The Liar of Red Valley

by Walter Goodwater

  There were probably a dozen people in the restaurant enjoying their late lunch. A few older couples, some kids near the back who’d mostly just ordered water, a family with towheaded toddlers who were throwing food on the black-and-white tile floor. Sadie grabbed a glass from the counter and got up on one of the barstools and clanged on the glass with a butter knife.

  “Excuse me, can I have everyone’s attention, please?” And then she had every eye in the room on her. None of them looked particularly pleased. “Thanks. I promise I won’t take much of your time. Some of you probably know who I am—or, at least, who my mother was. Well, she died. And now I’m the Liar of Red Valley, I guess.”

  Wrinkled scowls hardened on some of the older couples. The toddlers’ mother mostly ignored her while she tried to keep one kid from shoving a French fry in the other one’s nose. Dishes getting washed clinked in the kitchen.

  “I need some practice,” Sadie went on before her resolve could completely wilt. “So today we’re having a one-time special offer. Everyone pays the Liar’s Price, but the Lie itself is...” She paused a second, remembering how light her wallet was, and the cost of gas. “The Lie is ten dollars only.” Denise made a clucking sound with her tongue and Sadie added, “Right. That’s ten dollars only with a purchase from this fine eating establishment.”

  Murmurs began. Some faces still glared at her, but others had softened and become thoughtful. How many people in Red Valley had been interested in coming to see the Liar, but couldn’t afford what her mom charged? How many people had Lies worth the price?

  “Okay,” Sadie said, suddenly feeling strange standing on a barstool. “I’m setting up shop in the booth back there. Tell your friends.” She got down, smiled awkwardly at Denise, then took her ledger and supplies and retreated to the back booth. And waited. Denise brought her a glass of ice water. She took a sip, and then waited. A puddle of condensation gathered around the base. And still she waited. Nearby, the ancient oak tree creaked slightly. Whatever Lies people in town had, maybe they didn’t want them told in front of God and everybody by a window at the Treehouse. Maybe that’s why her mom had moved them so far out of town.

  A woman came and slid into the booth across from her. Sadie hadn’t noticed her when she’d been giving her announcement. She was in her early fifties, with graying black hair and a forced smile. Foundation caked around her eyes and mouth and some of her lipstick had rubbed off on her teeth. Gaudy gold earrings dangled from each ear.

  “So,” the woman said. “How does this work, exactly?”

  “I’m figuring that out myself,” Sadie replied. She picked up her pen and opened her ledger to the first page. “I think you tell me what you’d like to have change, and then I write it down, and then we go from there.”

  The woman’s smile slipped a little. “Just like that?”

  Sadie nodded. “Just like that.”

  “And only ten dollars?”

  “Special price. Today only.”

  “Right,” she said. She was clutching the strap to her purse with two tight fists. Veins stood out on the backs of her hands. “I met your mother once. Never got the nerve to ask her how much it would cost. I never have had much money, and my husband would never agree to…” She trailed off and looked out the window. There was a bus stop near the corner. A few cars drove lazily past. A kid rattled by on an old skateboard.

  “Maybe now’s not the best—” Sadie began.

  “No,” the woman said, blinking away unacknowledgeable tears. “Special price, right? Today only.” She sighed and pressed her lips together. “I’ve not been handling it. My therapist tells me I’m doing great and my husband just won’t talk about it, but I’m not doing great. I’m not going to ever do great. I just… but then you hopped up there and said you’re the Liar now, and I’ve got ten dollars right here.” She dove into her purse and came up with two fives. “My husband never has to know.”

  Sadie’s mouth was dry. She’d wanted to be the Liar so she’d be protected, so maybe she could make a better life for herself. She’d thought that the magic would be the hard part. Maybe she was wrong.

  “What would you like me to write?” Sadie asked softly.

  “If I want to change something,” the woman said, “will it just change for me? Or everybody?”

  “I think that depends on what I write,” Sadie said. “If you wanted to change something for everybody, that Lie would be much more costly. If you wanted to change it for yourself, I think the Liar’s Price would be lower.”

  “Good,” the woman said. “That’s good. I don’t need it changed for everybody. Everyone else seems to be doing just fine. I’m the only one who can’t move on.”

  “Alright,” Sadie said. She was in no hurry, since she’d just been waiting before the woman came to take her up on her offer, and the woman was clearly not ready to be pushed.

  The woman let out a little grunt as she tried to will the tears from forming. The muscles around her mouth and chin were straining from the effort. “It was twelve years ago,” she said, maybe hoping speaking would distract her. “That should be long enough, right? Time is supposed to heal all wounds, they say. Well that’s bullshit.”

  Her hand shot up to her lips, surprised at her own vulgarity. Sadie just smiled and waited.

  “I’m sorry, I’m not usually like this,” the woman said. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’m always like this. That’s why I was eating alone today. Friends are there for you at first. They bring you casseroles and tell you they’re praying for you. But there’s a limit. They don’t tell you that, of course. They let you grieve for a while, but eventually they get bored. When you refuse to get better, they stop coming over. Nobody wants to be reminded about death.”

  Sadie had hoped her first Lies would be changing someone’s hair color, or making someone a bit thinner or taller. But she doubted that’s what this woman had in mind.

  “I lost my son,” the woman finally blurted out, louder than she meant to. “Twelve years ago. He knew the rules, we taught all our kids the rules for living in this awful town. But Nick always liked to take risks, always pushed the boundaries. Drove me crazy with worry.”

  A rogue tear escaped and ran down her face. Sadie handed her a paper napkin and she dabbed it away.

  “He went in the River,” the woman said. “I can’t tell you how many times we told him not to. He was a great swimmer. He was a strong boy, a good boy. But you don’t go in the River. Everybody knows that. Nick knew that. But he just had to see for himself.”

  Sadie pictured the black churning depths of the River and shuddered. She’d been curious about what lay beneath, but never enough to dip even a toe into that dark water.

  The woman went on. “We had the funeral, even though they never found a body. My husband even got him a plot and a headstone. I think he thought it might help me, if I had somewhere I could go to say goodbye. It didn’t. Nothing did. Nothing fills a hole like that. It just grows and grows and eats you up inside.”

  Sadie felt a pang deep in her heart, in that broken place that couldn’t heal since her mom had died. She could only imagine what the reverse might feel like. She didn’t want to imagine it.

  “How can I help?” Sadie asked.

  The woman pointed at the ledger. “I want you to write down that I never had a son. I have three lovely daughters who miss their mom. I have a husband who doesn’t even look at me. I’ve tried to push through, to come out stronger on the other side, and that isn’t going to happen. I just want to forget.”

  “You know about the Liar’s Price?”

  “I do. What… what do you think that would cost me?”

  Sadie shook her head. “I really don’t know, I’m sorry.” Nick was gone, had been gone a long time. Writing him out of her life wouldn’t be a small Lie, but it wouldn’t be the biggest either. Maybe the cost wouldn’t be that high.

  “That’s fine,” the woman said. “Whatever it is, I’ll pay it. Whatever time I have left can’t be like this.
I won’t let it be like this.”

  “Okay,” Sadie said. “What’s your name?”

  “Marilyn,” she said. “Marilyn Stevens.”

  “Okay, Marilyn,” Sadie said. She looked down at the ledger and gripped the pen. Her first Lie. A horrible, ugly Lie that just might let this woman live again. Sadie wrote the date, and then she wrote:

  Marilyn Stevens never had a son named Nick.

  “I’m going to need some blood, Marilyn.”

  “Oh, right,” Marilyn said, a bit flustered. “I forgot about that part.”

  Sadie took out her mom’s pocketknife. “Don’t worry,” she said, “it’s very sharp.” She cleaned the blade with some rubbing alcohol then motioned for Marilyn to hold out her hand, which she reluctantly did. Sadie pressed the tip as gently as possible into the meat of her thumb until blood welled up.

  “Just mark here,” Sadie said, and Marilyn smeared her blood into the Liar’s ledger. As she did, Sadie felt something stirring inside of her. She recognized it from when she had put her own blood in the book. The Lie was taking shape. She focused, concentrated. She imagined a life for Marilyn without the burden of loss, full of joy at the lives of her three remaining children. She imagined a world without Nick and without the agony of his absence.

  And then it was done.

  Sadie handed Marilyn a Band-Aid for her thumb.

  “How long before…?” Marilyn started to ask, but then trailed off almost sleepily. Her eyes fluttered a bit. Then her whole countenance changed. Her back became a little straighter, her shoulders less bunched. Her face relaxed and her eyes brightened. She smiled at Sadie, a little confused, then abruptly stood and walked out of the Treehouse.

  I’m so sorry, Nick, Sadie thought. Wherever you are.

  Sadie collected the ten dollars that Marilyn left and tucked it into her pocket and resigned herself to more waiting, but then a moment later another person was sitting across from her. She leaned out of the booth and looked down toward the front of the diner. A line of people snaked between the tables and out the doors. Denise was walking down the line, taking orders.

  “Alright,” Sadie said to her next client. “What can I do for you today?”

  Sadie Lied through the dinner rush. Denise had to call in extra help in the kitchen. Sadie caught a glimpse of Javier bussing a load of dirty dishes to the back, but he didn’t look up at her. Most of the people who sat across from her were strangers, though she recognized a few. Some were very reluctant to tell their secrets; others were thrilled they were getting such a great deal. Most weren’t happy about getting cut though, no matter how cheap the price.

  To Sadie’s relief, they were mostly petty little Lies, nothing like the first one. She regrew hair and removed cellulite, changed eye color and fixed broken family heirlooms. One grateful woman asked if Sadie could make her husband less fat and lazy, but Sadie had to demur. These were harmless things, simple things, but with each one Sadie felt her power—and her confidence—grow a little. Maybe she could be the Liar after all.

  When the line finally ran out, Denise came over and slapped a pile of bills on the table.

  “What’s this?” Sadie asked.

  “Your split of the tips,” Denise said. “Never had so many happy customers.”

  Between the tips and her Liar’s fees, Sadie now had more cash than she’d ever had in her life. And she’d been giving away her talents at a reduced rate. As her abilities grew, so could her fees. Maybe she wouldn’t have to spend the rest of her life praying for enough to pay for gas.

  She gathered up her things and her money and shoved them into her backpack. As she did, something caught her attention about the tree at the center of the restaurant. She walked over and ran a finger over the spot where she’d broken a branch off to assist in the summoning of Mary Bell. The branch hadn’t regrown. A few of the other branches didn’t look right either, and a few dried leaves crunched under her feet.

  “Denise,” she said. “Is something wrong with the tree?”

  The owner didn’t look up from where she sat counting the day’s take. “That tree has a mind all its own. If there’s something wrong, it doesn’t bother to share those details with us mere mortals.”

  All of Red Valley had been looking dried-out and withered for a while now, as far back as Sadie could recall. But until today, she’d never seen the old tree affected by the drought—or anything, for that matter. She wondered how much more the town could take.

  She took a slice of apple pie to go, and stepped outside. The sun was long gone and the night almost felt like it was cooling down. Mosquitos buzzed angrily in her face but she brushed them away with her free hand. She was headed for her mom’s car when she glanced over at the bus stop. A single person stood there, and Sadie thought she recognized her.

  “Courtney, right?” Sadie asked.

  The girl waiting under the yellow street light looked up sharply, surprised to hear her own name. It had been a while since Sadie had seen her, but she hadn’t changed much: still perfect and blonde, dressed for Sunday morning in a floral sundress and white pearls.

  “Hi,” Courtney said, a bit cautiously.

  “I’m Sadie. We went to high school together.”

  “Right,” Courtney said. “Sorry, it took me a minute.”

  “That’s fine,” Sadie said. “It’s been a while since then.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sadie wasn’t sure what had drawn her to speak to Courtney, so wasn’t sure what to say next. During high school, you spend every day with these people. They’re a part of your life, whether you like it or not. But after graduation, they’re just gone, like a death. She remembered Ashleigh’s story about seeing Courtney at Planned Parenthood, but figured that wouldn’t be a good ice-breaker.

  “So you still live in Red Valley? I thought you’d go off to college somewhere.”

  “I did,” Courtney said with a weak, sad smile. “Wasn’t for me. So I came back home. Been back a year or so.”

  Sadie had been staring at people for hours. All sorts of people: rich, poor, young, old, friendly, grumpy. She’d listened to their stories and written their Lies and watched their faces. She’d noticed which ones fidgeted with the silverware on the table, which ones didn’t make eye contact, which ones kept watching the door. Now she turned her honed evaluations on Courtney. Arms crossed tight over her body. Mouth pressed firmly closed. A little too much makeup around the eyes, barely hiding the puffiness. Courtney was a brittle porcelain doll ready to crack.

  “Find any good work in town?”

  “A few odd jobs,” Courtney said, shrugging. “Mostly volunteering at my church.”

  “That probably doesn’t pay too well,” Sadie observed.

  Courtney laughed a little. “No, not really. What about you?”

  “I’ve been stuck here ever since graduation,” Sadie said. She pointed over her shoulder at the Treehouse with a thumb. “Waiting tables, getting discounts on apple pie.”

  “I’ve had worse jobs.”

  “Me too.”

  “I heard about your mom,” Courtney said. “I’m so sorry. She was real nice to me.”

  Sadie had to blink a few times as she processed this. She hadn’t expected Courtney to remember her, let alone her mom.

  “When… when did you see my mom?” Sadie asked.

  Courtney looked down, her cheeks reddening. Behind her, the crosstown #2 bus lumbered up to the stop and its doors hissed open. “That’s my bus,” she said. “I should go.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Sadie said. “Nice seeing you again.”

  “You too,” Courtney said. She stepped up into the bus, paused for a second as if she might say something else, but then just hurried on inside.

  Sadie watched the bus as it drove by. They’d never been friends in school, barely said a word to each other as far as Sadie could remember, but now Sadie couldn’t help but feel a little sad for her. She’d had a chance to escape Red Valley, but here she was again, trying to find a li
fe in a town with little to spare. Whatever her secrets, Sadie hoped she’d find some peace.

  She ate the apple pie as soon as she got home. She was originally only going to eat half and save the rest for later, but that plan—and the pie—didn’t survive very long. As she ate, she idly flipped through the ledgers of her ancestors and wondered at the lives they’d lived and the Lies they’d told, long before Sadie came along. She saw a glimpse of them in these words, a thin outline of people she’d never know. And she wished—not for the first or last time—that she had her mother’s ledger, too.

  Sadie left the old ledgers on the table, but took her own down the hall and flopped onto her bed. Her book was now filled with many of her own Lies, and her mind was full of many new faces. For the first time in her life, people in Red Valley needed something from her; and she was able to give it. Some people at the diner hadn’t been happy when she’d set up shop, but most of them were eager for her help. Maybe the Liar didn’t have to be hated. Maybe she could do some good.

  Though she tried not to, she couldn’t help but think of Marilyn, and of Nick. She’d taken something from that woman, something irreplaceable. Was she really better off without her memories, as painful as they were? Sadie couldn’t even guess, but she had seemed a changed person after the Lie took effect. Her finger traced over the words. How many Lies would it take before she stopped second-guessing them? The previous Liars had hundreds and hundreds in their ledgers. Had that been enough?

  I miss you, Mom, Sadie thought. I wish you could have seen me today. I kicked serious ass.

  Bone-tired, Sadie was about to let herself drift to sleep when she remembered she hadn’t turned off the kitchen light. She used to think an 8-hour shift at the diner was exhausting, but that turned out to be nothing compared with confronting cosmic horrors and rewriting reality. Luckily, they also seemed to pay better. She went back out into the living room and turned off the lights. She was about to head back to her bedroom when something out the window caught her eye. She lifted the blinds and peered out.

  There were blazing headlights at the end of her driveway. Not just one pair; she counted four. She couldn’t see the cars themselves, but it was clear they were blocking the road. Her blood ran cold. Who would…?