What’s Not True: A Novel

by Valerie Taylor

  On the other hand, Karen donated her kidney, but not without a price, a quid pro quo, baked into her original offer to do so. Ostensibly, her gift was out of her timeless love for him. But Mike questioned her motive. Was it payback for the years he supported her after Barry died? Or was it her jealousy of Kassie? Donating her kidney gave her bragging rights over Kassie. A clear case of one-upmanship. He couldn’t explain why, but a gnawing feeling haunted him. Maybe Kassie’s sixth sense was contagious.

  Next, take sex: Karen one point, Kassie half a point. Hard to honestly compare the two, since his sex life with Kassie petered out, gradually and literally, after his vasectomy. With Karen, though, once they were given the all-clear signal from the doctors after the transplant, they’d picked up where they’d left off in college. Except this time there was no chance of a pregnancy. Thank God.

  Enough daydreaming. Time to get up and get the show on the road.

  As he stood at the toilet smiling, happy that peeing was no longer a struggle, he realized he’d never understood women. You’d think he would have after being married to Kassie for decades. But no. Still a mystery.

  Take Charlie’s suggestion the night before of throwing the guys’ keys in a bag. Charlie said it was a game they’d played in college. Mike didn’t recall it, though he was certain he would’ve been open to it if he’d been invited to play. What surprised him was that Nancy and Sarah vocalized their objection, but Karen didn’t do so at the time. She poo-pooed it only when he’d raised the prospect of it with her afterward. Would she have gone along with it?

  What if she pulled Bill’s key? Mike laughed as he retrieved clean underwear from his armoire, careful not to wake Karen. Could a roll in the hay thaw the icy waters between the two of them? Mike snorted. Fat chance.

  What if it was Charlie’s key? How weird would that have been for her? Bedding down with the man who was her son’s adoptive father? Of course, they would have Chris to talk about post-coital. Wonder if Charlie needs Viagra to get it up at his age? Mike filed that as something he could probe Charlie about delicately if he had the chance over the weekend. Man-to-man. Real-dad-to-fake-dad.

  Mike wasn’t surprised the house was as quiet as a couch full of napping felines. Karen and the others more than likely were sleeping off their high. On any other Saturday morning at six thirty, Mike would still be between the covers asleep or at least contemplating getting laid. But something woke him. Was his mind working overtime thinking about the letter he’d decided to write last night? Or was it the damp shirt that interrupted his sleep? Didn’t matter. He was glad to be up before the other roosters and hens started gathering in the kitchen.

  The kitchen looked a bit disturbed itself and smelled like hazelnut. The Keurig light was on, and a variety of coffee and tea K-cups were lined up ready to be brewed. Two coffee mugs mingled—half a cup of coffee lingered in one, the other appeared untouched. A white bakery box sat on the counter next to the sink, its lid beckoning a look-see. As he did, he stepped on something that crunched. He bent over and picked up what looked like a remnant from a cannoli shell and tossed it in the trash. He brushed white sugar off the counter and into the sink.

  Someone had the munchies. Despite the crumbs on the floor, Mike was pleased his guests—his friends—made themselves at home in the middle of the night. Would they admit their midnight raid or even remember it?

  Mike took advantage of the Keurig being ready and the convenient empty mug. He carried his coffee down the hall, passing Kassie’s office. The door was still closed. His palm touched it as he walked by.

  Settling into his leather chair, Mike powered up his computer and opened a new Word document. In less than five minutes, he fulfilled the promise he made to Bill the night before. He saved the letter in two places on his hard drive—his personal file and his Ricci and Son file. He printed six copies, slid them into a blue folder, and then took it out to his car, tossing it onto the passenger seat.

  Still early, he refreshed his coffee and cozied up in his Pleasure Chair in the family room. He lifted the footrest and shook his head, deciding he should let in some fresh air. He got up and opened the sliding doors as quietly as possible, hoping not to wake anyone, and then made his way to the laundry room. A healthy spray of Febreeze should help eliminate the skunk smell from last night’s party—a trick he’d learned from Amelia.

  None too soon. Above him Mike could hear footfalls and running water.

  “You’re up early,” Bill said, running his hand through his hair.

  “Hey, man, look at you. Let me get you some clothes.”

  “How about a shirt for Nancy too?”

  As Mike and Bill made their way upstairs, Charlie and Sarah waited at the top.

  “Good morning! Sleep well?” Mike greeted them a little out of breath.

  “Like a baby! Sarah had to feed me every two hours!”

  “Did not.” Sarah punched Charlie in the shoulder.

  “So it was you who had the munchies?”

  “Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Charlie shrugged.

  “You guys make yourself at home. We’ll be down in a jiffy.”

  Mike could hear laughter from the kitchen as he and Karen came downstairs.

  “Sounds like they’re getting along,” Mike said as they walked down the hallway.

  “Glad someone is.”

  Mike grabbed Karen’s arm and pulled her toward him. “Hey, kiddo, sorry I fell asleep last night. I’ll make it up to you later, if you behave,” Mike whispered and kissed her on the nose.

  “There you two are. Thought you were going back to bed,” Charlie teased. Mike noticed his wink at Karen. Probably everyone did.

  “Actually, I’m going to leave you guys for an hour. I have a couple of errands to run. Have some coffee. Make some bacon and eggs,” Mike suggested.

  “I’d have a cannoli, but they’re gone,” Nancy said. “Weren’t you the first one up, Mike?”

  “I was, but I didn’t.”

  “Okay, fess up, you guys. Who’s the culprit?” Nancy continued her research.

  “I confess. I couldn’t sleep with all you guys snoring. You sounded like an out-of-step marching band. I was starving,” Karen said. Mike sensed coyness in her remark.

  As he grabbed his keys, Mike recalled Charlie’s game, the two cups, and the crumbs on the floor but decided to let it slide. For now.

  Mike pulled into the bank parking lot as the manager unlatched the front door.

  “Mr. Ricci. You’re bright and early today. Can I help you?”

  Yes, she could, and she did. She notarized and had witnessed his signature on six copies of the letter he’d written earlier that morning, shook his hand, patted his back, and let him into the vault.

  “Good for you, Mr. Ricci, keeping your ducks in order. I’ve always said if you fail to plan, you plan to fail.”

  The voice of Kassie’s mother and her annoying habit of quoting long-dead poets echoed in his mind. Was the whole world populated with epigrammatists?

  Pushing those thoughts aside, Mike focused on the task at hand. While his health may have failed over time, he’d be damned if the future of his business would. Taking care of the people who’d made him a success should help make up for his sins and ensure the longevity of Ricci and Son.

  After placing one of the letters in his safety deposit box, Mike drove to the post office and overnighted one letter to his lawyer and one to his accountant, including a Post-it note letting each know that the other received a copy. He checked his phone for Annie’s address. He tried to remember if that was the week Kassie was in Italy with Annie, but it didn’t matter; the package would be waiting for her when she returned. He shoved two envelopes in the cardboard container: one envelope addressed to Chris, the other to Kassie with a note to hand deliver the envelope to Chris. Perhaps this would break the stalemate between them and give them a reason to get back together. It was the least he could do.

  One more stop and one more envelope to deliver
.

  Bill and Nancy were climbing into their Hyundai SUV as Mike pulled into his driveway.

  “Leaving so soon? I have donuts. I know they’re not quite cannolis, but sugar . . .”

  “Sweet. But no thanks, Mike. We need to get going. Saturday, the boys and all,” Nancy said.

  As Bill approached Mike to shake his hand, Mike slapped an envelope in Bill’s palm.

  “What’s this?”

  “See you Tuesday. Remember I’m taking Monday off. One last day—”

  “Before they leave?” Bill laughed. “Have fun, if you can.”

  Mike waved, backpedaling toward the house. Bill threw his hands in the air and mouthed the words, “What the . . . ?” confirming Mike had accomplished his goal that Bill would see the message he’d written in red on the envelope.

  Open in the event of Michael Ricci’s death.

  8

  Duck, Duck, Goose

  Dutifully, the five “friends” Mike left behind in the kitchen as he ran some errands busied themselves with breakfast. While Karen and Nancy set the table, Bill and Charlie fired up the griddle. Where was Sarah?

  Clever girl to escape having to do anything like work. The pungent smell of bacon redirected Karen’s negative thoughts about Sarah to her stomach, which gurgled on its own.

  “Was that you?” Charlie teased as Karen brushed his arm as she passed him to get the silverware out of the drawer.

  “The bacon. Guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

  “It’s the nitrates working their magic.” Sarah moseyed into the kitchen out of nowhere from the direction of Kassie’s office.

  “She should know, a nutritionist by training and all,” Charlie boasted a little too proudly for Karen’s taste.

  “So, I suppose you don’t eat bacon?” Karen taunted Sarah.

  “Oh, I do. Sometimes. I’ll probably pass this morning. It can make my hands swell.”

  Sarah held up her hands, spreading her fingers. Her obscene diamond engagement ring competed in size and stature with the emerald-cut emerald on her right hand.

  Fuck that. Karen massaged her ringless hands as if she was rubbing in lotion and plucked an extra piece of bacon off the platter to accompany her two eggs over easy. She had her man—men, actually—right where she wanted them. They could care less if her hands swelled, as long as they were serviceable.

  “Speaking of hands, where were yours when we were pulling this spread together?” Charlie half scolded, half kidded Sarah.

  “In the back office. I guess it’s Kassie’s?”

  “Wish Mike would get rid of everything in that room.” Karen tore a piece of toast in two and proceeded to mop up the yolk of her eggs.

  “You think he’s keeping it as a monument to her?” Charlie added his two cents. If he was trying to make Karen feel better, it wasn’t working.

  “What were you doing in there? Isn’t that off-limits? I thought the door was closed.” Nancy spoke up, sounding accusatory.

  “Just looking around.” Sarah either ignored Nancy’s tone or was oblivious to it, as Karen figured she was with most things. “There’s adorable pictures of her cat in there. Topher’s his name. Isn’t that funny?”

  “Funny teehee, or funny strange?” Karen’s curiosity kindled.

  “Neither,” Bill chimed in. “Story goes, she adopted him from a shelter in Newburyport after she’d met Chris. His previous owners had named him Moguls. Guess they were skiers. Kind of hard to pronounce unless you have marbles in your mouth.” Bill tried to be funny, puffing out his cheeks and mumbling, and then exhaling. “So Kassie renamed him in honor of your son, Sarah.”

  “My son,” Karen said, her nostrils bulging as she inhaled, her fork and knife upright in her fists positioned squarely on the table.

  “Our son.” Charlie announced, appearing to placate both Sarah and Karen and attempting to take the wind out of a brewing argument, or cat fight.

  Karen clanged her utensils across her plate, gripped the side of her chair, and crossed her ankles, doing everything possible to prevent an outburst she might be sorry for later.

  With their mouths full, the five “friends” finished breakfast without a murmur, barely grunting even when asking to pass the butter.

  “It’s time we head out,” Bill said, finally breaking through the silence. “Nancy, let’s go.”

  “Nice having you both. See you at the office, Bill.” Karen fake smiled, trying to clear the air as she ushered Nancy and Bill out the door. Good riddance. She chalked it up to another brick in the wall when it came to her relationship with Bill.

  “That went well,” Charlie laughed.

  “Don’t be such a fool. You didn’t help. I have to work with him.” Karen gestured for Charlie and Sarah to sit back down at the table.

  “You really don’t,” Sarah said. “I understand you needed a job when you first moved here, but you’ve been here awhile. I’m sure you could find a job somewhere else.”

  “And once you and Mike are married, you shouldn’t have to work,” Charlie prodded.

  “I like being there, with Mike and Chris. We have so many years to catch up on. And anyway, working there isn’t the problem.”

  “What is?” Sarah needled.

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, Sarah, but it’s you.” Karen looked her straight in the eye. “And Charlie.” She bowed her head toward the placemat.

  “What?” Sarah leaned forward in her chair. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I’m not. People still consider you two Chris’s parents.” Karen pointed at Sarah and Charlie in turn. “Not me and Mike.” She pounded her chest.

  “What people?” Sarah pressed.

  “Obviously, Bill and Nancy. Chris. Probably Kassie too.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about Bill and Nancy. They seem like nice folks. They’ll come around. Just give them time.” Charlie patted the back of Karen’s hand.

  “What about Kassie? Seems she considers Mike his father.” Sarah wouldn’t let it go. “I bet every day she chastises herself for shagging her husband’s son.” Sarah tilted her head and wrapped her arms around herself. “Sends shivers up my spine when I try to put myself in her shoes. Poor woman.”

  Charlie reached over and rubbed Sarah’s back. “Don’t feel sorry for Kassie. Sounds like she’s moved on. Mike told me he thinks she’s in Europe on vacation—”

  “On the prowl for another sucker.” Karen attempted a joke no one got.

  “I beg your pardon. Are you calling my son a sucker?” Sarah’s face flushed, her eyes tearing.

  “I rest my case. You see, you guys are the problem. If you can’t stop referring to him as your son, how can anyone else start referring to him as mine?” Karen started clearing the table.

  “Really, Karen? You gonna go there?” Sarah picked up her dishes and followed Karen to the sink. “As I recall, by your choice, we’ve been Chris’s parents all his life. We’re all he’s known. He’s an adult now, not a child. You can’t expect him to rewrite his life just because you want him to.”

  Biting her lip, Karen decided not to fight this fight. She had bigger fish to fry. She grabbed Sarah’s dishes and dropped them in the sink. The silverware clanged against the plates. She looked out the window over the sink as Mike pulled in the driveway. With reinforcements arriving, she turned toward Sarah with renewed confidence.

  Karen leaned back on the edge of the counter over the sink as Sarah invaded her space, continuing on her high horse. She raised her eyebrows and covered her nose as Sarah’s tea breath was already souring.

  “Maybe you should’ve thought all this through, Karen, before you cooked up your little scheme. You haven’t changed.”

  “All’s fair in love . . .”

  Meow.

  Karen rocked from one foot to another, loading the dishwasher as Mike came into the kitchen carrying a box of donuts. Moments earlier, from her vantage point peering out the window, she saw Mike and Bill shake hands as Mike handed him what looked lik
e a white envelope. Why did Bill throw his hands in the air?

  “Kitchen’s closed already?” Mike slid the donut box onto the small counter next to the stove. “Guess I’m too late.”

  “Yup. Looks like the party’s over. For the time being anyway,” Karen said with her hands on her hips.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting ready? What time is our duck boat tour? Should be a beautiful day to end up in the Charles. Quack. Quack.” Mike laughed and tweaked her nose.

  “Aren’t you in a good mood?” Karen slammed the dish towel on the counter. “I’ve got to get dressed.”

  As Karen turned toward the hallway to go up the stairs, Sarah and Charlie arrived in the kitchen, looking as though they were ready to go.

  “Oh, it’ll only take me a few minutes to change. More coffee? Mike brought donuts.” Karen pointed to the box on the counter at the far end of the kitchen.

  “No coffee, thanks.” The polite Sarah seemed to have returned.

  “We’re going for a walk.” Charlie gave Mike’s shoulder a squeeze as he passed him.

  “Don’t be gone too long. We’ll need to leave in an hour.”

  “No problem. We’ll be back shortly.” Charlie flashed a thumbs-up as he and Sarah walked out the front door. “Could you leave the door unlocked?”

  Karen shrugged and went up to the bedroom. Enough of Sarah for a while. She had more important things to think about. Like, what would she wear? She’d been gradually moving her clothes and essentials from her apartment to Mike’s house in anticipation of settling in once and for all when the divorce was final. She couldn’t wait. The uncertainty of whether she had the right clothes for every occasion was driving her batty. Though having the right clothes wasn’t the only thing she had to change at the house.