WITH THIS LIE: A NOVEL

by Savage, Kat

  I hesitate but finally take her hand. She wraps a blanket around me and walks me out of my room.

  Everything is broken. There’s broken glass everywhere and chairs are toppled over. A police officer tries to shield my face, but I see it.

  There on the floor right in front of the bookshelf where my mother was standing is a mess of blood. Next to it, there’s a body underneath a sheet. There’s a knife across the floor, a trail of blood between the body and the blade. I begin to cry, and the officer takes me into her arms, and carries me out as fast as she can.

  All I see now are the blue lights swirling. I hear people talking but their voices are in a fog around me. They put me in the back of a car and a lady sits with me. She is telling me that everything will be all right, but I know she’s lying.

  I know nothing will ever be the same.

  14

  Lucas

  With Elliott and Dani both tied up today, I decide to spend my evening reminiscing. It’s not the greatest idea I’ve ever had. After cleaning up the apartment and doing some laundry, I settle down in front of the trunk in the corner of my living room. I don’t know what made me decide to do this, or why. I just felt the need to dive into some old things. Maybe it was the thought of seeing my brother after so long. Maybe it was because of Dani, though I couldn’t say why.

  I push the trunk open and take a look inside. Amid photo albums and documents are a few children’s toys and trophies from my teenage years. I search to find what I’m looking for. I pull two albums from the stack and sit back on the floor. I wipe the dust from the top of the first one. On the front is a picture of me and my mother. She made this for me after she got sick. Every now and then I flip through it and remember our time together. I open to the middle and see a photo of me in front of a birthday cake with her beside me. I turn the page and we are standing beside a snowman in our backyard. I miss her. In many ways, she was the only family I really had. Regardless of what Elliott has done, he’s the only family I have left and that’s why I have to make it right.

  I close the photo album of my mother and set it aside. I haven’t held this other one in a really long time. The white satin front had yellowed and turned grungy over the years. I open it up and there she is. In the photo, I’m wearing a suit and she’s wearing the long red dress I loved her in. Samantha and I were engaged and happy. Or so I thought. I stare at the picture, trying to detect any sign of how she truly felt in that moment. I can’t see anything.

  She wears her smile. Her arms are wrapped around me, head thrown back mid-laugh.

  These were our engagement photos. She insisted on a professional session to mark the occasion. I didn’t get it but agreed to make her happy.

  I turn to the next photo.

  The sun is setting in the skyline behind us, and our bodies are not much more than silhouettes. We are forehead to forehead, holding hands.

  I remember each of these moments in my mind. I don’t understand what I missed.

  I flip to the back of the album and there’s an envelope. I pick up the envelope and I can feel her engagement ring inside. The envelope is sealed, same as the day I got it. She wrote my name on the front. I’ve always assumed there was a letter inside, but I could never bring myself to open it.

  I broke it off. That sounds less like the truth than I mean it. What really happened is far more tragic, far more complicated. But I remember it like it was yesterday.

  I came home early from work with flowers in hand. Samantha and I had gotten into a fight the night before and I wanted to apologize. I opened the front door and heard music upstairs. I sat my keys down in the kitchen and noticed a blazer neatly folded over the back of a chair. Slightly confused, I made my way upstairs and down the hall to our bedroom. I heard her scream out in laughter. My heart began to race. I reached the door and turned the knob slowly. I could hear another familiar voice on the other side. I remember gulping and trying to still myself.

  When I opened the door, it took a few moments before they noticed me. Samantha was naked on top of a man, her back to me. I saw his legs, his arms wrapped up around her. She turned toward me, gasping. She read the shock on my face but said nothing. Just then, the man revealed his face to me, leaning over to look around her.

  Elliott. Samantha and Elliott. My fiancé and my fucking brother. Fucking in my bed. In my shock, I didn’t feel anger. I didn’t feel anything really. I shut the door as I heard both of them yelling my name. My head in a fog, I walked down the stairs and out the door and got back into my car and drove away.

  I never went back to that house. I had movers go get my stuff. I didn’t return any calls or messages from either of them. She’d given this envelope to the movers and asked them to deliver it with my belongings. She didn’t even have the guts to deliver it herself or talk to me in person. Sometimes I get curious enough to want to open it. Other times, I’m so angry I refuse to read it. I refuse to give her a voice in my head. I didn’t want to read the excuses or reasons. I may never open it. Most days, I’m okay with that.

  I flip the envelope over in my hands three times before wedging it back into the back of the album and shutting it. That was almost a decade ago and I needed all of that time to even muster the energy and strength to try to have Elliott in my life again. But as my only family, I had to bury the hatchet. I had to make it right. I promised my mother I would.

  I put both albums back into the trunk and shut it. I rub my forehead with the palm of my hand and shut my eyes for a moment. Some days I’m not sure if this is the right thing to do. I check the clock and decide to try Dani again.

  Me: Hey you.

  I wait for a response, but it doesn’t come immediately so I put my phone back down and take a shower. Maybe she will respond by the time I get out. She was a little MIA today, and she didn’t add why and so I didn’t ask. I was just hoping she didn’t regret what happened between us.

  I grab a towel and head for the bathroom when I hear my phone buzz. I decide to have my shower first before answering. I don’t even walk back to check who it is. I know if it’s Dani, I’ll get too distracted. She causes me issues in the concentration department.

  I start the water for my shower and climb in. I let my mind go for a second, closing my eyes and letting the water run over me. I try to rewind a bit. I think about the ring I keep on my finger. What if I didn’t wear it? What if I met Dani without it? What if I could have taken her out on a normal date like a normal guy? I think about her looking at me, wanting to kiss me as a single man. Wanting to kiss me because she wanted me, not married me. I think about what would happen if I told her the truth now. I think about losing her. For the first time in a long time, I don’t think I want that. Not yet.

  15

  Dani

  Every first Monday of the month, I take the number seventy-two bus forty-five minutes north to Shady Oaks. That’s where my mother is. That’s where she will be forever. I put my phone away after texting Lucas and enjoy the rolling countryside as we exit the city. I have been on this road so many times; I know the buildings, the barns, and the signs before we get to them.

  The bus stops short of the tall wrought iron fence and the grandeur of the front gate is misleading. There is only sadness inside. I walk through the gate with the others who’ve come to visit their loved ones. Inside, we gather at the chain link fence and remove our jackets and bags. We take everything from our pockets and sit it in a plastic bin. I walk through the metal detector the way I do each month and get cleared on the other side by a woman wearing a uniform and latex gloves.

  I present my ID next and give my mother’s name. They wave me onward. I walk into the small enclosed courtyard where small, round tables are scattered. I walk to the right corner farthest from me and sit down.

  “Hello, my princess, my Dani,” my mother says.

  I smile at her as she cups my face in her left hand the way she does each time. “Hi, Mom,” I say. “How are you?”

  My mother sits back and looks do
wn the front of her. She tries to straighten out her bright orange oversized shirt. A number is printed on the left breast—her identification number.

  “Well, what can I say? Not much changes in here. It’s all the same, all the time. But I did manage to get a few extra privileges this week,” she says, attempting to fake genuine excitement.

  “That’s good, anything to pass the time, right?” I ask. My voice trails off at the end and we both know passing the time makes no difference. A life sentence is a life sentence. Whether it passes slowly or quickly, it doesn’t change anything. Silence falls between us, the way it does at least once in a visit.

  “So, my princess, your birthday is soon!” she says, changing the subject for both our sakes.

  “It’s no big deal,” I say.

  “Of course, it is! Your birth will always be the most important day for me, and certainly something to celebrate,” she replies.

  “It’s just another year. I’ll probably do what I always do. Nothing,” I say.

  She shakes her head at me and sighs. “Do me a favor, Danielle? Please?”

  I know it’s serious because that’s the only time she ever calls me Danielle. “Anything,” I say. And I mean it. I always mean it when she calls me Danielle.

  “Celebrate your birthday. Really big. A party, with food and a cake and music and balloons and streamers and all that. Just this one time. Please?”

  I press my lips together. I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to celebrate without her. “Okay, Mom. I will.”

  “And take a lot of pictures. Bring them to me. Okay?”

  “I will,” I say, shoulders slumping now. The thought of it makes me a little sick, but I’ll do it for her.

  “Good! That’s settled. What else is new, my love?” she asks.

  “Not much to report. Well, I mean I’m seeing this new guy,” I say. My mother knows all about who I date and why. I would even go so far as to say she approves. She sort of even encourages it. She just gets me.

  “And how’s that going?” she asks.

  “Really well so far, actually. I enjoy being around him, and he’s funny,” I say.

  “Oh, my princess, be careful,” she says abruptly.

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “You like him,” she says.

  “What? No, I mean I do, but no more or less than anyone else I’ve seen,” I say, willing it to be true.

  “Honey, I know you. And I know that look you have. It’s dangerous. You probably shouldn’t even see him again,” she says.

  I sit back, a little shocked, a little sure she’s probably right. But I do what I want. “I’m seeing him again. He’s fun,” I say.

  “Suit yourself,” she says.

  There’s another moment of silence and she shifts the subject to what flavor of cake I will have.

  We talk for another twenty minutes before it’s time to go. We stand and hug the way we always do.

  She tucks my hair behind my ears, smiling at me. “Take care of yourself out there,” she says.

  “Take care of yourself in here,” I reply.

  She nods. “Love you for life.”

  “Love you for always,” I say.

  I turn and walk back toward the gate. I don’t look back. She asks me to never look back. I know it’s because she’s still standing there watching me until I am out of sight.

  I make my way back to the bus, both happy to have seen her and sad this is all I will ever have of her. I miss her terribly between our visits. I stopped celebrating almost everything because I hate the idea of celebrating anything when she can’t. The thought of planning a birthday party and celebrating it gives me more anxiety than I can handle. I have no idea how I’ll pull this off. Plus, turning thirty isn’t even something I’m looking forward to.

  The night she came back from the store nineteen years ago changed everything for me. She did what any mother would do. She protected her child. She killed a man. And while in most cases, some jurors or judges could see this gesture for what it was, my mother was a prostitute. And the man she killed was someone a bit more important in the eyes of society. He was successful and wealthy and even though he was visiting such a person in the slums of the city, he was missed by too many other important people. And who missed my mother? Just me. No one important enough to save her from life in prison.

  I board the bus and think back to foster care. They played ping pong with me. Here and there and back again. No real parents or role models. In the foster system, no one wants an eleven-year-old. Especially the daughter of a whore with no known father on record. On paper, I was trouble waiting to happen, a ticking time bomb. Perhaps they assumed I would follow in my mother’s footsteps and start sleeping around. Maybe they thought the estranged father would come out of the woodwork. Whatever the reason, no one wanted me for more than a little while. It was harder as time went on. The older I got, the less interest I was given. When I turned eighteen, I aged out. They just let you go with no plan for the future and nothing to your name. You just sort of have to figure it out.

  I’ve been on my own since I was eleven, even with the help of the system. It’s always just been me looking out for me. It was better that way. If it couldn’t be my mom, I didn’t want anyone else anyway.

  I look out the window of the bus again at the other side of the road and for a moment I forget everything. Forget the pain, the night everything changed, the ride here, where we are going. The fields are rolling by in a blur and for a moment I think maybe this bus can lift off the ground and never land.

  I never wanted any of this.

  I pull my phone back out and see a few messages.

  Lucas: Oh, what’s that song that played at your house when we kissed?

  Quinn: Could you cover my shift on Wednesday? Pretty please? Xo

  Lucas: Okay, you’re busy, I know. I know. But are you free later?

  I text Quinn back first and tell her I can cover for her. Then I turn my attention to Lucas.

  Me: I should be back at my apartment in about an hour. Is that okay?

  Lucas: Hey! Yes, perfect!

  Me: Oh, and the song was “We Might Be Dead By Tomorrow” by Soko.

  Lucas: Wow, intense title…

  Me: Maybe a little lol

  Lucas: Hungry? Want me to bring food over when I come?

  Me: I’m famished.

  Lucas: What would you like?

  Me: Surprise me.

  Lucas: Oh, woman. Prepare to be surprised.

  Me: Deal :)

  I take my headphones out and scroll through my playlists to find the song he asks about. I listen to it again as I make my way back into the city. Sometimes I miss this place and sometimes I hate this place. I can’t decide what I’m feeling for it now.

  I take the shortest route home from the bus depot and even though I should be used to them, a siren going off and the whirling of blue lights in the background cause me to quicken my pace. I’ve never quite gotten the image of them that night out of my head. Sometimes you hold onto things, small things, insignificant details nearly irrelevant to the main event. But those small things are what stay fresh in your memory. They’re the things that keep you up at night, the things that pull at the buried and long forgotten thoughts. If I’m not careful, the blue lights will drudge up every nuance of that night. I’ll start to remember the way it smelled. I’ll begin to see the blood stain pattern in my morning coffee when I pour in the creamer. I’ll start to hear the breaking glass on busy nights at work.

  I shake the thoughts and images from my mind as quickly as they tumble in, uninvited. Focus on Lucas. Lucas can take your mind off it all. I’ll welcome any distraction at this point, but a good kisser is at the top of the preferred list.

  I want to let him help me forget. I want to let him touch me, kiss it away. I want to let him wrap my body in his until it cannot feel the drunken stranger’s hands that changed my life. I want him to replace all the pain with the pleasure I know he can give me. I want
him to press his warm body against mine and drown me in anything other than what I’m feeling now.

  I turn the corner to my apartment building and he’s standing there with a bag in his hands waiting for me. I breathe for what seems like the first time in several minutes and I can feel my face light up. I take the sight of him in. I quicken my pace and I know my mother was right.

  I might be in trouble.

  16

  Lucas

  I hear footsteps behind me and turn to look over my shoulder. Her blonde locks bouncing are unmistakable so I shift my body to watch her walk to me. I smile at her and she smiles back. She’s just a few paces away now but I can see the warmth in her eyes, the excitement in her walk.

  “Hey there,” I say.

  “Hey you, been waiting long?” she asks.

  “Just a couple of minutes, no big deal.” She’s right in front of me now and I lean down to kiss her a proper hello.

  “So, what are we having?” she asks, opening the door to let us in.

  This is the part I’m most excited about. “Well, I hope you don’t mind if I commandeer your kitchen?”

  “No, not at all. Wait, does that mean you’re cooking?” she asks, and I can hear the shock in her voice.

  “Yes, ma’am, I am,” I say.

  “Wow. Okay,” she says.

  “What? Do I not look the type?” I ask, feigning offense.

  “No, no it’s not that. It’s just, I’ve never actually had anyone cook for me. Not since I was a kid anyway,” she says.

  “Wait, what? How is that possible?” I ask.

  “Well, I’ve never really been in an actual relationship, obviously. And the men I have seen, well I wouldn’t exactly say showering me with attention was their objective,” she says.

  I read between the lines, knowing what she means. She means they were selfish, that they used her. She means she was nothing more than an object to them. I hated that for her. I snapped my rubber band so hard against my wrist I almost winced.