Telling Lies Online

by Miranda MacLeod

  “Well, it started last summer with Tech Cupid's infamous computer glitch…” Paul recounted everything that had transpired after that. His version contained many of the same elements that Theresa had heard from Claire, but the way he told it made Theresa feel inclined to give Jamie the benefit of the doubt.

  “You're sure Jamie didn't try to fool her on purpose?” she asked. “And she didn't send that terrible email about Jay?”

  “No,” Paul assured her. “She had nothing to do with the email. That was my fault.”

  “Why would you write something like that?” Theresa asked, her voice scolding.

  “I was just trying to cheer Jamie up,” Paul said. “I never would have sent it. And I had no idea about your parents' accident, I swear. I'm so sorry.”

  “Well, what Jamie did was beyond stupid,” Theresa commented when Paul had finished.

  “But she only did it because she loves Claire.”

  Theresa sighed. “She really, truly does?”

  “No doubt about it. She’s miserable without her,” Paul replied without hesitation.

  “Claire is, too. It’s pathetic, really. She cries, and mopes around, and barely eats. We need to do something.”

  “Like what?” Paul asked.

  Theresa thought for a moment. “Let me call you back in the morning. I need to check my calendar at work, but I think I might have a plan to at least get them to meet. The rest is up to them.”

  26

  Jamie stared at the one-way sign on the street ahead, then to the GPS that emphatically directed her to turn the wrong direction down it. She strangled a frustrated scream as she continued to drive. “Recalculating route,” the device’s soothing British voice informed her. Yeah, you do that. Again.

  She'd chosen that particular accent to help keep her calm, but it wasn't working. She'd been circling the campus for at least fifteen minutes and it was becoming increasingly clear that some evil entity had come through Lovejoy College in the middle of the night and slapped up one-ways and do-not-enters willy-nilly on every street. Either that or her GPS was possessed.

  “Satellite signal lost,” it told her. Jamie figured the odds were increasingly in favor of demon possession.

  She spotted a sign for visitor parking on her right and whipped the car into the entrance, thankful there had been no obstacles to hit in her haste. She took a ticket from the machine and squeezed into the last remaining space between two cars whose drivers had taken the yellow stripes on the pavement as the vaguest of suggestions. Her shirt caught on the car door as she shimmied her way out of the narrow space, and she cursed under her breath. The last thing she needed was a big grease mark on her front when she went to see Claire. Upon inspection, the shirt appeared to have escaped unscathed, but her confidence was shaken. This is a terrible plan.

  It wasn’t even her idea to come to the campus today. It had taken three weeks for Paul to convince her to talk to Theresa, and another couple of days for her to agree to the plan she had proposed. Even now, Jamie still didn’t see how it was supposed to work. Nothing had changed. Yet, here she was, hoping Theresa and Paul were right and she was wrong. Her sister said Claire was miserable without her. Well, the feeling was mutual. Is that going to be enough to erase the past?

  A map at the edge of the parking lot confirmed that she had chosen the parking lot that was as far away from Endicott Hall, where Claire’s office was, as was physically possible while still remaining on campus. Fantastic. Were she a believer in signs like Claire, she would turn around right now and go home because nothing in her experience so far pointed to a happy ending to the day. But she wasn’t, and so she pressed on until the building she sought loomed directly ahead.

  She looked at the time and groaned. She should have arrived at ten minutes before noon, picked up the key to Claire’s office from Theresa, and slipped inside to wait for her to return from class. Theresa had arranged to have lunch with Claire a little after noon to guarantee that Claire would be waiting in her office when Jamie arrived. Instead, it was now twenty minutes past the hour and Jamie had almost certainly missed her chance. I should just go home.

  Just as Jamie was turning to leave, the door to Endicott Hall opened and Claire exited. A handsome, if somewhat nerdy man wearing stereotypical tweed followed closely behind her. Claire froze at the top of the steps as she spotted Jamie, and for an instant Jamie thought her own heart had stopped. The longing she felt for that tiny, curly haired woman sent such a physical jolt through her body that she wouldn’t have been surprised to collapse and die right on the spot. But she didn’t. Instead, she just stood and stared as Claire muttered something to the man beside her before descending the stairs. Her posture was rigid, her lips set in a thin, tight line across her face. Anger rolled off her like a wave that took Jamie’s breath away. I should have escaped while I could.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” Claire challenged her in a hushed voice. “Why are you at my work?”

  “I needed to see you,” Jamie replied with as much resolve as she could muster under the intensity of Claire’s gaze.

  “Fine. You’ve seen me. Now go back to Boston and leave me alone.”

  “Claire, please. Can we talk?”

  The nerdy professor came up close beside Claire. “Everything okay?”

  He was acting protective. Possessive. Jealousy flared in Jamie's chest and she wished that she could strike this man dead with just the power of her mind.

  “Yes, it’s fine,” Claire replied, “but I think I’ll have to take a rain check on lunch, Dennis.”

  The disappointment was evident on his face. “Oh, okay. But I’ll still see you tonight?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” Claire assured him with a radiant smile that pierced Jamie’s heart like a dagger.

  “Who was that?” Jamie asked as she watched the man retreat. “New boyfriend? You happen to mention me?” Sarcasm oozed from her words.

  Claire’s eyes narrowed with rage. “You’ve got a lot of nerve…come on,” she ordered, turning back toward the stairs.

  “Where are we going?” Jamie asked, nervousness pricking the back of her neck. She’d never seen Claire so mad. It was strangely alluring, but also terrifying. She looked capable of leading Jamie anywhere right now. Police station. Dungeon. Firing squad. All were equally plausible.

  “We’re going to my office,” she explained through clenched teeth. “That way if I lose it and slap you, it won’t be the talk of the department tomorrow.”

  The clicking of Claire’s shoes echoed in the hallway. Jamie realized she had returned to her old, impractical footwear and wondered what that meant. Was it for what’s-his-name’s benefit? She felt another sharp stab, then a wild hope that Claire would stumble in those ridiculous shoes so that she could come to her rescue. Alas, Claire seemed to be maneuvering in them with no trouble on the smooth linoleum floor. Where’s a good cobblestone street when you need one?

  Claire switched on the light with a slap of her palm, shutting the door with a bang once Jamie entered the small office. “So, talk.” Claire directed.

  “I…I came to apologize,” Jamie began, tripping over her words. She loved sweet and gentle Claire, but in control and furious Claire was really…hot. She was having a hard time remembering what she had come to say when Claire was standing so close. Jamie stifled a mad impulse to push Claire onto the desk behind her and devour her mouth like she had that day in the kitchen back home. But she was almost certain that approach wouldn’t fly right now. What a pity.

  “You traveled three thousand miles to say you’re sorry?” There was skepticism in Claire’s tone.

  “No, I drove about two hours from my apartment.”

  “Your…apartment? You live here?” Her words were tentative, breathy. Confusion filled Claire’s eyes, and Jamie could almost see the battle taking place within as Claire wavered between anger and excitement. “Why?” she questioned harshly, anger winning out. “So you can stalk me or something?” She took a step ba
ckward as she said it, retreating to the safety of the far side of her desk. Claire glanced furtively at the desktop, blushing in a way that made Jamie wonder if she’d had a similar fantasy about ways they could use its surface. Jamie hoped so.

  “Claire, come on,” Jamie pleaded. “I’m not here to stalk you. I was transferred to Newport for work almost three months ago. It was completely outside my control, and I wasn’t even planning on telling you or seeing you, except…”

  “Except what?”

  Jamie hesitated, not wanting to get Theresa in trouble. This reunion wasn’t exactly going the way Claire’s sister had hoped, and there was no sense tipping Claire off to the fact that she’d had any part in encouraging it. “Except I really wanted to see you.”

  “And what you want is always so important, isn’t it?” Claire asked bitterly. “What about what I want?”

  “What do you want, Claire?” Genuine desperation filled her as she asked. She really needed to know.

  “What do I want?” Claire’s voice cracked and tears glistened in the corners of her eyes. “What I want, is to have my old life back. I want to be able to feel happy when a cute guy at work asks me out—”

  “I knew it,” Jamie interrupted, her eyes narrowing into cat-like slits. “You’re going out with that Dennis guy tonight, aren’t you?”

  “Seriously, Jamie?” Claire responded, her own eyes flashing. “You want to talk about Dennis right now? Fine. Let’s talk about him. Has he asked me out? Yes, actually, he has.”

  “And you’re going to go.” Jamie shook her head in disbelief. “Do you really think that this Dennis guy, or any guy, is going to make you happy?” she asked, her voice rising in challenge.

  “No!” Claire spat back, her own volume matching Jamie’s. “And do you have any idea how hard that is for me to admit? Do you know how much I want to enjoy his company, or the company of any other man, instead of feeling a twinge of disgust because I know if he puts his hands on me, they won’t make me feel the way your hands made me feel?”

  Claire sobbed as the tears flowed freely. Jamie reached out, wanting nothing more than to put her hands on Claire now, to soothe away her despair. Claire took a step back, batting Jamie's hand away.

  “This is your fault.” Claire told her. “Why couldn’t you have just left me alone instead of tying my insides up with your lies and your manipulation and ruining everything for me?”

  “Me?” Jamie asked incredulously. “Look, I admit that I was dishonest and for that I truly am sorry. It tears me up that I lied to you and hurt you that way. But you can’t honestly blame me for anything else.”

  “You confused me.”

  “Yeah, well, you confused me, too. Be logical, Claire. It’s not like I cast some sort of spell over you! Whatever you felt for me when we were together, and whatever you still feel now, that came from you.”

  Claire glared at Jamie but did not speak.

  “And for the record,” Jamie added, sniffing loudly to keep back her own tears, “you kissed me first. That day in the kitchen, you kissed me. And you're the one who came to my room, to my bed. I told you to go. You chose to stay.” Jamie's voice shook as she spoke. “I may have lied to you in the beginning, but you’re the one lying right now if you think it happened any other way.”

  Claire’s eyes were clamped shut, her whole body trembling. “I think you’d better go, Jamie.” She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The look she fixed on Jamie was icy cold.

  “Claire, listen to me. It would be an even bigger lie if I said I didn’t want you back. I love you. But even if you don’t want to be with me, don’t be with Dennis.”

  “That's none of your business,” Claire replied stiffly.

  “Maybe not,” Jamie said quietly. “But you deserve to find a woman who will make you happy, not settle for what you think other people expect for you. You have to be honest with yourself, Claire.”

  “I have to?” Claire answered with an edge to her voice. “You don’t get to tell me what I have to do, Jamie. Or what I want. Or what will make me happy.” She threw her hands in the air. “Why don’t you go find a woman whom you can confuse and manipulate with your charm. I’m sure Portland is just full of women who would love the chance to question everything they ever thought they knew about their identities, all thanks to you.”

  “Claire,” Jamie sighed, “I don’t want another woman. I just want you.”

  “Well, I don’t want you. I don’t.” Though whether this last bit was to convince herself or Jamie, it was impossible to tell.

  The quiet sound of Claire’s sobbing followed Jamie down the hall. She staved off her own tears until she was safe within the privacy of her car, at which point they flowed freely. This had been her last chance to win Claire back, and she had lost. The love of her life was gone forever.

  27

  “You did what?” Theresa stared at her sister in disbelief.

  The evening was warm for March and the sisters soaked in the fresh evening air on the porch, wrapped in blankets and sipping sangria. She might live to regret mixing up a batch of Paul’s secret recipe, but Claire needed something a little stronger than usual to dull the agony that had plagued her since Jamie’s visit that afternoon.

  She’d sent her apologies for missing the midterm review session that evening—which, incidentally, was the only “date” she had ever planned with Dennis, not that Jamie needed to know that. After a good start on the potent liquid in her glass, she unburdened the day’s events to Theresa. Much to her surprise, her sister didn’t seem nearly as proud of how Claire had handled the situation as she’d expected her to be.

  “I thought you’d be glad that it’s finally settled,” Claire responded in confusion. “You said I needed closure.”

  “Closure?” Theresa laughed. “Honestly, hermanita, you can be so dense. Do you really think Paul and I spent a month convincing Jamie to go talk to you just so you could have a little closure?”

  Claire’s jaw hung open. “You and Paul?”

  “Of course, who else? Didn’t Jamie tell you? No,” Theresa said, answering her own question, “I can see that she didn’t. Poor Jamie. She didn’t want to go but we finally convinced her that you were in a forgiving mood and wouldn’t act—well, exactly the way you acted.” She shook her head. “I guess she really does know you better than I do.”

  “But Theresa,” Claire asked, “why would you encourage her? You know I don’t want to think about any of that stuff any more.”

  “Any of that stuff. You mean,” her sister countered, “that stuff like how you’re still so in love with Jamie that you cry yourself to sleep every night? Or how Jamie’s a woman, and you don’t want to deal with what that means because it will mess up this neat little picture you’re still clinging to of that perfect future you always assumed you’d have?”

  “What’s wrong with wanting things to be a certain way?” Claire asked indignantly. “Why am I such a bad person because I want a nice, simple life like Mom and Dad had?”

  Theresa poured another glass of sangria and took a long sip before answering. “Like Mom and Dad? Well, for one thing, mom and dad didn’t really have such a perfect life. Not the way you seem to think, anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” Claire’s stomach tightened into a knot over how her sister would answer.

  Theresa took a deep breath. “I mean, Claire, that you’ve idolized Mom and Dad your whole life. You’re so convinced that what they had was perfect that you’ve never allowed yourself to really ask if it’s the truth. You know what, Claire? Even they didn't always want what they had.”

  “I don’t understand,” Claire said in confusion, taking a sip from her own glass.

  “Don’t get me wrong. Mom and Dad had a pretty good life together, okay? I’m sure they loved us. But Mom never wanted to stay in Portland, or teach high school English.”

  “She loved being a teacher,” Claire protested.

  “But it wasn't her dream. She dreamed of was being a w
riter and moving to New York City to live like an artist.”

  “Then why didn’t she?”

  “Because she got pregnant in college. And, you know Dad. He immediately stepped up and insisted they get married.”

  “Wait,” Claire countered, not quite certain if the spinning in her head was from the sangria or the unexpectedly intimate revelation about her parents’ personal lives. “You’re telling me that our parents only got married because they had to.”

  “I’m sure that wasn’t the only reason,” Theresa replied. “But it’s also not quite the fairytale romance Aunt Marisol let you believe all these years, is it?”

  “I guess not.”

  “Aunt Marisol had no idea how to raise children. The only thing she knew was guilt, how to make us feel terrible at how our perfect, sainted parents wept over our every failing.”

  “Huh,” Claire pondered. “You know, she actually told me once that every time it rained, it was them crying in heaven because I’d been bad.”

  Theresa stared at her, wide eyed. “We grew up in Portland, Claire. It rains almost every day here. Ay dios mio,” she mumbled under her breath, “no wonder you’re so screwed up.”

  “Hey, I heard what you just said. It’s not like I believed her.”

  “Maybe not, but you still had to put up with stuff like that floating around in your head. It’s not what Mom and Dad would have wanted.”

  “You really think so?” Claire asked, dabbing the moisture that had formed in the corner of her eyes.

  Theresa drained the last drops from her wine glass, then set it down on the coffee table in front of her. “Remember, I was in high school when they died, so I was already thinking about college and careers and that type of thing. You know what Mom always told me?”

  Claire shook her head in response.

  “She told me I needed to follow my dreams. Take risks. Take time to figure out who I was and what I was meant to be. Honestly, I probably wasn’t the best example of that for you. It turns out I’m not really much of a risk taker.” Theresa shrugged. “The stuff I wanted was pretty average stuff. But I never forgot her advice. I wish she could have given it to you, too. There’s so much more you could do if you gave yourself permission to try.”