Tell Me No Lies

by Adele Griffin

  part two

  winter

  twenty-one

  The Sunday morning of Walter Ryan Powers’s funeral was soft and gray. A mist had settled in that weekend, and it surrounded us with a kind of static despair. Nobody could stop whispering about it, not even in the church. In hushed asides, we were all still struggling to make sense of an act that had completely shocked everyone in Walt’s radius.

  The service was held at the Church of the Redeemer, which I’d passed a thousand times but never been inside till now. Matt and I stood in the front pew along with the rest of Tommy’s closest friends, and it was so crowded that mourners spilled from the vestibule out the front doors.

  The only other funeral I’d attended was Granny Swift’s, two years ago, a quietly boring hour suitable to the death of my eighty-nine-year-old great-grandmother. I hardly remembered it beyond some croaky voices eulogizing Granny’s pear streusel and her volunteer work for UNICEF and the Mercer County conservancy.

  Walt’s funeral felt different. Everyone seemed to be staring around in a state of dazed disorder. Walt’s college friends and Tommy’s high school friends had turned out in huge numbers, wearing borrowed suits with wrinkled collared shirts and badly knotted ties, while the girls—myself included—stood straight in our best dark dresses, our sweetheart necklines made more demure by blazers and overcoats. But the readings, hymns, and poems kept striking that same blunt blade of shock that Walt Powers’s life was over.

  Matt had to get up and speak, too, because Tommy was falling apart and didn’t think he could manage it. Matt had practiced his words with me over the phone. Now I watched him walk to the front, and he didn’t seem nervous at all, more like a campfire storyteller as he spoke.

  “Walt was like my big brother,” he said, his voice deep and controlled. “But a big brother with superpowers. He taught Tommy and me how to swim and how to ride dirt bikes. When he won a free Atari from collecting box tops, he let us play with it that first day it arrived. In high school, when he started working summers for Ralph Nader, Walt always had time to explain about how to treat the environment. Whatever he was telling us, we wanted to listen, and whatever he was teaching us, we wanted to learn. Whether it was racing bikes or playing games or going out to clubs, Walt wanted everyone to be included. Last summer, he got into writing screenplays—with plans to one day direct and produce his own films. For him, making movies would be another way of sharing a dream and an experience.” In Matt’s pause, I knew he was doubling his effort to keep his words steady; he almost succeeded. “I can’t believe those dreams and experiences won’t come true for him.”

  “You did great,” I whispered when Matt returned to my side in the pew. “I hope your parents got here in time to listen.”

  “They aren’t here,” he whispered back. Then, playing off my surprise, he added, “Suicide is a crime in the Catholic Church.”

  “Oh.” Was that true? How could anyone feel anything but the worst kind of pity for a kid who was so unhappy with his life that he got his dad’s handgun from the house safe, took it to college, and then while his roommates were at Halloween parties, locked the door to his dorm room, put the gun to his temple, and blew his brains out?

  But by now I knew better than to press Matt on his parents.

  Outside in the parking lot, I waited by Matt’s car, arms crossed, pulling my sweater tight around me against the chill, while he looped through a last round of condolences with Tommy’s extended family.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Theo!” He appeared out of nowhere, looking like a full-on adult in a dark suit that was cut more crisply and stylish than the standard Lincoln baggy pants and boxy blazer. He seemed like he’d touched down from way farther away than just college. “Did you drive all the way from school?”

  Theo nodded. “I’d have driven three times longer for Walt.”

  Of course, Theo and Walt were in the same class at Lincoln. “It’s a shock, I guess.”

  Theo reached into his pocket for his car keys. “Maybe for some. You never really know what a person’s going through.”

  I felt confused. All week, all anyone was saying was that it was a shock. But Theo didn’t elaborate.

  “You need a lift?” We were right by Theo’s secondhand metallic blue Mustang—a car that was firmly in the Not Bad category, with points for unique.

  “No, thanks.” Though for a crazy moment all I wanted was for Theo to rescue me from this church, this sad, stifling morning.

  “You sure? I was thinking of driving out to Longwood Gardens, just do some thinking.” Theo and I both had a thing for Longwood Gardens from years ago, when the Kims had taken everyone on a “cultural” trip that bored Mimi so much she’d gone back to wait in the car. Theo and I had been mesmerized by the fountains and water lilies.

  Suddenly I saw myself next to Theo, walking together along the garden paths, where I could talk openly about how I was still reeling from how Matt’s parents boycotted Walt’s funeral.

  “I wish I could,” I said instead, “but I feel like I’d be ditching my friends. My other friends, I mean. Obviously, we’re friends, too, you and I.” I was stammering and flustered and I wished I didn’t want so badly to jump in Theo’s car and escape Matt’s jock pack, along with the promise of a bleak afternoon at Tommy’s house.

  “No problem, Blizzard. See ya later. Stay strong.” He chucked me under the chin, and my tiny crush-fantasy afternoon with Theo dissolved as I watched him go.

  It was funny how I’d known Theo pretty much my whole life, and yet in the six months he’d lived apart from his family, he’d become someone so newly intimidating. He’d also lost some of that Lincoln Academy touch, too, that extra aggression and competitive style that was part of the deal when you went there. Theo seemed to be past the teams and herds and status scrabbling of high school. I wondered how different I’d be, or Matt, or any of us by this time next year.

  That night, I took my fake ID from where I’d stashed it in my sock drawer, trying to remember every tiny thing I’d noticed about Walt. Stretching out on my bed, with the ID next to me, I tried to pull up the feel of that afternoon as I sketched Walt in my notebook. I wanted to capture his deft fingers as he’d angled his tripod, how his shaggy hair gave him a look of a guy who spent afternoons on beaches or boats. There’d been such an easy way he’d dealt with us all, too, tolerant and laid-back.

  “Why do you really think he did it?” I asked Matt later, as he dropped me home that night.

  “He had some problems,” Matt answered. “We were pretty close. He talked about things to me, sort of.” He paused. “Not that any of it matters anymore.”

  “How’s Tommy?”

  “Bad. He’s gonna need us around more. He wants to go to hang out, get some chow at Al E. Gators on Tuesday afternoon. Are you up for that?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Cool, I’ll pick you up after school?”

  “Great.” I smiled. Though of course the circumstances with Tommy were awful, I loved whenever Matt arrived on campus. It was the easiest way in the world to announce to everyone that I was dating Matt Ashley without having to say a thing.

  “Matt Ashley’s all about you these days, huh?” Gage remarked Tuesday afternoon as she walked with me down the hall. I’d seen Matt’s car parked, and I knew he was in the senior lounge.

  “I guess.”

  “He’s definitely cute, and he seems nice enough. In kind of an upstanding, heroic citizen way.”

  “He is! We should all hang out sometime.”

  “Like, as a double date but with Meems and me? Might be awkward.” Gage laughed self-consciously. “Are you still on for our three-way call tonight?”

  “Yeah, for sure. Even though Bush is leading in every poll in the country.”

  “Polls don’t know everything.” Gage, Mimi, and I had to be kind of undercover Democrats at
Argyll, where most girls—like their parents—believed that Dukakis was a joke. And that night, after witnessing George H. W. Bush’s totally unsurprising victory, we all stayed on the phone in a three-way blue bummer until the diversion of my call waiting. I knew it was Claire.

  “I’m gonna take that,” I said.

  Mimi made a kissing noise. “Tell Loverboy I say hi.”

  I didn’t want to say that Matt’s strict parents would never let him call super late.

  “Hey,” said Claire when I clicked over. “Looks like men still rule the world. Want to watch MTV and draw?”

  “Sure.”

  “Hang on.” I knew Claire was covering the phone as Aunt Jane barged into the library for a testy conversation about whether Claire had seen one of the cats.

  “You think you can get away this Saturday?” Claire asked when she got back on.

  “That’d be so great. I’m not sure I could handle another Saturday night of Rodney Dangerfield jokes at the Powers house.” The past weekend, a group of Tommy’s closest friends—Matt and me, along with Tommy, Jonesy, and Kreo—had hung out there, hunkered down in the paisley-cushioned family room. We’d watched Caddyshack followed by Airplane, as Mrs. Powers occasionally wandered in to tell us she’d bring in some snacks, but then never did.

  “It’d be fun to walk around the city, before it gets too cold.”

  “I’m sure Matt would be psyched.” Here was my chance. “Can I get Matt to invite his friend—”

  “I don’t want a setup.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that. Couldn’t you just meet him? I think he might be kind of perfect for you.” Dave Jimenez plus Claire Reynolds seemed like an exact fit, two charismatic puzzle pieces notching seamlessly together.

  “Uhhh.” Claire’s sigh gusted through the receiver.

  “That sound you just made was a yes, right?”

  “Ehhh . . .”

  “He’s really hot.”

  “I’m not on the market. Just tell him it’s only for the boy-girl symmetry, okay?”

  “He’s perfect for you. You won’t regret it.”

  “I already slightly regret it.”

  But I knew better. Dave, Matt, Claire—two months ago, I never could have imagined these people would all be connected through me. And yet here they were, all in reach, and I was the linchpin, the center of it all.

  twenty-two

  Of course Claire knew about a tavern that sold a brand of hard cider carried by only a few select places in Philadelphia.

  “It’s brewed by Amish people,” she explained.

  “Pepper McDonald forgot to mention secret cider in her Amish people assembly,” I said.

  The two of us were sitting together on the Paoli local, clackity-clacking into 30th Street Station. Claire hadn’t wanted the hassle of Saturday-night parking, so we’d met up on the train. Her plan also meant we’d catch the 11:50 p.m. later tonight, the last local out of Philadelphia, and then walk from the Merion train station back to Lilac House. It was a little unnerving, but I’d kept quiet on concerns about serial killers lurking on the road or in deserted parking lots.

  Inside 30th Street Station, we split a small McDonald’s fries—the waft of hot grease in the station’s drafty cold air was too tantalizing to resist—and then we plunged into the city, treading the blocks until we were tired, and then hailing a cab the rest of the way to the tavern that was tucked at the end of a cobbled one-way street. Inside was a silk scarves and black overcoats crowd, too stylish for me, but we managed to get a back table, where we ordered chicken tenders and beef nachos and hard ciders—and immediately got carded.

  I removed Walt’s fake ID from my wallet and passed it over. The waitress took her time. I kept my eyes on my menu, my lips pursed in phony concentration as the waitress flipped the card and scrutinized the back.

  This was going on way too long. Would I get thrown out? Detained until the police arrived? Fined? Cuffed?

  But the waitress handed back my card, and then Claire’s, without a word.

  “How do you know about this place anyway?”

  “Jay.”

  “Jay,” I repeated. “Shoulda known.”

  Claire put the edge of her thumb in her mouth, working a cuticle. “We spent time in Philadelphia,” she added. “I thought I told you.”

  “Nope. I remember everything you tell me about Jay.”

  “I don’t know why I still talk about him, I hardly ever think about him.” But Claire wasn’t a good actress—any mention of Jay’s name left her rattled.

  “Did you come here together?”

  She nodded. “Last year, for the cider. We went Halloween-costume shopping and then, yeah, we had dinner here.”

  “I thought you didn’t like Halloween.”

  She gave me a look. “It was fun last year, and I don’t want to get all sentimental about it, but at the same time I didn’t want to be at some dumb high school keg party trying not to think about it is all.” She shrugged. “Anyway, we found this great costume store, and Jay bought a yeti mask, but the yeti body was huge—and Jay’s only five eleven. So when we came back to school, he gave it to a kid who pinned it to his dorm wall, like a bearskin.” She was smiling, and I saw so clearly the echo of last year’s Claire in her face that it bothered me how absent that girl was from today.

  When the ciders came, I raised my mug. “To Walt Powers,” I said.

  “I never met Walt,” said Claire as we clinked. “I never met anyone who killed themselves. There’s this pond at Strickland, it’s called Lovell Pond, and they say a girl drowned herself there, back in the fifties. She’d gotten pregnant, and she didn’t know what to do, who to tell, how to handle it.”

  “That’s so sad,” I said. “Terrible.” My mind was racing. Unwanted pregnancy. Was that the scandal of Claire and Jay? Was she sending me a hint that she connected her own story to that tragic girl of Lovell Pond?

  “Tommy Powers breaks down in front of us,” I offered. “None of Matt’s friends really know what to do for him, except to constantly hang out together and eat. Like everything can be solved with more burgers and milk shakes.”

  “So that means you have to hang out in a big pack, too.”

  “For now. Matt’s still really upset about Walt. Being in the group makes him feel safe, I guess.”

  Claire made a face. “Safe? Doesn’t sound too hot.”

  “It’s not. The guys are always with us.”

  She wriggled her eyebrows.

  I was turning warm. “I mean, we make out a little bit when he drops me off. I keep thinking it’s because of Walt, nobody’s really settled down yet, but—do you think it’s weird?”

  “Safe is . . . important,” she answered slowly. “Sometimes a safe person is the thing you need most. Maybe it’s because you’re too young, that you’re such a kid Matt doesn’t feel the pressure, like he doesn’t have to come on too macho, all hot and heavy.”

  I nodded, then scooped up a nacho once the platters of food arrived, like I was totally diverted by the meal and not at all upset with the conversation, even though it had pushed right into my bruise, my secret tender worry that Matt thought I was too young, too immature, not sexy enough. Luckily we spent the rest of dinner talking music and art and which teachers got on our nerves.

  When the check came, Claire’s Visa was declined.

  “Crapsticks, I’m sorry. Aunt Jane gave me this card, but unless it’s for supermarket errands, every time I put a charge on it, the bank calls her, and then she has them suspend my account until we discuss it. It’s this power game she plays. Can you cover me again?”

  I tried not to feel annoyed. I’d already bought Claire’s train ticket, plus the cab here. Dinner should have been on her. I’d never have picked this trendy tavern if I thought I’d have to pay for it.

  Underneath my prickly sense of
being played, I also worried how Claire would deal with the rest of her costs tonight.

  We stepped out into the street and hailed a taxi to Spring Garden, another six dollars from me.

  “I hope there’s no cover,” I said helplessly as we walked the block toward the club, where a crowd of kids had gathered, rubbing their hands together and jumping up and down to keep warm.

  “Of course there’s a cover—it’s ten dollars and all you can drink. Hey, does Matt have a twin?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She pointed into the herd right by the entrance, singling out Matt and Dave, who looked nearly identical in their baggy jeans, dark wool peacoats thrown back on their shoulders, thermal shirts beneath. Claire was their triplet. Earlier when we’d been getting ready in her icy library bedroom, I joked that her shirt looked like a lumberjack’s underwear. But it was obviously perfect club clothes, and I was all wrong in this gray roll-neck sweater.

  At least I had the Doc Martens I’d splurged on last week, even if they were overshiny with newness.

  Matt’s gaze on me was a private gift. “Stripes.” He took my hand as he then introduced Claire to Dave, who rewarded her with one of his leading-man smiles. I could tell he liked what he saw. Claire seemed relaxed enough.

  The Bank had been open for less than a month, and Claire figured our best chance was to sidle in on the early side, before the college students showed up. One look at the line told me that plenty of other high school kids had the same idea, and the three-hundred-pound bouncer didn’t look to be in a hurry to open the doors.

  “Dave’s got an apartment near Liberty Place,” Matt said after a few freezing minutes of our inching along.

  I startled. “Oh, yeah?”

  “It belongs to one of my dad’s clients,” said Dave. “He lets him use it anytime. Nobody’s in it now, and I’ve got the key.”

  “It’s on the twenty-fourth floor,” said Matt. “We were up there earlier.”

  “We did each other’s hair,” said Dave in a lispy, fluted voice. A few kids, hearing him, laughed.

  “I’m staying over tonight,” Matt told me.