Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  We fall into silence, passing the wine bottle back and forth as we stare out over the deck railing. I don’t know that there’s much I could say even if I could think of anything. Claire doesn’t believe in soul mates or fate or love at first sight. She’s madly in love with her husband, but as he was her very first boyfriend/love, she never really had much chance to experience anything else. And it doesn’t escape my notice that I did practically the same when I met and married Matthew. Hearing Claire talking about how he and I belong together and how perhaps fate has lent a hand in helping that along leaves me feeling more confused than ever. Maybe it’s the wine talking, but right now I really want Matthew to be here. I want to know whether he’s okay, whether he’s still angry with me. I want to know that what Tom did isn’t making him consider doing stupid things.

  Hell. I just want Matthew. Period.

  -------------o-------------

  Tyler and I have been at Claire’s house for three days. In that time, I haven’t heard a single word from Matthew. Not that I really expected to, especially since until very recently I hadn’t heard a single word from him in five years. Apparently that doesn’t change the fact that I feel as bad right now as I did when I left him, and I hate that feeling.

  We’ve been kept busy. Between Claire and Danny’s three kids—identical seven-year-old twin boys, Gabe and Olly—and a sweet little three-year-old girl named Abby that has her father—and her uncle, apparently—wrapped tightly around her tiny pinky finger, and Tyler, the only quiet moments in the house have been when the kids go to sleep. I do enjoy seeing my son running around with his cousins. There aren’t many kids in our neighborhood at home and of the ones there are, none of them are his age. At least one of us can have a chance to feel normal...

  Our third evening finds us on the back porch once all the kids are tucked into bed. We’re situated in a triangle of chairs, all of us with a drink in our hands, and Claire and Danny each holding a cigarette. I’ve always liked Danny. He’s an amazing father, practically worships Claire, and balances out her sometimes overbearing personality perfectly. The banter they have going between them is more entertaining than most television shows and is effortless. I know they’re trying to keep things light for my sake and while I would normally be annoyed, they really are helping to keep my mind off things.

  It’s only when Danny makes some sarcastic comment about Matthew and someone named Heather that my mind flips back to the same thing it’s been focusing on for weeks. Claire is glaring hard at him and I realize Danny has said something she never intended for me to hear.

  “Who’s Heather?” I ask, my third cocktail making me braver.

  Claire looks at me apologetically. “An ex of his,” she tells me tentatively.

  “Oh.” I try not to let this bother me too much; it’s not working. “An ex from when?”

  With a sigh, Claire lights up another cigarette and sinks back into her chair. “About a year ago,” she says resignedly.

  There is no way in the world I have the right to be upset at Matthew for moving on and dating. Especially considering whatever relationship I had with Tom.

  Tom. My stomach clenches as I realize I haven’t given him much thought since the night Matthew kicked him out, followed closely by myself and Tyler, and this time, at least saying he kicked me out is accurate. I really should call him...

  When I tune back into reality, I hear Claire and Danny arguing the definition of “relationship” and it occurs to me they’re talking about Matthew and this Heather woman.

  “There’s a difference between relationship and fuck buddy,” Claire insists a little too loudly. She makes no apologies for her volume or crassness. “That’s all Heather was for him.”

  I’m not sure if this is meant to make me feel better or not. “How many others were there?” I hear myself asking before I can stop myself.

  Claire looks at me in surprise as though she’s forgotten I’m sitting here. “A couple,” she says evasively.

  Danny clears his throat and we both look at him. “I, uh, think I might check on the kids,” he invents, making a quick escape.

  Rolling her eyes, Claire turns back to me. “It was much the same arrangement he had with women before meeting you: There’s no real connection between them if they’re not fucking and the second he sensed they were developing feelings, he dropped them like a hot potato.” She hesitates. I know there’s more. “Though there was one girl a couple years back we thought might have potential staying power. Natalie. Sweet girl. She reminded all of us of you, which I think is what drew him to her in the first place.”

  “What happened?” I ask. It’s like a train wreck: you don’t want to keep watching, but you can’t turn away.

  Claire shrugged. “They dated for about six months and split up for reasons unknown. He hasn’t talked about being serious with anybody else since then.” She looks at me shrewdly. “I probably shouldn’t have told you that.”

  I silently agree, though I know it’s my own fault for asking. Honestly the only thing I can think of is the wedding portrait of Matthew and me hanging prominently in the living room of his house. I can’t imagine any woman in a serious relationship with a man would be okay with that man displaying something like that where she had to see it whenever she walked in the front door. I wonder whether she knew about Tyler and me, whether she wanted to take my place as Matthew’s wife. I shudder at the thought. Then Claire asks me the question I’ve been waiting for her to ask. And though I knew it would come up at so point, I still haven’t been able to formulate a response for myself, let alone for her.

  “So when this is over, are you going back to Tom?”

  Letting my head fall back on the chair, I sigh. “I don’t think it’s an option at this point,” I respond sadly. “Not with the way he left. He’s been in denial all this time that I could somehow magically wake up and be madly in love with him and when he realized I won’t and why, I think it’s safe to say I’ve burned all the bridges between us.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Claire tells me quietly. “You can’t help who you love. Hell, look at Danny and me. The man is a fucking genius, but let’s be honest, he’s not every girl’s fantasy in the looks department. Personally, I think he’s sexy as all hell and I couldn’t possibly see myself being with anybody else. Do you have any idea how many of my friends took one look at him when we started dating and told me I could do better? Needless to say, those people and I are no longer friends and I didn’t heed their advice. I was in love with Danny from the beginning. And I know damn well it was the same for you and Matt. If there is such a thing as soul mates, I found mine with Danny, and you found yours with Matt. No one else is going to measure up, not even boy-next-door Tom. I’m not saying you don’t love him, because I know you do, but it doesn’t compare to what you feel for Matt. Am I wrong?”

  I shake my head silently, miserably. “I wanted to be in love with Tom,” I admit softly. “For his sake and for Tyler’s. It would have made everything so easy and I think if I could have fallen in love with him, I could have been so fucking happy.”

  “There’s no point brooding over what-ifs, Sammy. You know that. And yeah, in another life, you and Tom could be incredibly happy together, but it doesn’t matter. You’re in love with my big brother, whether you want to be or not, and you always will be.”

  “I suppose,” I sigh. “I don’t know what Ty and I are going to do once this mess blows over. I know we’re not going back to Omaha and I don’t think I can go back to the farm to face Jimmy’s I-told-you-so glares every other minute. Maybe we’ll move out west, start a new life.”

  Claire smiles. “Sounds like a plan, love,” she says. We clink our nearly empty drink glasses together and sink into a comfortable silence. At some point, we decide to end our evening and wander off to bed feeling delightfully buzzed. I fall into bed and the last thought before I drift off to sleep is how much I miss Matthew.

  -------------o-------------

  On
Friday night, Danny comes home without a cast on the leg he broke several weeks ago and declares it a cause for celebration. Claire and I just roll our eyes at one another as he proceeds to get the children excited about an evening out for pizza and an arcade, but I can’t deny I don’t mind the distraction. Within an hour everyone is showered, dressed, and climbing into Claire’s van, and headed into town. Tyler is bouncing in his seat, which I’m certain is encouraged by his cousins. I’m trying to share in his excitement, but as always my mind is a million miles away. Or rather 1300 miles in Omaha with Tom.

  I called him today to check up on him. He wasn’t fooled by my attempt and we nearly fought over whether or not it was a pity call. In the end, he accepted that’s not what it was, and we were able to talk civilly. I asked him what the hell he’d been thinking in that bar, talking to a stranger about Matt and his business dealings. I’m convinced he hadn’t done it for malicious reasons. Unfortunately, though, he isn’t helping to break the Midwest stereotype of being overly trusting and naïve with strangers. This person struck up a conversation with him, played himself off to be a local, and slowly began needling information from Tom. He admitted that the bartender tried to stop the conversation when he heard the topic, but Tom missed the hints.

  With that out of the way, I finally came clean about what happened with Matthew and me when we broke up. Tom wasn’t pleased that I lied, even if it was a lie of omission, and I certainly couldn’t expect him to react any other way. In typical Midwest fashion, he forgave me my transgression. I thanked him, then told him where Tyler and I are currently staying. He asked where we would go once the threat has been lessened. I told him I didn’t know and waited for him to offer to let us come back to Omaha. He didn’t. I’m not surprised, but I am sad and it’s only now that I’m realizing Tom and I really are done.

  We talked a little more about mundane things. Tom is having my and Tyler’s belongings sent to my brother’s house. We promised to keep in touch, though I know damn well things are now far too awkward between us for either of us to keep our promise. We hung up and I thought I would feel better once I had that conversation with him. I didn’t. If anything, I felt worse. Which is the least of what I deserve after hurting him...

  But tonight I’m going to enjoy myself for my son’s sake. Tyler has noticed my mood and it’s affecting his. He’s spent more and more time at my side rather than outside playing like he should be, refusing to let me out of his sight for more than five minutes. He shouldn’t have to worry about me. He’s only six, for crying out loud! But just like his father, he knows when I’m upset and does everything in his power to fix it.

  We arrive at the arcade and the kids impatiently demand that we adults hurry up, which only amuses us and forces us to slow our pace even further. Almost immediately, the kids grab tokens from Danny’s hands and run off to start playing the different games. We choose a table where we can keep an eye on them and settle in for a long evening of kid’s music, pizza that tastes like cardboard, and flat soft drinks. It’s only a matter of minutes before Claire is wishing she’d thought to sneak in some liquor. I can’t help but wish the same thing.

  Tyler is having the time of his life and I couldn’t be more thrilled about it. He’s acting the way a little boy should: disregarding his mother’s feelings in order to have fun.

  “You know, we’re here to enjoy ourselves,” a voice hisses in my ear. “Why don’t you go whack a mole; get some of that bitterness and self-pity out of your system.”

  I roll my eyes and turn towards Claire. “Animal abuse isn’t my thing,” I tell her dryly. “Plastic or otherwise.”

  She snorts a laugh, then narrows her eyes at me speculatively. “Still worried about Tom?”

  Giving her a half-shrug, I focus my gaze on Tyler trying to throw a little basketball into a hoop. “Not as much as I probably should,” I admit. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Matt.”

  “Of course you have,” she says with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to call him; it goes straight to voicemail every time. Even called Leo and he keeps saying Matt has been busy with work stuff—I know damn well he’s lying to cover for Matt, but I can’t get any other response out of him.”

  I nod pensively, sipping my flat Diet Coke through a straw. “I’m sure he really is busy.”

  “Maybe,” Claire says skeptically. “But I can’t remember the last time he was too busy to take my call. Guess he knows I’m going to ream him for sending you and Ty out here the way he did. Don’t get me wrong; I’m beyond happy the two of you are here and you’re welcome to stay with me for as long as you need, but he’s got shit ways of doing things.”

  I silently agree, despite understanding Matthew’s reasoning for doing what he did and how he did it. He never handled being emotionally hurt very well, preferring to hide behind his playful, frat boy side. It was one of the very first problems we dealt with after becoming a couple. He’d rather bottle up everything than burden someone else with his troubles.

  After the kids have their fill of pizza and trade in all the tickets they won from the games, we decide to call it a night. Halfway back to the house, all four of them are fast asleep, each one cuddling whichever toy they chose—Gabe got a yo-yo; Olly a toy gun that makes obnoxious noises when the trigger is pulled that Claire is already plotting to hide; Abby got a teddy bear; and Tyler got the crème de la crème of prizes: a Batman watch. I don’t think any child has been so happy to get a watch when they can still barely tell time, and his excitement was contagious until he told me he wanted to show it to Matthew. Claire looked at me in concern; I shook my head, forced a smile on my face, and changed the subject.

  We pull into the driveway and start grabbing children out of the backseat. Danny takes a twin in each arm while Claire and I grab Abby and Ty. There’s a bit of fumbling for house keys when we reach the door that has Claire and me giggling quietly as we enter. It only takes us a few steps inside to realize something isn’t right. There’s a breeze coming from the kitchen that shouldn’t be there—Claire is anal about making sure all doors and windows are closed and locked before leaving for any amount of time that I’m sure she gained from her brother’s urging and nagging.

  Danny somehow manages to set the twins on the floor without them waking—they curl up with each other and continue on as they were—motions for Claire and me to stay put while he looks around. For several very long, tense minutes we stand in silence, our minds whirling. Was there a break-in? If so, why? My mind immediately answers the question: Because of Matthew.

  We hear Danny begin talking and a moment later he’s returning to us, and we deduce that he’s called the police because there has indeed been a break-in. I’m taking a wild guess that Danny doesn’t believe there’s anyone still in the house, since he’s not urging us back out the house.

  The next few hours are a blur. We set the children in a makeshift nest of blankets and pillows in Danny’s downstairs office, after checking it thoroughly, and once the police arrive, set off through the house to check whether anything is amiss. It is quickly determined the intruder came in through the backdoor in the kitchen and seemed to have used a crowbar to pry it open. Nothing seems out of place that we can find—all of Claire’s jewelry is left untouched, the television and computers are where they should be. The only room in which anything was disturbed is mine. My clothes are strewn across the room as though someone had been digging through them. Books were tossed haphazardly on the floor. Even my photo album wasn’t immune to searching.

  “Holy shit,” Claire breathes when she joins me at the open bedroom door.

  “Yeah,” I mutter weakly, feeling sick to my stomach all of a sudden.

  Given the fact that my room seemed the target for the intruder, the police aim their questions to me. We manage to deflect the one about whether there would be any reason for somebody to do this, knowing Matthew would have all our asses on a platter if we told anybody about his job or the things that go along with it. Even the police. While I was
being questioned, with Danny at my side as my legal counsel—not that the police were aware of this—I know Claire was on the phone trying to reach Matthew. Hours later, the kids are tucked in bed, and Claire, Danny, and I are in the kitchen staring at one another in disbelief.

  “Did you talk to him?” I ask Claire quietly.

  “No.” She doesn’t even ask who I’m referring to. “But I got a hold of one of his security guys—not Leo, but they’ll get the message soon. I swear, I’m going to kill Matt for this.”

  Danny runs his hands across his face tiredly. “Sweetie, this isn’t his fault,” he says wearily. “It’s not like he sent people to break into our home.”

  “He brought this to our doorstep, Danny!” Claire responds heatedly. “It doesn’t matter what he does; he always manages to involve innocent people whenever there’s trouble.” Knowing Claire as I do, she’s not one to get scared very often, and when she does, she prefers to hide her fear behind something a little easier to handle, usually anger. “What if we’d been here?” And now we’ve reached the issue that’s really bothering her.

  “We weren’t,” Danny says firmly, taking her hand in his. “Don’t concern yourself with what-ifs. It’ll drive you crazy.” He looks between Claire and me. “Look, the police are going to keep a lookout all night for us. Let’s just get some sleep and this will all seem better in the morning.”

  Neither of us really agrees with his statement, but we’re also not going to argue. It’s been a horribly long evening and even though I doubt I’ll be sleeping much tonight, the thought of lying in bed surrounded by darkness will give me time to collect my thoughts. As quickly as I can, without thinking much about why I’m doing it, I clean up the mess left behind by the intruders. I don’t know why they felt it necessary to go through my things and nobody else’s. I’m no master criminal, but even I know if they’d made it look as though the rest of the house had been gone through we might have some uncertainty as to who might have been behind it.