She Lied She Died

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I sipped the bitter tea some more, trying to work out the details. If my brother didn’t go over there until late, before my mom picked me up … then he would have had time to do it.

  Chrissy’s story could possibly be true.

  “When’s the last time you saw my mother?” I asked, staring into my tea.

  Lane sighed. “It’s been years, honey. The last I knew she was living in Chicago with a new boyfriend. Or maybe it was Atlanta, I don’t know … she wasn’t forthright with the details. And it’s been years since she bothered writing.”

  “Does she have a new family now?” I asked, tentatively. I never asked, my own personal rule. If she didn’t care about my life, why should I care about hers?! But, suddenly, I felt the urge to know everything … to face it all head-on.

  For that first year after my mother left, I asked about her all the time.

  But then my sadness over her absence eventually hardened, evolving into rage then fizzling into adult disappointment. And after she didn’t come to my dad or brother’s funerals, I decided she was dead to me too. She’s not my mother no more. I mourned her “death” years ago.

  “No, I don’t think so. She has a new man, but no new kids, if that’s what you mean,” Lane said, stiffly.

  “When was the last time she wrote?” I asked.

  Lane shook her head, then sighed. “It’s been so long, honey. I think the last time I got a card from her was in 2014. There was no return address. I don’t think she wants us to know where she is. She’s moved on with her life, Natalie. I don’t think she ever wanted to be a Breyas in the first place.”

  But that wasn’t true … I had memories of my mother, smiling and happy. Not just with us, but Dad too. Her shiny locket swinging back and forth as she ran from me to my brother, pushing us on the swings. We fought for her love at one time … who got to sit beside her, who got to sleep in her bed, who got to ride up front with her in the car … who got to brush her shiny hair, “silver like the moon,” I called it. But then we moved on, just like she did. We let her go. And Dad had let her go too … she gave us no other choice.

  “Thanks for the time and the tea,” I said, softly.

  “So, that’s it then? No more to say?” Lane huffed.

  “I’m sorry. I have an appointment later,” I lied.

  As she walked me to the door, I could tell she was pissed at me. But that was Lane’s way … always upset with something I said or did. The only ones who got a free pass when it came to Lane were Dad and Jack. Now they were gone, and I was all she had left…

  However, I had a feeling that I wouldn’t be seeing her much, if at all, anymore.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  All I wanted to do when I got back to Austin was take a hot shower and sleep. I’d been wrestling with my own thoughts the entire drive, the radio knob turned all the way down to silent. What does it matter if I never know the truth? Will the world crumble if I don’t? This incident with Chrissy has put my job in jeopardy, and my sanity too. With Jack gone, I’ll never know for certain if there’s any truth to it … it’s not like I can dig him up and ask him.

  As I turned down the old farm road, I sighed with relief. My eyes were watery from exhaustion, the heat blasting through the vents of my car threatening to lull me to sleep…

  I groaned when I pulled in, staring at the shiny Gold Toyota. Parking next to it, I glanced wearily over at Adrianna. She was leaned back in the driver’s chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest. I wonder how long she’s been waiting.

  As I gathered up my bag off the passenger’s seat, she was already out of her car. I stepped out of the driver’s side, meeting her nose to nose.

  “My daughter got caught skipping school today. Would you believe that?” Adrianna wheezed.

  “It’s not like we never did it,” I said, nonchalantly.

  “True. But here’s the thing: she said that she was exploring the old Cornwall trailer. And guess who helped her get in?” Adrianna’s jaw jumped in her cheek. She was furious.

  I took a deep breath, leaning against the hood of my car. It was still warm, keeping my bottom side toasty in the chilly autumn air.

  “Look. I saw her out there again, only this time she wasn’t with that little girl Cally. She was with a boy. Some thug named Pierre. They were already trying to break in when I found them. I didn’t do any helping…”

  Adrianna scoffed at me. “And you didn’t think to call me? I mean, you see two teenagers skipping school, vandalizing property, and you don’t stop to think you should call their parents?”

  “Well, the thought crossed my mind. But we’re not friends anymore, Adrianna. I didn’t even know she was your daughter till the other day … and that boy she was with, he seemed like a real asshole. I thought it was better for me to go inside with her than him. She was determined to look around,” I said.

  It wasn’t quite the truth, but it also wasn’t a lie. I had been concerned for the girl, but at the same time, I’d wanted to check out the old Cornwall trailer myself.

  Adrianna’s face softened. “I’m sorry … it’s just … she’s a wild one, that girl.”

  I couldn’t help it; I chuckled. “They say it comes back around, don’t they? We weren’t all sunshine and rainbows ourselves.”

  Something in Adrianna’s face changed … a loosening up of that hard, tough-girl façade. She smiled, softly. “Well, we weren’t all that bad either, were we? We turned out okay.”

  Did we? I wondered. I guess only time will tell.

  “Want to come in for a minute?” I asked.

  Adrianna stared up at the old farmhouse. How long has it been since she stepped inside? I wondered. At least thirty years…

  “Nah. I’d better get going… It’s almost eight…”

  “Come on. Just for a minute. Let’s chat,” I urged her. The truth was, I wanted to sit down and talk to Adrianna about as much as I wanted to talk to my aunt Lane earlier. But I had ulterior motives now … I wanted to ask her about her witness statement. The one that claimed Chrissy had forced Jenny into her truck that day…

  “All right. Just a few minutes though,” Adrianna relented.

  We were thick as thieves, as my mother once called us. At one point in our lives, I knew everything about Adrianna Montgomery—her favorite color and her favorite band, what she wanted to be when she grew up … and she knew everything about me too. We were close, deep-in-the-bones close, and then Jenny happened.

  After the murder, Adrianna’s parents would no longer let her hang out with me. But they couldn’t stop her from talking to me at school … she made that choice all on her own.

  Staring across the table at my old best friend, I realized she was a stranger. I knew nothing about her life now. And all she knew of mine was what was in the news.

  “How’s your husband … what’s his name?” I asked. I’d made coffee for us, but no matter how much I drank, I couldn’t get the fragrant tea flavor from Lane’s out of my mouth.

  “Amanda’s father’s name is Chuck. But we’re not together anymore,” she said, briskly.

  “Ah. Sorry to hear that.”

  “Well, I’m not sorry. The man is a turd. He comes in and out of her life. Frankly, I think that’s one of her biggest problems. She’s angry at him, so she takes it out on me,” Adrianna explained.

  I could understand that. As a child, it was easier to get upset with Mom than Dad. I expected more of her, so when I was upset about something, I wanted her to fix it. I needed her to. Then after she left … I turned all my anger inwards, forming a neat little cocoon around my heart.

  “What about you? Never married?” Adrianna slurped her coffee.

  I hated this question, but I’d heard it a hundred times. “No. Never married.”

  The truth was, I hadn’t met anyone whom I could even remotely imagine spending the rest of my life with, or, worse, having children with. I’d dated a couple guys in college, but those were mostly fun flings that didn’t last more than a coup
le months. I always thought there would be time for more … but now, I was back here, in the revolving door of Austin. And I didn’t see any romantic prospects in my future here.

  “And how’s the interview with Chrissy going?” Adrianna frowned at me over her coffee mug.

  “You know I can’t talk about that. I’m still trying to put the pieces together,” I said.

  Adrianna quirked one eyebrow at me, just like Amanda had only hours earlier. The mother and daughter were more alike than they realized.

  “Do you really believe she’s innocent?” Adrianna asked.

  I had half a mind to tell my old friend the truth: yes, I did. But, considering that she was a journalist, it didn’t seem safe to discuss it yet.

  “I’m not sure of anything,” I said, which was pretty close to the truth. “I did come across something interesting though … I had no idea it was you that saw the girls in the parking lot that day.”

  I could have sworn Adrianna’s face changed from tan to gray in that moment. “Who told you that?”

  “I saw it in the police file.” There was no reason to hide the fact that I’d seen it there; eventually, in the book, I would have to share most of the information anyway. “Why didn’t you tell me, Adrianna?”

  Adrianna sighed deeply, nudging her mug away. She was still wearing her wedding ring, I noticed. She spun it round and around on her finger, a nervous habit I’d forgotten she had. Although, back when we were kids, it was a best friends ring in its place. I was the one who gave it to her. B.F.F. Best Friends Forever. Another lie we told.

  “My parents didn’t want my name to get out there in the papers. As you know, the press wasn’t kind back then … dragging everyone’s name involved through the mud.”

  I couldn’t help it: I smiled. “Oh, I do know. And I remember your family very explicitly turning their noses up at mine.”

  They were friends once—the Montgomerys and the Breyases—our parents playing cards and drinking beer on Friday nights, while Adrianna, Jack, and I played hide-n-seek upstairs. Having Adrianna as a friend was one of the sure things I had in my life, and I lost her and Mom just a few years apart…

  “It wasn’t my fault my family did that. All this time, you act like I chose to end our friendship. But I didn’t. You were my best friend. It was my parents to blame, not me. I was hurting too.”

  I nodded. She was absolutely right. “I’m sorry. I never really thought of it that way,” I said, meekly. “But you abandoned me at school too … that hurt a lot.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did it … I guess it hurt less to just let you go. My parents were so adamant about staying away from you and your family,” she said.

  “I’m sorry, too. You were a kid then. You couldn’t help but be confused too. But … I’m still surprised you didn’t tell me about what you saw in the parking lot that day … and that no one knew it was you who saw Jenny getting in the truck with Chrissy.”

  Adrianna’s eyes looked wary in the dark kitchen as she thought back to that day. “Mom had me in that after-school babysitting program. So stupid. I didn’t want to be treated like a baby anymore, but Mom didn’t think I was old enough to be alone at home yet after school while she was still at work. Now that I’m a parent myself, I agree with her choice completely. The primary school got out earlier than the middle school, you remember?”

  “Yes,” I said. I’d stayed after school a couple times myself and I knew that the elementary school kids, especially those who were close to their primary graduation, liked to line up at the fence, looking out at the middle-schoolers as though they were demi-gods.

  “You couldn’t miss her. With that white-blonde hair and those cool clothes … we all looked up to Jenny. She was gorgeous,” Adrianna said, her voice so soft and sad.

  “She was,” I agreed.

  “So, when I saw her talking to Chrissy Cornwall in the parking lot, I was shocked. Chrissy didn’t even have her driver’s license…”

  “Did she really force Jenny into the truck?” I asked, tentatively.

  Adrianna surprised me by shaking her head. “I never said that. The papers like to exaggerate. The cops too. As a journalist, I totally understand that now. But they were fighting … screaming, even … I didn’t lie to the police about that. I only wish I could have known what they were saying exactly.”

  Chrissy claimed that she and Jenny were friends … that it was a planned ride-around after school. So, why were they arguing then? Or could Adrianna be mistaken about what she saw…?

  “How did you know they were fighting?” I asked.

  Adrianna frowned. “Well, Jenny looked mad. Her face was red, and she was shaking her head. Then I heard them screaming. But I couldn’t quite make out the words…”

  “If they were fighting, why do you think Jenny got in the truck?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure. She walked away from Chrissy, then Chrissy ran up and grabbed her by the arm. She was pulling. But it was less like forcing her in the truck, and more like begging. Does this really matter though?” Adrianna asked, breathless.

  “What do you mean?”

  “We know she did it, Natalie! She confessed. Why are you playing into this psycho’s hands? I’m afraid she’ll hurt you. You shouldn’t be alone with her…”

  I could understand Adrianna’s concern, and maybe she was right. Maybe I was being naïve for trusting Chrissy … but I couldn’t help it. Somewhere in that short period of time we’d spent together, I’d caught a glimpse of the woman underneath—the one before the murder, before prison … the girl with the wild sense of humor and sad smile of youth.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I stopped writing and stared at the ceiling, the soft songs of rain dancing on the roof. I hadn’t written much, only 2,000 words, but it was a start. You have to start somewhere, honey.

  My dad and brother didn’t get my love for writing, but Mom did. She used to encourage me to do it and asked if she could read my stories when I was done. She loved to read, and I always dreamed of the day when I could see her flipping pages on a book with my name on the cover. Maybe I’ll find out where she lives and mail her a copy when the book is done. Sign it: the daughter you abandoned.

  I’d searched for her earlier, as I often did when I was bored. I couldn’t find her on Facebook, or on Twitter or Instagram either. I searched public court records … anything to indicate where she was. Who she was now.

  My guess was that she was remarried—no longer a Breyas. According to Great Aunt Lane, she’d never wanted to be one in the first place.

  And Dad. I wish he were still alive, so I could ask him about Jack. Did he know more than I thought he did? Was he covering for his son? I wondered. Did Mom know more too? Is that why she took off?

  I willed myself to focus on the only thing that mattered right now—the story. I scanned the words … my experience in the field that day. Was it too bland? Too matter-of-fact? I wondered.

  Either way, 2,000 words seemed like a good start. You have to start somewhere, honey. Mom’s words were back, haunting me as I drifted downstairs to the kitchen.

  The wind had picked up outside; it whistled through the trees, rattling the windows in the kitchen and the chimes outside.

  A storm is coming. Real and metaphorical.

  Am I ready for it?

  I heard the crunch of tires on gravel, and for a split second, I wondered if Adrianna was back. Or Chrissy, I silently hoped.

  But it was Nash Winslow again.

  I opened the door, forcing a smile, before he had a chance to knock.

  This time, Chrissy wasn’t here to hide, so I welcomed him inside. “It’s nasty out there.”

  “Sure is.” He ducked his head to fit through the arch in the hallway.

  The police file was sitting on the kitchen table, next to the shoe box.

  “I’m guessing this is what you came for,” I waved over at the file.

  “Yeah. Was it helpful?” he asked, taking off his hat and
knocking water off of the brim. His hair was close-cropped, unlike his father’s, but the same, familiar deep brown. His father was way too old for me back in the day, just a silly childish crush. But I couldn’t help thinking the son was closer to my age now … I wonder if he’s married, I thought. My eyes traveled down to his hand—no wedding ring, I noted.

  I cleared my throat. “The file was helpful. But here’s the thing … what if Chrissy was in the field that day? What if she saw the body, but she wasn’t the one responsible for the murder?”

  Nash’s eyebrows, like two fuzzy caterpillars, curled up quizzically. “How do you mean?”

  “What if someone else was there? Someone she was protecting?” I tapped the file on the table, making sure the papers were straight. He took it from my hands when I offered it, the rough pads of his fingers lingering over mine for a beat too long.

  “I guess it could have been a possibility … if she hadn’t confessed. But, that’s just it, she did confess. Chrissy had motive and means, and she certainly had opportunity. Worst of all, she admitted to it. And she’s done her time … so the only one who benefits from this change in her story now is her. She gets the attention she wants, from the press and from you. But it’s bogus. All of it. I said the same thing to Katie Juliott.”

  I thought about Jenny’s mother, kind but sick. “It was hard for me to make out anything useful after my talk with Katie. For a little while, she actually thought I was Jenny.”

  Nash didn’t look surprised, only sad. “My folks were friends with the Juliotts. She was in denial for so long. Spent half that year sedated. My dad tried to tell her … tried to explain who did it and why. But she didn’t believe that Chrissy would do that. She didn’t think she had it in her for murder.”

  “Then who did she think did it, if not Chrissy?” I asked, curious.

  Nash flipped his fingers through the pages of the file, thoughtful. “She didn’t know. My father looked into everyone … your family. Hers. John Bishop. He was playing football at a camp in Seymour that night, his alibi air-tight. And we tracked down every grifter, everybody in town with a record … nothing else panned out.”