Depth of Lies

by E. C. Diskin

  Shea turned.

  “Hello, beautiful,” he said.

  “Hi,” she responded, turning away from his gaze.

  “May I?” he asked, nodding toward the open seat between them.

  She looked around the room at the bar, only a quarter filled with patrons. There were plenty of other empty seats to be had.

  “Actually, I’m meeting a friend,” she said.

  The man nodded but didn’t move. “Maybe I’ll just save her seat?”

  Shea didn’t want to be unkind, and there were open seats on both sides of her. “Sure.”

  “I’m Ted,” he said, extending his hand.

  Shea shook his hand and introduced herself.

  “That’s an interesting name,” he said.

  “Yeah, my dad was a big Mets fan. Shea Stadium. It opened just a few weeks before I was born.”

  “Well, if you wouldn’t be too annoyed, I’ve had a pretty crappy day. I saw you sitting here, and I thought maybe a friendly chat with a beautiful woman would turn my day around.”

  “Thanks,” she said, taking in the kind words, offering a reluctant smile. “But I’m probably not great company, either. Sounds like we’ve had the same kind of day.”

  “Well, maybe we can cheer each other up.”

  The man was ridiculously attractive. If Evelyn would just get in here, she thought, maybe this could be a good match. That would make Shea feel a little better about this whole fiasco. She’d dragged her all the way out here, only to find out Georgia had been right to worry. She was stupid to come and to drag along Ev, who, as far as she knew, had spent most of her time since arriving sick. She looked over at the door again. Where was she? Even if she’d missed the four o’clock ferry, she should have been here by now.

  “You look familiar,” Ted said. “Do I look familiar to you?”

  “I don’t think so. Have we met?”

  “I don’t know. Have you been here before?”

  “Many times. Usually with lots of girlfriends.”

  “Me, too. Well, not with girlfriends. Men. Boyfriends? I guess that might give you the wrong impression.”

  Shea chuckled. “No, I get it.”

  “Anyway, it’s just me today.”

  Neither said a word for a moment, both sipping their drinks in silence.

  “I don’t suppose you knew my friend Blake?” he asked.

  Shea stared at the ice melting in her glass, determined to control every muscle of her face, to give no hint of recognizing that name. Had Ted been at the memorial? Had he been here all those months ago? Suddenly, she wondered if he could be a police officer. What if he’d been at the memorial and Blake’s friends had pointed her out? What if he’d followed her here? She couldn’t look at him, terrified of what she might see in his eyes, what he might say.

  “No,” she said. “I didn’t.”

  “Oh, I was just wondering. I came here for a memorial.”

  Shea nodded.

  “But I missed it. He was an old family friend. I felt bad.”

  She wanted to exhale the air she’d been holding since hearing Blake’s name. But it would be too obvious. Instead, she took a sip and nodded, like there was nothing to say. She felt the liquid warm her throat as it went down.

  “Do you know what today is?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “April Fools’ Day.”

  How perfect. She felt like a fool. “Planning to pull a prank, are you?”

  “Not at all. I just have had some bad luck today. Losing my wallet, then missing the service. I thought I’d have heard from my friends, but so far, nothing.”

  Shea nodded and finished her drink.

  Ted signaled the bartender and ordered them two more.

  Shea had nowhere to go. She licked her lips, finally feeling those pills kicking in. That yoga without the yoga. The memory of Blake’s friends cornering her at the lighthouse was beginning to feel more distant, even unreal, like a scary movie. Maybe she’d just been paranoid.

  After two rounds of drinks and polite conversation about weather, news, and fishing, Ted signaled the bartender for another round.

  Shea hesitated. “Not for me,” she said. “I think I’ve hit my limit.” She was feeling too loopy. She looked at her phone. The numbers were blurry. She closed one eye to focus. It was now six thirty.

  “Just one more?” he asked. “You’ve really turned my day around.”

  Shea smiled. At least Ted was nice. A nice man. Not like Blake. Not like Charlie. “You, too.” She heard it. The words had blended together.

  “So why are you sitting all alone, anyway?”

  “My friend was supposed to meet me here.” She looked at the door again. When she turned back, two fresh drinks had arrived. “I don’t know what’s happened to her.”

  “You worried?”

  “Well, she was sick at the terminal, so she didn’t get on the ferry with me. But she said she’d get the next one. That was like . . .” She looked at her phone again, unable to remember the time. “Three hours ago. I thought she might be in our room lying down, but she’s not there, either.”

  “Maybe she was too sick to come. That ferry ride can be tough if you’ve got a weak stomach. Perhaps she went home.”

  Shea shook her head. “No. It’s a five-hour drive. And we took my car. She would have called.”

  “Friends. Not always reliable, right?”

  Shea wasn’t sure how to respond. Was she reliable? Had she been a good friend to Evelyn, leaving her at the ferry? To Georgia, refusing to call the police all those months ago? To Dee, never telling her what had happened with Charlie? To Kat? She’d never even called Kat since the move. Not until last night when she needed to talk. No wonder Kat never picked up or replied to the text. She hadn’t called Kat in three months. Because if they’d talked and laughed and traded stories, it only would have reminded her of how much she missed her, how home had felt a little emptier since they’d moved away, like every memory she had in that house had been connected to Kat and Mack and their kids. Christmas mornings always involved the kids running back and forth in pajamas, sharing their excitement and gifts. The toddler years were just a blur of tantrums, comparing notes, and communal Sunday dinners. Summer block parties and barbecues were never planned without Shea knowing that Kat and her family were available. Even when the kids got older and realized they were forging different paths, with different friends, Kat and Shea never went more than a week without a walk, or a glass of wine, just to catch up.

  “Hey,” Ted said. “You look a million miles away. Any chance you’d let me take you to dinner?”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t.” Her phone pinged then, and she looked down at the screen. It was a text from Evelyn.

  “Oh, excuse me a second. My friend,” she said, raising her phone. The man nodded, and Shea read the text. “Well, so much for that,” she said, dropping the phone on the bar.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “She’s not coming.” She couldn’t believe Evelyn had been that sick. That she’d rented a car? That she’d drive ten hours in one day? She shook her head, struggling to focus now.

  “Hey,” Ted said. “Let me take you to dinner. It’ll be fun.”

  Shea smiled. As she blinked, she noticed her lids closed and opened slowly. “I can’t . . . I hope you don’t take offense, but I’m married. I don’t think it would be . . . appropriate to have dinner with a handsome stranger I met in a bar.” She stumbled on that word, appropriate, tongue-tied. She’d definitely had too much. How many had it been? She counted back. Just a couple, she thought. But . . . wait. One before this guy. More together. The pills. One, two? She couldn’t remember now.

  Ted smirked. “I’m flattered. And I get it. In fact, I’m married, too. But this has been harmless enough, right?”

  “Right,” she said.

  “I’ll just grab a slice of pizza and head back to the Humphrey House.”

  Shea grinned again.

 
“What?”

  “I’m staying there, too.”

  “You’re lying,” he said.

  “I’m not!”

  “The innkeeper said there was one other guest. I can’t believe that of all the people on this island, I walked up to the most beautiful woman at this bar, and you are the one she was referring to. Don’t tell me, room three?”

  She shook her head. “One.”

  “I’m in four. I was going to say, if Mary had put us right next to each other, I’d have been convinced that some force was trying to bring us together.”

  Shea laughed. “I don’t think so.”

  He looked at her square in the face, as if examining her, or hoping to know what she was thinking.

  She sat back, furrowing her brow. “What?” That was how Blake had looked at her that night.

  “May I ask you something? If you won’t be too offended—”

  “Okay,” she slowly replied.

  Ted leaned toward her and lowered his voice. “Do you ever wonder what you might do with a total stranger if there was no chance of it blowing up your life? I mean, I have a lovely wife, beautiful kids, a home, a job, and no chance I’d ever want that to end. But here I sit, alone, away from my reality, having a drink with this spectacular beauty who is from somewhere else, with a life of her own, and no chance that our worlds will ever intersect again.”

  Shea could hardly believe what she was hearing. This gorgeous man was suggesting some anonymous night of . . . She shook her head and giggled.

  Ted continued. “I know I shouldn’t say this, Shea, but I can’t help but wonder how spectacular it would be to take you back to my room. I mean, just thinking about kissing you is killing me right now.” He stopped to take a breath and a sip.

  Shea took a sip of her drink as well. She couldn’t stop smiling. It was so outrageous.

  “Think about it. I’ve been fixed, so I can’t get you pregnant.”

  She laughed out loud. At fifty-two, children were the last thing sex brought to mind.

  “I’ve been only with my wife for the last twenty years . . . so there’s no chance of disease.”

  “I appreciate that,” she said, throwing a little sarcasm in there.

  “I think it’s a safe bet that we could walk back to that inn, have an incredibly passionate night, and simply go forward, always remembering each other without anyone ever knowing. I’d be nothing but a really pleasant memory.”

  Shea took a deep breath. She said nothing for almost thirty seconds. This was a first.

  “It would be amazing,” he said, like he’d come to the end of the big pitch. He sat back, sipping his drink, like he was waiting for her to realize her good fortune.

  But Shea didn’t hesitate. “I’m really flattered, and you’re a handsome man . . . and you’re doing wonders for my ego here, but I really can’t do that.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure. In fact, I should probably go.”

  “Oh, don’t do that. I didn’t mean to scare you off. You’re right. Of course, you’re right.” He took another sip. “I hope I didn’t offend you, and I’m sure that in the morning I’ll thank you for saving me from my own urges. Let’s just enjoy these last drinks together and I’ll go take a cold shower.”

  “You’re on,” she said. “I just need to use the restroom for a minute.”

  “Sure, I’ll save your seat.”

  CHAPTER 38

  April 15

  KAT AND TORI STOOD IN the vast living room of Evelyn’s penthouse. It seemed to have more living space than Kat’s entire house. The vintage details were everywhere, the high ceilings, ornate moldings, and beautiful wood floors, but someone had obviously renovated and modernized it years ago with a more open concept, because the kitchen, which had to have been a tiny portion of the space a hundred years ago, was fully visible, filled with custom cabinets, stone counters, and top-of-the-line appliances. Every piece of furniture, every lamp, every vase, every painting was carefully placed, and there was not a single extraneous item to be found. No stacks of mail, no wastebasket, no tray of odd items by the door, nothing. It was a perfectly manicured, magazine-ready spread of two-hundred-year-old antiques.

  “Where do we start?” Kat asked.

  “Bedroom,” Tori said. “Everything personal is in a bedroom.”

  The entry had brought them into the main living, dining, and kitchen area, but two hallways were visible, each on opposite sides of the large open space. They headed down the hallway on the left, past a long console table below a portrait of an old man. Sitting on the table, nearly a foot high, was a black onyx cat, perched like some majestic guardian. Kat brushed her hands over the smooth stone as she passed. It was the only kind of cat she dared touch.

  The first door they encountered brought them into an office and makeshift gym. A desk was against one wall. Its surface was bare—no laptop or desktop, no papers or bills—just a spotless writing surface with a cup of pens off to the side. An antique armoire, nearly nine feet high, stood against the opposite wall, and a rowing machine, the only evidence that someone actually used the room, was angled toward the door.

  Kat pulled the desk’s pencil drawer, but it was locked shut. Within a few moments of standing in the room, she began to feel a tickle in her throat. Her eyes began to itch.

  They moved farther down the hall, past a bathroom, and opened the last bedroom door. The room was empty of personal belongings, but the bed hadn’t been made. This must be where Evelyn’s brother had stayed.

  “Her bedroom must be at the other end,” Kat said.

  They were headed back toward the living room when Tori’s phone pinged. “Oh shit!” she yelled, looking at the screen. “Oh shit, shit, shit!”

  “What?”

  “The SATs! My daughter is freaking out. I’m her ride. Shit!”

  “Go,” Kat said.

  “But—”

  “It’s fine. I won’t stay longer than fifteen minutes. Text me after you drop her, and I’ll have you pick me up. I can always walk back to Lina’s. It’s like seven blocks.”

  “You sure?”

  “Tori, go.”

  Tori ran out of the apartment, and Kat slowly opened every door she encountered in the second hall. She passed a guest room and a bathroom and, finally, came to the last door. It had to be the master. The door was closed. Kat instinctively knocked. “Hello?” she called out, as if she could come up with some perfect excuse for breaking in, should she find someone inside. But with no answer, Kat opened the door and found a large four-poster bed in a spotless room the size of one of her hotel’s most luxurious suites. Silver picture frames were lined up atop the dresser. There were a few childhood photos, and that same photograph from Shea’s luau-themed party that Kat had, too, the one used in the memorial program. It was one of those rare photos in which everyone looked good. She couldn’t believe that Evelyn had stood there, her arm linked in Shea’s, like a dear friend, and then betrayed her.

  Kat wandered to the closet. The clothes were color coordinated from left to right. White tops, then pale yellows and pinks, a few blues, and finally black. Evelyn was seriously organized. In the bathroom, perfume bottles sat atop a silver tray, each one turned at the exact same angle. Every towel hung perfectly folded on the towel bars.

  Kat went to the bedside table. She always kept random but personal items in her own bedside table—things she looked at right before sleeping or things she wouldn’t want someone to find, as if putting something in those drawers had a magical do-not-disturb effect.

  She found some cell phone chargers, a few receipts and loose change, batteries, a lighter . . . She picked up the receipts. Local gas station, drugstore, movie house. Each receipt dated several weeks back. This was useless.

  What did she hope to find, anyway? The stub from her ferry ticket? A diary entry admitting what they’d done? Life was never that easy. Kat sat on the bed and looked around.

  Something touched her ankle, and Kat jumped, pulling her leg
s up, like a kid terrified of a monster under the bed. A black cat ran out from below her. “Oh jeez!” She took a deep breath. That explained the itchy eyes and closing throat. She needed to get out of there before it got much worse.

  Kat looked around the room again, exasperated, annoyed at her childish fantasy of catching a criminal.

  CHAPTER 39

  April 1

  6:40 p.m.

  SHEA DROPPED HER PURSE AND drink on the vanity, washed her hands, and laughed out loud. She ran her damp fingers through her hair, smiling at her reflection, still shaking her head in disbelief. “Crazy,” she said.

  She and the girls had literally joked about this kind of scenario last November when they were here, about whether anyone would ever be tempted to have a tryst with some beautiful stranger if there was no chance of it affecting their lives.

  “Don’t you miss that feeling?” Tori had asked, sipping her wine.

  Dee chimed in, “You mean when your body lights up like a pinball machine?”

  Everyone laughed and agreed that only someone new could probably bring on that feeling, admitting that despite loving their husbands, the inevitable habits and rituals of being with the same person for twenty years left them all nostalgic for that “quiver.” It was Evelyn’s word, and they all chuckled and nodded. Of course they missed it. But everyone had joked about all the necessary requirements of any potential man who could turn their head, most of which were so outrageous and unrealistic—like Tori’s requirement that he actually be George Clooney—that it was clear none of them were the straying type.

  She pulled out her phone and began typing Georgia’s name, then Tori’s and Dee’s, but stopped, quickly deleting what she’d started. Georgia didn’t want to hear from her, Dee, either. There was too much to explain, anyway. So much had happened. It felt like her friendships were in ruins.

  But her marriage was not a sham. She didn’t care what Evelyn said. Evelyn didn’t know Dee like Shea did. She didn’t know Ryan. She was just bitter. Her own marriage had fallen apart, so maybe she wanted Shea’s to fall apart, too. “Wow,” she said, looking into the mirror again. Was that true? Was Evelyn one of those people? She had to have heard the hope and excitement in Shea’s voice as she shared their plan for a fresh start somewhere new. And her response was to put more doubt in her head? To make her think her best friend and her husband were together? Who does that? It was as if she wanted them to break up.