Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

  “Well, there’s my good-looking nephew.” Ms. Byrdie went around the counter and embraced Charlie. “Perfect timing. We have enough to make you a plate. Have a seat at the counter.”

  His eyes were locked on her as he strolled up to the counter and sat on a stool. “Hey, Lane.”

  It felt like she had swallowed a mouthful of sawdust. She was unable to offer even a simple greeting in return. In his uniform, Charlie was drawing a mix of curious and anxious looks from the others in the café.

  “Lane, do we have any more napkins in the back?”

  Dottie’s question snapped Lane out of her trance. “Um, yes. I’ll just go get them.”

  “I got it.” Dottie leaned close to Lane’s ear. “Go help that hunk of handsome before I forget I got a man of my own.”

  Ducky’s grating laughter pulled Lane’s attention to where the scrappy senior citizen sat next to Charlie, slapping his shoulder like they were old friends.

  “You need anything else, Ducky? A refill on dessert or iced tea?”

  “Just telling this city boy who’s been eyeing you that you’re already spoken for.”

  Lane rolled her eyes, to which Charlie smiled, dimples and all. “Don’t mind him. He’s ornery.”

  “I don’t know.” Charlie rotated on the stool. “I think the man’s pretty astute to recognize a beautiful lady when he sees one.”

  “Doncha’ try and use that city talk on me, son. I know astute when I see one, and you ain’t gonna pull one over on ol’ Ducky.” Ducky winked with his good eye and pointed a finger at Charlie. “I’m watching you, young fella.”

  Charlie’s eyes were wide as Ducky found an empty chair at a table with Wilbur and Clarence. “Seems like I’ve got some competition.”

  Lane blushed, unable to meet his eyes. There was no competition if the heat rising in her chest was any indication of what her heart felt. “Um, can I get you something to drink?”

  “I know these aren’t regular business hours”—Charlie reached across the counter and let his fingers play across hers, making it hard for Lane to breathe—“but I needed to be sure you were okay. You know, from earlier.”

  Lane started to respond when another puff of warm, muggy air breached the air-conditioned atmosphere of her café. Lane looked over Charlie’s shoulders at the man who had entered. She blinked twice to convince herself the disheveled man in a dirty shirt and torn jeans with dark hair pointing in every direction was Miguel.

  “I’ll be right back.” Lane came around the counter, but Dottie stepped in front of her.

  “I’ll take this one, honey. You go take care of Mr. Good-Looking.”

  Miguel’s eyes had a wild look about them as he searched the place. With heavy, unsteady steps, he moved toward the table where Samantha’s family was and her father put a protective hand on his daughter’s back.

  Lane started for Miguel.

  Dottie reached for Lane’s arm and redirected her steps. “I’ve got him, hon. You take care of your deputy friend,” she whispered in Lane’s ear.

  The look in Miguel’s eyes set off an alarm inside her. He was in trouble. Lane wanted to protest, but Dottie used her eyes to send a message to Lane. Lane looked to Charlie, who was standing, his gaze fixed on Miguel and hand flexed near his gun belt. The corners of his eyes creased. Alert and ready.

  “Do you need help?” Charlie tipped his head toward Miguel.

  “No, no. It’s fine.” Now she knew why Dottie was intervening. “Dottie will take care of him.”

  Charlie returned to his stool, his eyes dancing between her and Miguel when a chair screeched along the wooden floor and grabbed their attention.

  “Where is it?” Miguel pushed the table back with a growl. Dottie placed her arm on Miguel’s shoulder, but he shrugged it off with enough force that it sent her stumbling backward. A few customers stepped away from the commotion. Charlie stood, but before he could join the others Lane was already pushing her way toward Miguel.

  “Miguel.” Lane reached for his arm. He shook her hand off like he had done to Dottie. It was like he didn’t recognize her. “Miguel.”

  “Honey, I don’t think it’s safe to be around him right now.” Dottie pulled on Lane’s hand.

  “It’s okay. Give me a second.” Lane stepped closer and noticed the layer of powder-like sawdust covering his gray shirt and the pungent smell of something she recognized but couldn’t put her finger on. It wasn’t alcohol . . . was it? “Miguel, it’s Lane. Do you want to go for a walk?”

  “Where is it?”

  Dottie ushered the customers back to their tables. Some left, including Samantha’s family. From the corner of her eye, Lane saw Charlie coming toward them. She didn’t know how Miguel would react to him.

  “Miguel, I don’t know what you’re looking for,” she said, keeping her voice low. “But let’s go for a walk and see if we can find it.”

  “Where is it?” Miguel snarled and whipped his arm back in a wide arc, catching Lane in the cheek with his elbow. The force sent her crashing into an empty chair behind her as sharp pain filled her face. Lane put a hand to her cheek and ran her tongue over her teeth, surprised they all felt in place.

  “Lane!” Ms. Byrdie’s and Charlie’s voices collided.

  The rest of the room was stunned silent. Several men, including Ducky, had their hands wrapped around Miguel. Charlie, his face lit with rage, stormed toward the belligerent man.

  “I should go.” Miguel’s voice was calm. Quiet. His wild eyes seemed to have found somewhere to focus and they were on Lane. “I came to say goodbye.”

  “I’ll take it from here.” Charlie reached for Miguel’s elbow and a flicker of something crossed in the veteran’s eyes. Fear.

  “No.” Ouch. Her jaw ached and it felt like her face was already beginning to swell. “I’ve got it.”

  “Lane, he hit you.”

  Charlie’s eyes found the spot on her cheek that was throbbing. It probably didn’t look good, judging from his pained expression, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t like Miguel. Something was wrong.

  “It was an accident.” Pushing away the fear, Lane moved slowly toward Miguel. She laced her arm gently around his elbow and started for the door. “We’re just going to be outside.”

  “Lane.” Charlie stepped in front of her.

  “It’s okay. Give me a few minutes.”

  Ms. Byrdie reached for Charlie’s shoulder and gave a quick nod. Charlie returned his attention to Lane before reluctantly stepping back. Lane steered Miguel out the back of her home toward her garden. Beneath the trellis was an old bench glider that had belonged to her grandmother.

  “Why don’t we sit here?” She loosened her grip on Miguel’s arm and let him slide down onto the bench before taking a seat next to him. His head hung so low that his chin touched his chest. His hands shook. He looked broken. Pained.

  The melody of night life was filled with chirping crickets, a hooting owl, and the occasional trickle of laughter from somewhere nearby. Lane breathed in the fragrant air of the still-blooming purple hyacinths. Maybe he just needed a moment to breathe. She watched him rub the fingernail on his right thumb. It was black and cracked. The rest of the cuts were scabbed over. They looked rough. Untouchable. Lane’s heart ached. How often had she felt untouchable?

  “Harley says you like to sculpt. Have you been sculpting?”

  Miguel barely moved his head.

  “I’ve missed seeing you here.”

  “Are you afraid to die?” Miguel’s raspy voice was barely audible over the anthem of chirping around them.

  His question punched the air right out of her. “Are you okay, Miguel?”

  He didn’t move.

  “Sometimes there are days when I think death is an answer.” She’d never said those words aloud to anyone, but she felt a connection to the subdued man sitting next to her. This veteran who kept to himself had no idea how much alike they were.

  “Why are you nice to me?”

  Lane’s
heart ached. “Because you’re my friend, Miguel. When a friend is hurting or in trouble, you help them. You take care of them.”

  “I’m a bad person. I’ve done bad things.”

  She swallowed. “Miguel, we’ve all done bad things, but—”

  Two bright lights lit up the dark night around them. A truck stopped and the driver got out.

  “Lane? Miguel?”

  Lane shielded her eyes from the headlights. It was Harley.

  “Dottie called.” Harley’s left hand was wrapped in white bandages. “Said I should come take Miguel home.”

  “Did you just get out of the hospital? You should be resting.”

  “It’s no big deal. Besides, Dot said there’s a very anxious deputy waiting inside for you.”

  Charlie, right. It was probably better for Harley to take Miguel home to avoid any further confrontations. She helped Miguel to the truck.

  Harley tilted his head. “He did that to you?”

  Lane’s hand instinctively went to the sore on her cheek. “It was an accident.”

  “Hmm.” Harley’s expression matched the feeling in her gut. Something wasn’t right with their friend. “I’ll get him home.”

  “Thanks, Harley.”

  “Sure thing, doll.” Harley glanced past her. Charlie stood on the porch. Watching. “Now, why don’t you go reassure that anxious fella?”

  Lane reached into the truck and put a hand on Miguel’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch this time. He looked at her with clarity in his eyes that wasn’t there before. Then a flicker of pain or guilt passed through them before his lip quivered slightly.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Miguel, you have nothing to apologize for. It was an accident.” Miguel dropped his gaze to his hands and said nothing. “Tomorrow I’m going to bring you some muffins or cookies, okay?”

  There was no response. Miguel had retreated back into himself. Lane said goodbye to him and thanked Harley again before watching them pull out of the parking lot.

  Charlie came up behind her holding an ice pack. “I brought ice. Are you okay?”

  “Me? Yeah, I’m okay.” She stared after the cloud of dust from Harley’s truck. “I just hope he is.”

  “Does he come in here a lot?”

  “Miguel’s a regular.” She tried to read Charlie’s tone. Was it curious or concerned? “He’s not normally like that.”

  “Seems like he’s having a rough night.”

  Heat radiated from her cheek. “He’s not the only one.”

  “Let me see.” Charlie moved in front of her. She breathed in his scent, a mixture of musk and woods and sweat, uniquely him, that sent her heart beating in time with the throbbing in her cheek. He brushed his thumb lightly against the tender spot and she winced. “The ice will help.”

  Lane reached up and took his hand away from her face, exchanging the warmth of his touch for the sting of the ice pack. Good. She needed to steel herself for what she had to do. “Can we talk?”

  “Sure.”

  Her nerves were an energized tangle. Charlie followed her back to the same glider she and Miguel had just been sitting on. What would she tell him? It felt lame to say she couldn’t date him because her father said so—she was way past that. She could say she wasn’t ready, but her heart knew that wasn’t true and she had a feeling Charlie would see through it. He had that way about him. Since running into him, Lane had been trying to come up with a dozen different reasons why this couldn’t work—why they couldn’t work—but one thing stood out above all of them. He didn’t know the truth about her.

  And maybe telling him the truth would make him realize she wasn’t right for him—or anyone.

  “Your garden rivals my aunt’s.”

  “Pops helps me with it.”

  Slow seconds of silence ticked between them as the evening’s first stars began to twinkle above. Their shoulders touched and Lane realized for a quick second how nice this moment was. She wanted to remember it. Hold it close so on those nights when darkness loomed she’d remember what hope felt like. She breathed deep and began.

  “Charlie, I have depression.” Saying the words didn’t give her instant relief, and now that they were out she desperately wanted to take them back.

  “Lane, you lost your husband. That’s completely understandable.”

  “No, you don’t understand. I’ve had depression all my life. I still have it.”

  She watched his expression. Waited for him to recoil, but the only thing reflected in his face was compassion.

  “I’m sorry . . .”

  There it was. He was sorry she was messed up. Sorry about getting involved with a mentally disturbed person. Sorry—

  “What can I do to help?”

  “What?” The question had caught her so off guard that she hadn’t realized he’d taken hold of her hand. His thumb rubbed her knuckles.

  “How can I help? I’ve read exercise is good. I’ve been running in the morning with Bane because my work hours are so long, but maybe you could join me. Or we could paddleboard on the river—”

  “Charlie, I’m never going to get better.” She withdrew her hand. “This is who I am.”

  He frowned. “I feel like I’m missing something?”

  “I can’t be in a relationship. I’m not—”

  “Ready? If you’re not ready, that’s okay.” Charlie moved closer to her. “I told you I’d wait. I’m not looking for a romantic fling, Lane. I want someone forever—”

  “That’s not me.” She closed her eyes. “I’m not forever material.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “There are side effects to my illness.” Her thoughts tumbled to the day on the bridge. “It’s not fair to you. I’m not worth the risk.”

  “I’ve faced a lot of risk in my life.” He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “But I can’t believe you’re not worth it.”

  The soft touch of his skin against hers sent her heart soaring. He was making this harder for her. She pulled away even though everything inside her wanted him to take her into his arms and protect her. Possibly love her.

  “I’ve tried to kill myself.” Her admission came out as a whisper, barely audible over the strained beating of her heart echoing in her ears.

  Charlie pressed his lips together and searched the skies . . . for what? An answer? He wouldn’t find one there. She’d looked. Prayed. Searched for an answer to why God would make her broken.

  “I lost a good friend in Afghanistan. We were battle buddies. Met on the flight over. Both scared out of our minds. But we had each other’s backs. Trusted that if one of us ran into something, the other would fight with everything they had to get us out of it.” His voice was low, and just like Pops, she could see that Charlie’s mind had transitioned back to the battlefield. “There was an ambush. The attack was brutal and most of my team didn’t think we were going to make it out of there. My buddy, Tate, was already whispering prayers and giving me his list of farewells. He was inside a building when a rocket-propelled grenade was launched at it. I thought we had lost him, but as a team we fought our way in and pulled him out.”

  Charlie turned to face her and she could see the moisture in his eyes. “When he woke up in the hospital, he was ready to get back to the field, but it didn’t take long for us to realize something was different. Nightmares. Aggression. He went home a different man. Two months after our tour ended, I got the call that Tate had killed himself.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lane said over the lump in her throat.

  “If we had known about Tate, if I had known what he was going through, I would’ve helped him. I would have done whatever I could have because the world was a better place with him in it.” Charlie picked up her hands and held them firmly between his. “Depression I can accept. Not having you in my life or having the possibility of you being in my life—that’s harder to accept.”

  Charlie’s words soothed her soul and seemed to erase the concerns her father had raised earlier. Char
lie wouldn’t hurt her or Noah. He wasn’t that kind of man. But was she ready to defy her father’s wishes? And at what cost?

  “Lane, I’m not going anywhere. There’s no rush for you to make a decision.” He lifted her hands up so his lips just grazed her knuckles, causing her insides to tremble. “I’m only asking for the chance to get to know you better. All of you.”

  Lane wanted that too. Deep in her core the longing to be loved fully and completely awakened. Could Charlie really see past her depression or was this commitment to her a type of penance for him not being there for his friend?

  “Hi, Charlie.” Lane jumped at Noah’s voice coming through the flowers. “Did you bring Bane?”

  Charlie squeezed Lane’s hand before standing. “Sorry, buddy, not this time.”

  “Oh, excuse us.” Pops emerged behind Noah. “I hope we aren’t interrupting anything.”

  “No, Pops.” Lane swept Noah into her arms and kissed his neck. Charlie and Pops exchanged a handshake.

  “Momma, stop.” Noah giggled and then looked at her cheek. “What happened to your face, Momma?”

  She’d almost forgotten. “Mommy got an owie.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  Lane looked to Charlie. “Not so much anymore.”

  Noah’s attention returned to Charlie. “Can I play with Bane tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow we have Bear’s party, remember?”

  “Is it a birthday party?” Noah scrunched his nose. “For Bear?”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “But birthdays are important, right, Momma?”

  Lane kissed Noah’s cheek, catching Pops’s eye. Her grandfather sent her a card not only on her actual birthday of August third but also on April eleventh. The day she got out of the hospital and chose life. That was her living birthday. “Yes, they are.”

  “I’m going to take this one inside and get him ready for bed.” Pops took Noah from her arms and started for the house. “Nice seeing you again, Charlie.”

  “You too, sir.” When the screen door shut, Charlie smiled. “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night too.”