The Better Liar

by Tanen Jones

  I wasn’t afraid at all. Why wasn’t I afraid?

  We’d known each other just over a year at that point. Now, after having been married for nearly five years, I could see that we had been strangers—but it didn’t feel that way at the time.

  We had hidden ourselves away from each other for twenty-four hours before the wedding, the longest we’d spent apart since meeting, and when I saw him in the stuffy little chapel my only feeling was relief. I strained toward his observation like a houseplant toward a window. Without him I was tethered to my father, who now addressed me just as he addressed the home aides, with a kind of detached finality; and to my mother and sister, whose memories I dragged with me in our neighbors’ eyes. Dave’s family wasn’t like that; his parents treated him and his sisters like local celebrities, cheering them on and heckling them in equal measure. To him, my tethers were invisible. I was Leslie Voigt, local celebrity; he sought out my opinion as if it were an autograph.

  That night we’d gone upstairs to our room at the inn at two in the morning. We were drunk and it was freezing in the room. I remember struggling to get out of my dress as Dave frowned at the thermostat. “I’m turning it, but the needle’s not moving,” he said.

  “Just get in bed,” I said, rubbing my face against the pillow like a cat.

  “I’m not going to be bested by a—by a temperature thing,” he said, groping for the word. “Is that the kind of husband you want? A husband who can be humiliated by a…” He paused while I laughed. “A heat device,” he tried. “A dialed instrument—”

  I got out of bed, dragging the comforter along with me as a cape, and pressed the power button, then turned the dial. The needle moved. “You idiot,” I said, and licked his cheek.

  “I see,” Dave said. “You’d rather humiliate him on your own.”

  “Yes.” I wrapped the blanket around both of us, like a cocoon, and we shuffled four-footedly back to the bed, where we collapsed.

  He slipped the comforter over our heads. “I love you,” he said, his breath making the air inside the blanket taste like beer. “Are you my wife now?”

  I nodded solemnly. He kissed my mouth, then leaned back and examined my face as if to check his work. Then he kissed my cheek, just as gently. Next both my eyelids, my eyebrows, my chin, my ear, directly into my eardrum.

  “Loud!” I exclaimed, pushing him away.

  He ignored me and kissed my neck, my shoulder, my elbow.

  I began laughing, and so did he. We were half-asleep by the time we were finished having sex. I remember him twitching inside me as he softened, his body heavier than usual on top of mine. I let him crush me, feeling that otherwise I might float up to the ceiling. I had the spins and I couldn’t quite focus my eyes. “Baby,” Dave said into my neck, and I thought: I don’t deserve this. This should have belonged to some other woman, and I’ve taken it from her.

  I didn’t want to give it back, though. He pressed me down into the mattress and I thought: Mine, mine now, mine forever.

  The next morning I went over to see Daddy as usual—we didn’t have a honeymoon because I felt sure my father could die any second. He was always telling me how much he needed me, how he was afraid to be alone very long with the home aides. They don’t respect me, he said once. They steal things. And things did go missing in the house every now and then, so I believed him.

  The aide—Stephanie—told me that my sister had called for me. She played me the message on the machine. It was the last time I heard my sister speak. The message started with several long seconds of static, and then Robin said, “Oh…getting married!” She laughed. “Hi…getting married! Leslie said to tell you—I mean, I said to tell Leslie. Why? You need to consider that, honey. What happens at the end of it? Are you gonna wear a big…a big dress? I looked up this person you’re getting married to. David Flores. I don’t know which picture is his but I’m sure he’s a real kind of…a real type of guy. I almost went tonight, did you know that? I have a friend who was going that way and she could have driven me, but I thought…no…Leslie wants to feel pretty. Don’t you? And you don’t want to have to tell me what to do. You hate that. So I’m not there.” She paused and there was a crackling noise. “I love you,” she sang into the phone. “I love you, Leslie—” The message cut off.

  The way she said it dug itself into my brain afterward. I couldn’t get it out. It was like a horrible, creepy jingle. I love you. I love you, Leslie.

  The last thing Daddy said to me was that he was going to take a nap and not to leave the house.

  I didn’t remember the last thing my mother said to me. I didn’t remember anything about her death. It was as if I had gouged it out. Why had I done that?

  She drowned, I’d told Mary.

  I twisted the volume dial. The radio was still on. “Esta tarde vi llover” filled the car, a big melodramatic Hollywood crescendo. It drove out the jingle—that’s how big it was.

  * * *

  —

  Dave’s parents lived in the North Valley, one of the neighborhoods clustered underneath the curving arm of the Rio Grande. Their house was a single-story ranch-style with a basketball hoop at the foot of the driveway that had belonged to Dave and his sisters as children and now was collectively owned by the MacGregor and Da Silva kids from down the street. When I pulled into their particular cul-de-sac, Dave’s mom, Teri, and his sister Cadence were squatting in the wide flat driveway with Eli and Cadence’s twin daughters, Riley and Jessa. Teri was painting an overalls-clad Riley’s face with glitter paint while Jessa looked on, and Cadence had Eli in her lap, rubbing him down with white-cast sunscreen.

  My windows were down. I heard Teri say, “Look, it’s Aunt Leslie.” Riley kept her eyes closed. Jessa turned to squint at me as I parked next to the mailbox.

  “Hi,” I called, popping the door open. “I’m a little late, sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Teri said, dabbing purple dots across Riley’s nose. “We’re doing slow cooker, there’s no rush. Are you hungry? Do you want to just stay?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’ve made you do too much work already today.”

  “Eli’s not work,” Cadence said from the steps. “He’s a quiet boy, huh?”

  Eli just looked at her, cow-eyed.

  “Anyway, we’re making carnitas…” Teri singsonged.

  “Carnitaaaas…” Jessa echoed. “Riley, don’t move!”

  Riley had opened her mouth to join in just as Teri drew the body of the butterfly down her mouth.

  “Oh, Riley, you look like the Joker,” Jessa lamented.

  “No-o.” Riley giggled and tried to wipe at her face.

  “Not your shirt—” Teri warned, then gave up. “Okay, you can wear one of mine for dinner and we’ll put yours in the wash.”

  “We should probably head out pretty soon,” I interjected from the end of the driveway. “It’s getting late.”

  “Yeah, Mom,” Cadence said. “Leslie has to head out.”

  Teri made a face. “Well, I promised Eli I’d paint him as a tiger.”

  “He doesn’t remember,” I said.

  “Sure he does.” Teri made grabby hands at Eli, who lunged out of Cadence’s arms and toddled toward her. “See? You just sit over there with Cadence and we’ll make you a tiger to take home.”

  Riley leapt up from the concrete and dashed toward the front door. “I want to see what I look like!”

  “You’re not gonna like it,” Jessa opined, following her.

  “Don’t get paint on anything!” Cadence called after them. “If you want to take it off, use paper towels, not the real towels.” She brushed grit off her palms. “I should go in with them.”

  “No, stay with us,” Teri said. “We never have Leslie here.”

  “That’s true,” Cadence said, eyeing me. “Why don’t you come over mo
re often, Leslie?”

  I was trying to sit down on the concrete while keeping my knees together and avoiding scraping my heels; I fumbled.

  “She’s busy,” Teri said, dipping her paintbrush into the Eeyore cup next to her. “She’s still getting back into her job after taking the time for this tiger. Don’t bug her.”

  Cadence looked away. “What noise does a tiger make, Eli?” she asked.

  Eli craned his neck toward Cadence when he heard his name.

  “Hold still, honey,” Teri told him, grabbing his chin.

  “Eli,” Cadence persisted. “What sound does a tiger make? Is it quack? Quack, quack?”

  Eli laughed.

  “I don’t think he knows his sounds, Mom,” Cadence murmured. “Does he do it at home, Leslie?” She still wasn’t looking at me.

  “I think Dave does the sounds with him,” I said.

  “Okay, go like this,” Teri told Eli. She pushed her lips out. Eli laughed and laughed. “No, you do it too,” she said. “Do just like me.” After a minute she got him to push his lips out and she colored them both black. “Now I’m going to put fangs on you,” she said. “Ready?”

  Eli cheered.

  “We used to have a tiger mask at home,” Cadence said. “David was terrified of it. Maria was absolutely merciless. She would put it on and wake him up with it. One time he wet the bed.”

  “In front of you?” I said.

  She nodded. “I think it’s still a fond memory for Maria.”

  “Well, she had to wash all the sheets herself,” Teri said placidly, “so I’m glad she treasures that moment.”

  “Okay, it’s hella quiet in there,” Cadence remarked. “I’m gonna go break up whatever’s going on. Mom, should I wake up Dad?”

  “He’s not sleeping,” Teri said. “He’s just resting in the living room. You can tell him we’re going to start making plates as soon as Sonya gets here.”

  “I think he needs a David visit,” Cadence said.

  Teri frowned at her. “He’s getting one this weekend. Go inside.”

  Cadence went into the house, wiping her gray-soled feet on the mat. Teri turned back to Eli, who’d gotten bored and was trying to lick the paint off his lips.

  “Don’t eat that,” I said, prying his fingers away from his mouth.

  “No, no, it’s fine,” Teri told me. “It’s a set just for little kids. I mean, don’t let him eat the whole thing, but it won’t poison him.”

  “Oh.” I sat back. She dipped her paintbrush in the orange and painted careful stripes across Eli’s forehead and cheeks. “He’s really looking like a tiger,” I said after a minute. “You’re good at that.”

  She smiled, wrinkles lifting her cheeks. “I used to paint sets for the Little Theatre,” she said. “For a while in the seventies.”

  There was a sudden shriek from inside the house, then the thundering of two pairs of feet down the hallway as the twins chased each other.

  “Do you think Eli should have siblings?” I said, as Teri switched to white.

  Teri shifted Eli in her lap. “Is that something you’re thinking about?”

  “I know Dave wants it,” I said. “A lot of kids. He’s always wanted that.”

  “That’s true.” Teri smiled at me. “Well, I’m ready for another one too. Sonya and Cadence are done after twins, and you never know with Maria, she could get bored in another couple years, but I think she’s done too. I had kids mostly so I could be a grandma, you know. I felt it call to my soul. I love hard candy and fanny packs.”

  “And glitter face paint.”

  “And glitter face paint,” she agreed, turning Eli around. “Want to go look in the mirror?”

  He patted his own face and made a questioning noise.

  “Mhmm, the mirror.” She stood up, holding Eli a little apart from her body so he couldn’t smear paint on her. “Leslie, will you grab the palette and the cup and stick those in the sink?”

  I followed her in, holding the paint set, as she stopped in the guest bathroom to show Eli his own face. He gave a yell of pure terror as soon as he saw his reflection. Cadence appeared from the kitchen and hurried over to them with her phone.

  “Leslie, you’re welcome, I’m capturing this on video,” she said. “It’s genetic. Oh my God, I’m sending this to Maria and David right now.” She cackled, and I heard Eli screaming on the playback as she hit SEND.

  “Are you sure you’re not staying for dinner?” Teri asked over Eli’s sobs.

  “No, I should take him—” I snatched Eli out of her hands. “Thank you for handling him all day.”

  “I love you, my darling,” Teri told him, kissing him on the head. “I’m sorry I am so good an artist that I scared you right out your pants.”

  Eli whimpered, while Cadence laughed.

  “He’s a good baby, Leslie,” Teri told me. “You should think about making more of him.”

  * * *

  —

  I didn’t go home. I went the opposite way, crossing the river toward Taylor Ranch. I followed the streets, thinking how much this neighborhood looked like the one I grew up in. I could imagine high school romance here, small weddings, babies in the kiddie pool out back.

  The house I was looking for was on Flor Del Rey. It was absolutely ordinary, a single-story adobe with a big picture window in the front, a couple of evergreens shading the right side of the house. In the short tiled driveway, I could see Dave’s car. There was an old OBAMA BIDEN 2012 sticker on the bumper, and the Steve Nash bobblehead Cadence had given him wobbled in the rear windshield.

  I didn’t know why I still checked. I knew he would be here. I’d known for a long time. Before, I used to call him. I wanted to hear him lie to me. Now I just drove by. It was enough to see his car in her driveway.

  In a way it was almost a relief, knowing what I was about to do.

  Eli was asleep in the back with the ring of keys in his mouth. His breathing grew labored, and I reached around to pull the keys out. “You ready to go home?” I whispered.

  40

  Robin

  I make her sound so cruel, but Leslie wasn’t only cruel. I really loved her, you know; that’s the thing people get wrong about love. They think the closer you are to someone, the more they narrow; that love shears you down to the slimmest core, as if people contained seeds you could fish out and keep, saying, That’s the real you; all the rest is just flesh.

  But it’s the other way around. The more you know someone, the more someones you know. They kaleidoscope outward before your eyes. If you feel you’re finally getting a handle on someone’s true self, you haven’t got a clue. Once you’ve met forty versions of them, then you can comfort yourself you’re getting closer.

  I’ve seen a hundred Leslies, at least.

  Here’s another Leslie:

  Winter, late nineties. Eleven years old, with long sloppy bangs like Meg Ryan. She comes scrambling over the wall behind the abandoned gas station. “Tommy said you were back here,” she pants. “What are you—”

  Her eyes flick between me and Placky, who’s lying on the ground.

  “Did he bite you?” she asks at last.

  I shake my head.

  “But he tried to bite you.”

  I nod.

  “Okay,” she tells me. “Okay. You didn’t mean to do it. Did Tommy see you? Is that why he was freaking out?”

  “Yes,” I say. I hadn’t known he was there until he started yelping, and then he was running too fast for me to catch him.

  “That’s not good,” Leslie says, almost to herself. “Did anybody else see?”

  “No.”

  “At least there’s that.” She stares at Placky. “I’m going to get a garbage bag.”

  She disappears back over the wall. I sit down on the ground, dragging the pipe through th
e patches of dirt and snow to write my initials. It’s heavy and my arms ache.

  Only one of Placky’s eyes is still intact. A blood vessel burst in it, so there’s a pink blob settled in the bottom of his eye, nearly obscuring the iris.

  Finally Leslie returns from the other side of the gas station, pushing her bike and carrying a black plastic garbage bag. She turns the bag inside-out and puts it over her hand, just the way you do when you’re cleaning up shit, except she’s cleaning up the dog itself. It takes her a minute of struggling to get all of Placky inside the garbage bag, but then she’s pulling the ties tight and loading him into the metal basket on her handlebars.

  “Give me the pipe,” she says.

  I hand it over. She uses it to scrape through the bloody dirt and snow on the ground, until it’s just a messy pile of weeds and mud.

  “Where are you taking him?” I ask.

  “West. Candelaria goes almost to the river.” She stands up and peers at her handiwork, clapping her mittens together. “It’ll look like a coyote got him.”

  “Why can’t we just put it in the trash?”

  “Because someone might recognize him and tell the Schwartzes.” Leslie squints at me. “It’s a crime.”

  “It is?”

  “You didn’t know. But you can’t do it again.”

  “I know.” I knew even when I was doing it.

  “Okay.” She sighs. “You’re lucky it was just Tommy. But he’s going to tell people. You’re going to say that he’s lying.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” She carries the pipe over to the broken back window of the gas station and drops it in. I hear the clatter as it hits the tile. “I have to leave now if I’m going to get back before dark. It’s your turn to make dinner.”

  “Thank you,” I mumble.

  She wipes her nose. “Wash your hands. Before you make dinner.”