The Lying Woods

by Ashley Elston

  “Brian shouldn’t have acted that way, but I don’t think he’ll be the only one to take out his anger on you. Your father hurt a lot of people.”

  I drop the front legs of the chair on the floor and it echoes through the room. “Just because my dad may have screwed people over doesn’t mean I’m letting some kid take a swing at me.”

  Mr. Roberts holds out his hand and says, “I’m not saying that. You have to understand where he’s coming from.”

  I hop up from my seat. “Got it. I have to take whatever they throw at me. Perfect. If there’s nothing else, I don’t want to be late for next period. I hear the principal is a real hard-ass.”

  By the time I walk into the cafeteria for lunch, I’ve had enough. No matter where I go or what class I’m in, the looks and insults don’t stop.

  “Asshole.”

  “Jerk.”

  “Thief.”

  I’m halfway to the lunch line when the last one registers. I turn around, taking a step toward the group hurling the names. “I’ll take asshole. Even jerk. But I’m no thief.”

  A tall girl steps a little closer and lets out a really loud, horrible fake laugh. I know this girl. Went to school with her when we were little but she still seems like a stranger to me right now. “Oh, yeah, right. You may not be the one who stole from us but you sure as hell don’t seem sorry. You should be kissing all our asses since our families”—she does a huge arm movement to encompass the group around her—“funded your entire life.”

  “Whatever. Maybe your parents,” I say as I mock the huge arm movements, “should’ve been more careful with their money.”

  I swear I can hear gasps from every single person in the cafeteria. It’s a low blow and a part of me burns with shame, but I still couldn’t stop the words from flying out of my mouth. No one says anything else, but it looks like I’m one step from getting my ass beat.

  “Whatever. Hate me. Make me the bad guy. Hope it makes you feel better.” And then I’m gone.

  I hear steps behind me just as I hit the parking lot.

  “What happened to you?”

  God, I’m so sick of this. I turn around, ready to decimate whoever has the nerve to keep this going, but I stop cold when I recognize her.

  Pippa.

  She’s familiar but not, just like most everything here. Her hair is long and dark brown and straight as a board. Pippa was tall for her age back then but it seems she didn’t grow much more since she barely reaches my shoulder. Or maybe it’s because I’m more than a foot taller than when I left here.

  Pippa and I were neighbors before my parents bought the big house that sits on the ninth hole of the Cypress Lake Country Club. The same one that was seized. I had my fair share of friends that were boys, including Seth, but there was something about Pippa. We were inseparable growing up. When I first left, we tried to get together when I was home for break but everything was strained and it wasn’t just that I was in a different house, in a different neighborhood when she dropped by that first time to see me. I had gotten out of this town. It was the one thing she wanted to do and I did it.

  I felt guilty telling her about all the things I had done with my new friends in New Orleans; the music festivals we always had passes to thanks to Ray’s dad, watching the Saints play in a private box thanks to Jack’s dad, and the gold card that paid for anything we wanted thanks to my dad.

  By high school, we stopped trying. I told myself we would have drifted apart no matter where I went to school, but I’m not sure that’s true.

  “Good to see you, too,” I say.

  She shakes her head. “It’s so wrong of you to come in here acting like an asshole.” Pippa was tough back then and it seems like that hasn’t changed.

  “So I’m supposed to let everyone here say whatever they want? I didn’t do anything to them.”

  Disgust washes across her face and I turn toward the truck, not wanting to admit how much I hate seeing that reaction from her.

  “Your mom’s had it pretty rough before you came home. Did you know?”

  This stops me cold. “What do you mean rough?” The story with Dad only went viral yesterday.

  “When your dad bailed a few weeks ago. At first, your mom made excuses when your dad didn’t show up for work and no one could find him. It got worse when the Feds showed up and tried to figure out what was happening and the EPA started knocking on doors. And then she got kicked out of her house. They took her car. It was pretty bad. You may have just found out about this yesterday, but it’s been bad around here for her for weeks.”

  I lean back against the truck. “Dad screwed up. Dad is a total asshole. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  Pippa shakes her head. Slowly. She’s agitated with me. That is something else I remember clearly. “The Rutherfords, the Browns, the McKenzies, the Blackwells…all of their businesses are in trouble now and every one of your dad’s employees lost everything. My parents’ business is dependent on Louisiana Frac, Owen. We’re as screwed as the people who worked for y’all.”

  I had forgotten about Pippa’s family’s business. They own a garden supply company that sells dirt, mulch, and anything else you would need for any landscaping project, but the biggest item they stock, the one thing that makes them profitable, is the sand Louisiana Frac needs for every well. I forgot that they would be affected, too.

  “I’m sorry, I really am, but I didn’t do this to your family. I barely saw Dad much less knew what he was doing. He screwed us, too. I get everyone needs someone to blame, but none of this is my fault.”

  She’s disgusted, I can tell, but I’m not wrong. They need a punching bag but it’s not me.

  “Don’t worry, your mom is taking most of the heat for you,” she says and turns to walk away.

  I grab her arm, stopping her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Pippa jerks her arm free but doesn’t walk away. “She let you stay at that school as long as she did because she didn’t want to tell you the truth. She pulled you because she had to but she left you there as long as she could because of the threats.”

  “What threats?” I hate hearing this from her. Hate that Mom has left so much out.

  “A lot of people here think she was as dumb as everyone else. But others think she knew what was going on. I mean, she worked there with your dad. Some people think she’s got some of the money tucked away somewhere. Or knows where it is. It’s been bad for her. And then you come back and act like an asshole.”

  For the second time, I try to stop her from walking away but this time she pulls out a move she learned when she signed up for self-defense class the summer before middle school. One I’m familiar with—and should have seen coming—since we practiced it together until she got it right.

  She twists around, then sweeps her leg and I land on my ass while she walks away without a backward glance.

  Noah—Summer of 1999

  It only takes a few days to figure out what’s got Gus distracted. She’s wrapped in a big fuzzy pink blanket even though it’s hot as hell.

  Betty, the woman I met on the first day, pushes her out onto the front porch and locks the brake on her wheelchair.

  “You want something to drink?” Betty asks her.

  “I’d love a glass of lemonade,” she answers in a weak voice. Gus’s wife is bad off. Really sick. But she’s got a smile on her face as she stares at the orchard.

  Betty heads into the house and I concentrate on weeding the flower bed so I’m not tempted to stare at her.

  “The bougainvillea is looking prettier than ever this year. Would you cut me a piece?”

  It takes me a minute to realize she’s speaking to me.

  “Um…which one is that?” There are so many different plants in these beds and all of them look like they’re doing well.

  “The purplish-pink one there next to the steps,” she says and points a skinny finger to a plant that is trailing out into the yard.

  I find a full section a
nd clip off a few inches, then bound up the stairs. The closer I am, the more I can see just how frail she is. I could circle her upper arm with my thumb and middle finger and still have room left over.

  She holds her hand out and I place the flower in it.

  “It’s just lovely, thank you,” she says.

  “Of course.”

  I start to walk away but stop when she asks, “So you’re the Noah I’ve been hearing about?”

  Wiping my hands down the sides of my pants, I answer, “I guess so.”

  She laughs quietly. “My husband has been singing your praises. He may never let you know he’s pleased with the work you’re doing here, but he is.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Trudeau.”

  “Just call me Abby.”

  “Thank you, Abby.”

  I jump down off the porch and dive back into the beds, yanking out everything that doesn’t belong.

  From what I can tell about this place, the only crop is the pecans on the trees and there’s not a whole lot to do for them until the fall. Right now, it’s all about keeping the orchard clean, fixing any equipment that needs to be fixed, and praying for the right amount of rain to fall.

  Abby sits on the porch, sipping her lemonade, until she falls asleep in the wheelchair. Gus checks on her a few times on his way back and forth from the barn. Watching them, I realize they’re both young enough that they can’t have been married for very long.

  And now she’s dying. It doesn’t seem fair.

  Gus has me working close to the house over the next few days, but it’s almost a week before I see Abby again. Just like the first time, Betty rolls her out onto the front porch and parks her there, then goes to get her something to drink.

  Betty is basically the glue that’s holding everything together here. She was the housekeeper when Gus’s parents were alive, then became a certified caregiver when Gus’s dad got sick, keeping him out of a nursing home while Gus was away at college. Since Gus’s mom died when he was little, Betty has been like a second mother to him. She’s here every day, all day, and I’m not sure how Gus and Abby would survive without her.

  I’ve got a set of pruning shears and I’m trying not to destroy the shrubbery when Abby calls my name.

  Moving closer to the porch, I pull a rag out of my back pocket and mop the sweat off of my face. “Yes?”

  “I want to thank you for the flowers. I’m guessing you’re the one who makes sure I have fresh ones every morning?”

  I duck my head and run the towel across my face another time. “I thought you’d like them.” After she asked me for a clipping, I realized she was probably the one who planted all these flowers. And now that she’s sick, she probably misses them. I cut a few of the roses, mixed them with that purple plant she asked for the first time, and left them in a plastic cup near the front door the next morning. I’m not sure if it was Gus or Betty who brought them in but I’ve been doing it every morning since.

  “Well, you’ve spoiled me now.”

  I nod again and move away, not sure what else I’m supposed to say. I don’t know her, not at all, but it scares me how sick she is. There’s no way she can last long looking the way she does.

  I’m halfway back to the shrubs I was butchering before she calls my name and I stop, turning back to her. “Is it cancer? Is that what’s wrong?” I ask.

  She seems surprised by my bluntness but not offended. “Yes. Started as breast cancer but moved to everywhere else pretty fast.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  Her head tilts to the side. “A couple of years. They found it right after Gus and I were married.”

  “That sucks,” I say.

  “Yes, it does,” she answers back.

  I bend down and grab the clippers from the ground where I left them and catch Gus on the side of the house. He’s close enough that he heard what we said. Shit, he’s probably going to fire me. And I probably deserve it. But instead, he gives me a brisk nod, then disappears around the back of the house.

  4

  By the time I get back on my feet Pippa is gone. Jumping into the borrowed truck I try not to think about how quickly she knocked me on my ass.

  The number of news vans in front of my aunt’s house seems to have doubled since I left for school. I park down the street, pull my baseball cap low, and keep my face hidden while I walk down the sidewalk. When I’m in front of the neighbor’s house, I jump the short fence into the backyard, pushing my way through some overgrown azaleas until I’m in my aunt’s backyard.

  It’s time for Mom and me to have another chat.

  She’s at the kitchen table, on the phone with the local phone book out in front of her. The back door is open but the screen door is closed. Her soft voice floats through the air so I sit down on the steps, listening to her end of the conversation.

  “I would take any position you have available. And I can work any hours.”

  She’s doodling on a notepad, listening to whatever is being said to her on the other end of the line.

  “I understand. I really do. And I’m sorry. I really had no idea what he was doing.”

  She drops the phone and then chucks her pen across the table, where it bounces several times before hitting the floor. “Dang it,” she mutters under her breath just as it rolls underneath the refrigerator.

  I was ready to storm in here, demand answers, but seeing her like this sucks all of the energy right out of me.

  Pippa was right. I have no idea what it’s been like for her. What it’s like for her now.

  Even though Dad never went out of his way to see me once I went off to school, Mom did. She drove to New Orleans a few times a month, checking me out so we could spend an afternoon together or staying the weekend at a nearby hotel. Our favorite thing to do when she visited was check out every hole-in-the-wall restaurant we could find. The sketchier the better. And in New Orleans, we never ran out of places to go. It was our thing. I don’t know anyone more adventurous than Mom when it comes to food. If she loved a place, she would write such glowing online reviews the restaurants would use them in local ads. There was nothing better than getting a call from her after she got a clipping I sent her. And I think her own cooking was inspired by all the places we visited because she’s a genius in the kitchen.

  She’s always been there for me and I should have been here for her.

  I stand up slowly and tap on the screen door just before opening it. I was hoping to alert her I was here but she’s startled and jumps in her seat anyway.

  “Owen! You scared me. Why aren’t you at school?” she asks, closing the phone book and flipping over the notebook. Or maybe trying to hide all of the lines scratched through every local business that I’m sure won’t hire her because of what her asshole husband did.

  “I stayed as long as I could. It was…harder to be there than I thought.”

  She closes her eyes and keeps them shut. “Please tell me you didn’t get in a fight,” she says.

  I wait for her to look at me before I shrug.

  She gets up quickly from the table. “Well, did you get some lunch? Are you hungry?”

  I slide into the chair she vacated and turn the notebook back over. “No one is going to hire you. They’ll all think you’ll steal from them. Plus, half this town is looking for a job and they won’t give it to you over them.”

  She busies herself at the sink. “Yes. That is the general consensus.”

  “Tell me about the threats you’re getting.”

  She finishes washing the mug she was just using for coffee, then turns to face me, shutting off the water. She scans my face but I don’t know what she’s looking for. Is she trying to decide if I can handle what she has to say?

  “I haven’t been getting any threats.”

  I’m out of my chair and next to her. “If we’re going to get through this, you have to tell me everything. There can’t be any secrets.” And then I remember the note from Dad. The one I haven’t told her about.

>   “I’m handling everything. I just need you to focus on school and try to get through the day without fighting.”

  “You’re really not going to tell me?” I ask through clenched teeth.

  Mom grabs a nearby dish towel and dries her hands. “There’s nothing to tell.”

  I can see it in her eyes. Maybe it’s regret or anger or something else but she’s holding back. She’s shutting me out and it pisses me off. I turn around and push through the screen door.

  “Where are you going?” Mom asks.

  “Out,” I answer and sprint through the backyard and down the street before she has a chance to ask me anything else.

  • • •

  Gus is sitting in a lawn chair in the middle of the yard when I pull up in his truck. He’s got one of those TV trays in front of him piled high with old parts and there are a few black marks streaked across his cheek and forehead where he’s rubbed his greasy fingers across his face.

  I thought the drive over would give me a chance to calm down, but I’m still so pissed off. Pissed at whatever threats Mom is hiding from me. She’s probably convinced herself she’s protecting me by keeping it a secret, but she’s wrong. There’s been enough secrets in this family already.

  I pace back and forth in front of his little table while Gus silently tracks my progress.

  Finally, he points to an empty chair beside him. “Sit. You’re making me dizzy.”

  I drop down in the chair but still feel the need to move like an itch under my skin.

  “What’s got you all stirred up today?” Gus asks.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. Family bullshit.”

  I’m expecting him to fire questions at me, poke and prod until he gets every little detail, but he doesn’t even look at me. He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that I’ve shown up hours before he was expecting me. Instead, he hands me a small part and a wire brush.

  “Run that brush through that opening until you get all that gunk out,” he says.

  The opening he refers to is so clogged with grease that I can barely get the brush inside. It’s tedious work but after twenty minutes it’s cleared out.