Fifteen Years of Lies

by Ann Minnett

"They won't talk." Dee sipped her beer and made a sour face.

  "No, they won't. They have those babies to protect."

  An awkward silence enveloped them, so Lark glanced around hoping to spot a friendly face. She recognized a few folks in the crowd, but no one approached their booth, and really, neither she nor Dee wanted to chitchat. Soon, a platinum blonde hoisted her rear end onto a stool at their old table and clutched her purse in her lap. She ordered coffee and—Lark read her lips—waited for a friend. Their special spot had changed hands, and no one made a fuss after just six days.

  "Penny for your thoughts," Dee said. "Well, maybe not."

  "Mason ran away from home."

  "That poor kid." Dee’s hands clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

  "Zane said Mason went to Missoula."

  Dee shook her head. "I'm so sorry the boys showed up there. That night." They both understood that there meant Rob's cabin. "I hate that Zane witnessed the shooting…"

  “You mean murder.”

  "… and that he knows the story."

  "What in the hell did you expect?"

  "I thought we were going up to the cabin to save Zane."

  "We sure as hell screwed that up." Lark tossed her cigarette pack into to her purse.

  "And then Rob said those terrible things…"

  "And you lost it," Lark said.

  There.

  Dee lost her shit and shot him and got them all into a mess.

  Dee shriveled in the seat, arms crossing her breasts. She avoided eye contact until their food arrived.

  Jim slid two plates into place and asked, "Another beer?"

  Lark shook her head. She trembled in total exasperation with Dee. She breathed deeply but couldn't calm down.

  "I know," Dee whispered. "It's my fault."

  Dee’s admission had a calming effect on Lark. Had she simply wanted Dee to accept the blame all along? No. Don’t go down that treacherous path. Instead, she said, "You pulled the trigger, but we all had a hand in it."

  Lark's phone pinged. A text from Zane: need to talk.

  Lark: Sure… home by 8

  Lark stared at the screen. "Well, that's unusual. Zane hasn't spoken to me in days."

  "He'll come around."

  "He wants to talk tonight." Should she ask Dee to come along? No. Lark needed alone time with her son.

  "Tell me what the deputy said," Dee mumbled with a mouth full of fries.

  Lark slammed her fist on the table. "Right? It's been so damn frustrating not to tell anyone."

  "I'm here now." Dee's manner exuded ease, control, even indulgence—none of which Dee ever possessed.

  What? You kill someone, and now you’re all confident? Stop. Stop the envy of another’s ability to cope. No longer the strong one, Lark wondered if she had ever been.

  Lark recapped the deputy’s questions and repeated her barebones answers. "I think he'll find out that Rob gave me money, and that will raise red flags, even if I gave most of it to Sister House. On the surface of it, there’s no reason I would harm the guy."

  Dee hardly touched her burger. "You know, I'm just not in the mood for crowds tonight."

  Lark had eaten everything on her plate in a hurry to get home. "There's something I haven't told you or anyone else. After you and the others left his cabin… that night… while I figured out what to do…" Should she tell Dee? It likely meant nothing.

  "What? Tell me."

  "I found an envelope hidden with his guns."

  “A letter?”

  “No. Earrings."

  "Like a pair of earrings? A gift?"

  Lark shook her head. "No. Eleven single earrings. None match."

  "Meaning what?"

  "No idea, but it’s creepy." Lark said although she did suspect. "I need a cigarette. Let's call it a night." They halved the bill and walked outside together.

  "And then there were three," Dee said with a tinge of smile. "You, me, and Zane.”

  “I don’t know about that kid.” Lark lit up.

  “You smoke too much to be a vegetarian.”

  “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

  “Lark?" Dee said quietly.

  "Hmm?” She inhaled deeply.

  "Is there a gold hoop about this size?” Dee touched her thumb and middle finger together. “With a green stone at the base? In the envelope?"

  Lark remembered three golden hoops, and one had a green jewel riding inside the loop. She nodded, yes.

  "With a hook latch?

  "Yes."

  Gray twilight overtook the Old West bar fronts across the street. A group of rowdy snowboarders jostled past them on the broad sidewalk.

  Lark had suspected, but now with Dee’s silence, she understood the meaning of the earrings.

  "He took the earring from me that night. It happened half a lifetime ago, Lark, yet I still have the other one."

  They linked arms and said no more, gazing at sunset rays dimming over the coffee house across the street. Lark counted in her head. There were at least ten other women.

  Dee said, "Want a ride home?"

  Lark shook her head. Dee stepped off the curb and unlocked her Corolla. Lark lit a cigarette and watched her friend back out and pull away. After a few puffs, Lark extinguished her smoke and walked home with energy she had lacked for at least a week. No matter what, she vowed to level with her son as long as he kept talking to her.

  She let herself into the condo's back door and heard several voices.

  Katie's voice drifted from the living room. "I shouldn't be here."

  Disappointment and jealousy flooded Lark’s hopeful heart. Zane brought Katie with him so he wouldn't have to be alone with his mother.

  "Katie?" Lark said from the kitchen. She removed her coat and entered the living room. There sat Zane, Katie, and Katie's father, all in a row on the couch and facing the front door. Lying in wait. "What's going on? We can't talk in front of these people.”

  "Mom…"

  "Lark," Katie's dad said. What was his name? "Katie and I can step outside any time you wish."

  "I don't understand." Then a horrible thought crushed her. "Oh Zane, you didn't tell—"

  "No!" Zane leapt to his feet. He guided Lark to the side chair. "Here, sit."

  She sat quite still in this unfolding nightmare and listened to her son explain why he wanted to live at Katie's house. When she said nothing, Mathissen—Mike’s his name—Mike broke into the explanation.

  "It sounds like the two of you are going through tough times," Mike began, hands in his lap.

  Lark's eyes cut toward Zane. Traitor.

  "We have a room over the garage where Zane can stay until you work things out." He remained seated but scooched his butt to the edge of the couch. "I'm here to reassure you that we invited Zane and that he’ll be supervised the way we care for Katie."

  "Zane and I can work things out under the same roof."

  "No, we can't, Mom. I need space."

  Lark cackled in forced, fun-house laughter. "So do I. In fact, why don't I move over to Katie's, and you stay here and support yourself."

  Mike said, "It's temporary."

  “A week? A year? No way.”

  Zane yelled at her, “I can’t stand it here!”

  “Well neither can I!”

  Mike took Katie’s elbow and said, "Katie and I will give you two some privacy. We’ll be right outside.” Father and daughter left quickly by the front door.

  Lark said, "What have you told them?"

  "Nothing except you're crazy right now,” he said, pacing and flailing his long arms. “And that we're fighting, and I can't stand it here one more fucking minute."

  "You said all those things?"

  "I said I had to get away or go crazy, too." He cleared his throat. "Mike talked me out of running away. I think he was afraid Katie might go with me." He sat back down.

  "Jesus Christ." She sank to the couch, head in hands. "Wait a minute." Her head jerked up. "What specifics have
you told them?"

  He shrugged, not looking at her.

  "The rape? Dee?"

  He stared at the rug.

  "How could you?"

  "Because it's my story, Mom. This is my life." He thumped his chest and then kicked over a chair. "It's about me. I need to sort things out."

  "It's always been about you, Zane." She meant it lovingly.

  "That's a good one." He loomed over her. "When has it not been about poor Lark, sacrificing college and career for her son?"

  "What? I've done everything I could for you."

  "You've done everything because of me." His flushed face frightened her. "And now I learn that I'm not even yours and your so-called sacrifice is even greater." He squared off like a boxer. "I can't take it."

  "How can you be so wrong-headed?"

  "Oh, because you're always right?"

  Lark sank back into the couch cushions. "I'm not winning this one, am I?"

  He shook his head.

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said miserably. “It already feels like you’re gone.”

  He sighed, “Do you blame me?”

  “No. I get it.” She was about to lose the only part of her life she cared about. "I have some conditions."

  "Such as?"

  "You and I have dinner together—here or out—twice a week, and we talk openly, no matter what. We have to keep talking."

  "That’s all?"

  “And it’s temporary.”

  “Okay.”

  Lark opened the front door to see Mike and Katie shuffling, hands in pockets. She waved them inside. Katie went to Zane and put her arms around his waist.

  "This kid eats a lot," she said. "How will we work out groceries?"

  "I'll give them what I earn each week after my restitution payment," Zane said.

  "That should cover breakfast." Lark smiled to keep from crying. "Would fifty dollars each week work for you, Mike? Seventy-five?"

  "Let's worry about it later,” Mike said.

  "I have one stipulation, and Zane has agreed." She looked to him for confirmation. "We'll have dinner together twice a week. Oh, and another condition is that this is temporary."

  "I agree," Mike said. "You’re his mom, his family."

  Zane went into his room, and brought back a satchel and his old backpack. He had packed while she stuffed her face at McCord’s.

  "Mike, if he messes up, even once, he comes home."

  "Agreed."

  She had to keep talking or she’d cry. "What does your wife think about this arrangement?"

  "She'll get used to it." He smiled again.

  Was that supposed to reassure her?

  Zane and his new family filed out of the condo, and Lark crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep. Children of bad mothers went to live with foster families, didn't they?

  CHAPTER 27

  Wednesday morning dawned on Lark's quiet, childless life. For the past week, she'd existed as an accessory to murder and an arsonist. She'd become childless, nearly friendless, and had withdrawn from her two classes at the community college. What was the point? The single constant in her life consisted of work. Two offices needed straightening and tanning beds and restrooms required disinfecting before 9:00 a.m. She wondered if work might keep her sane, or would fear of getting caught and guilt over every damn decision and squandered opportunity swamp her? For a few minutes, her movement consisted entirely of shallow breathing. She might be having a heart attack.

  At thirty-six? Unlikely.

  She peeled herself off her mattress, a clump poking into her hip. She pulled out the paper towel containing Rob’s trophies. Burdened by overwhelming doubts, she seized on the one fact of her life: She had reached bottom and needed help. Dee needed help. They had made a shithole of a mess and had killed a man, for gods sakes. She didn’t see how they could dig out and make it right.

  She left home out the back door intending to do something, anything, right.

  Lark made quick work of the tanning studio and law firm cleaning chores and found herself sitting in her car in front of Sister House at 8:00 a.m. She had nowhere else to go. Zane wasn't at home eating breakfast and needing a ride to school. She had five hours to kill before helping move a client's t-shirt business from a home basement to a rented space in the new Artists Market.

  The thought of service work led her here.

  Cheryl pulled in the driveway and parked in her usual spot off to the side of the plain two-story house. She waved at Lark, and swiped her key card to enter through the staff door. No signs announced Sister House, although the neighbors knew full well what happened on the two-acre property. The former front yard served as a parking lot for clients and families, and a barn-sized metal building loomed in back. Donations of goods and clothing took up most of the space inside. The clients lived temporarily in the house of six bedrooms, two baths, a kitchen, and small warren of admin offices. Sister House never had the space or money they needed.

  Lark's cell phone rang for the first time in a week. She said hello to Dee.

  "I've made up my mind to turn myself in today."

  "You can't."

  "And I wanted you to know beforehand because I'll tell them that I set the fire, too."

  "But you didn't set the fire." Raindrops splattered on the windshield, hopefully muffling Lark’s hysterical voice to anyone outside the car. "If you confess, then everyone at the cabin that night will suffer." She waited for Dee to say something. Then, "You don't want to hurt Zane, right?"

  "Lark, use your head," Dee mumbled. "We've already hurt him. He's a witness."

  "Where are you? I'll come pick you up and we'll talk about this."

  "I'm at the salon."

  "At eight-fifteen in the morning?"

  "I thought I’d catch you at home, but when you weren't there, I walked over to the salon."

  "I'm at Sister House, but I'll be right there." Lark started her car.

  "Don't bother. I have customers until four this afternoon. I'll make this my last day on the job."

  "You have got to be kidding."

  "Seriously," Dee said. "And I hope you and Zane will live in my house—pay on the mortgage until I get out, if I ever get out." Someone greeted Dee in the salon. "Got to go." She disconnected.

  Lark turned off the ignition. She sauntered through splattering rain, hardly noticing the weather. Cheryl stood inside by the staff door and opened it before Lark could swipe her key card.

  "You're an early bird." Cheryl embraced Lark. Somehow, she knew which clients and volunteers would accept physical contact and who would not. Lark had come around after a couple of years of friendship, but Dee still hadn't.

  "I have a few hours free, if there's work to do." And I have secrets threatening to ooze out my pores.

  Cheryl took Lark's elbow and led her into the kitchen where two women, one with an infant braced to her chest, cleaned up. "Our sisters just finished breakfast. Don't we have muffins leftover, Francine?" Francine, the woman without an infant placed a Tupperware container on the harvest table, grunted without affect, and returned to the sink.

  "Have you eaten?" Cheryl poured herself a cup of coffee.

  Lark shook her head and opened the container. Starbucks had donated big fat blueberry muffins. She took one and resealed the container.

  "Get yourself some coffee.” Cheryl left the kitchen saying, "Come see me when you're through."

  Lark ate her muffin bottom-up, enthralled by Francine, an older woman she had seen a few days earlier when Francine's brother dropped her off. Unlike the others, Francine hadn’t been abused, but her brother couldn't guarantee his 'retarded' sister's safety since she started sneaking out of his home at night. He didn't know how to handle Francine’s new and dangerous behavior without tying her to her bed. He worried he might hurt her. She had lived at Sister House for almost a week while staff arranged for a more suitable home. Francine kept her head down and said few words. According to the house mom, she wandered the house through th
e night, helped with breakfast, and slept during the day. She cleaned scrupulously.

  The other woman, a young mother, was new. She worked one-handed and rubbed the infant bulging from her carrier with the other.

  "How old is your baby?" Lark asked.

  Without turning around, the overweight teen said, "Four weeks yesterday.” She carried more heft than left-over baby weight. Most of the younger clients were obese. "He's Jack Junior." She rubbed Jack Junior's sleeping body through the cloth.

  "I'm Lark. I help out here a couple times a week."

  The young mom rinsed the sink and squeezed a sponge. "I seen you before." She dried her hands and left.

  Lark had volunteered long enough to understand this young client's surly attitude. They all showed fear in their own way. Some became immobilized, and some lashed out, denying their lives were in danger. Others assumed responsibility for making him hurt her. Some women felt compelled to take responsibility.

  Like Dee.

  Like me my whole life, she thought. We're all scared.

  Lark entered Cheryl's cramped office and said, "Put me to work, Cheryl. I need to think about someone besides me for a while."

  "What’s up?" Chery's chocolate brown eyes radiated warmth and caring and good will. Stacks of papers and a few files littered her desk, but Cheryl folded her hands and gave Lark her full attention.

  Lark's guilty conscience would be transparent to Cheryl. "Zane has moved to a friend's house until we can work out some issues. Also, I’m a loser."

  "I hope you know you aren't."

  "Cheryl, I don't know that at all." Lark sank into the kitchen chair Cheryl used for visitors.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" Again, those soulful eyes.

  "It involves Dee," Lark said. "And Nora, too, but mostly Dee. I should check with her first." Cheryl remained calm. Lark's generic "need to talk" couldn’t compare to the stories Cheryl encountered every day. "Did Dee ever tell you why the three of us volunteer here?"

  Cheryl nodded.

  How much did Dee already tell? "We've done something about what happened to her."

  "Are you in trouble?" Cheryl leaned over her cluttered desk toward Lark. This perfect human being's only fault was a nervous nail cleaning using any available object. Cheryl poked a business card under her thumb nail.