the bridge traffic came together and invited all the cars into a giant game of chicken.

  Rebecca’s Acura had been totaled in the accident, and, obviously, that poor boy’s family had been totaled as well. Sherri hadn’t gone to the funeral because that felt presumptuous—she hadn’t known the boy. But she felt somehow responsible that anybody had died in this beautiful town this summer. Had she unwittingly brought darkness to a place that knew mostly light?