The Better Liar

by Tanen Jones

  Would I miss it here?

  I’d never lived anywhere else.

  Maybe I’d forget after a while. Rewrite my life as I had rewritten it before. Cut out the bad and ignore the vestigial guilt.

  But I knew as I thought it that I would never forget. I could never love anyone as much, or disappoint them as completely.

  It seemed to take a long time to reach the house on Riviera, the beginning and end of my life.

  There was a white Nissan two-door idling in the driveway, but as I rolled closer I could see that no one was inside it. Were Robin’s friends already here? I had thought it would be a surprise, maybe—a few bruises, carried roughly into a waiting car. This one seemed too small, and to walk into an occupied house seemed more daunting than a surprise attack. I pulled up beside the curb and shut off the engine. The lights were on in the house and a muffled noise was coming from behind the door, audible now that the car wasn’t running.

  I got out and shut the door. My hands were shaking. It took me a long time to find the right key. I hadn’t thought about whether it would hurt until this moment. I hadn’t thought about how there would be a stranger in my house—someone who would hit me, really hit me.

  I had stood in front of the mirror a dozen times while I was pregnant, imagining myself taking my stomach off, leaving it on the floor. After Eli was born, it became clear the problem had not exited with him, but remained inside me, a dead part drifting into my bloodstream. I fantasized that I could locate the poisoned organ and cut it out. I pulled at my skin in the mirror, stretching it to its limit. If it had been as easy as cutting off an arm, I would have done it.

  It was different, though, to walk toward my escape knowing that pain was waiting for me. A real man waiting to hit me. I thought about calling Robin. I moved my feet two steps.

  The teal gate was open, as if somebody else had come through already.

  The noise congealed into something I recognized. It was music. Somebody was playing music in there. It was drifting through the door, left an inch or two ajar.

  I glanced behind me, but no one was there. Just the strange car in the drive and the empty street.

  I made myself go through the gate and push open the front door. Would I see him right away, the stranger Robin had hired? Would he be like Clery, or would he be the kind of man to introduce himself, apologize before he knocked my head against the wall?

  The music grew in volume.

  “I was the one came running when you were lonely…”

  That song Robin had loved. Was she here? She’d said she wouldn’t be, that she’d pick me up later, on the highway.

  “Robin?” I called. I left my purse on the hook next to the door and went farther into the living room. “Robin?”

  No one answered.

  The house was nearly empty, covered in boxes. I should have felt alone, but I didn’t.

  There was another person in the house.

  Where was Daddy’s record player? It wasn’t in the living room. I followed the sound through the house, feeling sick.

  The dream I’d had surfaced, jogged by the empty armchair. A stain on it stuck out to me as it hadn’t in the months since Daddy had no longer occupied it. I’ll have to throw the chair out, I thought, and then I remembered I wouldn’t be here to do it. Someone else would have to throw the chair out.

  “Robin?”

  My room was empty except for the boxes. Dull yellow walls. I closed the door again and went farther down the hallway.

  There was a noise like a step behind me. I turned.

  Nothing.

  At last I reached Robin’s room. The door was closed, but the music poured out from around its edges. She was playing the song as loud as it could possibly go.

  I turned the knob. It felt hot in my hand.

  All the lights were on in Robin’s room, bright against the pale blue wallpaper. The faces crowded my vision so that at first all I saw was the record player propped up on the white pouf chair that belonged to Robin’s vanity. She’d dragged the chair into the middle of the room for some reason. The record on it spun slowly, blaring its noise.

  Then I saw why the chair was in the middle of the room.

  Above it, from the fan, hung a length of rope, knotted into a noose.

  My mind worked slowly. Was Robin here? Was she going to kill herself?

  Then, even more ludicrous: Was it my mother?

  I felt something at my back, could feel its breath. The man Robin had hired. But even as I wrenched myself around I knew that wasn’t it. The door was yanked shut behind me, forcing me to snatch my hand out of the way to keep from getting caught in the frame. I reached for the knob just as the lock clicked, rattling the wood.

  I pulled at the knob. Then again. The door held.

  The record player was blaring; I couldn’t think. “Robin!” I yelled over its noise. “What’s going on?”

  She couldn’t hear me. I turned and hurried to lift the needle from the record. “Robin?” I called again, going back to the door and pressing myself against it. The painted wood felt sticky against my face.

  In the sudden quiet, I heard a car in the driveway. Coming or going? Was she leaving me here? What for?

  I looked around. The window—the window—

  I pulled up the blinds and looked out into the empty backyard. The red yucca needed watering. I couldn’t see what was going on in front of the house from here, but if I could lift the window…

  My fingers couldn’t gain purchase on the sash. I pushed at the top of the window instead, locking and unlocking it futilely. At last I saw what it was. The sash was nailed to the frame.

  I’d put those nails in, years ago. To keep Robin in. She’d pried them out twice to get out from under me. After she’d run away, I hadn’t bothered to put them back in again. She must have come yesterday and—and hammered them—so I couldn’t…

  But why? Ten a.m. We’ll pack some boxes. I remembered holding on to her in the kitchen, the way her fingers had skated over the veins on the back of my hand.

  I banged on the window, hard. “Robin!” The glass fogged at my shout. “Robin!” I said again, knocking until the windowpane shuddered. The yard remained quiet, the black pine’s needles moving in a breeze I couldn’t feel. No neighbors appeared beyond the fence.

  I slumped against the window and glanced around the room. A hundred faces stared back at me from Robin’s walls.

  Phone. I’d call her. I’d ask—But I’d left my purse on the hook as I always did. My phone was in there. I could hear it ringing faintly.

  The ringing seemed to go on forever in the empty house, echoing itself a dozen times. I sat down on the floor against the window and pressed my fingers into my forehead.

  The noose was like a person in the room. I could barely look at it.

  She could have left me yesterday. She had the money; she knew what I’d wanted mine for. But she’d stayed. She’d watched me vomit. She’d helped me plan to run, just as she had run before. Why had she stayed? Just to lock me in the house?

  The phone had stopped ringing at some point and a new sound filtered into the room, a whine growing louder as it approached. Sirens. Someone had heard me shouting.

  If the police showed up, Robin couldn’t come back.

  What had she done?

  The sirens grew deafening, then shut off. A heavy knock came at the door, and someone said something too muffled for me to make out. I sat shivering at the foot of the window.

  “Leslie Flores?” the voice said again, louder. More knocking, and then movement around the side of the house. I turned and watched from the edge of the window as several people in dark uniforms tramped through the backyard gravel. They disappeared toward the back door, and I heard them knock again, and call my name. I was too afraid to reply. After several minutes, there was a cracking
noise, and heavy footsteps moved through the house, voices reporting on each room.

  “Leslie Flores?” one of them called from just outside Robin’s bedroom.

  I wiped my mouth. “I’m in here,” I said.

  “Open the door.”

  “I can’t,” I said, too quietly. “The lock is on the outside.”

  “Okay, I’m coming in.” A man, a calm voice. I heard the door rattle and scrambled to stand, knocking the chair and the record player over. A second later, the door burst open, revealing one of the police officers I’d seen in the backyard. He was tall, square-jawed. “Are you Leslie Flores?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. My throat was dry. Another officer stepped into the room behind him. She looked familiar. She’d been in school with Robin. I’d run into her at Sprouts once or twice.

  Her eyes were kind. “Leslie, your sister told me you might be here. I’m Nancy Courtenay, if you remember? I’m with the sheriff’s department. This is Officer Wright.” She turned to her partner. “Can you wait over there for a second? I’m going to talk to Mrs. Flores.”

  “What?” I could barely think. The other officer—Wright—took one last glance around the room, shook his head, and disappeared into the hallway. “Why would she tell you?”

  “She cares about you, Leslie,” Nancy said. “Your note really scared her.”

  “What note?”

  “The note you left her,” Nancy said, holding a folded piece of paper out to me. “She thought you might go to your dad’s house. I’m glad she called us.”

  I heard voices in the living room, boots shuffling over the carpet. There were more people here. People Robin had called. I took the piece of paper from Nancy and unfolded it slowly.

  I’m heading out now. I didn’t want

  to wake you up to say goodbye.

  I hope you find your way on your own.

  I’m glad our time together is over.

  I can’t feel any other way.

  But I’ll think about you.

  —Leslie

  The bottom of the note, with Robin’s Social Security number, had been ripped away, leaving a ragged edge. I could hear my pulse in my ears. “It’s not a—a suicide note,” I said. “It’s—she was leaving town—she was here to work out some legal—”

  Nancy came closer, and I stumbled back. “I’m sorry she couldn’t be here. She said it was too hard for her, and I hope you understand that. But she hasn’t left town. She’ll visit you in the hospital.”

  The voices in the living room muttered to one another. I heard someone chuckle.

  “I don’t need to go to the hospital,” I said to Nancy, my heart rabbit-fast in my chest. “I’m not suicidal. Robin lied to you.”

  Nancy looked up at the noose. “I wish that were true. But I can’t leave you here on your own. I’m required to make sure you’re no longer in danger.”

  Another car pulled up outside. A walkie-talkie burped in the other room, and a garbled voice said, “Everything’s okay. We located her.”

  “Is there someone else we can call for you to meet you at the hospital?” My attention was dragged back to Nancy, who tilted her head. “Someone who can support you?”

  “Don’t call Dave,” I said. “He can’t…”

  “You don’t have to worry, Leslie,” Nancy said. “We haven’t notified anybody yet. I came straight over after Robin’s call. If you’d like, we can ask the hospital not to admit him in to see you. You don’t have to see anybody you don’t want to see. But support can be very important. Is there anybody else I can call for you?”

  That car outside. Robin’s car. She hadn’t packed boxes with me. She’d waited for me, nailed the window shut, locked me in, called this woman.

  She wasn’t coming back.

  I went over the events in my head again. It began to take shape.

  The dead girl on the bed in Henderson. The girl who’d been punished for taking something that belonged to Robin.

  You and me, Robin had said yesterday in the kitchen.

  And I’d said, I don’t know how to thank you.

  “I need my purse,” I said to Nancy. “Is my purse in the front room?”

  Nancy looked perplexed, but raised her voice to call, “Hey, Alan?” Officer Wright appeared in the hallway. “Can you check if there’s a purse in the front room?”

  “She can’t have anything in it,” Wright mumbled.

  “We can bring it to the hospital for her, though,” Nancy said mildly.

  “I need my purse!” I hissed. “There’s an envelope in it. I need to know if it’s there. Now. Now. Now!” I shrieked the last word at him as he turned to leave.

  “There’s no need to shout,” Nancy said, pulling the door nearly closed. “I promise you, we are here to help.”

  I sat down on the bed. My face felt like a mask. “You’ve been fucking her, haven’t you?”

  Nancy’s kind expression evaporated. “That’s none of your business. Please don’t lash out at me because you’re angry at your sister.”

  “I bet you love her,” I said, talking over her. “She told you she’s coming back? She lied. She never loved you. She told me so.”

  “I understand that’s your perspective,” Nancy told me.

  Wright shouldered past the door, holding my purse. “This it?”

  I stood up. Nancy put a hand on my shoulder. “Please sit down, Mrs. Flores,” she said.

  “Give it to me,” I said. I had at least five inches of height on her, but she kept me in place on the bed without effort. One of my shoes slipped off as I scraped for purchase on the carpet.

  “Leslie, please,” Nancy said, lightening her hold on my shoulder. “It’s just an envelope. You can get it later.” She turned calmly to Wright, behind her. “Should we get going?”

  I stopped moving, and Nancy took her hand away. “I don’t want to go anywhere,” I said, through suddenly difficult breaths.

  Wright rummaged around in my purse. “I don’t see an envelope,” he reported.

  Nancy bent and offered me my shoe. “What’s in the envelope? Maybe it fell out of your purse.”

  I curled in on myself, shaking. It was gone. Part of me must have known as soon as I heard the phone ringing, out there where I couldn’t reach it, locked in. I felt Nancy crouch and put my shoe back on my foot for me. “Nancy,” I whispered, trying to pull myself together. She was still kneeling, her face at chest height. I bent my head to hers, my hair brushing her forehead. “Nancy, you have to help me,” I said under my breath. “Robin set it up to look like I was going to do something, but I swear to you, I wasn’t.”

  My words slid off her gentle expression. She wasn’t really listening to me. “It’s okay, Leslie.”

  “I can’t go to the hospital,” I went on, trying to make her understand. “I just need to talk to Robin.” If I went to the hospital, somebody would call Dave. He would think that I’d tried to—I could hardly imagine his face. I knew what would happen. I’d gone through it with my mother. She had barely even hidden it from us. I had promised myself I would never do that. No one would ever know. I would eat my shame alone.

  If I went to the hospital, no one would help me die. That was their job, to keep people alive. They’d keep me alive to watch Dave divorce me. To watch him turn to Elaine, find somebody better to be Eli’s mother. I couldn’t be alive for that. I had worked so hard to make it easy for us both. I had left Eli money, packed up most of Daddy’s house…

  I was supposed to be dead right now.

  I stared at the noose.

  “For what it’s worth, what you’re going through is very common, Leslie.” Nancy’s voice broke into my thoughts. “Many women experience it, especially in the year after giving birth. People can be very good at hiding it. I know it may not seem like it right now, but it’s lucky that you
wrote that note to Robin. You asked for help, and she heard you.” She offered me a hand, but I didn’t take it.

  “If I go, I can’t come back,” I whispered to her.

  Nancy’s face softened. “Of course you can come back,” she said. “Leslie, don’t worry. All that’s going to happen is you’ll be asked to talk to a doctor about what you’ve been experiencing this year. Everyone understands what you’re going through. You’ll get your life back.”

  I felt something inside me crack. My body sagged, going limp on the bed. Nancy and the other cop propped me up, one hand on each elbow.

  “On our way,” Nancy said into her walkie. The faces on Robin’s walls watched me as I was pulled out of the room. I felt her presence in the house, closer than ever; I understood her, finally, as I hadn’t when we were twelve and eight, as I hadn’t even yesterday in the kitchen. All you have to do is ask for my help, she’d said.

  I’d never see her again. She’d trapped me in my life, like an insect under a glass. I’d be in New Mexico until I died.

  I love you, Leslie. I love you. It entered my head again. I couldn’t get it out all the way to the hospital.

  EPILOGUE

  Robin

  The phone Leslie had bought me rattled in the cupholder beside me. Music poured over my face from the rental car’s speakers, thick as sunlight, obscuring the ringtone. I glanced down, expecting to see her number, but it was Nancy calling me, over and over. When I stopped at a red light, I saw my name on the screen.

  Robin, I’ve got, her message began, then was cut off as the notification ended.

  I didn’t open it. There was a voicemail too. That one I held to my ear.

  “Robin,” she said. “I just wanted to call and check in with you. I don’t…”

  She went on, but I started the message over again.

  “Robin. I just wanted to…”

  There were no calls from Leslie. I had cut us free of each other. That was how I had paid for her happiness. A piece of myself thrown into the hole of my death. Hadn’t I always done what she was afraid to ask for?

  Robin, I’ve got