Depth of Lies

by E. C. Diskin

  “What happened here?” she finally said, sniffling, tears streaming down her cheeks. She looked around the room, at the sheets now balled up in the corner. “Are you sleeping with Dee? Was she here?”

  Ryan looked up. She glanced away. She wasn’t sure she could watch him admit it. “No. Of course not,” he said.

  “She texted you on Friday. And she’s been ignoring me, and you’ve been losing weight and ignoring me. Charlie said she was fine with whatever he wanted with me . . . Something was going on. I walk in here and you’re naked. Was someone here? In our bed?” She could hardly say the words.

  Ryan stood, walked to the window and surveyed the room. His eyes were fixed on the mattress, like he was trying to process everything. “So, you’re not having an affair?” he asked again, the expression on his face lifting, like a glimmer of hope was emerging. He looked at her. “What about all that lingerie that came yesterday? I opened that box and it felt like you were throwing it in my face.”

  Shea wiped the tears that kept coming. “That was for you, you shithead,” she said, chuckling at the absurdity. “Your birthday is next week. Remember? I was trying to add a little spice without bringing in other people, for Christ’s sake!”

  “Jesus,” Ryan said. “I am an idiot.” He looked back out the window. “I can see Charlie’s house from here.” He turned to Shea. “Well, that friendship is over.” His tone had lightened like they’d worked it all out, like their fictional infidelity was the only issue one the table.

  “What’s with the sudden weight loss?” Shea asked. “Is this a midlife crisis? Are you freaking out about getting old or something?”

  “No.” Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. “I was trying to be better. For you. God, I feel stupid. I knew that I screwed up at that dinner. I should have been the one to stop it. And I thought the best thing to do after a night like that was to never mention it again. My dad always said, ‘Act as if. Fake it till you make it.’ I figured I’d act as if everything was fine, and, eventually, like every other wrinkle, it would smooth out. I’m pretty good at avoiding, as you know. And I thought maybe if I dropped a few, you’d see me for the hot man I am.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “No argument,” he said.

  “So, no one in this house is sleeping around?” Shea begged for confirmation.

  Ryan shook his head and then put his hands to his face, squeezing his eyes shut. “I got so drunk yesterday.”

  It wasn’t an answer. Shea looked at the bare mattress. “What are you saying? Ryan? What happened?”

  He didn’t stop shaking his head, but he removed his hands and looked at her. “Nothing,” he said. “I got overwhelmed. I got drunk. I punched a wall, and you found me in all my glory.”

  Shea exhaled. Ryan did, too.

  “We can’t keep living like this,” Shea said. “I’m not your child. You’re supposed to talk to me. You’re living in denial, racking up debt. What is wrong with you?”

  “I know,” he said, sitting on the bed. “Here’s the thing.”

  She couldn’t move, terrified of whatever he was holding back.

  “I hate being an accountant.”

  She grinned and took a breath. “Okay, but that doesn’t really explain any of this.”

  “I kind of panicked when I lost my job last summer. Leigh was about to go off to college. You were planning this big party and feeling so emotional about our baby leaving. It wasn’t the time to talk about it. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  “So, you just pretended it didn’t happen.”

  “Sounds stupid when you say it,” he joked. “I always kept six months of cash available for emergencies—at least until the crash a few years ago, and then it got tighter. But I was ready for a least a few months of crisis. But then, with the kids’ tuition due, we had to replace those pipes in the basement, the car broke down . . . Anyway, it got tight. I figured I’d find something else quickly and then share the news. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to find something. I didn’t realize that after turning fifty, I’d be competing against kids.”

  “But it seems like you stopped looking. And you kept spending money, insisting that everything was fine.”

  “There is something I haven’t told you.”

  Shea held her breath again.

  “You know I’ve been visiting my dad a lot.”

  “Yes, or so I hoped, anyway. For a while there, I began to worry that you were with someone else, just pretending to see him. I mean, in all these years, you’ve never been close. And suddenly he’s sick and you’re at his side constantly.”

  “Yeah, I know. It’s never been an easy relationship. But I guess impending death softens a guy.”

  “Well, I’m glad, but how does any of this relate to our life?”

  “My dad and I talked. Really talked. I told him about losing my job, and I admitted how much I disliked it, and how hard it was to find something new. How I felt like I was failing. Funny how much easier it is to talk to him when he can’t move. You know what he said?”

  “What?”

  “He said, ‘So don’t do it.’”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said he’d done the same thing. Worked a job for thirty years, surviving two heart attacks, popping antacids for decades from stress and years of traveling to meet impossible quotas, feeling like Willy Loman. He said, ‘Life is too short.’”

  “Okay, well, I guess to a certain extent your dad is right, but what you’ve been doing isn’t about finding a new direction.”

  “I’m afraid of what you’ll think of me. That’s why I didn’t say anything.”

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “When I was with him just before Thanksgiving, the doctors told me that I should probably say good-bye, just in case. He’d become very weak. I said I’d be back again after Christmas and asked that they call if something looked imminent, and I’d jump in the car to be there at the end. I think he sensed that the end was near, too. That’s when he told me that I wouldn’t have to worry, that when my mom died, he’d been her sole benefactor, but now that he was dying, everything would go to me. Her parents left her a lot of money.”

  “So . . . ?”

  “Jesus, please don’t think I’m the worst person on the planet.”

  “What, Ryan? What did you do?”

  “My dad said I’d soon have enough to take care of our family and try something new. I knew it would take months to land a new job, and I assumed the inheritance would come in by then. So, I got the equity loan to help cover us until . . .”

  Shea sat back and looked away.

  “I know it sounds awful. That’s why I didn’t tell you. I wanted to take care of you like I always have. It’s my job.”

  “You made it your job, not me. Do you know how insulting it is that you hide stuff from me, that you handle everything and keep me in the dark? How is that supposed to make me feel like a partner?”

  Ryan didn’t say anything.

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? All these conversations with your father. Why haven’t I heard about any of this? That’s not a marriage.”

  He didn’t answer.

  “So, you’ve just been waiting for your father to die?”

  Ryan wiped his eyes. “I thought it was the end,” his voice pleading. “I thought we’d made peace, and he’d given me words of advice, and suddenly the gift of starting something new. But he’s still hanging on, and I find myself waiting for him to die. And when I called at Christmas, the nurse told me that he’d taken a turn for the worse. Part of me was sad, but part was just relieved to think that we’d be okay.”

  “Jesus, so you went off and bought those outrageous Christmas gifts.”

  “I know, it seems disgusting. I’m not a monster. I don’t want him to die. I just wanted . . .”

  “What?”

  Ryan broke down. He covered his face, trying to hide. She didn’t move.

  “I couldn’t te
ll you. I’d made such a mess of things. How could I tell you that?”

  “I don’t understand. Is everything gone? What about our retirement savings, the kids’ college funds?”

  “The college funds were short, so I dipped into retirement to pay for tuition back when I assumed I’d be working my old job for another ten years. I’ve just been living in denial.”

  “You should have told me.”

  “I know.”

  “I feel like I don’t even know who you are right now.”

  He came over to the chair and knelt on the floor in front of her.

  “I’m a terrible communicator.”

  Somehow, that made her laugh. “That’s an understatement.”

  “But, Shea, I swear to God. I love you. I’ve made a lot of mistakes, but I did what I did because I was afraid of letting you down or losing you.”

  They were more alike than she admitted. “I could have helped. And we’re not going to go on pretending life is fine, waiting for your dad to die.”

  Ryan stood up and extended his hand. She took it, and he quickly pulled her to standing, dropped into the seat, and pulled her down on his lap. “Please, don’t leave me. I don’t want to lose you.” His eyes welled with tears.

  “You are such an idiot,” she said.

  He pulled her tight. They both held on. It felt good, despite everything. It felt like home. Wasn’t that all it was supposed to be? Having someone to hold, someone who held on tight, someone to ride through the peaks and valleys together?

  “I’m sorry,” Ryan whispered.

  Shea pulled back from the embrace. “I’m not ready to give up on our life together. No more secrets and lies, okay?”

  He looked away from her eyes. There was more.

  “What?”

  “I found your new Vicodin prescription this weekend, too.”

  Shea dropped her head onto his shoulder, melting into him. Now she was the one who couldn’t face his eyes. “We are a mess, aren’t we?”

  “It appears that way.”

  “I haven’t been sleeping. My back was hurting.” That wasn’t it. “I was escaping.”

  “Can you stop?”

  “That depends. Are we going to be okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then, yes, I can.”

  They sat in that chair, in silence, surrounded by the mess. Shea finally sat up and looked around the room. “We’re going to sell this house.”

  Ryan shook his head. “You love this house. I always thought our kids would come back here with their kids and we’d always be here.”

  “It’s just a house, Ryan. It’s a beautiful house that has served us well. But the kids are grown. We don’t need all this space. We’re lucky we’ve been here twenty years and we can make this move. I’m not some frail little woman. I can handle things. I can handle change and stress and difficult situations if you’d just quit trying to protect me like your child.”

  Ryan looked around.

  Shea followed his gaze. “There are some things we need to do to get it ready first, like maybe you should patch that wall in the dining room.”

  He smiled, and she did, too.

  “But we’re going to sell the house, pay off these credit cards and this equity loan, and get the hell out of here. The best time to sell a house is spring. Fresh start, smaller house. Things aren’t good, Ryan, but it’s not the end of the world. We have our health, we have this big, beautiful, valuable home. And your dad is right. You don’t need to continue doing something you hate. But you must do something. We can’t sit around waiting for some magic bag of money to appear.”

  Suddenly, it seemed like a great idea to Shea, too. A fresh start. They’d start a whole new chapter.

  “Maybe we could even start a little business. Think about it—we’re only fifty-two. Well, I am. You’re an old man now at fifty-five.” She smiled. “We may have another fifty years to go, if we’re lucky. Let’s do something new. Let’s be like Kat and Mack and get the hell out of here. It’s time for reinvention. You and me.”

  Ryan took Shea’s hand in his as the tears streamed down his face. “I always knew you were too good for me.”

  “Me, too,” she said, leaning in to put her head on his shoulder.

  CHAPTER 21

  April 13

  KAT AND TORI RETURNED TO Maple Park after lunch in the city. Kat could handle the remaining work crises from Lina’s dining table. Fortunately, Lina said she was enjoying Kat’s company, and Kat was happy to be there. The time for getting answers was slipping away quickly. She was supposed to leave tomorrow afternoon after her last meeting.

  As Tori turned off the expressway, Kat stared at the familiar Maple Park landmarks, the same ones she’d noticed just five days earlier. The historic homes she’d always admired, the ice cream shop she’d biked to with her son, the pool where he’d learned to swim, the parks, trees, shops. Everything had been softened by distance, perfected in memory. But, today, she noticed peeling paint on some of those beloved homes, lease signs in the windows of stores she’d loved, and patches of park grass that had been muddied to destruction from spring showers.

  You can never go home again, she thought, remembering the first time her mother had said that to her. Kat had finished college and was back in her childhood home, feeling rootless, depressed that everything had changed since she’d moved away.

  A part of her had wondered if she had made a mistake leaving Maple Park, if perhaps they should return. If she had to travel so much, perhaps it had been unfair to uproot Mack.

  But coming back no longer felt viable. Every town had its charms and its issues, just as everyone in them did. She was beginning to look forward to getting on that plane. She and Mack just needed more time to adjust. He was one of the good ones. He was home. All the problems they faced now seemed trivial.

  Later that afternoon, she walked the six blocks back to Ryan’s house, quietly talking to herself along the way, practicing what could be said, what would be least damaging. Everything she wanted to ask was out of line. Ryan’s marriage was none of her business. But Charlie, and Dee’s stories, hovered in her mind. Shea had opened her bedroom door at the inn. She’d had drinks at the bar with a man, and a man had walked her inside Humphrey House. Someone else had been with her when she died. Kat knew it.

  When she got to the front walk, Ryan was at the door in his sweatpants and a T-shirt, picking up delivery boxes off the front porch. “Hey, Kit Kat!” He stopped as she came up the walkway. “I was hoping I’d get to see you before you left town. Come in.”

  “Thanks. Here, let me help,” she said, grabbing the remaining box from the stoop. “What’s all this?”

  “Not sure,” Ryan said. “I’m not sleeping all that well, and I find myself scrolling the Internet in the middle of the night. I guess I’m trying to avoid the fridge.”

  It was impossible not to wonder, seeing all the boxes, if there were still financial issues going on here as well. Kat looked around the room and for the first time realized that there were a couple of new pieces of furniture and a new, larger television in the living room. Had Ryan gotten a new job? And if so, why was he home at four o’clock in the afternoon? She knew it was wrong to ask, wrong to even wonder, and she stood in the front hall feeling more and more like an intruder.

  “Come on, come sit in the living room. Want a drink?” he asked, walking toward the dry bar in the corner of the room.

  Kat sat in a chair and looked at the table, covered in dirty dishes. The afternoon light streamed through the window, highlighting a thin layer of dust on the glass surface. “Oh, thanks, but I’ve still got some work to do when I get back to Lina’s.”

  Ryan stepped over the throw pillows strewn across the floor and collapsed onto the sofa, lifting his glass to avoid spilling what appeared to be a scotch on the rocks. “I get it.” He chuckled. “Well, that’s not true, is it?” he muttered to himself.

  He seemed a little buzzed. Was that a reference to being unemployed?<
br />
  Kat didn’t know what to say. Should she offer condolences for his job loss—that she only knew about because of gossip? Should she ask if he was all right, when he obviously wasn’t? No one would be okay two weeks after a spouse died.

  Ryan’s head was now resting against the top of the sofa, his eyes closed, a full glass in his hand. He took a deep breath.

  Kat took one, too. “Ryan, it seems stupid to ask if you’re okay. Can I do anything? I’m sure this is so difficult. I wish I could make it better.”

  “I’m gonna move,” he said suddenly, lifting his head and opening his eyes.

  “Really?”

  He took a big sip from his glass. “Yeah, there’s nothing left for me here.”

  It was the perfect opening. “What about work? What about your friends?”

  “My job is over. You know I always hated being an accountant?”

  “Really? Okay, well, then I guess it’s a good idea not to do it, right?” She trod carefully, wondering if she could handle what he might say next.

  “That’s right,” he said, smacking his hand against the coffee table. He took another swig and finished the drink. “And good riddance.”

  Good riddance. What an odd phrase. Dee had used it, too, in her dark and drunken attempt at humor, joking that Shea’s death had been a good thing.

  At least Dee had moved on to some healthier perspective about her own collapsing marriage. After all, marriages were destroyed from within.

  “We had a plan,” Ryan continued. “We were going to get out of here. A fresh start.”

  “You and Shea? You were going to leave Maple Park?”

  “That’s right. And now she’s gone. I shouldn’t stay here,” he slurred.

  Kat sat forward. “This must be so difficult, Ryan. I totally understand wanting to run, but you are surrounded by friends who love you.”

  “Well, that’s bullshit, isn’t it? I have no friends. Zero. I’m telling you, Kit Kat, you were a smart cookie, getting out of here.” He put his glass down and resumed resting his head against the top of the sofa.