Black Flowers, White Lies

by Yvonne Ventresca

  We sit in silence, except for the tapping of Zoey’s heels as she paces. She reminds me of a caged leopard at the zoo.

  “Let’s think this through,” I say. “Is he trying to make sure we don’t get back together?”

  Zoey pauses. “I think you’re missing the point. He’s got your phone. He’s texting people as you.”

  “Ugh. You’re right. He can cause all kinds of trouble. We’ll need to get it turned off.”

  “I’ll check how to do that online,” Gavin says.

  While Gavin works on the phone problem, I try to make more sense of Blake’s actions. “Zoey, what about Oscar? Did he really make him bleed everywhere?”

  “I don’t know who Oscar is, but we searched for fake blood recipes on my phone. You mix water, corn syrup, corn starch, and food coloring.”

  Fake blood. At least I can be thankful it wasn’t the real thing.

  Zoey’s phone rings. “I don’t recognize this number.” She holds up the phone for us to see.

  “He’s calling from my cell.” I consider grabbing the phone and screaming at him. But it’s better if he doesn’t realize everything I’ve learned.

  Gavin gives her a stern look. “You can’t tell him El is here.”

  She plops down on the couch next to me and answers the call. If she says one wrong thing, I plan on ripping the phone out of her manicured hands.

  “Hi, baby. Where are you calling from? Oh, bummer. I’m sure it’ll turn up. Yeah, lunch sounds great. See you soon.”

  Zoey hangs up with a grin. “Not that I’m going anywhere,” she says, stretching her legs out on the coffee table. “I do like to imagine him waiting there for me.”

  He won’t wait for long before moving to the next part of his plan, whatever that is.

  “Here,” Gavin says to me. “You need to enter some info for the cell company to turn off your phone.”

  I take a few minutes to fill out the form and submit it. With this done, Blake can’t pretend to be me any longer. Still, I feel uneasy, like we’re missing something. I’m about to hand Gavin back his phone, but it rings first: the animal shelter.

  “El, it’s Skyler. A guy called about a cat named Oscar that was surrendered by mistake. He said it’s his cat, that he’s coming to get him with proof of ownership.”

  My stomach twists. I can’t believe Blake figured out that Oscar was at the shelter. Then again, I shouldn’t be surprised after everything I’ve learned. What proof of ownership does he have? Vet records?

  The exact details don’t matter. He would not get another chance to harm my cat. “Don’t let anyone take him. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  I grab my backpack. “I have to reach Oscar before Blake does.”

  Gavin looks at Zoey.

  “What?” she says.

  “You have to meet Blake. You can stall him, give El more time.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Come on. After all the crap you did? I think you owe her.”

  She stands and stretches. “Fine. I might as well get the breakup over with.”

  Gavin grabs his keys. “I’ll go with you, El.” His voice is gentle, apologetic. “Let me help.”

  “No, that’s not a good idea,” I say. “There’s something else I need you to take care of.”

  31

  HOME

  I can’t let anything happen to Oscar. He’s the last connection to my life before Blake destroyed it. I don’t know what taking Oscar would do for him, but at this point, his twisted logic doesn’t matter.

  I try to piece together everything Zoey and Gavin told me as I jog to the shelter. The records from the psychiatric hospital were fake—Mom never lied about Dad. There was no reason to. The ghostly handprints were also fake. I don’t know how he found Dad’s photo. He could have somehow left the black flowers, too, I guess. It seems doubtful that Zoey would know all of his tricks.

  As I enter the shelter, I realize I know most of what Blake did, and how, but I’m still struggling with why. The planning, his manipulation, my total cluelessness—it must have been fun for him. I told him I secretly believed in ghosts. How amusing for him to take advantage of that.

  He obviously made up the story about me cheating on his friend. That could be a cover for his real motive. Maybe he was jealous about our family dinner, furious over Stanley moving on after Blake and his mom struggled for years—furious enough to leave the restaurant without even letting us know he was there.

  I may never completely understand.

  Once I arrive at the shelter, Skyler acts like a spy on a covert mission. She lines an opaque carrier with an old towel. Oscar meows but lets me put him inside with some nuggets of food.

  “The vet checked him,” she says. “Other than his lethargy, Oscar seems all right.”

  That’s one thing to be grateful for.

  The whole escape from the shelter only takes a few minutes. I divide my attention between soothing Oscar and checking the streets for Blake. At least Oscar is unharmed and I have an ally in Gavin. I need to talk to Grace, though. No matter what our issues, she’ll help when she hears about Mom.

  Mom. I ache to talk to her. I may have to call all of the hospitals in Paris to track her down, but I can do it.

  First, I have to focus on avoiding Blake, on feeling safe again. I swallow the lump in my throat and keep walking. One block from the shelter, Oscar’s carrier already feels like lugging a boulder. I have to keep going.

  I glance around, think I spot Blake near the pharmacy, but can’t tell for sure. I walk faster, because it almost seems too easy. He calls the shelter, but I rescue Oscar in time. Maybe he did it to force me out of wherever I was hiding, so he could continue his plan to have me committed.

  Returning home feels too risky. I head for Hoboken Daycare instead. When I reach the entrance, there’s still no sign of him. Taking a deep breath, I prepare to deal with Grace.

  The daycare staff know me well enough to buzz me in, and I hurry inside, confident that Blake can’t follow. Grace looks up from cleaning crayon marks off a table. She’s definitely surprised to see me.

  “El, your last text—”

  “It wasn’t me. Blake has my phone. So much has happened …” I want to tell her about Mom’s accident, but I can’t find the words. “It’s a long story. Can I go to your house for a while? I need someplace to stay.”

  “I would say yes, but Mom’s hosting a huge church luncheon. She’ll have a fit if you show up with Oscar. Why are you carrying him around, anyway?”

  “Blake made him sick. Blake did a lot of things, actually, to make me miserable. Maybe if you come with me, you can explain to your mom how important this is?”

  “I can’t.” Grace clasps and unclasps her hands. “I know it was wrong of me to pretend I wasn’t with you that morning. He said it was for a psychology research paper—that you’d know the truth in a few days. It was only a temporary prank, but he needed to record your response for some study he was conducting. I felt horrible afterwards. Didn’t you get my text?”

  “No, and there was no study. Almost everything Blake says is a lie.”

  “I thought it was real with him, El. I’m such an idiot. I realized too late, after I was such a jerk to you.”

  Oscar starts to meow. “I need to go.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’ll call you later, I promise.”

  It’s hard to meet her eyes. I remember what Blake told me over lunch yesterday: She doesn’t seem like a good friend. That may be the only true thing he’s ever said.

  Since I can’t bring Oscar to Grace’s house, I decide to take my chances and go home. Oscar won’t want to stay confined much longer. As I trudge along, I play it all over again in my mind. Blake managed to manipulate Grace, Gavin, and me. I could almost see how Gavin would take the money to date me, how that would feel harmless to him. A few dates, easy cash. I do believe that he started to care about me and that Blake took advantage of that, practically blackmailing him into ending our relat
ionship. He wouldn’t be happy if Gavin actually liked me and if events were out of his hands. Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Blake, it’s that he likes to be in control.

  I arrive at my building and, so far, no sign of Blake. I have both sets of his keys, but he could easily sweet-talk Norma into letting him in. If he’s already home, I’m in trouble. I hold my breath as the elevator doors open, thankful it’s empty. Outside our apartment door, I strain to listen.

  I hear a guy’s voice from inside the apartment. My heart races. I’ll have to take my chances at Grace’s house or with Henry at the bookstore. Before I can sneak away, Oscar begins meowing loudly. He must recognize that we’re home.

  “Shh,” I whisper. “Please, please be quiet.”

  Did Blake hear us?

  I’m about to rush for the elevator when the door opens. I inhale sharply and nearly drop Oscar.

  Mom stands before me, in perfect health.

  32

  REALITY

  Sobbing, I set the cat carrier down, then rush into Mom’s arms. I wonder for a moment if I really am having a breakdown.

  Mom holds me tight as an equally uninjured Stanley hovers near us.

  “Thank goodness you’re all right,” he says. “We’ve been frantic with worry. You didn’t answer your cell—”

  “It’s missing because—”

  “Or answer the home phone,” Stanley interrupts. “We’ve left multiple messages. When we arrived after the whole confusion with our flight, we found blood all over your room. Blake and his things were gone, and you were missing, too. We were about to call the police.”

  Mom wipes her eyes as she nods in agreement. “I thought something horrible had happened.”

  “I can explain. But first, what happened to you? A woman called from Paris and said you were in a horrible accident. Blake spoke to her.” Even as I’m saying it, it dawns on me that it was part of Blake’s intricate scheme. One phone call and our parents are critically injured. There’s no proof other than his conversation in a foreign language. Why would I have wanted proof? He would’ve counted on my believing him.

  Actually, no. I bet he had a backup plan. A made-up hospital report or news article—as fake as Dad’s psychiatric records.

  Oscar’s meowing reaches a frantic pitch. When I let him out, he scampers away, grateful to be free. Beyond weary, I collapse onto the couch. Mom joins me while Stanley stands, wringing his hands.

  “He told you we were in the hospital?” Mom says. “We were delayed, but Stanley let him know. Somehow the reservation was moved to a different flight. We thought you knew about the setback, too. I had no idea …” She seems at a loss for words.

  Their travel plans got messed up. Blake knew it. Another lightbulb moment: He didn’t just know it. He caused it.

  “What would someone need to switch a flight reservation?” I ask.

  “I don’t know,” Mom said. “Probably the credit card number and the original flight information.”

  Or a girlfriend who works for the airlines.

  “Why?” Mom asks.

  “It must have been Blake,” I say. “He must have changed the flight.”

  “Why in the world would he do that?” Stanley asks. “You better tell us what’s going on.”

  Sitting safely on the couch next to Mom, I do my best to summarize everything Blake’s done over the past week. I’m barely finished when someone buzzes to be let in.

  I rush to the speaker before they do. “Who is it?”

  “I’m here about the locks,” a gruff voice says.

  Gavin did as I asked and arranged for the locks to be replaced. He came through for me. “I need to keep Blake out,” I explain to Mom and Stanley, buzzing in the locksmith.

  Stanley nods, but his face is pale, like he’s in shock. He wanders into their bedroom and closes the door.

  When the locksmith finishes, Mom pays him and makes arrangements for the bookstore locks to be changed, too. We order Chinese food for dinner, and Stanley joins us at the table. He doesn’t say much, but he shovels the food into his mouth like he’s pissed.

  Stanley’s anger doesn’t matter, because it’s so good to just look at Mom, to realize that she’s fine. It feels like we should talk about their honeymoon, but the situation with Blake has taken its toll. His manipulations are all I can think about.

  “Norma must have let Blake back into the apartment to get his stuff,” I say, “because I had his keys.”

  “I’ll let Norma know what’s going on,” Mom says. “Maybe we should have her change the building lock, just in case.”

  “I checked with Veronique.” Stanley’s voice is seething. “She hasn’t heard from Blake. I wonder where he is now. At NYU? You’ve locked him out, destroyed his phone.”

  Mom bristles. “Have you been listening to Ella? He faked papers about her father to make her think he died in a mental hospital. He broke into the bookstore and left handprints on walls so she would think she was going crazy. Why would he do such a thing? We might need a restraining order, Stanley.”

  “That’s ludicrous!”

  “Not to Ella. And not to me, either.”

  The rest of dinner is incredibly tense as they continue their heated discussion. I eat my veggies and rice as fast as possible. Grace calls, as promised, but I can’t possibly talk on the kitchen phone in the middle of Mom and Stanley’s argument. We hang up quickly. Then I grab cleaning supplies and head for my room.

  I sit on my bare mattress and survey the mess. The fact that the blood is fake makes the job easier. Oscar watches me from the bookcase, a comforting presence.

  Mom joins me with clean sheets to make my bed. “It’s fake blood,” I explain. “It comes right off.”

  “That’s one good thing,” Mom says. “I took pictures, you know. For when we report this to the police.”

  “Stanley doesn’t seem convinced we should do anything about this.” I can’t control the bitterness in my voice.

  “He’ll come around. I think he’s in shock that his son could be so cruel. We’ll decide on our next steps tomorrow, after a good night’s rest. I’m sorry about everything that you’ve been through. I had no idea.” She pauses. “Well, that’s not completely true. I thought something was odd when he cut himself on the broken plate that night. I could swear he did it on purpose. I thought I must’ve been overreacting, though. I mean, who would do such a thing? It was senseless. We were so happy that Blake was making an effort after all these years of being angry at Stanley. But this … this is unbelievable.” She unfolds the fitted sheet. “Grab an end.”

  I take the bottom while she pulls the top around the mattress.

  “Where is Stanley?” I ask.

  “Sorting through the mail, paying bills. It’s not his fault, you know. I think he’s as horrified as we are.”

  I doubt that.

  We lay the flat sheet on the bed. I smooth out the wrinkles while Mom tucks in the edges. “What’s this?” Her hand is between the box spring and the mattress.

  “What?”

  Mom pulls out a large sealed baggie. It’s filled with cash.

  33

  THE PRESENT

  Monday morning, I wake to the sound of Mom and Stanley arguing about the cash under my mattress. I stand behind my closed door to listen, inches from my assortment of cat pictures. Staring at the happy cats, the sad cats, it strikes me that the whole collage is immature. Prying up the corner of a photo, I pull. It makes a satisfying ripping sound.

  “Someone wrote out checks to ‘cash’ and forged my signature. Now Ella has the money. What other proof do you need?” Stanley yells in the other room.

  Mom’s voice is lower but full of fury. “It’s convenient that he tried to have her declared mentally incompetent before he disappeared. Maybe he hid some of the money there to make her look guilty. Where’s the rest of it? And where is Blake?”

  Good question. I channel my nervous energy into digging my nail under some of the mischievous cat
s and peeling them off.

  “Why don’t you ask your daughter?” Stanley asks.

  “Sure, right after I call the police about your son.”

  “Well, that’s going to take a lot of convincing. It’s a bit of he-said-she-said, isn’t it? And she has at least part of the money,” Stanley says. “Ella confessed to finding the bookstore cash in her own bag. She’s framing him, not the other way around.”

  The back of my door is now blank. I save my three favorite cat pictures and dump the rest in the trash. No wonder Blake wanted me to go to a psychiatric hospital. No one would ever believe me if I were declared insane.

  Now, with the money he planted, Mom won’t call the police if it means I’ll be implicated in any kind of theft, even though Stanley got some of the money back. She won’t take the chance.

  Stanley takes the day off from work. I expect him to yell at me during breakfast, but he’s oddly quiet after the argument with Mom, then leaves on an errand without saying good-bye. Once she and I are finally alone in the kitchen, I ask her what’s going on.

  “Stanley called NYU.”

  “Blake’s there?” I ask, eager for him to be found. Not knowing where he’s staying gives me the chills. I’ll feel better once we know exactly where he disappeared to.

  “No, he’s not at the university,” she says. “As a matter of fact, they’ve never heard of him. His tuition payment was never cashed.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that Blake was never accepted at NYU—that he’s not a registered student. I know what he’s capable of, and yet I’m still shocked.

  If he’s not at college, where is he? Blake knew Mom and Stanley would finally arrive home and that at least some of his lies would be exposed. I’m sure he made an exit plan, but I can’t figure out what it might be. It leaves me unsettled.

  Later that day, Mom finds me in my room. “We should buy you a new phone. I don’t like the idea that you can’t reach me if you’re out.” She notices the back of the door. “Oh! Your collage is gone.”

  “I need to change my room. I’d like to paint it, too, maybe a more golden shade of yellow.”