Beautiful Lie

by Leah Holt

  I was hearing things that I'd normally ignore, sounds that had once seemed unimportant. Was I different? Had I changed when the walls came down and there was nothing standing between us?

  Maybe I'm better because of this.

  Voices from downstairs drew my head up, my ears perked and curious about who was in our home. Glancing at the clock, it was only eight in the morning, there was no reason for anyone to be here.

  “Do you here that?” Looking down at Cyprus, she nodded, tilting her head towards the door.

  “Who is your dad talking to?”

  “The hell if I know.” Shifting my arm free, I pushed up in the bed and looked around for my shirt.

  “Are you going to go see?”

  “Yeah, I want to check it out, make sure nothing is wrong.” Tossing my legs out of bed, I grabbed my shirt off the floor and pulled it on.

  There was absolutely no reason for anyone to be there. My father only invited the elite few he trusted, and even then, he wouldn't have them over that early in the morning.

  Standing in the doorway, I listened to my father and another man talking. I couldn't make out what they were saying, and my father didn't seem to be upset or angry at whoever had shown up.

  Leaving the room, I studied the voices and tones. No one was getting loud, and my father was speaking the same way he always did. He sounded calm, not unnerved or unsure about the guest he had let in. But that didn't mean shit.

  Could it be someone from Antoine's family? Did someone come here looking for them?

  Word had spread like wildfire, and everyone who needed to know or cared to know, were aware that they hadn't been seen since our meeting. Most wouldn't dare to question our family about it, only the police had the generic balls needed to bring us in and tempt our freedom with shit they really had no evidence for.

  But there was always the chance someone else had stepped up the ranks and would try to shake us down for answers. A new body, trying to make a name for themselves in our world.

  Walking down the stairs, I called out, “Dad? Is everything alright?”

  Hitting the bottom step, I turned my head to look in the living room and found my father sitting on the couch with two men in suits and a police officer over his shoulder.

  My heart sank, chest constricting as I debated between running back upstairs to warn Cyprus or yelling at them to get the fuck out.

  I didn't have time to choose as all the men turned my way, their faces still and expressionless.

  “Birch, good, you're up. Come on in and sit for a minute.” My father waved his hand, nodding his head to the over-sized chair next to the couch.

  “What the hell is going on?” Cautiously, I stepped to the chair and placed my hands on the back. I didn't want to sit down, there wasn't a bone in my body that felt relaxed enough to lounge in a chair like this was a family gathering.

  “Birch, I'm Detective Jones, and this is Detective Gouff.”

  “I know who you fucking are, why are you in our house?” Clenching my teeth, my hands balled up, ready to grab him by the collar and kick his ass out.

  He wasn't welcomed in my home, they were never welcomed here.

  Why is my dad sitting and talking with them? Why isn't he telling them to go fuck themselves?

  “Dad, do something here, tell them to leave.”

  My father arched his brows and cleared his throat as his hands ran up and down his thighs. “Birch—”

  Holding up his hand to stop my father from talking, the detective inserted his own words. “We're here because your father asked us to be. He's got a long story that he's ready to share, and we're eager to hear it.”

  What the hell does that mean?

  My father would never willingly talk to the police. It was something he tried to avoid like the plague. It didn't matter how much they pushed and pressed him for information about any of the shit they thought he was a part of; he never said a word.

  He's lying. This motherfucker is full of shit.

  “Why haven't you told this dick to go fuck himself?”

  The officer dressed in full gear took a step forward, drifting his hand to hover over his gun. “Watch your mouth.”

  “Watch my mouth? You're in my fucking house, and you don't belong here. You can't tell me how to talk in my own home.”

  “Enough,” my dad snapped, cutting the air with his hand. “He's telling you the truth, Birch.” His eyes jerked to mine, the seriousness in his gaze stabbing me in the chest like a serrated blade.

  Why? Why would he do this?

  “What the fuck is going on? What the hell are you doing, Dad?” Curling my fingers into the plush fabric of the chair, I felt my knees start to buckle. “Why?”

  “I'm getting old, Birch, it's time to finish this.” His eyes went cloudy as he forced a thin smile. “These guys were nice enough to wait here so I could tell you myself.”

  “Tell me what? What the fuck is going on? What the hell are you doing?” The inside of my head began to spin with all the things we had been a part of together, and all the things he had done before I came along.

  They're going to put us away for life!

  Don't you get that? Don't you understand what you're doing?

  I wanted to scream at him to just stop all of this. He didn't have to do anything, not now, not today. We should have talked about this first, we should have sat down as a family and decided what to do.

  Because this didn't just affect him, it affected all of us.

  But he didn't, and I shouldn't have been surprised by that.

  Adjusting his suit, my father pressed his hands into his knees and stood up. His demeanor was different, he didn't look like himself. It was like he stood taller, his back rigid and firm as he held his chin up high.

  “It's over, all of this over. I'm finally going to do what I should have done a long time ago. Maybe if I had, shit wouldn't have gotten so out of hand.” The hardness his eyes always had faded away. He looked so tired, like he wanted nothing more than to just lay his head down and sleep for eternity.

  “I don't understand.”

  What was he ending exactly?

  What was over?

  Deep down I knew what he was saying, but accepting it meant accepting what came with it. I wasn't ready to do that.

  No. No you can't! Don't do that!

  I stood staring at him with gaping eyes, trying to make him see that what he was doing was wrong. He didn't have to do it this way. There was always another way.

  I wished he had come to me first, we could have talked about this, we could have fixed it ourselves.

  We could have left and started over if he really wanted things to change. Cyprus had given me that same out not long ago, she had asked about leaving and starting over. I hadn't taken the time to really listen to her because it was burned into my brain that this was my life, it was our life.

  I never imagined that it was something we could change, the thought had never crossed my mind that it could ever be a plausible option for our family to just pick and leave.

  And now that was all I could focus on.

  Standing in front of me, my father rested his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Let me do this, it's what I need to do. For you, for Cyprus. . . for your mother. I don't want to be this anymore, I'm ready.”

  I felt like a boy again, small and weak beneath my father. My eyes started water, and I felt a single tear drop free. If he did this, I knew I'd never see him again. We'd never have another holiday together, he'd never be a grandfather to my children.

  My head was shaking, telling him not to do it. All he had to do was allow himself to see the pain that this decision was going to cause.

  Don't! Please don't do this!

  But I could see it in his eyes; this wasn't up to me. This was his choice; his salvation from his demons, his healing for the suffering he had caused; he was saving us.

  It was written all over his face. He was giving himself to set us free, my father was selflessly f
eeding himself to lions to clean our souls. My father was about to give up everything for the ones he loved.

  I understand. . . I know what you're doing.

  Nodding, I asked. “What do you need from me?”

  “Nothing, just live your life, Birch. Do everything and anything you've ever wanted. When you were little I used to imagine that you'd grow up and be just like me, but it's not what I thought it would be at all. I want more for you and Cyprus, I want you two to live your own life, not mine.” Smiling, he shifted on his feet to face the detectives. “Alright, let's go.”

  The detective rose up off the couch and wrapped his hand around my father's arm, guiding him towards the door. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he said, “Tell Cyprus to call me.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his card and handed it to me behind his back. “I know she's got questions, and I have a few answers I need to give her.”

  I didn't answer him, simply giving him an understanding nod. Following them to the front door, I stood there and watched them put my father in the back of the cruiser. My chest was a mix of hot and cold as I breathed in and cursed everything he was about to do.

  Nothing will ever be the same.

  I'm losing the my father just like I lost my mother. There will never be a future for us again.

  That thought shifted something deep in my gut, it forced me to finally understand the loss Cyprus had been dealing with for all these years. I thought I understood what she felt, I thought I could give her what she was missing.

  I've been lying to myself.

  My father was wrong for everything that he had done. He could never fix her, no matter how much he wanted to.

  Because we were never truly hers to begin with. And nothing could ever replace the bond between a child and their parents.

  Fingers startled me as Cyprus crept up behind me and curled herself into my back. “What's happening? Where are they taking him?”

  “He's giving them what they want.” My father's eyes stayed on mine as the car pulled away. “And I think he's actually relieved about finally ending all of this.”

  “I'm sorry, Birch. I'm sorry I caused this.”

  “No,” I barked, twisting on my heels and cupping her small round face. “Don't you ever apologize for a damn thing. You didn't cause this, he chose it.”

  “I just feel like it's my fault, I kinda lost it.”

  Holding her face in my hands, my brows knitted. “You deserved the truth from the very beginning. We both lied to you, you have the right to feel the way you do.”

  “So what happens now?” Her fingers teased the hem of my shirt, eyes glassy and lost.

  Pulling her head into my chest, I wrapped my arms around her back. “We just keep going.”

  “What will we do?” I felt her voice as it ruffled my shirt and the warmth of her breath as it heated my skin.

  “Start over, just like you wanted to.” Running my fingers though her hair, I kissed the top of her head. “I love you, it's time for us to change.”

  Cyprus had been right, we didn't have to do any of this.

  But I was blind. Blinded by comfort of what's familiar. Blinded by family laws that had ruled my life. I was blinded by everything that didn't really matter.

  We didn't need this life to be happy.

  I already had the one thing that made me who I was. It wasn't my name, it wasn't my father, it wasn't the brutality of power we thrived on. . .

  I had Cyprus, she was my happiness.

  And it took me far too long to realize that.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Cyprus

  “Well?” I asked, tapping the table and leaning back in the chair. “What is it you have for me?”

  Detective Jones stood in the doorway, holding a cardboard box. “Good to see you too.” Smirking, he tilted his head towards Birch. “Good to see you too, Birch. How are you holding up?”

  “I'm doing pretty well actually,” Birch said with an uncomfortable smile. “Things still feel weird, but we're doing good.”

  “That's all that matters.” Resting the box on the table, Jones placed his hands on the edges. “I saw you sold the bar, I don't blame you for not wanting it anymore.”

  “Yeah, I had mixed feelings on doing that. It was hard to let it go, but Cyprus and I have bigger things to think about.” Slipping his hand over my belly, Birch grinned. “Once we're done with everything here, I think we'll finally be ready to really start fresh.”

  In the two months since his father willingly admitted to everything he had done over the years, we also found out I was pregnant. It was a wonderful surprise in the whirlwind of shit that we had gone through.

  Three months along, and it was nice to have something positive to focus on finally. And Birch, I don't think I've ever seen him this excited about something. Last week I had found him huddled around the computer, searching baby names and what to expect during pregnancy.

  Unfortunately none of this was over, not in the least. Nick's sentencing hearing wasn't for another three months, and we both decided it would be good for us to go for very separate reasons.

  I wanted to be there to support Birch. He had lost his entire family, his mother and now his father, I knew exactly what he was feeling. And he wanted to be there for his dad, to show him that regardless of what was happening, he still loved him for the father he had been and that he was grateful for what he had done for us.

  Nick had taken the fall for everything. The death of my parents, the deaths of Antoine and his brother and father. He came clean about a handful of other murders I had refused to acknowledge and others I had never heard about.

  He agreed to tell them every detail, to give them all the information they needed to close a dozen cold cases and the warehouse where he kept stolen goods and cash we hadn't laundered through the bar yet.

  We got lucky the police hadn't been able to seize the bar. The place had been in Valentina's name, and when she passed, it was left to Birch. With Birch in the clear, the bar was his to do what he wanted with.

  The only thing Nick demanded for his cooperation was immunity for his son, that was it. Leave Birch alone and they'd get answers. I couldn't believe he was giving himself for his son. It was an act of selflessness I didn't think he had and was beyond grateful for.

  The district attorney agreed after much consideration, finding his request to be small in comparison to what he promised to give.

  “Congratulations.” Leaning in, the detective held out his hand. Birch hesitated for a split second, then gave him a firm shake. “I've got two of my own, there's nothing like having a child to make you see the world differently.”

  “Okay, are we done with this small talk?” Glancing between the two men, I brought my eyes back to the box. “Why did you insist on me coming here again?”

  “I have some stuff here that belongs to you. We don't need it anymore, so it's yours.”

  “What is it?”

  Pushing the box in my direction, Jones folded his arms over his chest and smirked. “Why don't you look for yourself.”

  Pulling back the flaps, I shuffled through some of the items on top. There was a pair of brown loafers, a thick leather belt, and a quilt. Beneath that I found some eyeglasses and a pair of earrings.

  “Who—” Tugging out the glasses, I cocked my head, unable to finish my question.

  “These were your parents, now they're yours.” Holding up his finger, he wagged it in the air like he had just had an epiphany. “Oh, and this.” Reaching behind his back, he tugged out a folder and opened it up. Pulling out a small photo and a piece of paper, he handed both of them to me.

  Pinching the picture, I smiled. It was the one he showed me before, and I was excited to finally have it.

  Holding up the paper, I knew what it was immediately. The small seal in the bottom right corner was faded and worn. The upper edges were frayed and torn, the ink barely legible and bleeding out from the sold print.

  My birth certificate. . . This is my birt
h certificate.

  Fiona McKayla Deltorro. Born: September seventeenth, Nineteen- ninety six.

  Mother: Brandy Seline Delvechio

  Father: Franklin Donald Deltorro

  Each line gave me a piece of my soul back. I had a birthday and a middle name. My parents were there, my birth weight and the hospital I was born in. I was the age we had guessed all those years before, we had hit it on the nose.

  I really am twenty-two.

  Tears created blurry glass bubbles over my eyes. Blinking them away, I held onto that piece of paper like it was made of solid gold.

  “This is me, I have a real birth certificate.” My fingers pinched the thin paper, afraid to squeeze it any harder for fear it would crumble to dust and blow away.

  Licking his fingers, the detective flipped through the folder. “There's an account for you at Fritz International Bank, it's under your birth name. Your parents assets were liquidated, and everything was put into an account that would go to you when you turned eighteen.” Slipping out another paper, he laid it down on the table.

  Two hundred thousand dollars. . .

  “Are you serious?” Flicking my eyes up and down, my jaw dropped into my chest. “This is mine?”

  Shaking his head yes with a smile, his eyes glinted with happiness. “There's one last thing I need to tell you. You have one surviving grandmother, she lives down in Maryland and is very eager to see you again.”

  “I have a grandmother?”

  “Mm hm, and she has some more of your parents personal belongings. Pictures, clothes, maybe even some stuff that was yours.”

  “This is insane. I'm shocked right now, I don't know what to say.”

  “You don't have to say anything. This is your family, and you're still a part of them, regardless of how much time has gone by.” Smiling, Detective Jones crossed his arms over his chest. “Just do me a favor, go see her as soon as you can. She's been waiting far too long for you to come home.”

  Sniffling, Birch passed me a tissue, and I wiped my nose. “Thank you for this. Thank you for not giving up on me.”