Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  “I know,” I tell her quietly, neither of us moving our heads. “Tyler is my number one concern right now. Before myself. Before Matt.”

  “Good,” she says simply, putting an arm around my shoulders in a half-hug. “Now we’re going to ignore for a moment that my brother was involved at all—how was last night?”

  I half-laugh, half-groan at the teasing suggestiveness in her voice. “I am not doing this with you,” I tell her, trying to push her away. “I love you dearly, Claire, but no.”

  “Aw, come on!” she pleads. “Don’t be such a prude!”

  I’ll show her prude... As I stand and head towards the backyard, I flip her off and hear her surprised laughter following me all the way.

  -------------o-------------

  It’s late when Matthew calls to tell me he’s landed in Italy. He sounds exhausted, but assures me the flight went well, everything seems set for him to start heading home in a few days, and reminds me to start thinking about where Ty and I might like to go when he gets back. Before we hang up, he hesitantly asks me whether I’ve looked in his jacket pocket yet. I haven’t. To be honest, I completely forgot about it—between Claire trying to get details from last night and making me blush every shade of red the human body can produce, and my son running around with his cousins like a little lunatic, I haven’t had much time for anything else.

  Matthew seems relieved that I haven’t looked in his jacket and tells me to remove the wrapped box and put it somewhere safe for when he comes home. Of course, this only entices my curiosity and I try to needle an explanation from him, but in typical Matthew-style he evades all my tactics, which, to both of our surprise, seems to include an offer of phone sex.

  The groan he emits the moment my words register in his mind are enough to have me squirming around the bed, but he declines the offer, citing exhaustion. He demands a rain check, though, before he comes home and I bite my lip against the grin at the huskiness in his voice. I know what caused that and I’m pretty damn proud to have been the contributing party. We say goodnight, linger on the line together longer than necessary, neither of us wanting to be the one to end the call. Finally when he yawns, we hang up. I set my phone on the end table and slide off the bed, crossing the room to the black leather jacket hanging over the desk chair. It’s the exact one he’s had all the time I’ve known him. He refuses to get rid of it, despite having enough money to buy an entire houseful of them. It’s faded, creased, worn, and the left-hand pocket has been torn and re-sewn at least three times that I know of, since I was the one to do it. And it smells of him. I think I’ll be wearing this until he returns, warm weather or not.

  I feel around until I locate a bulge in the inside pocket and pull out a long, thin rectangular box wrapped in light blue reflective paper. Looking at it, I wonder how long he’s had this, as it seems to have been handled often. There are parts of the paper that look to have been rubbed so much that the shine has dulled. My fingers itch to rip apart the paper, but I resist, recalling my promise to Matthew not to open it until his return. With a sigh, I put the box inside a dresser drawer behind my socks so I’m not too tempted, and return to bed.

  -------------o-------------

  Eight years ago...

  A week has gone by since Matthew Young showed up at Chet’s for the second time in six days. this time asking me to have coffee with him. Instinct had told me to keep walking away from him and to not look back. Something else told me to turn around and take a chance for a change. During the drive to the coffee shop, I repeatedly asked myself what the hell I was thinking and considered more than once taking a few wrong turns, losing him, and going home. The problem with that was despite not knowing him in the slightest apart from a very brief conversation in the diner parking lot, during which I essentially called him a stalker and threatened him with pepper spray, I got the impression he wouldn’t leave it at that. He knew where I worked. He charmed half my town. I have no doubt that it would take minimal effort for him to wheedle out where I live from one of them.

  But when it came down to it, I wanted to have coffee with him. I wanted to know him. I wanted him to know me. And most of all, I wanted to know what it was about me that he seemed to find so interesting. The former three I think I managed; the latter I’m still working on. Much to my surprise, I actually enjoyed myself. Matthew was sweet, funny, kind. And, though I’m no expert, he’s one hell of a kisser.

  Upon going home that night, far past my normal arrival, I’d fallen in bed and spent what was left of the night dreaming about him, his smile, his words, his laugh, his touch, and his lips. My punishment for staying out late had been a morning of dragging myself through my chores. Daddy had noticed I’d stayed out late and asked me about it. For the first time in my life, I’d lied to him. I told him I’d gone out with Jessie Miller, which he had known was a lie, since Jessie had been in Des Moines since Tuesday visiting her sick aunt. To my surprise, he hadn’t called me out on the lie.

  It wasn’t until the phone calls began that my family started realizing what had changed me from the robot I’d become after Mom’s death to something approaching normal and happy. Matthew had called me two nights after our coffee date. He’d wrapped up his business in Des Moines and had returned home. I think we were both a little surprised to be having a phone conversation—me because once I’d come down from the high I’d been on after our date, I went back to wondering what he could possibly see in me; and him because... well, being him meant he never had the desire to keep any sort of relationship. Not that I’d known this at the time, but as I got to know him I realized he was just as inexperienced with real relationships as I was. That was comforting.

  We talked often and I found myself sharing things with him that I hadn’t shared with anybody else in my life, even Tom. I told him about my mom, her illness, watching her health decline, how poorly I handled her death. He’s an incredible listener and unlike a lot of the guys I’d grown up with, he actually seemed interested in the things I had to say. And the fact that he was interested allowed me to open up further, telling him I’d had offers to several colleges during my senior year at high school to study English and after Mom’s death, none of it seemed important anymore. This wasn’t news to most of my family, but how I’d started resenting my decision to remain at home rather than attend school several states away wasn’t something I’d ever shared with anyone but him.

  Somehow without it seeming like he was bragging, he told me about his time at Stanford and all the experiences he’d had moving around with his family when he was younger. He told me how he’d started his business after selling some sort of prototype to the college. Within a year, his company had skyrocketed, exceeding everyone’s expectations, especially his. Despite his wealth, he seems strangely grounded and I can’t help but envy him while I’m sitting in the tiny bedroom I’ve shared with my little sister Lily for the last sixteen years and when my brother and I are going through the household finances to figure out which bills we can put off paying for another week or so without getting our electricity cut off.

  Today when I woke up, I had butterflies in my stomach. They’re still there, but I’ve managed to distract myself from the cause by making sure the house is perfect. My time has been split between making a large ham dinner and rushing to the front window because I keep thinking I hear an approaching car engine. My brother Jimmy has been forced into his only button-down shirt with a collar and is currently sitting at the kitchen table teasing me for being so nervous. Daddy and Lily are finishing up the last minute chores of feeding the animals.

  I’m nervous because three nights ago when Matthew called he asked me if it would be okay for him to visit. He would be flying to Arizona for business, but wanted a stop over here to see me and meet my family. I’d responded with a very squeaky yes, I would love for you to visit and since then, my anticipation has been building. Knowing how he lives, I want to impress him with what little I have. He’s a city boy; I’m a farm girl. If this isn’t an
opposites attract situation, I don’t know what is. No matter how hard I try, I cannot see him fitting in around here.

  Throughout my nineteen years in this house, I’ve never been self-conscious about it or my family. Everyone we know and socialize with has exactly what we have and nobody around here can afford to judge anyone else for not having something. Matthew is used to the high life. Staying in fancy hotels. Eating gourmet meals. Doing whatever he wishes. Our living room couch is older than I am. The television only clearly shows five channels, less when the weather is bad. The floorboards are creaky. The décor severely outdated. Our dinner dishes are mismatched and chipped. What can we possibly offer someone like Matthew Young?

  I freeze in the process of wiping down the faded linoleum counter when I hear a creaking floorboard on the front porch. Glancing over at Jimmy, he’s got his head cocked, a grin on his face, and his eyes sparkling. I glare at him, throwing the dirty sponge at him, as I rush towards the front door, smoothing down my shirt wrinkles and hair right before there is a knock on the door.

  “Oh God,” I practically whimper, panicking.

  Hearing footsteps behind me, I see my siblings and father watching me expectantly and I’m desperate to abort this entire thing. What the hell was I thinking inviting him here? I don’t even know him!

  When I continue to just stand there, staring at the door with a deer-in-headlights expression, Jimmy sighs impatiently. “For the love of God, Sammy, just open the damn door already,” he snaps at me, earning a glare from our father.

  “It’s all right,” my father says quietly, kindly. “Breathe, Sammy.”

  Taking his advice, I bite my lip and turn to open the door.

  10

  Three days have gone by since Matthew left. In that time, I’ve allowed myself to actually relax for the first time in weeks. There seems to be a peace surrounding me that I haven’t had in years and I’m not eager to see it leave. Of course I know the moment I let my guard down will be the moment when everything falls apart. I’ve got Claire in my ear telling me to live one day at a time, not to over think things, and to do what my heart tells me to do. And what my heart is telling me to do is the same thing Matthew is hinting at whenever we speak: what he wants most is me and Tyler. He wants to start over as a family and to do everything the right way this time. I’m not entirely sure how much control he has in all this, since the situation that led to us breaking up in the first place was completely out of his control, but I’m willing to trust that he has some sort of plan in mind.

  Meanwhile, I’m sitting on the back porch of Claire and Danny’s house overlooking the yard where my son continues to live his life to the fullest. I don’t remember ever seeing him this happy. He and his cousins are playing some game that seems to be a cross between tag and hopscotch, and no matter how hard we try, neither Claire nor I can figure out the rules.

  “Whatever keeps them occupied,” Claire tells me, sipping from a glass of soda. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll wear themselves out by dinnertime.”

  I only smile. We’ve both said the same thing over the last several days, hoping the kids would decide to go down easily at bedtime and it’s yet to happen. I’m not holding my breath. We’ve dealt with skinned knees, hair pulling, toy stealing, and synchronized tantrums. And that was just today before lunch. I have no delusions about children going to bed when they’re told.

  “Hi, Mom.” Tyler rushes up to me, flying onto my chest and knocking the wind out of me.

  “Baby, we’ve talked about this,” I tell him, wincing as I rearrange his bony elbows and knees away from my internal organs. “You can’t jump on me like that.”

  Tyler only shrugs as Claire hands him his bottle of water. He lifts the bottle to his lips to drink and my brow furrows at the sight of his wrist. “Sweetie, I really think it’s time to get rid of this watch,” I tell him. The Batman watch he got with his prize tickets a few nights ago is no longer functioning and I suspect cheap manufacturing and a dead battery.

  But as I reach for the watch to remove it from his wrist, Tyler yanks it away from me. “No, it’s mine!” he practically yells, his little face looking angry.

  I blink at him and glance over at Claire’s raised eyebrows. My son has never reacted to anything like this before and I’m wondering whether he’s been sneaking a few too many chocolate chip cookies and is suffering from a sugar crash. “Ty, it doesn’t even work anymore,” I tell him coaxingly. “I’ll get you a new one.”

  “No!” he shouts and I think he might actually cry over a broken toy watch. “It’s mine. And Matt told me he’d fix it when he got back.”

  And now we’ve reached the real issue. This must have been what the two of them were discussing so seriously the other morning at breakfast before Matthew’s departure—the repair of Tyler’s watch. Claire is fighting against a laugh as she comes to the same conclusion. I bite back a smile and turn to Tyler. “Okay,” I tell him. “If Matt said he’d fix it, he’ll fix it. I’m sorry. But please keep in mind that the next time you shout at me the way you just did, you will be losing one of your toys. Understood?”

  Duly chastised, my normally sweet little boy nods at me. “Sorry, Mommy,” he mutters, giving me a hug and kiss before running back to play.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask in disbelief, looking over at Claire.

  She laughs. “You have to admit, it’s kind of cute he’s so protective of that cheap little thing just because Matt said he’d fix it later.”

  I nod, smiling. It’s incredibly cute how attached Tyler has gotten to Matthew in such a short time. It’s as though he inherently knows exactly how deeply the bond with Matthew goes, even if I haven’t yet told him who his father is. I’ve been fighting myself over the decision of when to tell him and I think I’m leaning towards waiting until Matthew gets home so he can be with us. He’s only mentioned it once during our phone conversations and I could hear the anticipation in his voice as he tentatively asked whether i would be telling Tyler the truth. For me, it’s not a matter of if anymore. The longer I keep this from Tyler, the guiltier I feel and the more I fear he might resent me for not connecting all the dots for him sooner.

  “Whatever you’re thinking about, you’re ruining my buzz with all the tension radiating from you right now,” Claire tells me.

  I raise an eyebrow. “What buzz? You’re drinking Diet Coke,” I remind her.

  “Says you,” she shoots back. “What the hell are you stressing out about now?”

  “How I’m going to tell Tyler Matthew is his father,” I say with a sigh.

  She snorts a laugh. “Sweetie, where the hell have you been? Tyler knows Matt is his father. He told me the other night.” My mouth drops open in shock. “He kept prattling on about his dad was going to teach him all sorts of things and take him to every corner of the earth. I don’t really remember all the details; he was talking too fast. I asked him if he was talking about Tom and he told me very firmly that no, he was talking about Matt. I think you’re the only one around here who’s in denial about this entire thing. And if you’re worried about whether your son is going to hate you because you didn’t tell him before, don’t. That boy adores you, Sam. He actually told me you’re happy and that he hasn’t seen you happy in a very long time.”

  “He said that?” I whisper.

  Claire nods. “I agree with him on that point. And he might only be six, but that kid is smarter than any of us give him credit for. He gets to from both sides, so I pity you when he actually figures out how to use that intelligence.” We’re both quiet for several minutes until Claire looks at me again. “You and I are going shopping in the morning. And I don’t want to hear your whining about how much you hate shopping. These instructions have come down from the highest authority. Matt,” she adds at my questioning look. “Told me to take you out and spoil you. Even gave me his Amex.”

  Shaking my head, I’m smiling again as I sip my drink. “Was this before or after you tore him a new one about the bre
ak-in?” I ask wryly.

  “After,” she says, gloating. “But he was pretty insistent that I get you out away from the kids for a day. Told me to schedule massages and pedicures or whatever it is girls do on days out. His words. Besides, we could shop for three days and barely put a dent in that man’s bank account.”

  That’s been true for as long as I’ve known Matthew. He always had more money than sense, and there had never been any hesitancy on his part to spend that money on whoever would take it. Not that he ever had any shortage of willing takers who wanted donations or contributions to some random cause. There was also no shortage of people with hard-luck stories hoping for a handout. Then there were the women who blatantly threw themselves at him for no other reason than his looks and level of wealth. Some had even done so right in front of me while we were married. Whenever this happened, Matthew handled in a polite way while leaving no room for the woman to believe they had a chance if I turned my back. And I did have my fears that might happen. The number of women lining up to wait for the moment I was out of the way was disgusting.

  Of course there were people who thought I was with Matthew for those same reasons, that I was a gold digger looking to spend the money just as quickly as he earned it. For the most part, these people faded away a few months after we were married. But there were still those who didn’t trust my intentions and some of them had more influence on Matthew than the rest. Like his father. And his other two sisters. They never trusted me, no matter how much time I spent with them. Oh, they were nice enough to my face, but the moment I left the room, the whispers began. More than once I heard Matthew fighting with his father about me. Matthew telling him I wasn’t that kind of girl; his father telling Matthew he didn’t know me well enough to make that assumption and not signing a prenuptial agreement would be the end of everything Matthew had worked so hard for over the years should our marriage fail.