Here We Lie

by Paula Treick DeBoard

  I shrugged. “Things are things.”

  He settled onto the bench next to Megan. “Haven’t you had enough of the Mabreys?”

  She smiled. “It’s been torture.”

  He gave a sharp, snorting laugh. “I’ll bet.”

  Dad said, “Good to see you again, Megan,” and leaned over to give her a casual one-armed hug before settling down across from her. In his suit and wingtips, he looked comically out of place. With the luggage in one end and me in the other, the three of them were crammed in the middle, legs angled to the side to avoid smashing knees.

  “Ready?” I called, and yanked the cord to start the engine. Over my shoulder, I caught snatches of their conversation, shouted over the motor and splash. Dad was asking Megan something about her seminar and her responses were enthusiastic. Of course—anything to do with Harvard impressed him. They were still talking when we approached The Island. I cut the engine, and we coasted toward the pier. Kat and Lizzie were on the beach, and Lizzie jumped up and down in the surf, calling to us in her incomprehensible toddler lingo.

  “If it had been possible,” Dad was saying, “I would have stayed in school forever, racking up degrees.”

  Megan’s laugh carried across the water. “I know what you mean. I’m thinking of grad school next fall—”

  I brought the boat to an unsteady stop along the dock and didn’t feel too bad when it caught everyone slightly off balance. Dad exited first, extending a hand back to Megan.

  MK grinned at me. “What about you, Lolo? Would you want to stay in school forever, too?”

  “Fuck off.” I gave him a push, and he grabbed my forearms for balance, grinning.

  “That’s my girl.”

  * * *

  MK took the boat back in the afternoon to fetch Peter, who had arrived just in time for our crab and lobster feast. There was a happy chaos around the table now that we were all here, and even Mom rallied, holding court about plans for the weekend—a family photo on the morning of the Fourth, the specific meals we would eat at specific times, the arrangements for the Brewster Holmeses. Jordana had made two giant pitchers of sangria, and we each vied for pieces of the wine-sodden fruit, spearing them with forks until Mom informed us that we were behaving like barbarians. Somehow MK and Megan began sparring again over the value of being an English major, with Peter chiming in that finance trumped anything the humanities had to offer.

  “Excuse me,” I said.

  “Now, now,” Dad interrupted, as if he were stepping into the middle of the ring, ordering us back to our corners. He’d changed out of his suit, and his arms were pale in a short-sleeved shirt. “I’m proud of all of you.” He winked at Megan and nodded at Peter. “Even the ones I had nothing to do with.”

  * * *

  We settled onto couches in the living room afterward, the humid air displaced by the rotating blades of the overhead fan. It was too warm, we were too full and the night itself felt restless. MK opened bottles of beer and passed them around; Kat and Peter tucked Lizzie in for the night and only Peter returned. The conversation waxed and waned, ranging from Mom’s health—Fine, she insisted, although not very convincingly—to the weather in Washington to MK studying for the bar exam, and somehow always circling back to Megan’s upcoming seminar. I kept waiting to hear my own name on someone’s lips—And Lauren, how is the photography coming? How were your classes? Have you picked a project for your senior exhibit? I wished then that I’d stayed with Joe in Scofield, even if he hadn’t extended the offer. Joe cared. I was important to him.

  Dad’s phone rang in his pants pocket, the sound startling us momentarily out of our stupor. “Hold on,” he said. “Let me get where I have some decent reception.”

  We watched him as he wandered out onto the deck, slapping away the night’s bugs with one hand.

  “So, did I hear you say this was a PEW scholarship?” Peter asked, turning to Megan. “That’s a pretty big deal, isn’t it?”

  She beamed. “Yeah. My professor wrote me a recommendation. I didn’t even know what it was all about until—”

  I clapped my hands together, sick of it all. “Let’s play a game or something. What about Pictionary? Don’t we have that whiteboard in the office?”

  “Pictionary?” MK groaned. “What are we, ten years old?”

  “There are some games in the cupboard under the stairs,” Mom said. She’d wrapped herself in a blanket, but still seemed chilled, although the rest of us were covered in a sheen of sweat.

  We all looked in the direction of the stairs, but it took too much effort to move.

  From outside, somewhere on the pathway around the house, Dad’s voice cut through the dark. “You tell that lying piece of shit that we’re not going that way. I’m not going to have my hand forced...” A minute later he was back, cell phone in hand.

  “I thought you were taking a break from work,” Mom commented drily.

  “You’re right. No more calls tonight.” He settled onto the couch next to Megan. “So tell me more about this program,” he said, stretching out his legs on the ottoman in front of him. “It’s pregraduate. What does that mean as far as credits are concerned?”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. “Isn’t there anything else to talk about?”

  Megan looked at me, stung.

  “Someone needs her happy juice,” MK said.

  I glared at him and took a long slug of beer, spilling some down my chin.

  He laughed. “Classy.”

  “Will you please fuck the fuck off?”

  Mom sat up, the blanket falling from her shoulders. “We do not talk like that in this house.”

  My sorry was an automatic reflex, as if she’d whacked me on the knee with a mallet.

  “What’s the matter, anyway?” MK asked, trying to control his glee. “I mean, you’re not jealous, are you? It’s just a PEW scholarship. It’s just Harvard. No big deal.”

  From her spot on the couch, I could feel Megan watching me. Dad, ever the peacemaker, asked, “Can’t we just have a nice evening here?”

  “Yes. Yes, you can.” I stood up, banging my leg against the table. Some of the magazines fell to the floor.

  “Where are you going?” Megan demanded. I caught the note of alarm in her voice: don’t leave me here.

  I waved my hand in the direction of the beach. “Taking a little walk. I’ll be back.”

  “Don’t worry. She just needs a time-out,” MK said, and I heard their laughter behind me.

  I unlatched the gate that had so far managed to keep Lizzie from tumbling down the back steps. On my way to the beach, I finished the rest of the beer in three great gulps. Was I jealous of Megan? Of course not. But it would have been nice to be noticed by my own family for once.

  The water was dark, purple shot through with black, the waves rolling forward, tugging back. In the distance, the lights in Yarmouth glittered. I settled onto the end of the pier, dipping my toes into the water. It was cooler down here than it had been in the house, and the night’s breeze dried the sweat on the back of my T-shirt.

  Suddenly, footsteps thudded along the dock and MK was behind me. “You forgot this,” he said, holding out an open bottle of cabernet like a peace offering. The liquid sloshed in the half-full bottle.

  I laughed despite myself. “You are such an ass.”

  He sank down next to me, the wooden planks shifting under his weight. “Maybe. But you’re the one who’s acting like a three-year-old.”

  I took a sip of wine, and then MK took one, and we passed the bottle back and forth like we used to do when we were kids, back when getting caught would have had actual consequences.

  “How’s life after law school?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “All they have me doing is studying for the bar, so it feels like I’m still in law school.”

  “And then what, you conquer
the world?”

  “All in good time, little sister. All in good time.”

  I reached for the bottle again and felt MK’s hand on my lower back a half second before a push sent me off the edge. The water was waist high and frigid, a shock to the system. “Jerk! What was that for?” I sputtered, thrusting my arms toward him. “Help me up.”

  “Seriously? You think I’m going to fall for that?”

  In retaliation, I yanked the hems of his shorts and he fell into the water with a splash that soaked the rest of me. The bottle of cabernet came with him, filling with salt water and bobbing silently away. I swung at him, and he caught my arm, the two of us play fighting until he took me by the shoulders, dunking me all the way under. I stayed there for a moment, long enough to locate his crotch with my knee. When I came up he was wincing, hands cupped beneath the water.

  “Fuck, it’s cold,” MK said, his teeth chattering. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “You didn’t happen to bring any dry towels, did you?”

  We waded closer to the shore and stumbled onto the beach, dripping and shivering. “Maybe Megan can bring us some towels,” I said, and together we bellowed, “Me-gan! Meeeeeee-gan!”

  There was no answer. Between us and the house, the trees waved silently in the breeze. I twisted the fabric of my T-shirt, sending a stream of water trickling onto the beach.

  Next to me, MK had stripped down to his boxers, his wet clothes bundled in his arms. “What’s her deal, anyway?”

  I laughed. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, why is she here?”

  “I invited her, you moron. We’re friends.”

  “Right...”

  I shoved him harder than I meant to, knocking him off balance. “What, are you upset that she’s not interested in you?”

  He grinned. “Who says she’s not interested in me?”

  I remembered, as I hadn’t in a long time, their sloppy New Year’s Eve kiss. “Seriously, don’t be such a pig for once.”

  MK smirked. “I’ll try, but I’m not making any promises.”

  I started for the footpath, hurrying against the cold. “Can’t you just pretend to be a normal human?”

  From behind me came the unmistakable sound of MK beating on his chest. “Me man. Me no have friends. Me have conquests.”

  * * *

  The house was quiet when I entered, dripping water all the way upstairs. There was a light in the living room, and I caught a snatch of low conversation as I passed—my parents, having a heart-to-heart. In the upstairs bathroom, I left my clothes in a heap and grabbed a clean bath sheet, wrapping it around my body.

  Megan was already in bed, but the reading light was still on and a book was open in front of her. Her smile was hesitant, and I felt every inch the bitch I had been earlier, when I’d left her with my family. Megan was completely right to be proud of her scholarship. She had every right to be happy.

  I hovered over the bed until she moved her legs out of the way, giving me room to sit down.

  “You went swimming?”

  I ran a hand through my wet hair, working out the snarls. “Not intentionally.”

  She smiled, darting me another hesitant glance. “Sounds like fun.”

  “I want to tell you something. I should have told you earlier, but...” I shook my head. Megan closed her book and hugged her knees to her chest, waiting. Just do it already, I ordered myself. And then I said in a sudden rush, before I could lose my nerve, “I’m sleeping with Joe. That guy you used to know. The one who was there at the gallery.”

  Her face was blank, not filled with surprise or horror or hurt or confusion. She didn’t even seem to blink.

  “Since February,” I continued, still watching her. “I know that makes me a shitty person because I should have told you. There wasn’t a good reason for me not to tell you. Even Joe said I should.”

  Her voice was flat. “Why didn’t you?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, at the time, I had all kinds of reasons, but none of them seem like good reasons now.”

  She shifted on the bed, hugging her pillow to her chest. “So, are you in love or something?”

  I laughed, running my fingers through the ends of my hair self-consciously. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re just...”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I get it.”

  No, I thought. She didn’t get it, because I wasn’t sure I got it myself. I’d been thinking about Joe all summer, missing the way I felt when I was with him. Missing him. Waking sometimes in the middle of the night, pressing a pillow to my chest as if it were his body I could pull close.

  “Well,” Megan said, scooting over in a way that meant I had to stand up. “I’m getting pretty tired.”

  I stared at her. “That’s it? You’re not mad at me? I thought you’d be more upset.”

  Again the blank, unblinking stare. “Do you want me to be upset?”

  “No. I want everything to be fine between us.”

  She reached behind her head to flip the switch on the reading lamp, sending the room into darkness. “Why wouldn’t everything be fine?”

  “Good,” I said into the shadows of the alcove. “Good, I’m so glad. I was worried what you would say. I kept wanting to say something, but I was thinking that you would...”

  Megan shifted in her bed again, away from me and toward the wall, and my words hung there between us, hovering between apology and excuse.

  * * *

  I didn’t realize that I was asleep until noises in the hallway woke me—a high-pitched sob, feet pounding on the hardwood. Megan was there before me, barefooted in her short pajamas.

  “What’s going on?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  The hallway light was blinding. I peeked over the railing and saw that the chandelier in the foyer was lit, too. Something was definitely wrong. Megan followed me downstairs, where Dad was standing on the porch in a T-shirt and cotton pants.

  He turned to us. “It’s Katherine. Peter and your mom are going with her.”

  “Going where? What happened?”

  “She wasn’t feeling well—it could just be indigestion or something, but she was cramping, and they thought it would be better not to wait until morning.”

  Bile rose in my throat, remembering how sick Kat had been looking recently. “Should we go, too? Maybe there’s something we can do.”

  Dad put a hand on my shoulder. “I’ve already called the hospital. An ambulance is going to meet them on shore. And your mom will call as soon as they know anything.”

  “What about Lizzie?” Megan asked.

  Dad glanced at her. “She’s sleeping. Maybe when she wakes up...”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll watch her,” she said.

  Even though it was too late, I hurried down the pathway to the beach, with Megan close behind me. Halfway there, we heard the motor sputtering, then the familiar catch. At the steps leading down to the beach, I stopped, spotting them out on the water, sliding away from us. Peter was at the motor, and Mom and Kat were on the bench seat, a blanket draped over Kat’s bony shoulders. Her moan floated back to us like the call of a lonely sea animal, until the boat was too far away, and the sound was absorbed by the water.

  Megan

  Peter and Mrs. Mabrey took turns waiting with Kat in the hospital, and the rest of us stayed behind, getting updates by phone. Lizzie became my sole responsibility, and somehow that felt right, as if all along I’d been hired to be her au pair, making sure her teeth were brushed and her hair combed. Kat was released two days later, with the promise that she would be on full bed rest. After the fourth, Peter would take her back to Connecticut.

  Kat’s return to the house coincided with the arrival of the Brewster-Holmeses, who had been forgotten in the general craziness of the previous days. They spilled out of
their fancy chartered boat with American flag T-shirts and inflatable inner tubes, instantly overwhelming The Island’s relative quiet. There were five of them—Mrs. Mabrey’s first cousin Patrick, his wife, Sue, their ten-year-old twins, Eric and Patrick Jr., and seven-year-old Annabelle. They were sleeping in the guest cottages, but during the day they spread out in the main house, occupying every lounge chair, sofa and bathroom. Wet towels and swimsuits dripped from surfaces; it was impossible to enter the front door without kicking a pile of flip-flops out of the way.

  “We should have a picnic lunch,” Sue Holmes suggested at eleven-thirty, when breakfast dishes had finally been cleared away. “All of us, down on the beach. There are too many of us in here, and the kids are going crazy.”

  Jordana flung up her hands in exasperation.

  “I’ll help get it together,” Sue said, sensing that she’d thrown the domestic world into chaos. “Now, where do you think I can find a picnic basket?”

  “Can we go out on the boat after lunch?” one of the twins asked, prompting a dash for swim trunks and towels and sunblock.

  I asked Lauren if she would watch Lizzie while I stayed behind.

  She raised one of her perfect eyebrows, product of a waxing last week in Yarmouth. “You’re not coming?”

  I shook my head. “Just feeling a little tired.”

  It was a relief to have them gone, the house quiet without kids shrieking or balls being tossed. But it was just as much of a relief to have a break from Lauren. We hadn’t talked since her casual announcement the other night. There had been the chaos of Kat’s condition and then the arrival of the Brewster-Holmeses, but there was also the fact that I was feeling restless, ready to wash my hands of all of them.

  I helped myself to a leftover breakfast scone and escaped to the small room under the stairs that served as the Mabreys’ home office on The Island. With the door closed, I felt the instant relief that came from quiet, from escaping constant noises and needs. I’d been emailing my mother every few days since I arrived, and she’d replied, the gist of her message hidden in long newsy bits that made me miss her with a sudden, twisting ache. Woodstock was hot. Mom had gone shopping for new patio furniture but hadn’t seen anything she liked. Gerry was hoping I could pick up a Harvard sweatshirt for him, and he would pay me back when they saw me at the end of the summer.