Truth Be Told

by Kathleen Barber

  “The mailman, eh?” Caleb inquired, shooting me a worried look. “How’d that happen?”

  Ann grinned, oblivious to our concern. “Mom and I are having an adventure. She didn’t make me go to school today, and instead we went to the movies and the roller-skating rink and the park! Then we got doughnuts, and then she said she needed to go off-grid and that I should find someone to bring me here.” She pointed to the envelope in my hands. “She wrote the address on there.”

  “She wanted you to find anyone to drive you?” I asked, my voice thin with panic. “Anyone at all?”

  Ann nodded.

  “Is everything all right out here?” Aunt A asked, stepping into the foyer. “Oh! Ann! Shouldn’t you still be at school?”

  “Mom said I didn’t have to go today.”

  Grimly, I passed Aunt A Lanie’s note. She cried out as she read it, her hands flying to her heart.

  Ann’s expression clouded. “Granny?”

  “What has she done?” Aunt A squeaked.

  “We’re having an adventure,” Ann insisted stubbornly, but I could see she was starting to absorb our sense of doom.

  I bobbed my head like a marionette, my heart not in the motion. “Right. Hey, you want Uncle Caleb to get you a glass of orange juice?”

  “Sounds like a brilliant idea, Jo,” Caleb said, taking her hand without waiting for an answer and leading her to the kitchen.

  “Where do you think she is?” Aunt A asked, her expression still bewildered.

  “I don’t know,” I said grimly. “I’m going to go talk to Adam. Call me if you hear from Lanie. Call me if you have any idea where she might be.”

  • • •

  “Good afternoon,” the receptionist greeted me cheerily as I banged my way through the door, either oblivious to my agitation or too well trained to acknowledge it. “Welcome to Ives Real Estate and Dream Homes. How may I help you today?”

  I barreled past her and threw open a closed door marked ADAM IVES, JR. to find Adam leaning back in his padded desk chair, chewing thoughtfully on a pencil as he worked a crossword puzzle.

  “Josie?” he said, setting down the pencil. “What are you doing here?”

  I slammed the door before the approaching receptionist reached it, and shoved Lanie’s note in his face. “Your daughter just gave me this.”

  “What is it?” he asked, taking it from me.

  “Why don’t you read it and tell me.”

  Adam’s face dropped as he skimmed the note. “Fuck.”

  I exhaled, deflating completely. I had wanted Adam to laugh, to tell me that the note meant nothing, that Lanie was just messing around. I had wanted him to say that she was safely at home, that she was sleeping off a bender. I had wanted Adam to have an explanation.

  I sank down into the chair opposite his desk. “Is it . . . Do you think it’s a suicide note?”

  “It could be,” he said quietly.

  “Goddammit, Adam,” I said, pounding my fist on his desk. “You’re the one who’s spent the last week telling me how worried you are about her. How could you let something like this happen?”

  “I didn’t know . . .”

  “So she seemed fine this morning?”

  He lifted his shoulders slightly.

  “This is important, Adam,” I insisted. “How did she seem this morning?”

  “I didn’t see her this morning. I spent the night here.” Adam inclined his head to indicate the couch, the misshapen pillow resting on it, the afghan sloppily folded over its side. It was only then that I noticed the faint stubble on his chin, the wrinkles in his shirt. “Lanie and I got in a fight.”

  “What were you fighting about?”

  He shook his head. “You’re just going to get mad at me, too.”

  “Adam, I swear to God, if something happens to her while you’re wasting my time, they’ll be finding your body for weeks.”

  “The new episode of Reconsidered,” he said, frowning. “Did you listen to it?”

  My stomach sank; I remembered my own reaction to hearing that same podcast. “Let me guess: you accused her of perjuring herself.”

  He shifted and looked down. “I might have gone a little further.”

  Don’t, Adam had said when I had suggested Lanie might have been mistaken about Warren. It’ll kill her.

  “What did you do?” I whispered, almost afraid to hear.

  “Do you think . . . ?” Adam trailed off. He looked up at me, his light-brown eyes wide and wet. “Be honest, Josie. Do you think Lanie might have pulled that trigger?”

  Hearing Adam vocalize the same inconceivable, disloyal thoughts didn’t reinforce them in my head; if anything, it turned my stomach and made me realize that we were wrong, we were all wrong. We had to be. Lanie could be violent and irrational, but the only person she had ever done true, honest harm to was herself.

  “Tell me you didn’t say that to her.”

  “You’ve never thought it?” Adam pressed, the edge of his voice slipping into desperation. “Honestly? If Warren Cave didn’t shoot him, what other reason would she have for saying he did?”

  “Adam, this is your wife we’re talking about. The mother of your child. Do you honestly think she’s capable of murder?”

  He chewed the inside of his cheek before answering. “I never know what to expect with Lanie.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said, standing up. “Our priority right now is finding her. Can you take the rest of the day off?”

  Adam nodded, one of the tears making its way down his cheek. “Let’s go.”

  • • •

  I felt slightly sick as I followed Adam to his house, remembering too many dates that had been ruined by Lanie, too many times Adam had driven me home in tears because someone told me they had just seen my sister and, boy, was she wasted. The worst, of course, had been that other early fall night, back in 2003, just a few months after our mother had left.

  I had known something was wrong the moment Adam pulled up to the curb. It was one minute to midnight and Aunt A’s house was lit up like a Christmas tree, lights shining on every floor and the unmistakable flicker of the television through the living room window, while the front door stood ajar. Bubbles perched on the front porch swing, carefully licking a paw.

  Dread heavy in my chest, I brushed off Adam’s attempt at a good-night kiss and vaulted from the car. I raced up the porch steps, my pounding heart nearly shattering my rib cage with its wild rhythm. I scooped up Bubbles, who meowed loudly in protest and slashed at me with his claws, and carried the cat through the house as I called out for my family. There was no answer. I was throwing open the cellar door in complete and utter desperation when I heard them mount the porch steps. Dropping Bubbles, I raced into the living room to meet them.

  There were only two of them.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded. “I came home and the house was wide open. I was really scared.”

  Aunt A dropped her keys on the foyer table and exhaled a rattling sigh. “Your sister tried to kill herself.”

  I think my heart stopped beating. I know I stopped breathing. My entire existence hinged on the word tried.

  “Tried?”

  “She swallowed half a bottle each of vodka and what was left of your mother’s Valium before she came into my room and told me that she had changed her mind. She didn’t want to die after all.” Aunt A sniffled and shook her head, a failed attempt at concealing her tears. “We got her there in time, honey. She’s going to be all right.”

  A sob ripped its way from my throat. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I’m sorry, Josie. She told us not to.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because your sister is a crazy bitch,” Ellen muttered before stalking up the stairs.

  Aunt A frowned after Ellen. “I’m sorry,” she said to me before climbing the stairs herself, leaving me to wonder exactly what she was apologizing for.

  I spent that night tangled in a series of increasingly bloo
dy dreams. My relief at waking lasted only until my eyes landed on Lanie’s empty bed, and reality washed over me. I had to see her. I stomped down to the kitchen and voiced my demand.

  The coffee cup wavered in Aunt A’s hand. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

  “She’s my twin sister,” I insisted, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. “She tried to kill herself. I have to see her.”

  “Josie—”

  “She’s all I have left. Please, Aunt A. I have to see her.”

  “All right,” Aunt A said, nodding grimly. “I understand. I’d feel the same way if I were in your position. But honey, I have to warn you: she might not be too happy to see you.”

  Once the elevator had deposited me on the third floor—the pediatric ward—I almost lost my nerve. The hospital smelled like rubbing alcohol and sickness, and the third floor was haunted by pale, whisper-like children. I hated to think of my sister in a place like that because she had thought that being dead was better than being alive. I couldn’t understand what she had been thinking. We might not have perfect lives, but we had each other. That had to count for something.

  “Hi,” I said, stepping into her room.

  Lanie was propped against a pillow, staring out the window, her reflection uncharacteristically bleak. I shivered.

  “Lanie,” I tried again. “How are you doing?”

  Lanie whipped her head around to face me so quickly that her hair, clumpy with grease, spun around her like a carnival ride. She glared through raw, red eyes and hissed in a hoarse voice, “How do you think I’m doing?”

  I shifted my weight uncomfortably and wished that I’d taken Aunt A’s advice, or at least asked her to come with me.

  “Cat got your tongue?” she sneered. “Or are you just at a loss for words when the topic isn’t super-fun pep rallies and super-important schoolwork and your super-special goody-two-shoes boyfriend?”

  Blood rushed to my cheeks and hot tears burned a path down my face. “Lanie, what’s going on?”

  “I tried to kill myself last night,” Lanie said, narrowing her eyes and keeping her voice absurdly calm. “I took a lethal combination of prescription drugs and alcohol. While you were on your sweet little date, probably knitting sweaters for homeless kittens and saving the goddamn whales with your virgin boyfriend, I was trying to sedate myself out of existence. That is what’s going on.”

  I sucked in my breath. “Does this have something to do with me?”

  She laughed shortly, a harsh laugh that ended in a choking cough that caused her to clutch at her throat and wince in pain. Blinking watery eyes, she arranged her features in an expression of disdain and said, “Of course you’d think that. Try to be less self-involved, Josie. The only person this has anything to do with is me. I’m just illustrating the difference between our evenings.” She swallowed and grimaced. “But you know what? Turns out we have more in common than I thought. It’s true: you and me, sister, we’re nothing but mice. I thought being timid was your jam, but I found out that when it counts, I’m just as scared as you. I couldn’t go through with it. Now get out.”

  Discussion thread on www.reddit.com/r/reconsideredpodcast, posted September 29, 2015

  more Lanie B gossip (self.reconsideredpodcast)

  submitted 1 hour ago by elmparkuser1

  I know some people in this sub think that we spend too much time on Lanie’s obvious issues, but something I think Poppy missed that’s important is this: in October 2003 (or thereabouts) Lanie Buhrman intentionally overdosed. I’ve always wondered if she tried to kill herself because she felt guilty about railroading Warren. Or . . . because she killed her father herself.

  toopunkrockforthis -3 points 1 hour ago

  You’re disgusting. Take your baseless accusations somewhere else.

  caffeinecold 18 points 1 hour ago

  Hi, Lanie!

  chapter 20

  You have to take care of the people you love, she had said. Or you lose them.

  I hadn’t taken care of my sister. That morning’s phone call had been a cry for help, and I had ignored it. I had done nothing for thirteen hours while my sister fell even further to pieces. Adam had warned me she was fragile, and I had let decade-old hurt feelings stop me from helping her.

  “Are you okay?” Adam asked, glancing over at me while he unlocked the front door. “You look kind of white.”

  I shook my head, sinking to a seat on the porch steps. “I don’t think I can go in there, Adam. What if she’s . . . ?” I blanched, squeezing my eyes shut to block out terrible images of my sister’s lifeless body that suddenly materialized.

  Adam sighed and sat down beside me. “You’ve been gone a long time, Josie. I think you’ve forgotten what it’s like to live with Lanie.”

  “You’re saying you think this is just a stunt?”

  “No, of course not. But disappearing isn’t entirely out of character. A couple of months ago, I came home from work to find the house locked and Ann sitting on the porch. Lanie hadn’t picked her up from school, and she’d walked the whole way home. Lanie wouldn’t answer the phone, and no one knew where she was. Lanie finally showed up at eight that night, eyes all glazed, and do you know where she was? At the library. I’d been panicked for hours, calling the hospitals, certain something horrible had happened to her, and she’d just been downtown reading Gone with the fucking Wind all day.” He shook his head a little. “I know this is different. She’s been agitated for weeks about the podcast, and there’s that note. I’m just saying that I don’t think we should immediately jump to the worst conclusion.”

  “God, I hope you’re right.”

  “Listen,” Adam said, standing up. “I’ll check the house, okay? You call your aunt to see if Ann’s said anything else, and then we’ll regroup.”

  I nodded, biting back hot tears. I hadn’t taken care of her, and I could only hope that it wasn’t too late.

  • • •

  Adam and I spent hours combing the town for evidence of my sister. We talked to the doughnut shop employees (who remembered Ann but not Lanie). We checked the park, the gym, and the public library. Adam checked Lanie’s credit card usage, and we drove to a gas station where it had been used and showed Lanie’s picture around, hoping someone would remember her, that she might have given some hint of her destination to the cashier. No one remembered anything. Adam called everyone he could think of who might have crossed Lanie’s path while I searched the #Reconsidered hashtag on Twitter. Nothing.

  It was nearly nine o’clock by the time we returned to Adam’s house, numb and exhausted. We plodded up the front steps, and I paused with my hand on the doorknob, a sudden memory of Lanie opening the door wearing that ridiculous apron stealing my breath. It had just been days since she had stood there, smiling and hugging me. Where had she gone?

  “I really thought we’d find her,” Adam said hollowly.

  “We will,” I said without conviction.

  “Maybe she’ll come home.”

  It pained me to hear the hope in his voice; I had spent the last twelve years nurturing the same kind of hope, thinking that someday my mother might come home. I couldn’t bear to remind Adam of the similarities, though, and instead I pushed open the front door.

  Inside, we found Ellen seated cross-legged on his living room floor, paging through a phone book.

  “Ellen, hi. What are you doing here?”

  “Going through the phone book to see if Lanie circled any numbers.” She frowned at my surprise. “Don’t give me that look. I might not get along with Lanie, but that doesn’t mean I want her to die. God.”

  “You’re back,” Caleb said, entering the living room. “Any news?”

  I shook my head in defeat. “No. Anything over here?”

  “Sorry, love,” Caleb said. To Adam, he said, “Amelia’s helping Ann get ready for bed.”

  “Great, thanks.” Adam nodded. “Does she seem upset?”

  “Not yet. She still thinks it’s all part of s
ome adventure.”

  “Poor dear,” Ellen said, putting a hand over her heart.

  “We’ve looked everywhere for Lanie,” I lamented. “No one has seen her. I don’t get it. How could she just disappear?”

  “Your mom did,” Adam said. “You didn’t know where she was for weeks.”

  “Oh,” I said, an idea forming suddenly in my head. “You’re right. I didn’t think of that. Maybe Lanie’s in California.”

  Ellen wrinkled her nose. “You mean the LFC? I can no more imagine Lanie joining that sunny commune than I can imagine her enlisting in the armed forces.”

  “Not to join,” I said impatiently. “But what if she went there to connect with Mom’s memory? She’s been thinking about her a lot. And we’ve looked everywhere else. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “But she hasn’t bought any plane tickets,” Adam protested. “Remember? I checked her credit card statements. She hasn’t charged anything other than that gas.”

  “So maybe she’s driving there.”

  “On one tank of gas?”

  “So she hasn’t needed to refill yet,” I argued desperately. “Come on, guys. It’s the last possible place she might be. You know I’m right. I’ll get a flight in the morning. I’ll beat her to California.”

  “Jo, even if that’s where she is, you’d never find her,” Caleb said gently. “It would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Worse—a needle in a barnful of hay. We don’t even know where the Life Force Collective compound is located.”

  “No,” I agreed slowly. “But I might know someone who could tell me. Five years ago, I met an LFC member named Sister Amamus in San Francisco. I bet I still have her information. She told me never to contact her again, but she might at least tell us if any of them have heard from Lanie. Or maybe she could give her a message.”

  I scrolled through my archived correspondence for Sister Amamus’s phone number, and quickly dialed. The call was immediately answered by a mechanical voice informing me that the number was out of service. Frowning, I composed an email to the author who had provided me with Amamus’s contact information, sketching out the dire situation and begging for an alternate lead. Almost instantly, I received an automated message stating the email address was no longer valid.