How stupid is that?
As I lay there on that desert floor, I looked up at the bright blue sky and thought that that would be the last time that I would open my eyes. The bullet had lodged itself deep inside. If it weren't for Isabelle driving me to the clinic and making that vet take it out, I wouldn’t be here.
I sleep as we drive all the way up the mountain to a town called Big Bear. I'm not sure if I got the name right until she leads me into the small A-frame, one house away from the lake, and all I see are carved bears everywhere.
“How are you doing?” she asks, helping me into the recliner in the living room.
I swivel around and face the lake. There are mansions on the other side of the lake, and the moon is big, white, and full, illuminating the blackness of the water.
“Are you sure this is going to be a good place?” I ask.
I don't want to second-guess her decisions. She's the only one making any and I appreciate everything that she's doing.
“I didn't think so at first, because of the big houses on either side, but Mrs. Bowden told me that the owners are never there.”
“It's convenient,” I say with a strained nod.
“We can move if you want, but she only asked $500 for the week and I'm not sure we can even get a hotel for that.”
“Yeah, that's a really good price,” I say.
My thoughts immediately go back to the money.
There were two large barrels filled to the brim and all the money inside belongs to me. Mac took it.
He took a barrel, but what happened to the other?
I want to ask Isabelle, but I don't have to.
I already know the answer.
She had left it in the desert. She had to.
Mac had shot me and she had to save my life.
We're not too far, maybe we can go back when I feel a little bit stronger, but it's probably not there anymore. There would be nothing stopping Mac or Tessa or that other guy, Nicholas Crawford, from going back and getting the other one.
I want to stop myself from thinking about it, but I can't. My thoughts form big clusters and swirl around.
“There's a grocery store in town and I can run out and get something,” Isabelle says, “Or we can just eat the leftovers from before. I think we have a few bags of chips and some other things like that.”
“Let's do that,” I say. “I'm not very hungry.”
“Okay. Sounds good,” she says. “I'm pretty beat.”
“It has been a long day.”
“Do you want me to help you into the bathroom?” she asks.
I shake my head and say, “Actually, the recliner feels really good and I think I’d prefer to stay here.”
She brings over the chips and the sandwiches that we bought earlier, along with a tall glass of water.
“I'm really tired,” she says. “Do you mind if I go and get some rest?”
She leans over, gives me a light peck on the mouth, and disappears into the bathroom.
I wake up early the following morning from the loud chirping of the birds right outside. The sun streams in and feels nice on my skin.
I open my eyes slightly and listen to their songs. The vintage clock on top of the television says that it's not even 6 a.m.
I've never been much of a morning person, but that changed in prison. I woke up early there and filled up large parts of my day with whatever I could just to make the time pass faster.
Suddenly, the dark thought shows up somewhere on the horizon of my memory. I even shake my head from side to side to force myself to stop thinking about it.
I’m not going to pollute this day with what happened there. It was a dark time full of dark things and now I'm free.
I've gone through a lot to get here and I'm not going to sabotage it by thinking about the past.
Despite the pain and the stiffness that I feel in every part of my body, I force myself to get up to my feet and drag myself to the bathroom. It feels good to empty my bladder, but when I look at myself in the mirror, I gasp.
I'm covered in a layer of dust, dirt, and blood. I look like I have aged a decade. My skin is sallow, dry, harsh, and textured from the unforgiving desert.
My body aches when I turn on the faucet, but I force myself into the shower.
Stripping off my clothes is difficult and cumbersome, particularly painful around my shoulder, but the warm water streaming down my body almost makes up for it.
Luckily, the shower head is flexible so it makes it easier to avoid getting my shoulder wet.
After drying myself off, I wrap a towel around my waist and try to pick up all the dirty clothes off the floor. It’s too painful to bend so I grasp them with my toes and bring them to my uninjured hand.
When I come back into the living room, I see Isabelle sitting at the table, staring at the sparkling water.
“This place is beautiful,” I say.
“Yes, I think so. How are you feeling?”
“Better now that I’ve showered.”
“How did you do that all by yourself? I could've helped you.”
“No, you have done enough. I really appreciate you taking care of me, but I don't want you to be my nurse. I'm feeling better. Still a little weak, but I could take a shower by myself and that felt good, too.”
“I'm glad,” she says.
Again, I want to bring up the money, but the look in her eyes gives me pause.
I wonder if she wants to be here with me anymore.
Why would she?
Haven’t I put her through enough?
“Okay,” Isabelle says, getting up. “I guess I'll make us breakfast.”
“You don't have to go to the store right now. We still have a few things left.”
I hate the way that she has to take care of me and I can't do it back. It makes me feel like such a weakling.
It only makes sense that she's the one that goes to the grocery store because she's not a fugitive, but I still hate it.
I'm used to making my own way in life and not having anyone to depend on.
“Actually, there are eggs and bread in the fridge. There are also some apples and a few other things. Mrs. Bowden told me last night that we can have whatever's in there.”
“Oh, great,” I say. “Why don't I make them?”
“Because you got shot,” she says in the most deadpan way that makes both of us crack up laughing.
5
Isabelle
The following morning, I wake up feeling relieved. We have been traveling for so long and each day was both interminable and action-packed.
Finally, I feel a little bit of peace.
I open my eyes, roll over, and stare at the bright blue lake right outside the window. It fills up the entire horizon with enormous pine trees reaching for the heavens above.
This is our second day here.
Tyler is still uncomfortable with me having to take care of him, but he seems to be getting used to it.
He does what he can and I appreciate that at least he has a good attitude.
His body is in pain and he needs to take a lot of breaks, but he pushes himself, sometimes harder than he should.
Last night, he slept in the bed with me after I helped him up the stairs. I tiptoe past him, looking back briefly and watch the way that the blanket rises and falls with each one of his breaths.
The stairs are carpeted and feel warm against my bare feet. I find some socks downstairs, slip them on, and head straight out to the porch.
It's late spring and nights are cool, but by midmorning, the warm sun makes it feel like it's summer.
Today is no exception.
I step out in a t-shirt and my pajama pants and close my eyes as I feel the sun on my face.
Birds chirp somewhere above me. A squirrel holds a nut between her hands and looks at me inquisitively.
I watch as she tries to bite into it, eventually giving up and burying it in the ground.
I wonder if she will ever come back for th
is nut or if it will become the seedling that eventually grows into a tall tree.
Out in the distance, the water sparkles under the sunlight. It's practically calling for me. I rush into the house, change into my yoga pants, and slip on a pair of sneakers. I run out toward the shore.
Mrs. Bowden's house borders the lake and I stay to the left, closer to the mansion next door.
I haven't seen any cars in the driveway or anyone park in the garage, so I hope that they don't mind that I'm here.
I walk along the shoreline, watching ducks prance around, diving underwater, and quickly coming up for air.
There are two of them, a girl and a boy, and they swim in tandem, sometimes she's leading and other times he's the one in the front.
I kneel down and put my hand in the water, scooping up a palm full. It's crystal clear and freezing cold.
Despite the fact that Big Bear is in the middle of Southern California, this town receives heavy snowfall each winter and the water from the lake is replenished by that snow melt.
Still, I can't help myself. I shake off my shoes and wade in. The water’s so cold that it sends little shockwaves through my body.
I continue to walk. The ground here is soft and scattered with occasional rocks, but otherwise very accommodating. I walk a little bit farther and then put my hands into the water and splash some of it on my face.
“If you don't have a bathing suit, you're more than welcome to borrow one of mine!” someone yells from behind me.
I turn around and put my hand over my eyes to block some of the sunlight.
“No, I'm okay. I think it's too cold for swimming.”
“I have a secret for you,” Mrs. Bowden says from her porch. “It's never too cold for a swim.”
She laughs and I laugh along with her.
“I hope that the owners don't mind that I'm walking here,” I say, pointing to the house behind me.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Mrs. Bowden jokes.
I give her a nod and she lifts up her coffee cup as if to give me a toast. Then she looks out onto the lake and loses herself in thought. I appreciate that. I came out here to be alone, that's exactly what she's letting me do.
I expect her to talk to me more, but she gives me space. I continue to wade through the water for a while, trying to collect my thoughts.
It's not particularly safe for us to stay here, but Tyler needs time to recuperate and it feels good to be here. There's something about the lake that puts my mind at ease.
At first, the anxiety that I felt at home dissipated when I got on the road, but after a while traveling every day started to get old.
I feel stressed.
On edge.
But I wonder if it will make me feel better.
When it comes to Tyler, there are so many unknowns. Right now, I exist in a kind of limbo, just like he does.
He's on the run.
He's trying to get away.
Luckily, we have some money now, but I have no idea if it's enough.
Enough for what? I also don't have an answer to that. It's probably enough to start a new life with a new identity.
But is it enough to clear his name?
Does he even want to do that?
We've been living life minute to minute for so long that we haven't even discussed any of these bigger questions.
Where do we stand?
What happens between us?
I need answers. For one thing, I need to know if I'm going to go back to work. There are only so many vacation days that I can take before they’ll fire me. Luckily, my three main clients agreed to try out doing therapy online. I have my first meeting with Mason later this afternoon.
But how long can I keep that up?
A week, maybe two?
Walking in the water, my feet are now completely numb. When I step on a particularly large rock, I slightly feel its indentation in my heel.
I kneel down and pick it up. It's shiny on the outside, see-through, and bright blue. I hold it up to the light and stare at the sun. This rock, this piece of glass, clearly doesn't belong here. Someone must have brought it here and forgot about it. But where did it come from?
I tuck it into the waistband of my leggings and run my finger on the outside, feeling its hard smoothness.
It doesn't belong here just like I don’t and that's why we belong together.
When I get back to the house, I'm no more certain of what is going to happen in the future or what I even want to happen in the future.
I love Tyler and I love the way that he makes me feel, but is that enough? He has a difficult life ahead of him. My life is also not without its challenges. Perhaps combining our problems into one life would just make everything worse.
When I get back, my mood suddenly darkens. Tyler’s still upstairs and I make myself a cup of tea and sit out on the porch.
I try to remember the excitement that I felt only half an hour ago, but it seems impossible to recapture.
I wonder if I’m making a mistake. Not in helping him, I know that is the right thing to do, but in being with him now.
But when I try to imagine going home without him, I can’t.
Is there even a home without him?
I get a text message from Mason's mom asking me to move the appointment to eleven my time instead of three in the afternoon.
“Yes, no problem,” I text her back.
After getting my computer, I open it and log onto FaceTime. Fifteen minutes later, I call her and see her and Mason sitting at a dining room table in their house. As soon as Mason sees me, a big wide smile comes across his face. He waves and says hi, something that we had been working on before my trip.
Kelly starts to ask me something about my trip, but Mason is too excited to see me so we start right away.
I'm fine with that.
The less I tell people about where I am, the better.
Working on speech therapy over video is a little bit more challenging than it is in real life, but Mason is one of my calmest and easy-going students. Kelly has a few toys set up in front of him and we begin with the modeling. Modeling is when I narrate to the child what he's doing as he plays with the toys.
When he takes out a leopard from his bed, I say, “Out,” and when he puts it back in, I say, “In.”
When he makes the leopard jump on top of the play set, I say, “Leopard is on,” and so on.
Five minutes later, Mason gets bored with the animals, so we move on to a Peppa Pig house, and then move on to blowing bubbles. This has been particularly challenging for him since he has an oral motor delay, but I can see that he has been practicing. His lips are always coming together into the circle and he even manages to make a few O’s.
“That was really good! I'm really proud of you,” I say as he claps for himself.
6
Tyler
When I was younger, my mother used to tell me that animals knew when storms were coming. They could feel the change in the magnetic field or the electricity in the air and they would scatter and start to prepare for the upcoming change in the weather.
I'm not sure if she actually believed that or it was just something that she heard was a nice thing to say. What I know is that I believe it.
I know that animals have an intuition in them that we lack as humans, especially if we are kept away from nature. That was the worst thing about being in prison.
My cell was a concrete box and the hallways were concrete rectangles. When I got an hour of exercise in the yard, I had fresh air, but that was it.
The walls were made of barbed wire. After a while, even the birds stopped showing up for visits.
After years in that place, I couldn't wait to get out.
If I dared to let myself dream, I would find a cabin in the forest or valley, surrounded by mountains, with nothing but acres and acres of raw land between me and the next human life. Unless of course, that person is Isabelle.
I didn't sleep well last night because my shoul
der ached. I finally managed to get a bit of shut-eye around six this morning.
When I wake up, I hear her talking downstairs on the computer. I get up and walk out onto the landing and listen closely.
From here, I can see her screen and the little boy on it. He's got long blonde hair that frames his face as if it were a lion's mane.
He's playing with his toys as Isabelle tells him what he's doing. I have never seen speech therapy done before and Isabelle is patient and calm. She repeats herself over and over again for close to an hour. She doesn't get frustrated when the boy doesn’t get something right. She just keeps going.
I have never seen her work, but I can tell that this is something that she was meant to do.
“That was incredible,” I say after she closes the computer.
Her shoulders shoot up as she looks up, startled.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”
“No, it's okay. I just had no idea that you were there. How long were you watching?”
“The whole time. I hope that's okay.”
“Yes, of course. Did I wake you?”
“Yes, but it was time for me to get up anyway.”
She laughs and asks if I want to have lunch. My stomach rumbles and I head downstairs holding onto the railing. Sometimes, sitting in one place, it's easy to forget about the pain and then as soon as you move, it jolts you back into reality.
We look through the refrigerator and decide on an omelet with spinach, tomatoes, and onions. I hate the fact that she has to do all the work so I take it upon myself to cut up the vegetables.
“You know, you really don't have to. I don't mind.”
“I know you don't like to cook. I do and I want to be of use.”
“Okay,” she says, throwing her hands up. “You win.”
When the food is ready, we sit at the dining room table near the patio. I want to eat outside, but it's not a good idea. Mrs. Bowden doesn't know that Isabelle is here with anyone and it's better that it stays that way. That means that I have to stay put.
“I went out to the water today,” Isabelle says. “I put my feet in.”
The Perfect Lie (The Perfect Stranger) Page 3