The Things We Wish Were True

by Marybeth Mayhew Whalen

  He was sweaty and he stank. I didn’t want to hug him. But I wanted that money, and I got the feeling I had to hug him to get it. I couldn’t tell how much money was in his hand, but it looked like a lot. I stepped toward him and let him pull me into his arms. He was a lonely man who’d lost his mother. So what if he stank to high heaven? The hug would last a second, and then I could go home and shower.

  He pulled back and looked at me, and then he moved his face closer, his mouth closing over mine before I knew what was happening. He used his lips to pry mine open and put his tongue in my mouth. I tried to get away, but he held me in place. Mr. Doyle was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be. He should’ve been the one carrying those rocks.

  He stopped kissing me, and I looked away, toward the direction of Zell’s house, longing to run back to it. But he held me in place, one hand on each arm. My mind was racing with a million thoughts about how gross and awful what he’d done was. I expected him to apologize. But all he said was, “Don’t ever tell anyone I did that.” He didn’t have to worry about that. I would never tell anyone. It was too terrible to say out loud. Then he handed me the money and released me. I ran away from him as fast as I could, still feeling his fat eel tongue inside my mouth, unsure whether I would ever outrun what had just happened.

  ZELL

  Zell sat with her magazine in the driveway, but instead of reading she found herself mostly just staring at James Doyle’s house. She caught glimpses of Cailey trudging back and forth, lugging those rocks, and occasionally, as promised, she popped her head around the corner and waved, her wave growing less enthusiastic each time. It was hot as Hades out. Zell decided she needed a spray bottle to spritz water on herself and dashed inside to get it.

  She was coming out of her house with the water when she saw Debra walking toward her, emerging from the heat waves like a mirage. Zell nearly turned back to hide inside her house, but Debra had already seen her. She still looked as fabulous as the day she’d left. Zell made her mouth do something that came close to a smile, and waggled the water in Debra’s direction.

  “Hello,” she said, being neighborly. “I didn’t realize you were back.” That was a lie. She knew everything that went on in Lance’s house. (Sometime in the past ten months she’d started thinking of it as his house, not Debra’s. This, she felt, was significant.) She’d seen Debra’s car pull up just a few afternoons ago, watched from her kitchen window as she let herself in just as pretty as you please. Zell had thought to herself, Oh no, you don’t.

  She paused on the stairs and let Debra come to her, her heart pounding away, knocking against her rib cage more urgently the closer Debra got. She tried to gauge what the other woman would do. Yell? Deny? Apologize? Threaten? She hadn’t spoken to her in so long. In that last encounter, there hadn’t been much said. This moment had been inevitable, coming as certainly as the end of summer, Cailey’s departure, and everything else she’d dreaded.

  “It sure is hot out,” Zell said, just to talk about something. But she knew Debra hadn’t come over to discuss the weather.

  “Yes,” the other woman responded, her voice hesitant.

  “Was it this hot wherever you were?” Zell regretted the question the minute it was out of her mouth. Debra might think she was prying into where she’d gone when the truth was it didn’t matter a hill of beans where she’d been. All that mattered was that she’d run away from her family, her home, her responsibilities. A good mother didn’t do that. Zell tried to take comfort in the difference between them. No matter what she’d done, she’d never abandoned the people she claimed to love.

  And yet, she thought of Ty, how she’d avoided him ever since the truth had come out, the shame she’d taken on over what he’d done. But it was more than that; it was her shame, too. She’d been too ashamed to seek help for her injury, too ashamed to admit what had happened.

  “I just wanted to . . . clear the air,” Debra said. “Make sure there was nothing we needed to say to each other after . . . what happened.”

  Zell was quick to reassure her. “No, not at all. Things are fine. It’s your business.”

  Debra’s voice was quiet and even. “Well, you kind of made it your business.”

  “I’m sorry about that,” she said. “I really am.”

  “Yes, well, I also just need to know what you’ve said about what happened. To Lance, or to anyone else who might say something to Lance.”

  Zell looked away. “I didn’t say anything to anyone,” she said softly.

  “Good.” Debra nodded to herself. “That’s good.” She looked in her own backyard, right at the spot where it had happened. “We’re going to work on our marriage and . . . make a fresh start.”

  “Are you moving back in?”

  “Well, not right away, of course. But in time I expect that to happen.”

  “Does that mean you’re not going to tell him what happened?” Zell couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.

  Debra swallowed, glanced over at her house. “It’s in the past. There’s no need.”

  “I just think secrets can be harmful. They can eat at you, wear away the foundation of—”

  Debra’s face changed, and she held her hand up. “You’re hardly one to lecture me about keeping secrets, aren’t you?”

  Movement over at the Bryson house caught Zell’s eye, and she looked over to see Alec standing on the side porch, watching them inquisitively. She would miss the children. She sensed Debra would do whatever she could to keep them away from her now that she was back. She didn’t exactly blame her.

  Alec waved at her and hollered, “Miss Zell, we’re going to the pool as a family!” Both women heard that last word, his emphasis on the word family.

  “I think that’s my cue,” Debra said, taking a step back toward her house. “I’m glad to know you won’t do something that would hurt our family.” She waved at Alec. “I’m coming, honey,” she called to him.

  Debra hustled back toward Alec just as Cailey came trotting up the drive, running like someone was chasing her. She was caked in dirt and sweat and smelled like it. She came to a stop beside Zell, and together they watched Debra trudge across her own driveway and disappear inside her house.

  “Is that Lilah and Alec’s mom?” Cailey asked. But instead of watching Debra, she glanced over her shoulder at the Doyle house. She moved closer to Zell.

  “Yes,” Zell answered idly as the door closed behind Debra. She directed Cailey into the house, still trying to process what had just happened. She might’ve been the reason Debra had left, but she wasn’t the reason she’d stayed away. And now that she’d decided to return, she expected Zell to keep her secret. But Zell was tired of doing that. And yet, could she tell Lance what she knew? Now, after all this time? Did she dare confess what she’d done and what she knew after everything else that had happened?

  “I wish she hadn’t come back,” Cailey said, giving voice to Zell’s thoughts.

  Zell said the right thing in response, instead of what she wanted to say. “I’m sure Lilah and Alec don’t feel that way. Let’s let them have their family time,” she said, thinking of how Debra had used that word against her. “And you and I will get cleaned up, then go get some ice cream. How does that sound?” She feigned more enthusiasm than she felt. The heat combined with her conversation with Debra had left her winded and exhausted. But this was Cailey’s last day with her, and she wanted it to count.

  BRYTE

  Walking across the hotel lobby, Bryte felt less propelled than pulled by the sight of Trent sitting alone on one of the couches, talking on the phone, holding court even though he had no subjects at the moment. When he turned, saw her, and smiled, she knew she wasn’t there about the job.

  She paused and let the truth hit her, the force of it surging through the core of her. It had never been about the job, no matter what she’d spent the past weeks telling herself. She swallowed the truth down, let it settle inside of her, and continued toward him, focusing on his face
. How uncanny the resemblance to Everett was.

  Trent gestured for her to have a seat and held up one finger. She did as she was told and sat down, smoothing her skirt and wondering if she looked OK.

  He ended his call and turned his smile on her. He reached across the space between them and rested his hand on her knee. “Wow. It’s good to see you.” He nodded as if agreeing with himself.

  She smiled. “You, too.”

  He shook his head. “I’m still sort of shocked you wanted to meet. I thought I’d lost you for good.”

  He’s talking about the job, she coached herself. He’s not talking about the two of you. She willed her smile to stay in place. “No, just been busy.”

  “You said you’ve been out of work for a time and are looking to break back in?” His brows drew together in concern. “Everything been OK?”

  “Oh, sure, everything’s been fine. My husband and I moved, and we, um, had a child, and things have just been crazy. I’m just now able to start thinking about going back.”

  “Aw, man, you had a kid?” he asked. His face shone. “That’s cool! Boy or girl?”

  “A little boy.” She swallowed. “Christopher.” She shifted in her seat and smoothed out her skirt again. She wanted to get up and run out of there.

  She knew she wouldn’t be going back to work. She would miss her son too much. She would miss his sticky kisses and their walks around the neighborhood. She would miss reading him a story before his nap and the warm, sleepy smell of him when he woke up. She would miss hearing children’s programming on the TV in the other room as she made his lunches. She couldn’t leave it up to someone else. She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second, erasing the image of her son from her mind so she could focus on the reason she was there.

  She looked back at Trent Miller and admitted to herself why she was there. It wasn’t about the job. It wasn’t about catching up with him. It was about what Everett had been asking for, for months, and the only way she knew to make it happen.

  EVERETT

  Everett had been relieved when Bryte scheduled her meeting for the same afternoon as his appointment, but dismayed when she told him what she was going to meet about. She wouldn’t be home when he got home, which gave him time to think over how he was going to present whatever the doctor said to him. He would have a glass of wine or two, play with his son, and go over the best way to approach her while he waited for her. Trouble was, he now had two challenges: to talk her into whatever the doctor said, and to talk her out of getting a job right now if that meant they would not pursue having a second child. Of course she had the right to go back to work if she wanted. He was just surprised that was what she wanted all of a sudden. Until recently she’d been happy at home. His talk of another child had sent her running in the other direction, and he needed to find out why.

  “I’m just covering my bases,” she’d assured him that morning. “Seeing what my options are. It could be good for us.”

  The doctor bustled into his office and sat down at his desk, interrupting his thoughts. Dr. Ferguson opened a file folder and looked it over, then looked up. “I’ll say it again that this is quite unusual having a husband come in without his wife.” He gave Everett a conspiratorial smile, as if the two of them were in cahoots. He thought inexplicably of the kids he’d grown up with in the neighborhood, their many games of “boys versus girls.”

  “I’m just covering my bases,” Everett said, echoing Bryte. “Seeing what my options are.”

  Dr. Ferguson looked down at the chart. He kept his eyes on the words and numbers printed there when he spoke again. “Are you here to discuss a donor?” he asked. “I know some men struggle with that, but it’s done more often than you might think.”

  Everett’s heart rate picked up, and he stared at the bald spot on the top of the doctor’s head, as he processed his words. “I—uh, a donor? For, um, what?” he managed to stammer the words out.

  The other man raised his head. “A sperm donor,” he said. There was a weariness in his voice, a heaviness that told Everett he hadn’t wanted to say it out loud. No man wanted to tell another man he shot blanks, even if it was part of his job.

  The doctor flipped through the file in front of him to avoid his eyes. “That’s really your only option,” he said to the paper.

  Everett stood up abruptly, his sudden movement startling the doctor. “You know, you’re probably right,” he said. “I should probably come back another time. With my wife.”

  Dr. Ferguson blinked at him a few times. Everett considered just bolting out of the room. In the silence, he was already piecing it together. If he was infertile, if they needed a donor to get pregnant, then where had his son come from?

  “You didn’t know,” the doctor said in realization.

  Everett considered lying. But how could he lie about this? Oh, sure, I knew. I just . . . forgot. He exhaled loudly. “No,” he said. “She never told me and I . . . never asked. When she got pregnant, I was just . . . happy.” He looked up at the doctor and decided he never wanted to see this man again. If it meant they never had another child, so be it. “I was just really happy.”

  He started to walk out of the office, but the doctor’s voice stopped him. He stood still but didn’t bother to meet the other man’s eyes this time. “Mr. Lewis,” he said, “you can still be happy.”

  Everett nodded once, then fled.

  BRYTE

  Trent still drank gin and tonics. And he still drank a lot of them. She watched him down the second one just as fast as the first, then raise his hand for another. His tolerance had to be incredible. Her own tolerance had dropped off significantly since she’d become a mother, and six a.m. wake-up calls became de rigueur.

  It hadn’t taken him long to suggest they move from the hotel bar to the hotel couches. She stirred her drink, a weak Crown and ginger, and took a polite, dainty sip. The last time she’d matched him, drink for drink. When she’d stood to her feet and swayed upon standing, he’d been quick to offer to help her to her room, extending his arm gallantly. She’d rested her own hand unsteadily in the crook of his elbow and given him a coquettish smile. Tonight she met his eyes and saw not quite the same look she’d gotten that long-ago evening, but a look that was on the verge of that one.

  “Stay for dinner,” he said. “We’ll talk more. About the job. And where I could use you.”

  She almost said, “Oh, what the hell,” and ordered another drink. For a moment she was tempted to let things go the way they once went. It would work just the way it had before. She knew that in her depths the same way she’d known it back then, the knowledge settling inside her like a stone dropped into water. But Everett’s face filled her mind, edging out any possibility she might’ve been considering. Whatever she’d come here to do wasn’t going to happen. Time had passed. Things were different. She wasn’t a woman who could do that. She never really had been. Though her son wasn’t a mistake, what she’d done had been. She would wrestle with that for the rest of her life.

  She smiled without showing any teeth and looked back down at her drink. “Can’t,” she said.

  “Oh, yeah. The kid.” He rolled his eyes.

  “Yes, there’s dinner and bath time and story and . . .” She looked up at him as Christopher’s face filled her mind. She held up her hands. “It’s quite a production.”

  He received a fresh drink from the bartender and gave it a vigorous stir. “Sounds like it.” He took a greedy gulp and leered at her. “If I were you, I’d welcome a break from it.”

  The words were on the tip of her tongue: Well, you’re not me. But there was no point in being contentious. She needed to get out of there, as politely and quickly as she could. He was still a good business contact. Someone she might need someday. No sense making things weird between them. Weirder.

  “Actually, I enjoy it, as strange as that sounds.” She made a production of checking her phone for the time. “In fact, I better be going.” She pulled her wallet from her purse to pa
y for her drink, but he held up his hand. “I’ve got this. Business expense.” She’d always been business to him, and that was good. That was what she needed him to think. She didn’t need his affection, his emotion, his reminiscences of that night. He’d served his purpose when she’d needed him. She cringed internally at the thought of what Trent Miller had been to her.

  She put her wallet away and gave him what she hoped passed for a grateful smile. “Thank you,” she said. She made sure she looked him in the eye when she thanked him, held his gaze.

  She leaned over and kissed his cheek, leaving the faintest imprint of her lips behind as she pulled away. “It was so good to see you again.”

  He looked at her and raised his eyebrows, his expression reminding her of Christopher. “Call me if you ever need . . . anything,” he said. He gave her that captain-of-industry grin and turned back to his drink. She rose from the bar and left him behind.

  Bryte slid into her car, pulse racing as though she’d just escaped from a crazed killer instead of a handsome man who’d been interested in more than just her résumé. She closed the car door harder than necessary, the slamming sound reverberating in the mostly empty parking garage.

  She turned the key in the ignition, and the radio came on loud, blasting an oldies station she’d played on the drive over. She reached for the knob and turned it down. She just wanted silence.

  At the same moment that her hand touched the knob, the sound of the singing voices registered in her head, making a kind of unexpected sense. Heart singing, Ann and Nancy’s voices blending. She turned down the volume and leaned back against the seat with a sigh, the fingers of a headache beginning to massage her brain. It had been that damn Heart song that had started everything.

  She recalled the image of sliding into the rental car that afternoon nearly four years ago, her heart heavy with what she’d just learned from the doctor. Heart was singing then, too, a “lost hit” that she’d forgotten all about until she heard it that day. As she listened to the words, the kernel of an idea took root in her mind, a vague what-if she never intended to go through with, until that very night, she did.