The Good Liar

by Catherine McKenzie

  “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find out someday.”

  “Is Uncle Joshua going to be embarrassed?”

  “Why?”

  “When everyone finds out about Franny? Because now everyone knows they were supposed to get married, because of that article, and then everyone will know he was tricked.”

  “I hope he’s not embarrassed. She tricked everyone, not just him.”

  “Will you call the police?”

  Another step I haven’t thought of. Do I want to see Franny punished? No, I don’t. What she did was wrong, but there was good in it, too. Look how hard she worked to get Joshua and the girls their compensation money, even though it had been her rule that made it hard for them to get it in the first place. What was that about, I wonder? Why was she so insistent about a DNA connection? Was it merely to draw attention away from herself, to name the thing people might think she was—a fraud—so she was the one who said it first?

  “I’m not sure. That depends on what we find out, I guess.”

  “But if someone lies to get money, then that’s fraud, isn’t it? They should go to jail.”

  I shiver. “She hasn’t gotten any money yet.”

  “People who do bad things should be punished. That’s what Dad always used to say.”

  “He did, didn’t he?” I stroke Cassie’s hair. “So tell me more about this boy.”

  36

  SOMETHING, SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE

  KAITLYN

  The second e-mail from Eileen arrived a year later. Kaitlyn was on maternity leave then, or that’s what she was telling people. Her postpartum depression was keeping her from returning to work. Worse than any depression she’d ever felt before. Her days were a foggy mix of sleep and caring for Emily when she was able to. Joshua had hired a nurse to be there during the day. Kaitlyn felt ashamed that she needed help. In truth, the nurse was there for both of them. They both needed caring for.

  Despite everything, Emily was thriving. A bouncing, happy baby girl with ringlets in her hair. She cooed and sighed and smiled. Everyone was always telling them they should take her to an agent. That her baby belonged in catalogs, in commercials. As if it were a compliment that people thought her baby was attractive enough to sell things.

  Kaitlyn knew she should be happy. But instead she was bitter. Bitter motherhood didn’t feel like a blessing but a curse. That the weight she’d gained wouldn’t leave even though she was barely eating. That Joshua thought he could farm out his care of her and their daughter to someone more competent. It all felt horribly unfair. What had she done to deserve this? She’d made mistakes in her life, but hadn’t everyone? All she wanted was a fresh start. A peaceful three months at home with her baby. Was that too much to ask?

  To keep up the pretense that she might return to work someday soon, Kaitlyn was still checking her work e-mail. It was fall, and the leaves were changing. That’s how Eileen started her e-mail: It’s fall. The leaves are changing. Another year’s gone by, and I still haven’t found my mother. Only, I think I did find her. I think it’s you. Will you please, please contact me? Will you please get in touch? I’m so sad.

  It was these last words that got to Kaitlyn. She was so sad, too. Maybe there was something she could do to help this girl. Let her know that someone cared about her struggle. Give her someone to talk to.

  Kaitlyn wrote back.

  • • •

  Cecily woke Kaitlyn before it was light out.

  “What’s going on?” Kaitlyn asked. “What time is it?”

  “It’s six.”

  Kaitlyn rolled over and rubbed her eyes. Cecily was a shadowy form above her.

  “We need to move you to somewhere safer,” Cecily said.

  “You think that’s necessary?”

  “My friend Teo, the documentary filmmaker I told you about, has agreed to help us. But the way he’s going to do that is by hiring a private detective, and I’m going to have to meet with him today. Do you want to be in the house while a PI is sniffing around?”

  “That doesn’t sound like the best idea.”

  “Right?”

  Cecily snapped on the light. Kaitlyn shut her eyes, flashing back to when she still lived in her childhood home. Her mother used to do this. Pry Kaitlyn from the safety of her bed. Make her face the world when all she wanted to do was wallow in the dark.

  “Up you get.”

  Kaitlyn threw the covers back. She’d slept in her clothes. She hadn’t had the energy to change when she’d gotten back from spying on Joshua and Franny.

  “Did you sleep in that?”

  “Obviously.”

  Cecily sighed. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. I can be ready in five minutes. Where are we going?”

  “Sara’s house.”

  “What? You told her?”

  “I had to tell someone. And she has that apartment over her garage, so it seemed perfect.”

  Sara had always hated Kaitlyn. Kaitlyn confronted her about it once. Sara said she was “crazy.” But Kaitlyn wasn’t. She knew jealousy when she saw it. “What about just putting me up in a cheap hotel somewhere?”

  Cecily crossed her arms. “But how would you eat? And what if someone was following me and saw you when I went to see you? That happens sometimes because of that stupid photograph. I assume you’ve seen it?”

  Kaitlyn got out of bed. She felt rumpled. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you that day. And very grateful you never made it to that meeting with Tom.”

  “I can agree with the second part.”

  Kaitlyn bit her lip. “Don’t worry—I’ll be gone for good in a few days.”

  “Yeah, you will.”

  INTERVIEW TRANSCRIPT

  TJ: What happened next, Franny? When did you leave Madison?

  FM: About six months after my parents died.

  TJ: What then?

  FM: I became a wanderer. After a while, I realized that what I was looking for was my mother. My real mother. Kaitlyn. The rest isn’t that much different from what I told you before.

  TJ: Are you sure?

  FM: Of course I am.

  TJ: Sherrie said you weren’t adopted.

  FM: She didn’t know.

  TJ: How’s that possible?

  FM: Our parents never told her. I asked them not to.

  TJ: Why?

  FM: Because I felt like enough of an outsider already. My sister would’ve used it against me every day if she knew the truth.

  TJ: My investigator can’t find any record of your adoption.

  FM: He must not be a very good investigator, then.

  TJ: He’s the best.

  FM: Clearly not. I was adopted, okay? And Kaitlyn was my mother. I can prove it.

  TJ: How?

  FM: Because our DNA matched. That’s how we knew the mug was Kaitlyn’s. That protocol I put in place, it requires a DNA match to qualify for compensation. And I qualified because we found that match using my DNA.

  TJ: Can you show me the test results?

  FM: They’re supposed to be confidential for Initiative use only.

  TJ: But you can get them anyway, can’t you?

  FM: Well, yes, probably. If Cecily agrees. If we both ask, we can probably get them to agree to release them to you.

  TJ: Will you ask her?

  FM: Maybe you should.

  TJ: How come?

  FM: Cecily’s not too happy with me right now because of Joshua. And also because of some other stuff I found out.

  TJ: Such as?

  FM: It’s private.

  TJ: Have you spoken to Cecily recently?

  FM: She’s called a bunch of times, but I was keeping clear of her for a bit, you know? Trying to give her a chance to calm down. Because I get it that it’s a bit surprising what’s going on. But Joshua was so kind to me through all this. We kind of healed each other. And now we’re going to be a real family, just like I always wanted.

  37r />
  MAYBE, MAYBE SOMEDAY

  CECILY

  I went to see the divorce lawyer in the weeks when Tom was living in the businessman’s hotel downtown. I wanted to know how it could go, what my rights were, how the money would be worked out. Sara suggested I go to a shark, a barracuda, one of the lawyers who sees your ex as so much chum in the water. She regretted she hadn’t done that, wishing she’d made Bill twist and turn legally, given how he’s treated her. But I knew myself. I didn’t have predator instincts. I didn’t want to see Tom twist and turn and have to twist and turn along with him. I didn’t want to go to court—the thought of it terrified me—and so I knew that if we did this, if I did this, and we were going to be over, officially, then it would have to be some kind of mediated solution.

  Just sitting there in a lawyer’s office felt so alien to me, even though she handled the meeting with a practiced hand. She had a box of Kleenex ready and a yellow legal pad to fill up with my familiar story. How many variations of the same thing had she heard? Hundreds? A thousand? It was dizzying to think about. Tom and I weren’t just some statistic. We were each other’s history, a family, parents. Whatever she wrote down about us would never be the whole story, even if she could predict every detail. Was this how we were supposed to end? In court documents that would bear only our initials so they remained private? Our children referred to as C. and H.? Our furniture appraised and divided equally?

  But what alternative did I have? Let Tom off the hook? Let him move back in and sleep next to him for the rest of my life knowing what I knew? Could I forgive him, did I even want to make the effort? What chance did we have when I couldn’t trust anything he said?

  The questions in my head were louder than the answers the lawyer was providing to the ones I asked out loud.

  I met Tom for lunch after the meeting. It was the first time I’d seen him since he’d left, the first time we’d spoken in person. When we’d made the appointment, I wasn’t even sure I could go through with it. Walking into the restaurant, I felt dizzy. Then I spotted Tom, and I relaxed. He was sitting near the window, a drink on the table, and he looked like shit. His face was puffy, and he needed a haircut. He’d put on weight, and the buttons on his shirt were straining a bit. It made him more approachable to see him so obviously miserable. I’d been imagining him reveling in his newfound freedom. Instead, it looked as if he’d spent the last two weeks drinking and stress eating.

  He rose as I came to the table, then kissed me quickly on the cheek.

  “Hi. You look great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thank you for meeting me.”

  We sat down. A waiter came over with a glass of white wine. Even though it was barely past noon, I was grateful for the drink.

  “What do you want, Tom?” I blurted.

  He looked startled but determined; his eyes fixed on mine. “I want to come home.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I miss you. I miss the kids. I know I fucked up, but I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better. Counseling. Sleeping in the basement. Whatever you need me to do.”

  “Is there a time machine in the basement I don’t know about?”

  “I wish there were, Lily. I wish I could go back and change everything about this.”

  “You just wish you hadn’t gotten caught.”

  “That’s not true. I swear.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “I want to regain your trust. So whatever conditions you want to impose. Whatever you want to know, just ask and I’ll tell you.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to me. “I’ll give you the pass code, and you can check it whenever you want.”

  I dropped it on the table. I felt dirty just holding it. “Are . . . Are your texts with her still on this?”

  “I deleted them. I deleted everything.”

  “So I can’t know everything, then.”

  He went pale. “I’ll tell you whatever you want if you want me to, though there isn’t that much to tell. But maybe . . . I know you, Lily. You don’t want to know the details. You’ll just turn them over and over in your mind and wonder if I’ve told you everything. I betrayed you and our family. I’m so ashamed of having done that—you have no idea. But let me bear the burden of it, okay? The details aren’t what’s going to heal us.”

  Tom started to cry.

  “Please stop,” I said.

  “I’m sorry.” He wiped at his eyes with his napkin.

  “Don’t make me feel sorry for you.”

  “I don’t want that. I don’t want that at all. Please, Cecily, can we please just try? I’m on my knees here.”

  “Maybe you should be.”

  He pushed his chair back.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting down on my knees.”

  “What?” I looked around. Half the restaurant was watching us. “People are looking.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I care, you idiot.”

  He stopped, got back in his chair. “I wanted to show you how serious I am.”

  “Okay, I get it. You’re serious.”

  “Will you give me a chance? Please?”

  I thought back to what the lawyer told me. That coming to see her didn’t have to mean my marriage was over. That there was nothing final about talking to her, that information never hurt anyone. I should be absolutely sure about what I wanted before I made the decision to file papers. And that was the problem; I wasn’t absolutely sure about anything. All this was so new and shocking and unexpected. I hadn’t even thought my marriage was in trouble before I read that text. Maybe that made me an idiot, but it also meant that if I wanted, maybe there was something left for me to save.

  “I can give you a chance.”

  • • •

  I work my shift in a daze, checking my phone constantly to make sure Kaitlyn stays put and to see if there’s any news from Teo. It rings only once, but it’s my mom.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  I signal to a waiter to take my place at the podium, walking down the hall to the bathroom, where it’s quieter.

  “Honey, I’m so glad you answered. I haven’t heard from you for days.”

  “I texted you this morning.”

  “A text. That’s not communication. And I thought you were coming over on Halloween?”

  Halloween. That feels like weeks ago.

  “I’m sorry. We got distracted. Was it hard?”

  “It was fun, actually. Your dad would’ve been proud of me.”

  “I’m sure he would. I know I am.”

  “So, where have you been?”

  “Cecily?”

  I turn around. The waiter who replaced me is standing there, looking anxious.

  “Mom, can I call you back later? It’s busy here.”

  “Of course. But, Cecily?”

  “Yes?”

  “Take care of yourself, okay?”

  I hang up, staring at the phone. Does my mother know what’s going on? How could she? No, it’s just momtuition; I have it myself sometimes with the kids. I put the phone away and go back to work.

  Finally, around five, Teo texts me that they’re ready, and I suggest they meet me at six thirty. I call Cassie and ask her to take Henry out to dinner and a movie so we can have the house to ourselves. Cassie asks if Kevin can go with them, and I agree. If I could send Henry as a chaperone on all her dates, I would.

  Teo’s car pulls up at the same time as mine. I don’t know what I was expecting his investigator to look like—some variant of Humphrey Bogart, perhaps—but Joe Connor is a short, small man with round glasses and a bald head, no fedora in sight. Being unassuming is probably a good thing in his line of work.

  I direct them where to put their hats and coats and go to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. I feel chilled to the bone, though the house is warm. Teo and Joe sit at the kitchen island while I hover.

  “What did you find?”

  Joe pulls a blue file out of his bag
like the one Teo had the other day. He opens it. An arrest photo of Franny is sitting on top. I take the piece of paper: Eileen Warner, eighteen, arrested on suspicion of murder.

  “Murder? She’s a murderer?”

  “They never laid charges.”

  “Who was she accused of killing?”

  “Her parents.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Her sister turned her in. Said she’d seen her tampering with the car the day before the accident that killed them. The brakes failed, and they drove into a ditch.”

  I feel even colder. “How come she got off?”

  “They couldn’t find any signs of tampering with the brakes, and there was a long history of animosity between Eileen and her sister. No evidence of a crime plus unreliable witness means no prosecution.”

  “But did she do it?”

  Joe swings his head back and forth. “She might’ve done. I spoke to her sister. She’s convincing. Says that she and Eileen actually got along all right growing up. But then Eileen started hanging with the wrong crowd, ended up in some kind of juvenile detention program, mixed up in drugs and petty larceny. When she got out of the program, she was very angry with her parents. Telling them they’d ruined her life and whatnot. Then Sherrie saw her working on the car, and the next day her parents are dead.”

  “Is there . . . Should we be reporting this to someone?”

  “Probably no point in that. I didn’t find any more proof than what the police had at the time. Absent a confession, it’s highly unlikely they’d reopen the investigation.”

  “Well, what about that? Why don’t we get her to confess?”

  Joe takes off his glasses and polishes them with the end of his shirt. “You’ve been watching too much TV.”

  “I have?”

  “If you think I’m going to be able to get her to confess in a way that will stand up in court, you surely have.”