“How was it?”
“Really cold, but beautiful. This lake is magnificent.”
“Yeah, it is. I wish I could join you,” I say with a tinge of jealousy.
“I know, me, too.”
We eat our breakfast in silence. It's not that I don't have anything to say, it's just that I don't really want to talk about it right now.
I'd rather just enjoy this moment of peace and not worry about what might be in the future.
After lunch, we get comfortable in the living room and she looks through the books in the bookcase next to the television. I grab one of the magazines called Coast from the coffee table and look through the pages. It's mainly stories about decorating your coastal house and the type of fabrics and furniture that go well together. The pictures are glossy and enticing, calling you to dream of a cottage by the sea.
Isabelle finds a book and curls up on the couch next to me. When I get to the middle of the magazine, I stumble upon a featured article about a reclusive fantasy writer called D. B. Carter.
There was a time in my life when all I ever read was fantasy, but I haven't read it in years. The article is written from the perspective of the reporter who goes out in search of the true identity of this famous writer who no one knows anything about.
I start to read and I can't put it down. I keep turning the pages to find out what happens next. Afterward, I grab my phone and immediately download the first D. B. Carter book that I see on Amazon.
I'm hooked from the first sentence. The lush descriptions, the weaponry, and the chivalry immediately transport me to the mind of the kid that I used to be.
“Wow, you're really engrossed in that,” Isabelle says and I realize that I've been reading for two hours. “What are you reading?”
“Of Sand and Time by D. B. Carter,” I say.
“It sounds like a fantasy book.”
“It is,” I admit without a tinge of embarrassment.
“I remember when we were in middle school, that's all you ever read.”
“What else do you remember?” I ask.
She tilts her head back and smiles.
“Remember that big room that we had that led up to the cafeteria? There was a small foyer between two sets of double doors that went outside. You used to always sit there with your book and your lunch. You were so brooding, sexy, and untouchable.”
I laugh, tilting my head back and continue to chuckle through the pain and then say, “I was a big nerd and you thought that I was untouchable?”
“Well, yes and no. You were nerdy because you liked Tolkien, science fiction, and Star Wars, but you were also quite popular and that's not an easy task to achieve.”
“It's easy enough if you live in a five thousand square-foot estate with gardens,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“That was the only reason I was popular,” I admit. “I mean, I wasn't very friendly and I mainly did what I wanted to do, but my dad made a lot of money and everyone wanted to be my friend so they could come to my house.”
She nods and looks away.
“You're one of the only friends that I ever had. You never cared how rich my dad was. You liked me for me.”
“That isn’t the only reason people liked you,” she starts to say, but I stop her by putting my finger on her lips.
“Of course it is and you know it. The silly reason why everyone else who read fantasy books and kept to themselves were mercilessly made fun of and bullied and no one touched me was because my money inoculated me against that kind of thing.”
She nods and thinks about that for a bit.
“Money can be quite powerful,” she admits.
“Yeah, that's what I always thought. What my father raised me to think.”
“So, is that the only reason why you started the hedge fund?” she asks.
“That and I wanted to prove to him that I could make my own money. Money was always the only currency my house held. My mom didn't make any and so that meant that her opinions didn’t matter. My dad made all of it so that means that he was king. I hated it. I hated the way that he tried to manipulate everybody with it and hold it over everyone's heads. I wanted to become someone so different from him and I thought that in order to do that I needed to make my own money.”
“Well, I guess you did. I guess you showed him.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I didn't show him anything. He showed me. As soon as I made my first million, I had to make another one, and then I had to make two more. It was never enough. That's when I realized it was too late. After I lost my wife to my partner and then after I lost both of them to that murder, I only realized the truth of it in prison.”
“Realized what?”
“I realized that money wasn’t everything. Yes, it's nice to have some, but there’re so many more important things in life. The thing about it is that you just keep wanting to make more. After a while, it becomes an arbitrary number and that number can always get bigger. It has nothing to do with what you will buy or what you can own. It's almost as if that arbitrary number is a measure of who you are as a person. At least that's what I used to think. Not anymore.”
“What about now?”
“Now I want to have money and I want that money to serve a purpose. I want to pay off your debt. I want to clear my name. I want to start a new life with you, if you want to join me.”
I look straight into her eyes and I don't blink.
All this time here I was so confused and now, looking at her, I’m only just realizing that I've been a fool.
Isabelle is the only one who understands me.
She's the only thing that matters.
7
Tyler
I can tell that she doesn't know how to answer me. She hesitates and looks down at the floor. I didn't mean for all of the words to come out like that, but now that it's out in the open, I let out a sigh of relief.
Perhaps, that's what I have been bottling up all this time.
“You don't have to answer me now,” I say after a long pause. “I know that it's an impossible ask. It's unfair.”
“No, it's not that,” Isabelle says.
“Yes, it is. I'll have to live underground. I can get a new identity, but everyone will be looking for me and I can't really change my face much. I know that you have a life back home. A life that you have put on hold.”
She takes a deep breath and nods.
“Do you want to go back home?”
Please say no, I plead silently to myself.
“I don't know what I want,” Isabelle says.
We're going in circles.
She is trying to be polite, but I'd rather that she be blunt.
I want to know where we stand so that I can make my own plans.
“I'm sorry. I should have never asked,” I say, feeling myself shutting down. If she doesn't want to come with me, then she's no longer invited.
“It's probably best,” I continue. “It's safer for me to go out on my own. It's better for you to return to your old life.”
“My old life doesn't make sense now,” she says after a long pause. “I don't think I can just go back to work and go back to living in my house as if nothing happened. Besides, I'd really miss you.”
“I’d miss you, too, but we did everything we could, right? You helped me out more than I could ever say. Without you, I’d be arrested, or dead.”
“What would I be going back to?” she asks as if she expects me to answer.
“Your job for one. Your house. Your friends.”
“My anxieties and my fears,” she adds. “Back home, I lived in this bubble and I thought that it would keep me safe. I created all of these walls. I don't have any friends and I don't really have any interests outside of my work.”
“You enjoy your work, right?”
She shrugs.
“Don't lie,” I say. “Definitely don't do it on my behalf.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I heard you on the phone with that little boy. The way that you were teaching him to talk.”
“He didn't say much,” she says.
“Is that what it’s like when he's with you in the office?”
“No, he's better there. More interactive. Online is definitely something to get used to, especially for how little he is.”
“See, that's exactly what I'm talking about.”
“What?”
“You love your job. You love your students. I won’t ask you to give all of that up.”
She cocks her head to one side and replies, “I thought that you already had?”
“I did, but I take it back now. It would be better for both of us if we stopped traveling together.”
“That means that we would never see each other again,” she says quietly.
“That's true.” I nod.
I don't know where to go from here and apparently neither does she. I don't know what this means.
Did we just break up?
It doesn't feel like it.
There's still so much to discuss.
“Listen, we can talk about this later, but there's something else that we need to discuss,” I say.
She looks up at me with an expression on her face, as if to ask me what could be more important than what we have been talking about.
“I know that you got a really good deal on this house and that I need to stay here for a bit until my shoulder gets better, but after that… I want to talk about what to do.”
“Okay,” she says very slowly. “I thought that we were talking about it.”
“No, I mean about the money. We only have a few thousand that Tessa gave me at her house. It's not enough to start a new life. Do you think there's any chance that there's any money in that barrel that we left out in the desert?”
Isabelle jolts her head up at me. She narrows her eyes and her mouth drops open just a little bit. She looks confused.
“Yeah, I didn't think so. I mean, Mac probably went back for that money as soon as we left,” I mutter to myself.
“No, you don't know, do you? Of course not.” Isabelle laughs.
“Know what?”
“I got the money. I haven't counted it yet, but I got the vast majority of it from the barrel. You were asleep in the car after the vet sewed you up.”
Now it's time for my jaw to drop.
She walks over to one of the lower cupboards in the kitchen, pulls out all the grocery bags, and then the bags full of cash in the back.
When we count the money, we end up with $92,457. When we count it a second time, we end up with $93,254.
We’re too tired to count it again and just assume that it's a little bit over $90,000. It's more than enough for me to get a new identity with a passport and driver’s license.
But whether or not I will start that life by myself or with Isabelle, I still don't know.
8
Isabelle
Realizing that we have over $90,000 lifts our spirits a little bit. There was a desperation that came with the dwindling supplies of cash and the amount that we needed to actually make a positive step forward.
Now?
Now it feels like we might have a chance.
Before we counted the money, Tyler asked me if I wanted to start my life with him.
I hesitated.
It's not that I don't love him, I do. It's just that sometimes I wonder if it's possible for me to go back to my old life. Oh, how I wish that we had met before he was arrested.
I wish that we had met before he even married his wife.
Maybe then she'd still be alive.
We talk about a lot of things and yet there are some things that remain a secret. I have kept secrets from him, including the debt that I owe.
It's not my debt. It belongs to my mother, a woman that I have not seen in a long time, but the debt is substantial and they are after me.
So far, they have only made threats, but they were following us closely. They knew exactly where we were staying in Palm Desert and they knew the number to call on my burner phone.
How? I bought that phone at Walmart. The number is assigned to that one particular phone and is random.
How would they get it?
After what happened in the desert, after Tyler was shot, I haven't heard from them since.
I still don't know the connection between Tessa and Mac, and I wonder if they are also now after us for the second barrel of money.
No, the best thing to do is to run away and start a new life with Tyler. I have my house, a mortgage, and my job, but if I were to go back there, anyone who would want to find me would be able to.
I'd be forever looking over my shoulder.
I was already doing that when I lived there, but now I’d be doing it for a real reason.
After we count the money, I put it back into the grocery bags and stuff them in the back of the cupboard.
“What are you going to do with it first?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you mentioned that you wanted to start a new life. I was just wondering how that would work.”
We are back on the couch, sitting across from one another. I'm facing the big window looking out at the lake just past him.
I wish more than anything that he was all better and we could take a walk along the shore like two people who were in the world together. I wonder if that will ever be possible.
Probably not.
His face is plastered all over television screens and the fact that he is so attractive makes it even more memorable.
Is this what life with Tyler will be like?
Will we always be hiding?
Will I always be doing the grocery shopping alone?
Will I always be renting cars alone?
Will I always be doing everything out there alone?
I don't know why all of these thoughts flood my mind all at once. Perhaps, I'm just in the kind of mood where I feel bad for myself.
I shouldn't. We're so lucky.
Everything has worked out with minimal bloodshed.
Yet, for some reason, I feel torn up inside.
“I'm sorry that I ever brought anything up,” Tyler says, trying to make amends. “I was just speaking from the heart. I don’t want you to feel any pressure. I know that I put you in an impossible situation.”
“I just want to imagine what our life together could be like,” I say slowly. “After you get better, what are you going to do next?”
He pauses for a moment then mentions, “That's the thing. I think that it’s better if we don't talk about it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Well, we're not going to go through this process together and I totally understand why you don't want to, but it's better if I keep it all to myself.”
“Why? Do you not trust me?”
“Of course, I trust you. You saved my life. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
“So why are you being so secretive?”
He furrows his brows.
“You know, you're quite the person to talk to me about being secretive.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I want you to tell me about your debt. Your mother's debt.”
“Whatever,” I say, waving my hand at him, not wanting to answer.
“How long did it take you to tell me that people were threatening you? The people got your phone number even though it's supposed to be a burner phone. How do they do that exactly?”
“I have no idea. What? Do you think I'm lying?”
The fire begins to smolder in the pit of my stomach.
Is he really accusing me of lying about this? Are we really having this conversation?
“No, I don't think you're lying. I think that people were actually after you and that was why you were so keen on taking off with an escaped convict and helping me all the way to California.”
I stare at him.
His jaw is clenched.
&
nbsp; His eyes are ice cold.
I have always thought of him as someone with a kind heart, but now I see that there's a coldness to him that is also impenetrable.
“Fuck you,” I say. “If you actually believe that, then you can go to hell.”
I'm about to get up and walk away when Tyler grabs my arm and pushes me back down on the couch.
“What do you want?” I ask, seething with anger.
I’m about to say something else, but then his gaze warms and he looks down at my lips.
I turn my head away from him, but he's faster than I am. He presses his lips to mine.
I want to fight, but I also don't want to.
There is heat burning between us and when our lips lock, suddenly a fire explodes to the surface.
His body feels warm and I run my fingers up and down his back. As he grabs onto my shoulders, I feel every muscle in his body flex and relax.
I want to walk away.
I want to stop this, but it's like another part of me takes over.
I kiss him and my whole body burns for his.
I reach over to take off his shirt, but he winces in pain. His face contorts, but when I look into his eyes, I can see that he is trying to hold back.
He doesn't want me to know.
I open my mouth to say something, but he kisses me again. He pushes me against the couch.
He leans over and slides down my pants and underwear. As soon as I step out of them, he pins me up against the wall.
I can feel the heat coming from his breath as he pushes me against its cool surface. I've never experienced this before. No one has ever taken me like this.
Tyler buries his hands in my hair, grabs onto it tightly, and pulls. I get tingles that form into goose bumps at the base of my neck.
I lean to one side and moan slightly. He runs his arm up and down my side, going underneath my shirt.
He caresses my breasts briefly, squeezing my nipples between his thumbs, and then grabbing my whole breasts, holding them in his hands.
He presses his body close to me. I hear his pants drop to the floor and the sound of something crinkling in the background.
I know it's a condom. We've never really talked about safe sex, but he always wears one.
The Perfect Lie (The Perfect Stranger) Page 4