Lies

by Aleatha Romig

  I sat in one of the vinyl chairs and leaned back. “I’m not sure it will. I’m scared.”

  “He gave me the phone and some cash.”

  “Why? We have money,” I said.

  “We can’t access it or...” Daniel lowered his head to his hands. His elbows were perched on his outspread knees. “I won’t tell you the players. Nevertheless, you need to understand the severity. The information I found on that kid I told you about...we saved him, we got him out.” Daniel took a deep breath. “I know you don’t and can’t talk about your cases as they’re happening, but a few months back you had one that upset you.”

  It was my turn to nod.

  “When the news released about it, the stations said it brought to light the problem of child exploitation and trafficking.”

  I gasped. “That boy...was he?”

  Daniel nodded slowly. “Yes. We got him out, but we couldn’t...we couldn’t help others. The ones who run it, who profit, who utilize it...” His eyes grew wide and glassy. “Annie, they’d kill me if I tried to rescue more. I shouldn’t have found what I did: the evidence, the names, and the organizations involved. I have it all.” He stood and began to pace. “I thought that maybe...it seemed like our golden ticket. Knowledge is power. Right?” He didn’t let me answer. “I thought that knowledge could or would help me, give me the fucking power for once. I mean if I couldn’t save the kids, then I could help us, right?”

  “No,” I said indubitably. “How could you even—?”

  “It didn’t work. My plan...” He shook his head. “...I had no choice. They made me give up my evidence.”

  “So it’s over?”

  “No, Annie, that’s the problem. It will never be over. I’m a liability and that means we’re always in danger. They don’t believe that I gave all the evidence up. They’re lowlifes and they assume I made copies.”

  “But you didn’t, right?”

  “What do you think?” he asked. “They threatened you and Araneae.”

  I tried to understand. “Does Rubio know?”

  “Not all of it.”

  “Allister Sparrow?”

  “Not all. I tried to leverage one—fuck, Annabelle, I screwed up.”

  “And I...” I said, thinking about my message to Pauline. “...I’m having that girl in the office call Pauline. Does she know?”

  “I doubt it, but she’ll tell Rubio. At this point, I’m not sure we can trust him with our safety.”

  “You’d trust Allister over your brother-in-law?”

  “Hell no,” Daniel said. “It’s so screwed up now that the feds are involved. If they had what I have...”

  He stood and walked to the window. Turning back around, he asked, “How are you feeling?” He pointed to my oversized midsection. “Is she all right?”

  “I don’t know. Those Braxton-Hicks contractions are stronger, but there’s no rhythm yet.”

  He nodded. “I am sorry. This wasn’t meant to hurt you or her. It was to give you what I never thought possible. The money involved is astronomical. I thought, if we could get a cut....” He shook his head. “I’ll get you back to Dr. Jacobs and I’ll...” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ll try again. I’ll give them whatever they want. I’ll make this work.”

  I walked to the window and reached for my husband’s hand. Though it was daytime, the visibility was minimal. “I can’t see the road or traffic.”

  “That’s because there isn’t any traffic. On the radio in the car I heard that US 90 is closed. I saw a small diner about two miles away. The open sign was still lit. I can try to get there and bring us some food.”

  I held tighter to his hand. “I don’t want you to leave me—again.”

  “Then come with me. We’ll go slowly.” He laid his hand over Araneae. “We’ll keep you both safe.”

  “Okay.”

  A half an hour later, we were seated in a classic booth of a small mom-and-pop diner. The floor was alternating white and black tile that had seen its share of traffic. The walls were discolored from the grease emanating from the different meats sizzling on a large griddle. The front of the building that faced the road was all windows. Beyond them the snow continued to fall.

  At the moment I was simply relieved that my husband hadn’t left us alone, and there was food to be had.

  The waitress who greeted us said that since she and the cook were stuck, they decided to keep the diner open for stranded travelers. Currently, it was minimally patronized.

  Along the breakfast bar that faced a big griddle and the backside of a large man dressed in a greasy white cook’s uniform were three men all sitting at least a stool away from one another. Across the restaurant from us was a family of four. The mother and father appeared exhausted; however, their two children were blessed with an abundance of energy.

  “What can I get you folks?” the waitress asked. Her wrinkles showed her age while her slender body made me believe that the gum she was chewing was simply a substitute for the cigarettes she preferred.

  “A coffee and burger,” Daniel said, staring beyond the waitress to the large menu above the grill.

  “I’ll have a hot chocolate and a vegetable omelet.”

  “Would you like toast with that?” she asked.

  “Yes, please, wheat if you have it.”

  When she walked away, Daniel reached across the table for my hand. “It may not make sense, but I’m going to do my best to protect us, all of us.”

  I nodded, unsure anymore of what to believe. How much of our life had been a lie? I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know.

  Letting go of my hand, he reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out something gold in color. He opened his hand. In his palm was a gold-linked bracelet with two charms: a heart locket and a small old-fashioned key.

  “What is that?” I asked. “Where did you get it?”

  It obviously wasn’t new, more of a cheap antique.

  “Minister Watkins gave it to me. Do you remember his wife?”

  I nodded, recalling how she fussed around before and during the wedding. “She was sweet.”

  “She passed away a few years ago,” Daniel said. “When I told him about you and the baby, he asked me to give this to you—for Araneae.”

  Tears returned to my eyes.

  “He said,” Daniel went on, “that his wife always wore it. They never had children. He wanted to know it would be passed on.”

  I lifted the bracelet from his hand. “That was nice.”

  “He said it meant a lot to her. He hoped it could continue to be sentimental.”

  Handing him back the bracelet, I held out my arm. Daniel wound the golden links around my wrist and secured the clasp. Lifting my arm, I let the two charms dangle. “Is there anything in the locket?”

  “A picture of the church.”

  I smiled. “The church where we were married. I like that.”

  “It’s a little faded, but if you open it, you can tell.”

  With the nail of my thumb, I pried open the locket. The picture inside was tiny and faded, but I recognized the church. Next, I held the small key between my thumb and finger. “It almost looks like a real key instead of a charm.”

  Daniel shrugged. “The key to his heart, Minister Watkins said.”

  I sighed as I leaned back against the vinyl booth and wiggled my toes. Even in my boots they were cold. At least I hadn’t had a contraction in a while. I looked up at my husband. “I’m glad you went and talked to him. You seem calmer.”

  “It was a good decision. He helped me more than I can say.

  “Annie, we’re going to make it.”

  Araneae

  “Araneae.”

  My name came from a distance as the sofa bowed and warmth came to my side. Opening my eyes, the room around me was mostly dark. So too was the gaze staring down at me. Still dressed in his suit from Michigan Avenue, Sterling laid a hand on my hip.

  “W-what time is it?” I asked, suddenly aware that I’d fallen asleep
after finishing my glass of wine.

  Moving upward, his large hand came to my cheek. “Did you eat?”

  I pushed myself up to a sitting position. “It’s dark.”

  The sky beyond the windows was a velvety black, the city below aglow with lights. Out on Lake Michigan, the surface was dotted with lights from various boats while higher up the darkness went on forever. Looking back to Sterling’s handsome face, I could see his features were granite.

  I shook my head. “What’s the matter? Why are you so late? Reid said you were on your way home around seven. Was there a problem with the condos?”

  “Condos?” Sterling asked.

  “Yes, something about the National Historical—”

  “No,” he interrupted, “that was resolved.” Shaking off his suit coat and leaving it on the couch, Sterling reached for my hand and encouraged me to stand. “Have you eaten?”

  Wakefulness was coming back. “No, I was waiting for you.”

  A long sigh filled the room as he loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. “Then let’s go eat.”

  “Sterling, you need to let me know what’s going on. You keep constant tabs on me through Patrick. I don’t even know your driver’s name.”

  “Patrick does,” he said as we walked toward the kitchen.

  My steps halted. “Really? That’s your answer? I don’t give a fuck if Patrick knows.”

  Sterling stopped and turned my way. “Don’t do this, Araneae, not tonight.”

  My ire grew as I resumed walking. “Do what? I’m trying to have a discussion with you.” The clock on the microwave came into view. “It’s after ten. After ten o’clock at night.” Each statement was louder than the last. “When I wake tomorrow you’ll be gone. You usually are. I waited to talk to you tonight, and you left me here alone until ten o’clock. I’m a fucking prisoner in this apartment. I should have been out with my friend, with Winnie, welcoming her to the city instead of being stuck in here.”

  “You’re never alone.”

  “Did you hear me? I’m stuck in here.”

  As if ignoring me, Sterling went to the oven and with oven mitts removed what was remaining of our chicken dinner. Apparently at some point, Lorna had turned off the heat because instead of being burnt, it now looked cold.

  “We can warm this up,” he offered.

  Why was it so sexy to watch a man cook even if he hadn’t done the cooking?

  “Sterling.”

  Leaving the baking dish on top of the stovetop, he turned my way. “You’re just going to have to accept that sometimes things happen. I deal with them. They take time. It’s what I do. That can’t stop.”

  “And you need to realize that I won’t be held prisoner.”

  He took one long stride toward me.

  I gasped as he seized my shoulders.

  Sterling’s grip tightened with each word as his jaw grew tighter and his words became more clipped. “Go ahead, Araneae, get upset. Get it out of your goddamned system, and then when you’ve said your piece, thrown your temper tantrum, we’ll eat our fucking dinner.”

  How dare he diminish the way I was feeling like I’m a child.

  “Let go of me. I’m going to bed.”

  His fingers held tighter. “You’re going to eat. This is a fucking stupid argument, but since you chose to have it, I’m choosing to win it.” His grip loosened. “Now sit the fuck down and I’ll warm this up.” When I only stared, he rephrased, “Will you sit the fuck down?”

  Huffing and murmuring a few derogatory descriptors under my breath, I did as he asked—and only because he asked—sitting at one of the stools at the counter. My brain told me to let my concerns go, that the mood wasn’t right, but if I only saw Sterling for an hour or two a day, what choice did I have?

  I took a deep breath. “Sterling, I also want to talk about the sensor thing on the elevator.”

  He’d been spooning sauce over the chicken breasts now on the plates when he turned my way, his head shaking. “You have fucking impeccable timing.”

  “Why? Would this be better discussed at three in the morning or whatever godforsaken time you wake? Maybe at seven at night when you’re supposed to be here? How about during lunch if you ever met me for lunch? I’m not sure, Sterling, when is a good time to tell you I want my damn handprint to open that fucking elevator?”

  He placed the plates in the microwave and hit the appropriate buttons. “Araneae.”

  I waited for more. The microwave dinged.

  “Tell me,” I demanded.

  Setting the two plates on the counter, he added silverware and napkins. Going to the refrigerator he returned with two water bottles. Placing them down by the plates, he then sat on the stool beside me and turned my way. “Are you done? Can we eat?”

  My eyes closed in frustration. “At least answer me.”

  “Tell me why you want to open the elevator.”

  I’d picked up the fork, but now I let it drop, its clink against the plate echoing through the kitchen. “Why the hell do you think I want to be able to operate the elevator?”

  “You’re not a prisoner here. If you’d wanted to leave after work tonight or any night when I’m not here, the answer is as simple as a call to Patrick.”

  “What if he’s busy? What if he’s with you?”

  “Then you don’t need to leave,” Sterling replied matter-of-factly.

  “Do you even hear yourself? If I’m not a prisoner, then my coming and going shouldn’t be contingent upon other people.”

  Sterling pushed his plate away on the counter. “I was fucking here at this apartment a little after seven, but something came up, something that required my input. I should have called, but by the time I checked on you, you were asleep. I left you there until we came to a conclusion.”

  “You came to a conclusion? Does this involve me?”

  “Yes.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Okay, great and powerful one, what is your decision?”

  “You and I are leaving town in the morning.”

  My head shook. “What? No. Winnie just got here. I’m not leaving town. I have phone conferences scheduled with two big-name stores tomorrow. The dresses are a hit and they want to discuss future merchandise.” My heart beat faster. “Sterling, I have a life and a business, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  His chin jutted higher. “You do. And what better time for you to get away—to lessen your feeling of being trapped—than when Winnie is here to help Jana? Together they’ll be able to handle the Chicago office. If there’s a situation that requires your input, they can call you.”

  Getting down from the stool, I walked to the windows and back. My reflection appeared the opposite of the man watching me with the dark stare. While his suit coat was gone and his tie loosened, he nonetheless held the air of fashion and authority. I looked disheveled, my hair askew and my sweater wrinkled, thanks to my impromptu nap.

  I turned back to him until our gazes met. “You are not allowed to make decisions regarding my business. It’s off-limits.”

  He scoffed. “This decision isn’t about your business. It’s about you and me leaving town because it’s what’s best. How it affects Sinful Threads is a byproduct. It’s your business, you make the necessary arrangements. We’re going.”

  “Not tomorrow. On top of all that, I have a special meeting with someone I met at the dinner the night you ambushed me. She has the potential to be a great spokesperson for Sinful Threads. She’s interested in some exclusive designs. Sterling, that can’t wait. And,” I went on, “Winnie has something personal happening. I don’t want to leave her.”

  Standing, he came my way and reached for my shoulders, gentler this time. “It can all wait. Patrick may have mentioned that you were feeling trapped. I get it. It’s not my intention, but it’s the reality of this...” Letting go with one hand, he motioned between us. “...this life, us, and me. I’m all for more dates. I’m for walks in the park and on the shoreline. Even those
need to be planned and scouted. You only saw Patrick, but we had others watching us, protecting us. There’s no running to a mall, the grocery store, or even a fucking bakery. Whatever you want, tell me, Patrick, Lorna, or even Jana. I won’t apologize for the reality of how it is because the payoff is worth it.”

  “Is it?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

  His hands moved to my waist. “Without a doubt. Having you here, having you safe, and having your fucking amazing body in my grasp.” He lifted his finger to my lips. “Even hearing your sassy, smart mouth...” He kissed my forehead. “...it’s worth it.” He reached for my hand. “Now eat or watch me eat. Just come over here.”

  Step by step I followed as he led me back to the breakfast bar.

  Before sitting, I said, “I’m having another glass of wine. Do you want one?”

  His nose scrunched. “Not that sweet shit you like. I’ll open a bottle of merlot.”

  “Okay. My glass is in the living room. I’ll be right back.”

  As I retraced the path we’d taken, I mentally revisited the conversation.

  While I’d lost a bit of my fight, I was adamant about tomorrow. I couldn’t leave town in the morning. The meeting I’d mentioned was with Pauline McFadden. She asked to personally meet with me. If her husband pursued his bid for the White House, having her dressed in Sinful Threads would be a great marketing triumph.

  Picking up my phone that I’d left lying beside my wineglass, I touched the screen and entered my code. I had one missed call and two text messages.

  First text message from Louisa:

  “WANTED TO LET YOU KNOW THAT I’M THREE CENTIMETERS DILATED. THE DOCTOR SAID THAT I COULD BE THIS WAY FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS, BUT THE BRAXTON-HICKS CONTRACTIONS ARE HAPPENING MORE FREQUENTLY. I’M GLAD WINNIE’S WITH YOU, BUT I’D LOVE TO HAVE YOU BOTH HOME.”

  I sighed. Yes, Sterling and I needed to talk, and if I were to take a trip, it should be to Boulder.

  Call and second text message from Winnie:

  “ALL CHECKED IN. YOU DIDN’T ANSWER. IS THERE ANY NEWS FROM YOUR FRIEND? IF I DON’T LEARN MORE BY MORNING, I’M THINKING OF CALLING THE POLICE. I WOULD TONIGHT, BUT AFTER TWO BOTTLES OF WINE, I’M PROBABLY NOT A GOOD CHARACTER WITNESS.”