The Truth Beneath the Lies

by Amanda Searcy

  The second time was right after I was returned to my mother. Carol Alexander brought me along on her mother-daughter weekend with Paige. We stayed in a fancy hotel, wore their fluffy robes, and ordered room service. Carol kept offering to buy me things. Clothes, necklaces, a giant stuffed puppy I thought was cute. I know now that was how she coped. Why talk when you have money?

  I press my nose against the window and look at the sparkly buildings, the cars, the people. Jordan smiles at my glee. Even with both hands on the wheel navigating traffic, he seems freer, like he’s floating. A thought so intense that it makes my whole body convulse in a shiver cuts through my head. Is this what love is?

  We drive straight through the city into the suburbs. I try to hide my disappointment. I pictured walking hand in hand with Jordan through the tourists and weekend shoppers, having lunch at a café, blending in. Feeling normal.

  Jordan pulls the Jeep into a gas station parking lot. He doesn’t turn it off. This isn’t our destination.

  “You have to be absolutely sure. Tell me you’re absolutely sure you want this.”

  This? Does he mean him? Us? Is he still mad about me getting Drake arrested? We haven’t talked about it. It’s like it never happened. But I can’t forget it; how can he? His expression is hidden behind the dark glasses, but my panic must show. He tugs down on the neck of his shirt, exposing the carp.

  “Are you absolutely sure you want one? I have to hear you say it out loud.”

  Relief flows through me. We’re okay. “I’m absolutely sure,” I say. Maybe he understands why I did what I did to Drake. Maybe he has truly forgiven me.

  “Okay.” He puts the Jeep back into drive.

  “But,” I say. He slams on the brakes. My head knocks into the back of the seat. “I’m not eighteen.” I hate that I have to remind him of that, especially after he brought me all this way.

  “It won’t matter.” The Jeep moves forward.

  —

  Jordan stares into a small black camera mounted over the front door as he rings the bell. We’re in a suburban neighborhood with manicured lawns and trimmed bushes. The house is elegant, with clean lines and crisp white paint. It smells like money.

  The door is opened by an Asian woman. She smiles politely and opens her arms to invite us to pass through.

  I’ve never seen the inside of a house like this. Its light-colored wood floors stretch from room to room without being interrupted by carpeting. A few modern-looking chairs that match the floor so well they seem to be growing out of it are placed purposefully around the front room. It’s so uncluttered and immaculate I find it hard to believe that someone could live here.

  My eye is drawn to a black lacquered table against the wall. Above it hangs an elaborately etched samurai sword, and a scroll painted with thick black characters.

  Jordan takes my hand and leads me to the back of the house that has been cut off by a floor-to-ceiling bamboo screen. This section is bathed in light. It’s like being outside, except I don’t see any windows or skylights. The wall is covered with a mural of green bamboo. There’s the sound of running water. It’s incredibly peaceful. I feel myself relax as soon as I step in.

  A man sits on the floor in front of a large white cushion with his legs tucked under him and eyes closed. Surrounding him are metal containers containing brightly colored powders.

  When he hears Jordan approach, he stands and then bows. Jordan bows as well, but not as deeply as the man.

  The woman enters behind us. Jordan squeezes my hand and lets go. The men leave. The woman motions for me to take off my top and lie on the cushion. She wraps my hair to the side and places a crisp piece of white linen across me. I don’t even have to tell her where I want the tattoo. She leaves the skin over my heart exposed.

  When she’s satisfied everything’s in order, she kneels down and glances over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want this?” she whispers. Her accent is heavy. “You can still stop. You can stop right now.”

  “I’m sure,” I say yet again. When Paige got her nosed pierced, the guy didn’t even talk to her. He just did it.

  She leaves the room.

  The men come back in. They position themselves on either side of me. Jordan takes my hand. The man—the artist—wipes down the area with alcohol. He dips a metal barb into a dish of iridescent ink.

  “This will hurt,” he says in an accent as heavy as the woman’s.

  He plunges the metal barb into my skin.

  Breath seizes in my throat. My body shudders. The metal barb punches in and out of my flesh. It burns and tears. Hot blood dribbles out from the wounds.

  “Don’t move,” Jordan says. His eyes are focused on the barb, not on my face or my pain. He squeezes my hand. “You’re doing great.”

  When it’s over, I catch a quick glimpse of the carp before the man places a bandage over it. It’s smaller than Jordan’s, more feminine and better suited to me. It’s beautiful. The men leave the room. The woman helps me put my top back on. The ache is overwhelming. I’m light-headed. I ask for the bathroom. I throw up three times in the sparkling white toilet.

  The towels are too clean and pretty to touch. I wash my hands and wipe them on my jeans.

  Jordan is waiting outside. He kisses me on the forehead. “You were really brave. You didn’t scream or cry. You’re a true warrior.” He is full of pride, but he doesn’t ask if I’m okay. I’ve never expected or wanted him to take care of me, but right now, a sympathetic smile, some acknowledgment of my pain, is what I need.

  I climb into the Jeep. Jordan is still beaming. This doesn’t feel right. I’ve never had a real boyfriend before, or a tattoo. But I don’t think this is how either is supposed to feel.

  —

  We drive back into the city. Jordan takes me to lunch. I slurp two ibuprofen down with my ice water while he’s engrossed in the menu. I feel better. We go to the aquarium. Jordan kisses me while fish shimmer like jewels floating in midair above us.

  He tells me to wait for him by the otters. I press my hands against the glass. The fuzzy creatures spin and twirl in the water. One swims up to my face. Its whiskers twitch as it examines the strange being that is me. I laugh. It tugs at the skin on my chest.

  I hear my name. Jordan waves to me from behind a throng of people. I push through them with my arms gripping my shoulders, protecting the skin over my heart. He reaches out for me and places a hand on my waist. His other hand is behind his back.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” he says. He leads me to a corner. All those bad feelings come back. My neck and shoulders throb with tension. “I don’t know how to say this.” His face is tight, as if the metal barb is being plunged into the skin over his heart. It makes me take a step back into the walkway and knock into a group of children. One of the mothers tsks at me and pulls her child away.

  “Kayla.” Jordan takes my hand. “My life isn’t easy. It never has been. There haven’t been a lot of people I could trust. I’ve never had anyone to love.” His gaze is over my shoulder. He blinks and focuses on my eyes. “But I think I’m in love with you.”

  I swallow hard. The ache on my chest becomes a new sensation. A warmth spreads out from my heart itself. Through my arms, down my legs. It’s the feeling of having what I’ve always wanted. Someone who knows me—all of me—and loves me for it. Someone who I love back.

  “Me too,” I say.

  From behind his back, he presents me with a stuffed carp from the gift shop. Its black beaded eyes and cute mouth smile. Jordan wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him. The carp is trapped between us as we kiss. My hands reach behind his neck until we can’t be any closer. The fish, the water, the glass, the disgusted snorts and whistles disappear.

  It’s just us.

  My stomach flips over when Adrian stomps up to my locker. I force my body to go perfectly still. I won’t let him notice my pounding heart or my shaking hand on my algebra book.

  “Happy’s in labor,” he says curtly.
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  “When? What happened?”

  “The middle of the night. They’re at the hospital now. She made me promise I would tell you.”

  He turns fast. “Wait,” I call after him, but he’s already disappeared into the crowd.

  —

  The day drags by. I’m jittery. I can’t pay attention. I keep thinking about Happy and her baby. I keep fearing for Happy and her baby. What if something happens to them? Happy is my only friend in the world. If something happens to her, I won’t make it. I won’t be able to keep going.

  Finally, the last bell rings. I try to catch up with Adrian, but he vanishes as soon as the classroom door is thrown open. I need to know how Happy is. I jaywalk across the road to the strip mall. Mom’s car sits in the parking lot. She’s been working overtime to get everything ordered and arranged for the wedding.

  I walk past C&J’s without looking through the plate-glass window. But I feel them. Watching me from inside—Adrian and Angie—dreading that I might come in. I don’t. I keep going until I see Mom concentrating hard in the window of the florist.

  She lights up when she sees me. “How was school?” she asks, and pokes a white, fragrant lily into a vase already stuffed with a colorful assortment of flowers.

  “Happy’s in labor.”

  “Good,” Mom says. “That poor girl has been miserable these last few days.” Mom looks up and sees the anxiety on my face. “She’ll be fine. Women give birth every day. She’s young. She’ll snap back quick. When I had you…” Her words trail off. The lily is perfectly placed, but still she messes with it, trying to find something to do with her hands.

  The sadness she has been hiding since she found out about the fire is back. I feel like crap for reminding her of the past.

  “Well,” she says, and plasters on a fake smile, “the rest of these flowers aren’t going to jump into the vases by themselves.”

  “Do you want help?” I volunteer.

  “No. Go be with your friends,” she says. She thinks I have friends. I have a friend, and she’s in the hospital. Anything could be happening to her right now. She could be bleeding to death. Having a stroke. Her heart stopping. She might already be dead.

  A vise grips my chest. I can’t suck in air. I feel dizzy. I stumble and hit the door of the flower shop with my shoulder. It opens and tosses me outside. I have to know what’s happened to her.

  The door to C&J’s still doesn’t jingle. I’m hyperventilating now. I suck breath after breath in through my open mouth. The dark wood and red booths are blurry. I put a hand down to catch myself. The table rattles.

  I feel people watching. But I’m out of control. I can’t stop the pictures in my head. The same ones that appear whenever Rosie is around. Flashes of blood and rain and the gun. The look on his face when he almost—

  Soft hands touch my shoulders. Mrs. Morales’s kind brown eyes float in front of me. She lowers me into a chair. Adrian and Angie huddle together in the corner, watching from a safe distance. Their mother barks orders at them in Spanish, and they scatter. Adrian returns a moment later with a red cup of water.

  Mrs. Morales holds it up to my face until I take it and sip. The cold water sends an icy chill down my throat. It momentarily distracts my lungs, allowing them time to fill with air.

  I grab a napkin off the table and wipe my face. Blow my nose. “Thank you,” I whisper. Mrs. Morales pats me on the back and sends a warning glance around the restaurant to the smattering of customers. They quickly turn back to their food.

  She walks away, and I suck down the water like it can fill all the empty spaces inside of me.

  —

  The door doesn’t jingle, but I hear Rosie’s scattered footsteps the second she’s inside. She races over, making me flinch. “Betsy! I have a baby cousin.”

  Angie strides across the restaurant, her face full of expectation.

  “It’s a boy,” Lawrence says. Angie whoops and leaps forward to kiss him.

  Rosie grabs his hand and jumps up and down. “I want to show Betsy.” Lawrence gives her his phone. She manipulates it with expertise and shoves it in my face.

  On the screen, a disheveled and splotchy Happy holds an equally disheveled and splotchy infant with closed eyes, a head of black hair, and a wrinkled face on the verge of wailing. Tomás hovers over them, looking a combination of awe and bewilderment.

  Seeing Happy alive lifts a thousand pounds off my shoulders. “His name is Manuel. They’re going to call him Manny,” Rosie says. She leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “He isn’t very cute.”

  Angie taps her lightly on the back of the head. “Hey, don’t you dare say that around Happy. He’s beautiful.” She takes the phone out of my hand, as if I’m intruding on a private family moment I have no business being a part of.

  Adrian hangs back at the kitchen door. This is his family moment. I’m keeping him from it. I stand and walk out. No one except Adrian, whose eyes follow me across the restaurant, notices me leave.

  —

  “I’ll wait here.” Teddy picks up an ancient magazine and sits down in the waiting room chair. They’re keeping Happy in the hospital for an extra day of observation.

  I still feel a little shaky. When I called Teddy, he didn’t ask why I couldn’t go on my own. He just dutifully picked me up and drove me to El Paso. I’m starting to like him.

  Mom sent along flowers, of course. A beautiful arrangement of white and yellow carnations surrounded by baby’s breath. It matches Happy exactly—cheerful and young.

  I’m pointed down the hall to her room. Outside, a woman, who is thin and meticulously dressed and made-up, talks on a cell phone. She glances at me. Her face shows indifference, as if I’m a food tray or an IV pole being wheeled by.

  I take a breath and collect myself before I go in. Images of Happy unconscious and hooked up to tubes and machines keep flashing through my head. I almost turn around and run back to Teddy. But I make myself go in.

  Happy is sitting up, awake and tube-free. In her arms she holds a wad of white blanket with pink and blue stripes at the bottom. Tomás, wearing his car wash uniform, is sound asleep, sprawled out at a painful-looking angle in a chair in the corner.

  Happy tips her head at him. “He’s too new to take any time off.” Her voice is full of sympathy, but her eyes beam with pride.

  I set the flowers down on a side table. “These are for you,” I say, like it isn’t obvious. But then I look around. The room is sterile. No cards. No balloons. No well wishes of any sort. The only other thing that sits on the side table is Happy’s little orange fish. If I could knock it to the floor and push it under the bed where it would be lost forever, I would.

  “Thanks,” Happy says. She pushes the bundle toward me. “Want to hold him?”

  I do. I really do. But my feet won’t step closer. My arms won’t reach out. I don’t want to hurt him.

  Happy leans toward me. Her belly still protrudes from under the covers. She pushes the bundle against my chest. “Hold him,” she says. What I didn’t notice when I walked in was that a dark glaze has formed over her eyes. New lines carve up her forehead. Her jaw is tense.

  I take the baby.

  He lets out a little mewl as he lands in my arms. I pull back the blanket to see his face. Wide unfocused eyes stare up at me. A brand-new soul. He doesn’t know me, doesn’t know anything about the bad things in this world. I want to throw my body over him and protect him from it. My arms shake. I sit on the bed to brace myself.

  The woman outside on the phone cackles. Tomás stirs in the chair but resettles without waking up. Happy leans back against her mound of pillows. “My stepmother,” she says. “This is her idea of a visit.”

  Happy closes her eyes, leaving me alone with the baby. I straighten the little blue cap on his head, and he grabs my finger. I rock him back and forth, until he too closes his eyes.

  I have never felt so alone and so unalone.

  A nurse with big hips and wildly patterned scrubs bustles in.
“Time to feed,” she says, and unceremoniously takes the baby from me. Happy blinks the sleep away as the nurse, holding the baby like a football in one hand, undoes the top of Happy’s gown with the other.

  I stand up to leave and give them privacy. “Stay,” Happy pleads. I do. I wait with my back to them until the baby is affixed and Happy is covered with a blanket.

  When I turn around, she grimaces. “I’m not doing this when I get home,” she whispers. From the other side of the room, the nurse shoots her a judgmental look. Happy smiles back sweetly.

  I realize something. That smile is Happy’s defense. Mine is to shut my mouth, look down, and wish to disappear. But Happy…She kills them with innocence and kindness. Makes the world love her. See things that aren’t really there. Happy isn’t happy. Happy is sad—and desperate.

  The whole room changes. I see it as the nurse sees it now. A teenage girl nursing a baby she doesn’t know what to do with, her teenage dropout boyfriend—who may or may not still be a drug dealer—and her wreck of a friend who could crumble into a million pieces at any moment.

  “They’re good people,” I say in an old voice I haven’t heard in a long time. The nurse glances at me. “They’re good people,” I say again, looking her directly in the eye. She shuffles from foot to foot.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she says to Happy, and bolts.

  Happy tears up. She grabs my arm. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  I take hold of her hand and squeeze. “Yes, you can. You’re not alone. Tomás loves you. Angie and Mrs. Morales are going to spoil Manny to death. Adrian would have given birth to that baby for you if he could have.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s true. Somehow Adrian manages to love people—really love them—even while he’s in bed with the devil. I jump at the realization. Does that mean someone else dark once loved me, too?

  Happy is waiting for me to finish. “And”—I look away as my voice cracks—“I might not be much help, but I’ll try. I’ll try as hard as I can, I promise.” Happy squeezes my hand back, and then she lets go to wipe her cheek.