Broken Lies

by Rachel Branton

  Her phone chose that moment to buzz with an unread text reminder. She clicked in to see a new message from Vaughn. Just a question mark, which followed the previous unanswered text he’d written: Just let me know that you’re okay.

  He deserved an answer, especially now that the confrontation with her mother was over. Or at least the first battle.

  I’m okay, she wrote. A bit singed, and I think I do need a new sword, but I’m okay. The water missed.

  His answer came immediately, as if he’d been waiting. Water is tricky that way. You have to aim it just right.

  I thought you’d never slain a witch?

  Oh, but I’m an animator and have designed many witches. So I know them inside out.

  Ha ha. I’ll remember that. I might need lessons.

  I’ll bring the bucket.

  Thank you. Talk later, okay? Have to finish something.

  Okay. Later.

  Saffron was smiling as she put away her phone, feeling stronger and happier after bantering with him. This being friends thing wasn’t all that bad.

  With determination, she strode toward the door.

  Saffron took less than six minutes, but to Tyson it felt like an hour. His emotions ran the entire gamut, from excitement at seeing her again to anger at his mother. Underlying all his feelings was an intense curiosity about his son. What was he like? Would Saffron allow him to be a part of the boy’s life?

  Tyson became excited thinking about playing ball with his son, taking him to the beach, and making him pancake breakfasts. He didn’t know how Saffron or Jana factored into it, but somehow he’d make things work. He’d been cheated out of so many years, and he wasn’t going to waste a single moment of the future. The decision to become a pediatric surgeon now seemed like fate—something he could use to benefit his son. He’d be able to give him the best of everything.

  When Saffron emerged, she looked exactly like she had in high school: long blond hair swinging free, shorts that left her sexy legs bare, and a peach blouse that showed off her curves. Only her face had matured, turning her from a teen to a beautiful woman.

  He stepped toward her, one arm ready to go around her waist before jerking his thoughts back to the present reality: she was no longer his girl.

  “You look really great,” he said, his voice coming out rough. “Almost like the past eight or nine years didn’t happen.”

  Her smile made her more beautiful than he saw her in his dreams. “Thank you.”

  They walked down the hall in comfortable silence. Where would he take her? Somewhere to eat? But he didn’t relish talking in a restaurant around other people. That had been awkward enough with Jana.

  “You hungry?” he asked as they reached his car.

  “No. Not at all.”

  Then her beach tote gave him an idea. “How about a walk on the beach? By the time we get there it’ll be near five and not too hot.”

  Again the smile that filled him with memories. “I’d like that.”

  On the drive, they talked about his work and her jewelry business. About the renovations on his house and his father’s health. Each of them seemed to avoid anything about their past. Tyson was aching to bring up his son, but he’d waited this long, so he might as well wait a little longer. Perhaps sharing their present lives would establish enough of a connection that they could face the past.

  Despite their avoidance of topics, the conversation flowed between them with the same ease as when they were teens—an ease he’d only ever found with her and Jana. The car was filled with light, laughter, and sunshine.

  Hope.

  When they arrived at an unnamed beach that was difficult to get to but not popular with tourists, he threw his shoes into his car and rolled up the bottom of his jeans before following her down a rough path to the sand. There, she stowed her sandals in her bag, and the moment ignited a memory of two weeks before she’d disappeared, the day she’d told him her period was late. It had been a warm day for late March, the bright sun mitigating the cool breeze at the shoreline. She’d told him, tears running down her cheeks, and he’d held her close, wiping them away.

  “We’ll get married,” he said. “I love you and that’s all that matters.”

  “I love you too.” Her smile broke through the tears.

  That day they had walked hand-in-hand near the ocean, unmindful of the cold water that lapped at their feet. He’d felt a strength that had made him unafraid to face any future with her by his side.

  Weeks later, his life had ended.

  Saffron started walking toward the water, the hem of her blouse lifting up slightly in the wind, showing her smooth back, her hair whipping out behind her, as if beckoning to him. He hurried to catch up. The sand was warm but not enough to make him regret leaving his shoes in the car.

  After about a half mile walking along the shoreline, he could wait no longer. He stopped and faced her. “So what happened to you? Where is our son?”

  Desolation filled her face, and he understood that whatever happened, the plans he’d been building in his head for the past day would never come true.

  “When you didn’t return my calls, I had to leave. Find someplace to stay.” She looked toward the waves, and he was relieved not to see her expression anymore. “I didn’t want my mother forcing me into the clinic. She said I was underage and didn’t have a choice. Of course, I know now that it was a lie, but I believed her then.”

  Guilt stirred in him. “My mother . . . I thought you’d made the decision to go to the clinic. That you didn’t want to marry me. I called your phone so many times, but it was disconnected.”

  Her gaze met his again. “My mother took it from me when she found out.”

  Part of him itched to take her hand, to smooth the pain from her expression. The other part of him wanted to strangle her mother. “And then?”

  “I traveled around. I got odd jobs. I was sick a lot at first, but after three months, I felt a little better and could work more. I eventually ended up in Phoenix. I traveled with an old woman and a couple guys who were homeless.”

  “They didn’t hurt you?”

  Her eyes burned into him. “Not them. But there are a lot of bad people out there. I learned that the hard way.”

  Tyson wondered what she meant but found he wasn’t brave enough to ask, not yet, and she didn’t volunteer more.

  “There are a lot of good people too,” she added, her eyes dropping to the sand. She stooped to pick up a shell, which she threw into the waves.

  “And our baby?”

  She stopped walking, her eyes still fixed on the ground. Tears slid down her face, and he began to fear the worst. Had she given him up for adoption? He couldn’t blame her if she had.

  Finally, she looked at him. If he’d thought the loss in her eyes had been apparent before, now it was an entire ocean of tears and anguish. “I didn’t have healthcare. I didn’t have enough food. I didn’t know I could get help. I was too afraid they’d send me back to my parents and then take him away.”

  Her shoulders shook with sobs. His arms went around her, pulling her against the length of his body. Her hair smelled like flowers and warmth, heady and compelling, and his fingers tangled in the strands as if recognizing the path they’d traveled so many other times. They stood close together on the edge of the water until her convulsions eased.

  She took a breath and arched back slightly, but he didn’t let her go, and she didn’t pull away. “He came three months early and lived only a few hours. I’m sorry, Tyson. Our son is dead.”

  Shock reverberated through him as the hope ignited inside him these past two days was abruptly snuffed out. His son was dead. Exactly as he’d thought him all these years. No. It wasn’t the same. Not at all. His son hadn’t needed to die. Now it was his turn to cry, to sob and have her comfort him. They clung to each other helplessly, ignoring the few passersby that witnessed their grief.

  The worst was knowing he had no one but himself to blame.

  At last,
Saffron broke away from him and continued their walk, wading further into the water than he could with his rolled-up jeans. Her signal that she needed space. He kept pace with her, separated but still together. Gradually, their tears dried in the breeze. Cawing seagulls zoomed overhead, heedless of their turmoil.

  After a time, she angled back toward him, and they walked close together. He wanted to ask more questions, but he didn’t trust himself not to break down again, and he didn’t want to cause her more pain.

  “After . . . after he died,” she said softly, “I met a college student named Lily. She took me to her dorm room. Months later we moved to an apartment and five other runaway teens joined us. Nothing official. Just her spending all her money to help us. Then she got married, became licensed with the state, and opened a foster home we call Lily’s House. Remember those good people I told you about? Well, they’re the good people who saved me.”

  “I’m glad.” And he was. So very glad. Her family had deserted her, and he hadn’t been there. At least she’d had someone.

  “Come here. Let me show you something.” She was smiling again, if a little sadly.

  He followed her away from the water where she spread her towel on the sand. They sat on it together. “You came prepared. I guess I’m more predictable than I thought.”

  She shook her head. “The towel was only to protect this.” She drew out a small white jewelry box that she set on her lap reverently, hands resting on top.

  Tyson could tell by her hesitation that whatever was inside meant a lot to her. Had she met someone else? She didn’t wear a ring, but eight and a half years was plenty of time to fall in love and have more children. He’d try to be happy for her.

  She opened the box and drew out a small blue bundle. A tiny shirt. Wrapped carefully inside it was a picture of a girl holding a newborn, love clearly etched on her narrow face. “It’s our son,” Saffron said. “I named him Tyson after you.”

  Only after her words did he recognize the girl as her. A very thin, young girl, who was more skin and bones than flesh. He’d seen pictures of malnutrition before in his studies, and every sharp angle of her face screamed malnutrition. “Roz—Saffron, I . . .” What could he say? The picture brought her plight into focus as her words hadn’t. Tears threatened again. What she must have endured . . .

  “He’s beautiful, isn’t he? They did everything they could, but finally, they just told me to hold him, and I did until he was gone.” Tears made her voice heavy as she handed him another picture. “This was after.” A woman there helped me get him dressed and buried. The hospital wanted me to donate his body for study, but I-I couldn’t.”

  He understood. He’d seen parents in that very same situation. Yet how could this be his son they were talking about? He couldn’t take it in. “Was anyone there with you?”

  She shook her head and didn’t speak. Her top teeth closed on her bottom lip, hinting that she was holding back tears. She handed him a folded birth certificate that looked almost new. He read it, and seeing his name—their names—made it more real. “Lily ordered the certificate after I went to live with her. She said I’d want it someday.”

  “Thank you for showing me.” The pictures made him feel worse about their son’s death, but he wouldn’t tell her that.

  “I’ll make you copies if you want.” She put the pictures back inside the box and set it on top of her bag.

  “I would like that.” Because he wouldn’t let himself forget. He took her hand, rubbing it between both of his. “Saffron, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about so much. I wish I could do it all over again. I wish we could change it.” He would never stop owing her for what had happened.

  “I know.” Her voice was stronger now. “And I should have come before. I thought I was over it. I mean, I’ve come to terms with his death, but sometimes I’m still angry . . .”

  “At me?”

  “Yes. And at my mother. At myself. At how young and stupid I was.” Her eyes glittered with tears. “He didn’t have to die, but he did because of all of us. None of it was his fault. I would never trade him for anything. But the timing was bad. We weren’t ready, and he paid the consequences.”

  “So did you.” Tyson was the only one who’d escaped relatively free, and he hated himself for it. He traced a vein on her hand. “I never forgot you.”

  She gave a little sigh, her mouth parting slightly. “I never forgot you either.”

  Before he knew he was going to do it, he leaned toward her. Their lips met softly at first and then with more passion as they found their way. His arms went around her, pulling her close. Her mouth opened under his. She tasted just as he remembered—felt exactly as he remembered her in his arms.

  They fell back into the sand, still kissing. When at last they drew away, Tyson continued to hold her tightly. He thought of nothing but having her back in his arms and in his life. It felt right. It felt like destiny.

  13

  Saffron felt a little dazed as Tyson walked her to her door, kissing her again. More chastely than he had on the beach, but it set her quivering all the same. What was she doing? Kissing him and falling for him all over again?

  Then again, why shouldn’t she kiss him? She’d missed him so much, and now everything between them was falling into place, as if the horrible days after she’d left had never happened. As if their son had never died.

  At that thought, a painful lump grew in her throat. She swallowed, trying to get rid of it, but it wouldn’t leave.

  She smiled and dug into her bag for the key card, her fingers skimming the jewelry box inside. Her heart gave a painful little beat. It’s okay, she told herself. Everything’s okay now. The anger and betrayal she’d felt toward Tyson was gone, and it left her feeling lighter. “I’m glad we talked.”

  He chuckled. “We did a lot more than talk.”

  “We kissed. That’s all.” Did he feel how right it was?

  “Saffron, look, there’s something I need to tell you.” Tyson cleared his throat, his dark eyes grave. “I’ve been dating this woman, Jana Reynolds. She’s an anesthesiologist where I work, and I probably should have said something before but . . . when I’m with you, it feels like before, and it’s hard to think about my life right now.”

  Coldness entered Saffron’s heart. From his expression, she could tell he cared for this woman—maybe even loved her. Had this day only been a casual trip down memory lane for him? Would he now return to his life and his new girlfriend?

  Just as quickly, she pushed the thoughts aside. If there was one thing she understood about Tyson it was that he wouldn’t play with her feelings. Or anyone’s feelings. Not if he could help it. He’d be upfront with his intentions, whether or not it hurt. In that she trusted him. But she wasn’t giving up without a fight. Not this time.

  “I told her about you earlier today,” he continued. “Even though you were mad at me, and I had no idea we’d still have this connection. She believes my feelings for you—or what happened between us—is why I’ve been hesitant to commit to her. She might be right.” He took her hand. “All I do know is that I’m not letting you go. Not until we figure this out.”

  Saffron stepped closer, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him thoroughly. “I’m all for getting to know each other again.”

  When they separated, he was smiling. “Tomorrow I have to work, but I’ll be back after to finish some construction stuff at my parents’ house. Can I see you before I start?”

  She nodded. “Are you staying with your parents?”

  “Usually, but after talking to my mom last night, I checked in here.” He frowned. “I was probably too hard on her.”

  Saffron didn’t pity Mrs. Dekker, who had been cold and unwelcoming to her as a teen. In fact, as she thought about it, she grew angry thinking about the woman’s part in their son’s death. Not a good sign.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, not responding to his comment. “Text me to let me know when you’re on your way here.”


  “Okay. It’ll be about five.” He kissed her once more, lingeringly, making Saffron forget her anger at his mother.

  “Goodnight.” She stepped inside the room a bit dreamily, stopping to return the wave he gave her as he started down the hallway.

  Halla lay on her bed, her laptop open. “Finally. I thought you got lost.”

  “I texted that I’d be back late.”

  “But you didn’t give me details.” Halla shut her laptop and sat up eagerly. “So what happened?”

  Saffron set her bag on her own bed before sitting next to Halla, who moved over to make room. “It was horrible and wonderful and . . .”

  “He kissed you, didn’t he?” Halla studied her face.

  Saffron’s hand went to her lips. “You can tell?”

  “No, I heard noise in the hall, and I peeked out the hole in the door. You two looked like you’ve put it all behind you. Last night you were ready to kill each other, and now you’re making out like there’s no tomorrow. What happened?”

  “He didn’t know I was trying to reach him because his mother deleted the calls. My mother told her about the baby, that she was taking me to a clinic to take care of it, and to make sure he didn’t contact me. He thought I’d agreed to abort the baby.”

  “Your mother again.” Halla’s face darkened. “That reminds me. Kendall was here earlier.” She pointed to a set of suitcases against the wall by the dresser. “She asked if she could stay with us tonight. Apparently, your mother isn’t making life easy for her.”

  Saffron wasn’t surprised, and that saddened her. Poor Kendall. “Where is she now?”

  “Somewhere with her boyfriend. She said she’d be back later. But what about you and Tyson? Is it still there? The connection you had?”

  Saffron gave a long, happy sigh. “Oh, yes. It’s like we were made for each other. Kissing him was wonderful. I only ever felt this way with—” She broke off, confused at the thought.

  “With who?” Halla’s eyes widened. “You were going to say Vaughn, weren’t you? So you do still like him.”