Everybody Lies

by Emily Cavanagh

  I fold my arms across my chest and feel like a pouting teenager. “I want to go away for the weekend.”

  “Okay.” He draws out the word, waiting for the connection.

  “I’m afraid to leave Mom alone.”

  “Where do you want to go? To visit Casey?”

  Casey Adams, my best friend from high school, is a junior at UMass Amherst. I visited her at school during her freshman and sophomore years, but the visits left me jealous and pissed off about everything I was missing. We don’t talk as much these days. I shake my head. “No. I want to visit a friend in Boston.”

  “Todd Rankin?” I look up at him in surprise. “I saw his father while I was a getting coffee this morning. He said you’d been over for dinner.” He raises his eyebrows. A smile plays at his lips.

  “We’ve just been hanging out. It’s no big deal.” I hear the edge of defensiveness in my voice.

  “I didn’t say it was.” He holds his hands up in defense.

  “It’s my birthday this weekend.”

  “I know. I was going to ask if you wanted to go for dinner some night.”

  “That’s nice, but I want to get out of here for a few days. Have some fun, you know? I hate this time of year. It’s so quiet.”

  “So what do you want from me?” He takes another sip of beer.

  “Can you just check on her? Make sure she’s okay? That she’s not in bed all the time or totally ignoring Petunia’s? She’s got a dinner Saturday night.”

  “Doesn’t she need you for that?”

  I shake my head. “I already got the weekend off for my birthday. Paul’s helping her, but I’m worried she’s going to flake on everything. But I really want to get out of here. Just for a few days.” He hears the pleading in my voice.

  “Okay,” he relents. “I’ll check on her. And I’ll let Caroline know, too. Maybe she can swing by as well.”

  “Thank you.” I throw my arms around his neck, filled with gratitude and excitement at the prospect of a whole weekend with Todd, away from Great Rock.

  “You’re welcome.” He straightens up from my embrace. “But be careful.”

  A snowstorm is supposed to be coming tomorrow night, and I’ve already decided I’ll leave tomorrow morning to avoid getting stuck. “I will. I’m going to leave before the storm.”

  “That’s not what I meant. He’s a bit older than you, isn’t he?”

  “Just a few years.” I realize I don’t actually know how old Todd is.

  “He’s from a different world,” my father points out.

  “He’s nice, Dad. You’d like him.”

  “I probably would. But you know what I’m saying,” he says with a smile.

  Do I? Are the two worlds we live in so different? Is it possible I could fit into his world? Is it so wrong to want something more? Neither of my parents understands my desperation to get off Great Rock, and I know it’s part of the reason neither of them has done more to help me pay for college. It’s some warped allegiance to the island, twisted with the pain of losing Serena and the fear of letting me go too far out of their sight.

  “I’ll be careful,” I say, because it’s easier just to agree.

  He nods, pushes himself to standing, signaling the end of the conversation. “Gina and I were going to watch a movie. Want to stick around?”

  Gina’s got a taste for the classics, which my father patiently indulges. I’m sure it will be some old black-and-white with overacting and a fluffy plot, but I’m not ready to go home yet. “Why not?” I say, and follow him into the living room.

  29

  Caroline

  After I’ve dropped Evvy at home, I make myself a cup of tea and sit on the couch. My stomach turns over, still empty despite the burgers we just ordered, though the idea of eating anything makes me sick. Before Evvy confronted me at the restaurant about Connor, I’d snuck into the kitchen to talk with him. He was bent over a stainless-steel table, tapping at the screen of his phone, and Scott Lambert was at the grill. The heavy smell of French fries emanated from the small hot space.

  “Mom. What are you doing here?” Connor looked at me warily.

  “Evvy and I are here for dinner. I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Hi.” His eyes flicked back to his phone.

  “Do you have a minute? Can we talk?” I heard the desperate note in my voice and he must have too.

  “I guess.” He headed in the direction of the dining room.

  “Can we go outside?” I gestured to the heavy metal door that led to the alley.

  “It’s fucking freezing.”

  The swearing made the hair on the back of my neck stand up on end. This wasn’t the way he talked to me. I didn’t acknowledge it. “Grab a sweatshirt.”

  He shook his head in exasperation but grabbed his hoodie from a hook on the wall. He held the door open for me and I stepped out into the frigid night.

  “Are you okay?” I asked after the door banged behind us.

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” He was anxious and twitchy, ready to be rid of me.

  “You’re not.”

  Our breath puffed out in white plumes, lighting up the sky between us. I’d left my own coat at the table with Evvy, and I crossed my arms across my chest in a futile attempt to stay warm.

  “What did you want to talk about?” He didn’t even try to hide his impatience.

  I tried to find a way to ask him my question without further angering him. When I realized there was no way to do this, I plowed ahead. “Whose drugs were those?”

  “Can you keep your voice down?” He looked around instinctively, but there was no one else out there, just us and the starry winter sky. I could see that Main Street was deserted. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does. They belonged to someone, and if they weren’t yours, then someone is going to be looking for them. Whose were they?” I wished Jack were there for this conversation. He has always held an authority with Connor that I don’t. I am the gentle one, the friend, the confidante and comforter, while Jack is the heavy.

  “I can’t talk to you about this.” He took a step back, shoulders hunched, his body folding in on itself.

  “You need to,” I said. He had always talked to me, until this past year at least. When he was upset or worried, when he was angry, when he was excited about something. It scared me to think we might have lost that too.

  “Not now. Not here.” He looked around again at the vacant alley and desolate street beyond.

  “Fine. Tomorrow night you’re coming over for dinner.”

  “Mom,” he said in exasperation. He wiped his nose on the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

  “I’m not asking, Connor. I haven’t told your father yet, but if you don’t come over tomorrow night and tell me the full story, I’m telling him everything.” I hated to threaten him like this, but I didn’t see what choice I had. I needed him to talk to me.

  “So Dad won’t be at dinner?” There was something accusing in his voice that caught me off guard, and I was silent, formulating my answer. In my rush to get him to come over, I’d forgotten about Jack.

  “I’m not sure. I think he has to work.” It sounded weak even to me.

  “I know, Mom,” Connor said in a flat voice.

  I pretended not to understand. “Know what?”

  “I know, all right? About you and Dad. I know he moved out.”

  “How do you know?” It was the least important question, but it was the first to come to mind.

  He let out a huff, something between a bitter laugh and a sigh. “It’s a small island.”

  “I’m sorry.” I had no other words to offer.

  “God, were you ever going to tell me?” I saw the hurt in his eyes, and though I hated that I’d caused it, I was relieved to see some emotion on his face.

  “We were. I didn’t know how.”

  We stood in the cold for another moment, without talking. The weight of everything we weren’t saying hovered between us, an extra body in the night.
>
  “I’ve got to get back to work,” Connor said.

  “We’ll talk about this more tomorrow night, okay? Six?” I reminded him.

  “Yeah, whatever,” Connor said, and turned back to go inside.

  Then I made him come and say hello to Evvy, to pretend that things were fine, but she picked up the scent of despair and hopelessness immediately. Far faster than I have. She’s right, of course. I need to call Jack. So even though I promised Connor that I wouldn’t, not even a few hours earlier, I steel myself to tell Jack everything. I take a sip of tea and dial his number. He picks up on the first ring.

  “Hi. Everything okay?” Jack asks.

  “It’s fine.” The word is meaningless, since none of us is fine, but no one is bleeding from the head, so I guess in that sense it’s true, I’m fine. “I need you to come over tomorrow night. Connor’s coming for dinner.”

  I don’t know if I expected an argument, but he doesn’t question why or try to make up an excuse.

  “Okay.”

  “He’s coming at six, but be here earlier. We need to talk first.” I pull a blanket over my lap, finger the wool tassels along its edge.

  “All right.” He’s so amenable that I wonder whether, if I told him he needed to move back home, he’d agree just as easily.

  “He knows. That you’re not living here.”

  There’s a pause. “How?”

  “It’s a small island,” I remind him. How many times has one of us said this? It sometimes feels impossible to keep anything hidden in a place like Great Rock, yet I realize suddenly how many secrets we’ve all been keeping.

  “How is he?” Jack asks.

  “I don’t know.” I recall Connor’s pinched features, the distance between us. “Angry.”

  I try to picture Jack at the Feldmans’ house, but I can’t. They are a summer family that he’s known for years and whose house he’s caretaken for, but I’ve never been there. I can’t place him in a living room or kitchen or bedroom.

  “What do you want to talk about tomorrow?” Jack asks.

  “Connor.”

  “What about him? I thought you said he seemed okay the last time you saw him.” There’s a note of panic in his voice. Maybe Jack knows just as well as I do. Perhaps he’s known all along.

  “I lied. He’s not okay, Jack. He’s not okay at all.” I reach for the mug, enjoy the small comfort of the heat against my palm.

  “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

  I sigh. “I don’t want to talk about it over the phone. Can we just talk tomorrow? Come at six.”

  “I’ll come over now,” Jack says.

  It’s nearly nine. I’m wrung out and exhausted, yet suddenly alert at the thought of Jack coming over.

  “You don’t need to do that,” I tell him. “It’s not an emergency. We can talk tomorrow.” I realize how ridiculous this is. If this isn’t an emergency, what is? Have I steadily gotten used to the idea of Connor doing drugs, so the truth doesn’t shock me as much as it should?

  “I’m coming now. I’ll be over in fifteen minutes,” Jack says.

  We hang up and I hurry upstairs to the bedroom. I’m in the yoga pants and sweater I changed into after dinner, the same outfit Jack’s seen me in a hundred times. I stand in front of my dresser, wanting to put on something nicer, but not wanting him to realize I bothered. We’ve been married more than twenty years and he’s seen me in sweatpants and sweaters nearly every night for most of our marriage. For me to put on something nice now would be absurd, given the reason he’s coming over, not to mention obvious. I finally peel off the oversized cardigan I wear around the house most days and exchange it for a soft purple turtleneck. I leave on the pants, aware that I’ve lost a few pounds since he’s moved out and the yoga pants show it. Then I’m ashamed because this is supposed to be about Connor, not me and Jack.

  I hear his car pull up outside, and Champ’s nails scrabble around on the floor as he hurries to the door to stand at attention. I run my fingers through my hair and go down to let Jack in, but he’s already unlocked the side door and is squatting down beside Champ, rubbing him around the ears.

  “Glad you’re locking the door,” Jack says.

  “It’s night. I always lock it at night.” I add more hot water to my mug and pour another for Jack without asking if he wants one. He gives Champ a final rub and then reaches for the cup. A day or two’s worth of dark stubble prickles his chin and cheeks. “You growing a beard?”

  Jack’s always been clean-cut, hair trimmed neatly every few weeks, freshly shaven each morning. He’s not the beard type. I don’t know why I’m making jokes, but I’m not ready for the conversation we need to have. He brings his hand to his face and rubs his cheek. “It’s vacation week. I took a few days off. Didn’t bother to shave today.”

  “No trip this year?”

  He shrugs. “Didn’t really feel like going anywhere alone.” He lets the thought hang there, and I wonder if he means anything by it. He takes another sip of tea and then gestures with his chin. “Your hair looks nice, by the way. I forgot to tell you the other night.”

  “Thanks.” I bring my hand up and finger the short ends self-consciously. I keep forgetting that I’ve cut it until someone notices. He’s looking at me in a way that he hasn’t in ages, like he’s actually seeing me. After so many years of marriage, it feels like we’ve lost track of each other. But now he’s paying attention, and I blush under his gaze.

  He shifts gears. “So what’s up?”

  “Come sit.”

  I lead him into the living room and we sink into the couch. I take a sip of tea, and then another, stalling the conversation we need to have. I blink back the tears that have come out of nowhere.

  “I’m not sure where to begin,” I say.

  His face relaxes and he pulls my feet into his lap. How many nights have we sat on the couch in this same position? Totally ordinary moments until they suddenly disappeared. I don’t know where the unexpected tenderness comes from and why I’m not resisting it, but the wall of anger between us may be thawing.

  “Just tell me,” he says.

  So I do. I tell him everything. I start with the bag of drugs I found. His jaw tightens when I tell him what I did with them, and my body is flooded with shame and fear for Connor. I don’t know what I should have done, but it wasn’t that. I tell him about Connor coming by to find the drugs, the rabid look in his eyes, the absence of our son in them. I tell him about tonight, what Evvy said. That I know it’s true. Jack is silent, listening carefully, his face intent.

  “I’m afraid, Jack,” I finally say once I’ve finished.

  “Of what?”

  “Everything. I’m afraid that whoever’s drugs those were is going to come after Connor. I’m afraid that these drugs are going to kill him, or if they don’t, that they’ll turn him into someone he’s not.” I purse my lips together, unsure if I should tell Jack my most urgent fear. But Evvy’s right. I need to do everything I can to save Connor, and everything is all mixed up. “I’m afraid he did something that night. That he had some part in that girl’s death.”

  Not much surprises Jack. He’s been a cop for twenty-three years, and though we live on a safe and relatively sheltered island, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t see ugly things on a daily basis. When I tell him I’m worried Connor had something to do with the murder on the beach, I see his surprise, and I have a feeling it’s not because the thought hasn’t already crossed his mind, but because he didn’t think I’d ever believe such a thing.

  “Why do you think that?” he asks.

  “You should have seen him the other day when he came over here looking for those drugs. He was so angry. I’ve never seen him so mad. I actually thought he was going to hurt me.” I swallow down the waiting tears.

  “He didn’t have anything to do with that, Carrie. I’m sure of it.” He holds up his hand to stop the rising river of hysteria that threatens to pour forth. I’m not the type to cry and fret and fuss at every
little thing. I’m not like Evvy, who’s always been temperamental, but Jack is put off by any show of emotion, and any sign of tears or anger must be tamped down. It’s always driven me nuts how quick he is to quell the storm, but right now I’m grateful. I need his clear head to be rational and think calmly.

  “How do you know?” I ask.

  “I just do,” Jack says, and I’m not sure if it’s because he wants to believe it as much as I do or because he has information about the case that he’s not sharing. “He’s coming over tomorrow night?”

  I nod. “He doesn’t know you’re coming though. I told him I wouldn’t tell you.”

  “So we’ll talk to him. We’ll find out what’s going on. We’ll make him tell us the truth,” Jack says. He makes it sound so simple. As if the answer were waiting all this time.

  “What if he won’t tell us?”

  Jack takes my hand in his. His skin is dry from the cold winter air. “He will.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then we figure out how to help him.”

  Relief floods through me. He’ll do what he must to save Connor after all. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “It will be okay,” Jack says and squeezes my hand.

  I nod, wiping my eyes with the heel of my palm. It wasn’t until Jack came over that I realized how alone I’ve felt, burdened down with my worry for Connor. After so many years of sharing the day-to-day fears and triumphs of parenting, I didn’t realize how lonely it could be. I wonder if Jack has been lonely too, or if he’s allowed himself company over the long few months.

  “What about Deanna?” I ask.

  His eyes crinkle in confusion. “What about her?”

  “Are you seeing her? Is something going on with the two of you?” I swallow down my embarrassment, needing to know the answer.

  “No,” he says softly. “There’s only you, Caroline.”

  I’m half lying on the couch with my legs in Jack’s lap, and he carefully lifts and lowers them to the floor then leans closer to me, till his face is just inches away and his chest is pressing down on mine. He smells like himself, Old Spice deodorant and the metallic scent of winter in his hair. His lips find mine. It’s only been a few months, but I feel like we haven’t really kissed in years, so used to the quick peck on the cheek or a hurried goodbye in the morning.