The Word of a Liar

by Beauchamp, Sally

  “You need anything?” he asked.

  Ellen shook her head. It was still painful for her to talk. The ventilator had made her throat raw, but she’d been off of it for three days. It was the longest she had been. They’d tried a couple of times to wean her off the ghastly machine, but inevitably she’d have to be put back on. Each time they’d put that hideous tube back down Ellen’s throat, Mason had wanted to scourge himself like Pastor Dimmesdale to rid himself of the guilt he felt.

  “You look happy. JD is good medicine,” Mason said.

  Ellen smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry… My parents… they need time…,” Ellen said in short hoarse breaths as she reached for Mason’s hand. “Don’t hate them.”

  “I don’t, but no one is going to keep me from you and your son. The two of you are my family now,” Mason said as he squeezed her hand. “Do you want to watch some television?”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Then go to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

  “You should go… sleep in your bed.”

  “I’m staying right here until you can go home, too.”

  Mason combed Ellen’s hair back with his fingers. He wanted to hold her. The deprivation of her body had made him desperate, like an addict looking for his next fix. He bent down to kiss her, and then Ellen’s hand grasped the back of his head. She held him to her lips and kissed him with a feverous passion. It let him know that she, too, felt the deficiency of their physical embrace. To stymie the prodigious rush of desire, Mason reluctantly broke the kiss. He straightened, looking at Ellen’s flushed face.

  “When they do send you home, do you think your parents are going to allow us to have a sleepover?”

  Mason chuckled.

  Ellen laughed softly as she shook her head. “I love you,” she whispered.

  “I love you, too. Now get some sleep.”

  When Ellen closed her eyes, Mason went over to the recliner in the corner of the room. He sat down and then snatched the book he’d been reading off the window ledge. It was his favorite anthology of poems that his mother had read to him when he was a teenager. The pages were dog-eared and stained with use.

  Mason opened it to his favorite poem but couldn’t concentrate. He looked out the window and sighed. His thoughts turned towards his life before Mason Hackett, his life as Marshall McCabe.

  When Marshall had graduated from West Point, he had been a young soldier, determined to rid the world of evil and make his father proud. It hadn’t taken him long, however, to figure out that the competition and politics of gaining rank and power was a game he didn’t want to play. He had become a civilian and joined the troops of law enforcement. But there, too, he had floundered until he’d found his niche in the realm of undercover.

  There Marshall had the freedom to spread his wings and catch the bad guys, but after time, his black and white world began to show signs of gray. Meeting Spider and Mad Dog further eroded Marshall’s linear lines of right and wrong. He loved those men like brothers and could no longer decipher what ran deeper: his allegiance to the Sons of Thunder or his brothers in blue. But Marshall knew it was only a matter of time before the club found out the truth. The night they gave me back my colors, their eyes had shone with admiration, but when they discover who I really am, it will be replaced with loathing.

  The parking lot lights illuminated a soft flutter of snow. Christmas was in three days. Ellen should be out shopping for JD or at home decorating a tree befitting of her new house, but instead she was there fighting for her life because of his deceptions. I should have known she would try to save me. I should have been more careful.

  Marshall popped the recliner back and studied the shadows on the ceiling tiles. He closed his eyes. Outside the wind howled in a shrill, cold voice and kissed the window with its frosty breath. He fell asleep.

  ***

  Mad Dog stood on the stepladder. He adjusted the glittery gold star on top of the Christmas tree. He looked down at his three children, who stood watching.

  “I think we are ready for the lighting of the O’Donnell Christmas tree,” he said with a smile.

  Sean, who was home from college, plugged in the lights. A rainbow of tiny colored bulbs illuminated the balsam branches. Mad Dog got down from the ladder and stood with his children admiring their handiwork.

  “It’s a beautiful tree. One of the prettiest we’ve ever had,” Mad Dog said.

  “That’s because I picked it out and not you,” Sean said.

  “What are you talkin’ about? I pick out awesome trees,” Mad Dog said in his defense.

  “No you don’t, Daddy,” Amelia countered. “Remember that tree you cut down in the woods. It was bald on one side, and on the other, the branches were so long they’d get caught in the door every time someone opened it.”

  Mad Dog grinned. He did remember that tree, and he remembered how Gina had complained. “Your Mom never let up on me for that one, did she?”

  The children looked away and shifted nervously. He knew talking about their mother with him made them uncomfortable, and he was sorry for that. He was certain his past behavior was the cause of their anxiety. He put his arms around Tess and Amelia’s shoulders. He looked upward and then called out, “Gina, do you see this tree? I have now redeemed myself.”

  The children looked at one another with bewildered faces and then back at their father.

  Sean smiled and said, “Mom would’ve loved this tree. I can just hear her.” He mimicked his mother’s voice. “Oh, kids, it’s just the right shape and fits so nicely in front of the window.”

  The girls giggled and Mad Dog smiled.

  “We still have one more thing to add,” Mad Dog said.

  “What’s that?” Tess asked.

  “Presents!”

  Mad Dog raced up the stairs and into his bedroom. Opening the door to Gina’s closet, he looked at the large shopping bags filled with ornately wrapped gifts. His eyes fell on Gina’s clothes. Her shoes and purses were stacked neatly on the small wooden shelves Spider had made. He breathed in the fragile traces of her scent. He knew it was time to let go of these material things. None of it would bring her back, and he no longer needed physical reminders. She lived in his heart.

  “Dad,” Tess called from the doorway, “are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Mad Dog said as he grabbed the bags of presents. He closed the closet door. “You know, Tess, it’s about time we packed up some of your Mom’s things. I think I’m ready to let them go.”

  Tess looked at her father and smiled. “Mom would like that.”

  “And you know what else?” Mad Dog asked.

  “What?”

  “We should do some redecorating.”

  “Dad, are you sure you’re ready for that?”

  “As long as I have you kids to help me over the rough spots, I think so.”

  ***

  Marshall was awakened by a restless moaning. The weak winter sun broke into pink pieces of light in the cloudy horizon. Ellen wrestled in her sleep. With the book still in his hand, Marshall got up and went to her bedside. Sweat beaded Ellen’s forehead. With a gentle nudge, he tried to wake her from her troubled sleep, but her eyes remained closed.

  Marshall called out her name. He was just about to buzz for the nurse when her eyes fluttered open. They darted frantically from one object to the next and then up to him. A sigh of relief escaped when she saw him. She grabbed his hand.

  “I was dreaming… I was… stranded. JD was crying…. I couldn’t… find him. Then you came…. JD was on your shoulders…. He was laughing. But… it wasn’t you… it was… that trooper… from….”

  Ellen stopped and closed her eyes. It hurt to talk. The dream had been so real. And the eyes of that trooper were unmistakably her Mason’s. Her heartbeat settled back into a normal rhythm. She let go of his hand.

  “What are you… reading?’ she asked in a hoarse whisper, trying to take her mind off the disturbing dream.

  Marshall showed her
the cover.

  Ellen smiled. “A biker who… reads… poetry. Do Spider… and Mad Dog… know?”

  Marshall shook his head and grinned.

  “I might have… to let… them know.”

  Ellen paused to catch her breath. “It’ll be… the bootline… for you… Mr. Hackett.”

  Marshall laughed. “Maybe worse.”

  “Read me something.”

  Ellen put her hand to her throat and tried to rub away the soreness.

  Marshall sat in the chair and pulled it closer to the bed. He opened the book to his favorite poem and then began:

  “Do not go gentle into that good night,

  Old age should burn and rage at close of day;

  Rage, rage against the dying of the light…”

  Ellen closed her eyes and listened to the rich, masculine timbre of Mason’s voice as he read her the familiar poem. He caught the rhythm of the words so eloquently.

  This man was full of contradictions, and it made Ellen wonder if she would ever be able to figure him out. She opened her eyes and looked at him. Head bowed as he read the words, he glanced upward.

  Their eyes briefly met.

  Ellen’s heart throbbed in her ears as a startling truth rumbled through her. He was reading to JD. And those eyes… those beautiful blue eyes. Dear God, what have I done?

  Marshall began to read the last stanza, “Rage, rage against the dying—”

  Ellen reached up, knocking the book out of his hand. It fell to the floor.

  Marshall looked at her. He cocked his head in a question.

  “You’re him!” Ellen gasped.

  Ellen’s heart beat so fast and hard that she thought the nurse would be racing in to see what was happening. Pain seared her chest as her wounded lungs contracted.

  Marshall sighed. His shoulders rounded like he’d disposed of a cumbersome weight. He nodded his head.

  Ellen turned her eyes away. She wanted to scream, but her injured body wouldn’t allow it. She felt like the image trapped in the Edvard Munch painting with emotions so overwhelming they could only be painted in fiery hot oranges, blinding yellows, and the deepest of blues. She covered her face with her hands and groaned as the physical pain and mental shock swept through her.

  “I’m sorry, Ellen. I couldn’t tell you,” Marshall said in a ruptured voice.

  Ellen dropped her hands and looked at him. Tears rolled down his face and then disappeared in the dark hairs of his close-cropped beard.

  “Who… are… you?” Ellen asked in a whisper.

  Marshall looked up and then back down at Ellen. He took a deep breath. “I’m an under-cover cop.”

  Marshall sucked his lips into his mouth. “I found you on the road seven years ago, when I was working as a state trooper.”

  “What’s your… name?”

  “Marshall McCabe.”

  The monitor by Ellen’s bed traced her pulse with a bleeping, neon green line.

  “I… don’t know… you.”

  Marshall took Ellen’s hand. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. “You know that’s not true. You know me better than anyone.”

  Tears ran down Ellen’s temples, wetting her pillow. She needed confirmation that this man was Mason Hackett, the man that she’d been willing to die for and not a flimsy imitation.

  “Hold me,” she cried out in a hoarse voice, each syllable accenting her pain.

  Marshall shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Please,” Ellen begged. She couldn’t speak another word. The pain was too great.

  Marshall lowered the bed rail. He lifted Ellen and moved her over so he could get in beside her. Lying on his side, he wrapped his arm around her hips. He kissed her cheek.

  Ellen smelled the familiar scent of his cologne and felt the conversant warmth of his breath on her neck. She’d been so stupid not to have figured it out sooner. It was crazy. He’d found her on the road, not once but twice. And she’d nearly made JD an orphan trying to save a man who didn’t need saving. She had so much to say but not enough strength to muster a sound.

  “Ellen,” Marshall whispered. “Do you remember that night on your porch when you called me a coward?”

  Ellen sniffled and then nodded.

  “You were right. I was afraid to fall in love because of what I do for a living, and I didn’t want to involve anyone else in it, much less a woman with a kid. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was trying to save Mad Dog from getting killed or going to prison. And I know what I’m going to say sounds unbelievably corny—but I never forgot you. The courage and strength you showed the night your husband was killed stuck with me, and I always hoped I’d run into you again.”

  A horrible moan escaped from Ellen. She closed her eyes and rolled her head from side to side. Tears streamed down her temples. She wrestled with the reality that Mason Hackett didn’t exist. Marshall hugged her hips tighter and nuzzled her neck. His hand caught her face and he kissed her wet cheek.

  “Ellen, I can’t lose you. Not now. Not after all of this,” Marshall whispered in her ear, sounding as desperate as she felt. “When fate brought us together for a second time—’’ Marshall’s voice cracked. “I was so torn up inside. I couldn’t tell you who I was, and I knew I shouldn’t get involved with you. It was too dangerous. But I couldn’t stop myself. And now look what I’ve done. I’m so sorry, Ellen.”

  Marshall’s body shook with emotion, but Ellen could not comfort him. The deep sense of betrayal and futility she was feeling, paralyzed her ability to respond.

  “I can’t go back to being that person I was when I first met you,” Marshall continued. “Loving you has changed me on so many levels. You are one of the strongest women I know, and I have all the faith in the world that you can handle this. Don’t allow our love to be for nothing, Ellen. I’m still me. I love you just as much as I always did. Even more because now you know the truth and I have nothing to hide.”

  Marshall raised himself up. Careful not to harm her, he moved over her.

  Ellen looked up at him. The peacefulness his embrace evoked, eased her troubled emotions. She slid her fingers through his raven hair. “How am I… going to… explain… this… to JD?”

  “We’ll figure out a way.”

  She nodded, wanting to believe him.

  “Do… the Sons—’’

  “I think Mad Dog does.”

  “Will they… hate… you?”

  Marshall’s lip trembled. “I hope not. I hope they’ll understand.”

  “They’re your… brothers.” Ellen smiled. “You love… them.”

  “No matter what happens, I’ll be okay as long as I have you and JD.”

  Ellen looked into his blue hypnotic eyes, and sighed. No more lies. Maybe things will work out the way he thinks they will. After all, there has to be a reason for all of this. “Mas… I… mean… Marshall.”

  Ellen paused.

  “Do you… believe in… divine… intervention?”

  “I do now,” Marshall whispered.

  And then he kissed her.

  Epilogue

  “Okay, everyone, five more minutes until the New Year,” Mr. Dominetti called to the people in the room. “Everyone outside for the great fireworks display.”

  Everyone grabbed their coats, hats, scarves, and mittens and rushed out onto Ellen’s front porch. Earlier in the day, Marshall had uncovered all the wicker furniture for the New Year’s celebration. He led Ellen over to the love seat, wrapping her up in a wool blanket in spite of her protests that she was plenty warm enough in her parka.

  Ellen’s sister Jennifer handed out glasses of champagne. In respect for Ellen’s family, Spider took one of the fluted champagne glasses she offered.

  Dee Dee smiled at her husband.

  “I never thought I’d see the day you would be holding such a dainty glass in your hand, Ray Mullen,” she teased. “Don’t forget to stick out your pinky finger.”

  Spider sneered.

  JD ran
about with his cousins and Amelia. The children were all excited to see the fireworks and to have the opportunity to stay up so late. Sean O’Donnell and Dylan Mullen placed a row of fireworks along the driveway and waited impatiently for the new year to begin. Ellen’s father looked at his watch, ready to alert the group to start counting the seconds.

  “Okay. Get ready…. Go!” he shouted.

  Marshall sat next to Ellen on the love seat.

  The small gathering began to holler out the last ten seconds until the New Year.

  “…five… four… three… two… one!” everyone shouted in unison while the two young men began to light off the fireworks.

  A blaze of flaming fountains spit out sparkling stars, colored smoke, and dazzling bits of glittery flames. Sparks of light whistled as they exploded from the cardboard tubes, flickered among the falling snow, and then cascaded down in wispy, colored tongues of fire.

  The small crowd watched with awe.

  “A toast to a new year, new friends, and new beginnings,” John Dominetti said.

  The clinking of glasses along with the squeal of paper horns and the rattle of noisemakers followed. Marshall turned to Ellen and clicked his champagne glass to hers.

  “Happy New Year, darlin’,” he said with a smile. “Here’s to us.”

  “Happy New Year,” Ellen said, raising her glass. “To us.”

  Marshall kissed her and then they drank their champagne. He hugged her shoulders as he whispered into her ear. “Remember when you told me the doctor said you’d have to wait a year before you had sex—’’

  “I was kidding,” Ellen said.

  “Well, does this count as a year?” Marshall’s eyebrows rose.

  Ellen giggled and then whispered back, “Believe me, Marshall, as soon as I get the okay from the doctor, Lady Jane is going to be riding John Thomas every chance she gets.”

  Marshall grinned and then jumped up.