A Lie for a Lie

by Robin Merrow MacCready

  Doug got up and unplugged the music that was playing. “Now, how about some real music,” he said. He put on some jazz, and Jenn went to his side.

  Bo appeared at the circle and we locked eyes. He pretended to gag, and I nodded in agreement.

  I hate jazz, I mouthed.

  Bo laughed.

  I went over to him. “I really don’t get this,” I said.

  “Does anyone, really? They’re just afraid to say it,” Bo said.

  “I agree. Totally,” I said.

  Bo gestured toward Jenn and Doug. “Look.”

  They were making out to the music. “You know, Bo, up until a couple of days ago, your sister hated jazz, too. And running. And God knows what else.”

  “That’s what happens.” He shook his head.

  “What do you mean? Jenn traded her voice, like in The Little Mermaid?”

  Bo’s big sister, Glory, used to babysit for me, and she’d bring Bo and we’d watch The Little Mermaid over and over. I always wanted Ariel to get it all.

  “More like giving it away,” he said. We sat on a log by the grill. “You should want to do little things to make someone happy,” he said.

  “But you don’t want to lose yourself completely. Right? Trade part of yourself for love?” I said.

  “Exactly.”

  “Exactly.” I sighed.

  “So are we on the same page about Jenn and Doug?” Bo asked.

  I dug into the sand with my heel. “Yeah, but she’s in love. It’s serious, and she isn’t interested in any advice from either of us.”

  “How about you?”

  Oh, no, I thought. Do we have to talk about this again?

  “How’s it going with your dad?”

  “Oh. My dad.” I told him about the face-to-face with the woman, and about the photo album.

  “Anytime you need me for Operation Snapshot, I’ll be your James Bond.”

  I gave him a smile. “Thanks, Bo.”

  “You’re welcome. And now for an interpretive jazz dance.” He swayed left, right, left, then rhythmically shook his body. I laughed so loudly Doug and Jen stopped kissing and looked over.

  Bo bowed. “You’re welcome,” he said.

  Will was waving me over to the fire. “Gotta go,” I said, still laughing. “But that was priceless.”

  “Hey, I’ll tell you if you start acting like someone else, you know,” he said.

  I turned and said, “Hope so, and vice versa.”

  Nicole was deep in conversation with Dory. When had she arrived? Will and Sam were tossing things into the fire and watching them burn. Nicole froze as I came into the circle.

  “Let’s not stay. Way too crowded,” she said, just loud enough for me to hear. She grabbed Dory’s arm and headed toward the causeway.

  Will stepped close to me. “Hey, you. Want to go for a walk?” He nuzzled my ear with his nose, and a shiver ran through me.

  “Yeah, let’s go,” I said, glad to get away from the crowd.

  My stomach felt fluttery as we made our way down the path to the rocks where we had made out before.

  I imagined snapshots in my head as we walked: one with our arms around each other and the sun behind us, one with me kissing his cheek and him smiling, and one where he held my face in his hands and gazed into my eyes. They hadn’t yet happened, but they would. I’d make them happen.

  As soon as we reached the flat rock, we were a tangle of arms and legs and giggles as we tried to reenact the time we had been there before. It was impossible for me get into it, though, with thoughts of both Bo and Nicole creeping in when I should have been thinking of Will.

  So as we made out, I created a snapshot of us in my mind, and like in a news flash, the words Kendra’s Breakout Summer crawled across the picture.

  CHAPTER 12

  At work I used the Previous Owner Mix as Will’s and my playlist to keep my mind on him and off Dad. Uncle Steve was at a conference and had left a note for me, folded and taped to the coffeemaker. Inside was my paycheck.

  Kendra,

  I found your check on the floor in your dad’s office, as well as the photo album. I can imagine how upsetting it is to remember those days. Don’t forget how far you’ve come.

  And don’t forget to clean Bubba’s tank and feed him.

  Love,

  Uncle Steve

  I pocketed my check, shocked at myself. I hadn’t even realized I’d dropped it. Shit, Kendra! My big plan to ditch the anxiety attacks this summer was spotty, and this was a reminder of it.

  I got the five-gallon buckets, hose, and cleaning supplies and set up in the hall next to Bubba’s fish tank. Usually, I scoop out most of the dirty water and let Bubba hang out at the bottom of his tank while I add clean water. Today, the tank looked slimy so I put Bubba and a little bit of tank water in a bucket so I could clean the algae off the glass.

  Soon I had a rhythm going for draining the tank: fill a bucket, clamp the hose, empty it in the sink, repeat. But every time I walked by Uncle Steve’s office I had an urge to go in and look at the album on his desk. It was anxiety provoking, and I tried to focus on the job at hand, but the photo of us before the trip kept popping into my mind.

  Bubba looked unhappy in his tiny bit of water, so I set the hose in his bucket and unclamped it. Dirty or not, the extra water made him perk up. While the bucket filled, I ran to Uncle Steve’s office to get the album.

  I flipped through quickly until I got to the photo. Immediately, a memory washed over me and I was drowning again. In my mind I heard the boom rattling, saw the lightning flash, and heard the panicky yelling from the deck above. What were they saying?

  It didn’t matter now; I was here to clean.

  A sloshing sound brought me back to the office.

  It was the tank water! The bucket was overflowing and Bubba was flopping on the floor. I ran to him. His panicked eyes bulged and his gills opened and closed as he struggled for water. I dropped him into the bucket and clamped the hose.

  I’d almost killed him. I’m so sorry, Bubba. You didn’t deserve that.

  I decided right then that when I was done cleaning up. I would get some answers about this affair Dad was having.

  * * *

  The idea was to just look in the windows again, to see more of the house where Dad had another life, but peeking into the living room would never be enough now that I’d been inside.

  I watched the door and the picture window for a few minutes. Based on the soccer schedule, they should be gone for the afternoon practice, but I wanted to feel sure. When I didn’t see any activity for a few minutes, I went across the street, looking up and down the block to make sure no cars were coming. I took the key from where it was hidden in the planter and let myself in. The air-conditioned brownstone was a cool relief from the heat of Portland. I took a step down into the living room, but as soon as I did, I knew it was a mistake.

  I heard running feet coming from the kitchen, so I leaped back to the foyer and ducked into the coat closet.

  “Mom!” Jilly yelled.

  Footsteps brushed by as I worked myself silently between the coats until I was against the closet’s back wall.

  “Mom?” she said more quietly.

  Then I heard muffled voices. Someone was with her. Running feet came by again, and the girls talked back and forth, but I couldn’t understand.

  Steps came close to the closet, and I stuffed myself behind some winter jackets. “I have to get my skateboard first,” Jilly said. The door opened and she grabbed it. I stayed frozen between the down jackets until she closed the door. I heard the skateboard clatter on the ground, and then the sound of her riding it across the floor. When she pounded up the stairs, I was still frozen and unable to breath.

  When I heard two pairs of feet pounding above me, I worked my way out of the coats and opened the door, whacking a skateboard helmet and sending it rattling across the floor.

  “That must be Mom. We’ve gotta go!” Jilly said, running down the stairs.


  “Coach B. will kill us if we’re late again,” her friend said.

  The feet stopped and I stayed frozen.

  “Mom?” Jilly called. “Oh, here she comes,” she said, and there was the sound of the girls gathering skateboards and hoisting duffel bags. When the front door slammed and the excited chatter of the girls left, I finally took a deep breath. I gave myself to the count of thirty before I peeked out the closet door.

  I stood in the middle of the foyer and looked up the stairs. With Dad at a conference with Uncle Steve, and Jilly and her mom at soccer, there wasn’t a chance of getting caught.

  With shaky legs I crept up the stairs, snapping photos of Asian artifacts and primitive paintings by Jilly. At the head of the stairs was a bathroom and, beside it, Jilly’s bedroom. Her bunk bed was unmade, and she’d left laundry in random piles. Clothes and junk everywhere. A quick movement from the corner made me cry out. It was a rat in a cage. A white rat with red eyes. It raised itself up on its haunches and sniffed the air and then darted into a tunnel. I took a picture of the rat. The sign on the cage said Rex.

  I backed out of the room and went down the hall to the master bedroom. Two large windows faced the street, and opposite them a king-size bed dominated the room.

  So, this is where it happened, where my father wasn’t my father. Beside the dresser, on a chair, lay Dad’s sweater and jeans. A pair of shoes sat at the foot of the bed.

  A framed picture on the bedside table drew me like a magnet. I had to see it for myself. My face went hot. It was of the woman and Dad, silhouetted against a late-day sun.

  It had been a fight, not a breakup.

  Smacking it facedown, I heard the tinkling of broken glass. I gasped, lifting the frame gingerly. Yes, I’d broken it.

  My phone beeped a text.

  Jenn: Can I borrow your black T-shirt?

  Me: Yes, come over in 45.

  Back home I thought about the close call I’d had and my new shots of Jilly’s art and the ones of the bedroom. One minute I was intrigued, and the next I wanted to delete them and pretend the affair wasn’t happening, but it was.

  My camera, the thing I loved so much, felt like a bomb, or at least infected with a deadly bacteria. I wanted all the photos gone, from the day of the festival to today’s investigation of the brownstone, but I deleted only one. The one Jenn took of me as I watched Dad, the woman, and Jilly at the brownstone. My mouth was slightly open, as if I was trying to speak but couldn’t, my eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Open. Select. Delete.

  I plugged my camera in to my computer, made a folder called Operation Snapshot, and dragged the photos in. My camera was clean again, but now my computer was contaminated.

  Instead of dealing with it, I texted Will.

  Me: I’m thinking about the island and us. When will I see you again?

  Will: Yup.

  What did he mean? Was he thinking about me, too? Or did he mean, yup, he was going out to the island tonight?

  Me: Great! See you there!

  Jenn burst through my door just as I pressed Send. While she changed out of her sweatshirt and into my black T-shirt, she gave me a play-by-play of Doug’s yearlong plan to study the effects of music on the growth of plants.

  I was listening, but I was also looking at photos of the island. Specifically, comparing shots of Will with Nicole and the shot of Will with me.

  “Will looks happy when he’s with me, don’t you think?” I asked.

  Jenn bent over my shoulder. “Definitely, but you need more than one photo. I’ll take care of that,” she said.

  CHAPTER 13

  When Dad said he wanted to take time off to be with his family, I didn’t think he actually meant it. Now he was hanging around the house a lot, and he and Mom were doing extra things together, like inviting people over at cocktail hour and going to the club for lunch.

  At breakfast he made noises about spending the day together.

  “I’ve got to work, Dad,” I said, pretending to read the paper.

  “You can make up your hours anytime. How about we go to the White Mountains? We can rent horses and do some trail riding.”

  Now I was pissed. Horses were an issue. I had done riding therapy for a few years, and it was the one thing Dad wouldn’t do with me. He hated horses. Mom and I did it together exclusively.

  I stood up and looked him in the eyes. He held my gaze without flinching.

  What I wanted to say was, “It’s not going to work, Dad.”

  What I said was, “I have to work on something.” Vague, lame, clearly an excuse to not be around them.

  I went out the door, leaving my untouched eggs and bacon for Mom.

  I drove like a crazy person. Like Jenn. In and out of traffic, my radio blasting, past slowpoke out-of-staters, horn beeping if they didn’t get out of my way soon enough. This was heart-pounding, and part of me liked it. The feeling was different from the anxiety that made me shake and get out of breath.

  I was in control of this crazy.

  I took the exit to the office, hitting the ramp too fast and squealing my tires.

  Just because you’re doing the family thing with Mom and me this week, doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the affair you’re having the rest of the time, Dad.

  Ellie was relieved to see me and set me up in the workroom with a pile of shredding to do. This was what I needed, mindless cutting and shredding.

  I filled a couple of bags before lunch, checking my phone constantly for texts or missed calls from Will in the hope that we would be meeting later. There was nothing. From anybody.

  It was also one of the days that Jilly’s soccer team would play again.

  That knowledge, along with the memory of Dad’s favorite sweater slung so casually over the bedroom chair in the brownstone, and his phony sweetness to Mom lately, made me want to do more spying.

  * * *

  This time I parked around the corner, and when I saw that the blue van wasn’t there, I walked down the sidewalk, retrieved the key, and slipped into the foyer, as if it were my apartment.

  I knew they were at an away soccer game.

  It was cool, like before, and I stepped down into the living room and went to the photos. I turned the ones with Dad in them toward the wall and put my camera to my eye. It was a shot that said something.

  Click.

  Upstairs I greeted the red-eyed rat with a glare and took a close up of his face.

  Click.

  He scurried into his tunnel and then poked his head back out.

  Click.

  By the looks of Jilly’s schoolbooks and homework, she was in fourth or fifth grade. All of the sports paraphernalia and science experiments were evidence that she was half jock and half nature girl. Poking out from under her mess of bedding was a teddy bear with a red tartan vest. I felt an urge to pick it up and tuck it into bed, but then I noticed some junk sticking out from under the bed. A violin case, dusty and half-closed, a lesson book, a corn chip bag, a crusted-over bowl of something—possibly ice cream—and a pink diary with a key.

  Excited, I opened the diary.

  Dear Diary,

  I don’t know why Mom gave this to me cuz everyone knows I hate pink!!!

  Your owner,

  Jilly

  I threw it back and left her room. In the bathroom, I opened the mirrored medicine cabinet carefully so I wouldn’t leave fingerprints, and looked over the contents: women’s face creams, ibuprofen, teeth whitener, and aftershave. I stood back and took a picture of myself taking a picture of the sink, counter, and medicine cabinet. I was a journalist on the job; this had to be documented to be believed.

  Back downstairs I took in every corner of the brownstone, snapping as I went. In the living room I spotted Dad’s boat shoes under the coffee table in front of the fireplace. They’d been kicked off casually, and one rested on top of the other. I slipped my feet into them the way I used to when I was little. It still had the same effect on me: I felt safe from monsters and protected
from the world. But now it was Dad who was being a monster.

  I thought back to the day Mom, Dad, and I got matching white-soled shoes for a boat trip. On the way home from L.L. Bean’s, we excitedly planned for a weekend cruise with Hal and Gail.

  Dad had said, “If this goes well, we can do other trips, and then…” He’d paused and looked at Mom. “Should I tell her?”

  “What, what, what, Daddy? Tell me what?” I bounced up and down in the backseat.

  “How would you like to go to a place that’s warm and has palm trees and coconuts and water that’s bluer than your eyes, that doesn’t have school, and where you can swim every day?” In the rearview mirror, I could see his eyes crinkle as he smiled at me. He nodded his head, encouraging me to answer. “What do you say, champ? There’d be no cars, no people, no noise.”

  I wasn’t sure what it meant, but if I didn’t have to go to school, I would be relieved. Mom turned to me in the backseat. “Daddy wants to sail the Calliope to the Caribbean. It would be our home all year.”

  What would happen to the house and my friends? I looked out the car window and watched the traffic for a while.

  “We’ll only go if my two favorite girls want to go.” He raised his eyebrows. “What do you say, Kennie? You already have Caribbean-blue eyes, you know.”

  I took my new shoes out of the box and put them on without socks, just the way Dad wore them. Then I heard him say, “Let’s do it.”

  Mom turned to him and smiled. “Yeah, let’s.”

  My alarm snapped me back to the now, and I replaced Dad’s shoes and left the brownstone. The elation I felt from spying was gone, and I was left with a dark emptiness.

  On my way to the car I thought about Grandma Sullivan, Dad’s mom. When she helped us after the accident, she was better than a grandma. She was like an aunt and a sister all in one, and I could always talk to her, so I decided to call. I needed someone wise to tell me what to do.

  “Kennie, my girl, how are you?” she said. Her voice was soft and lilting in the way I remembered. I’d pulled over to Harbor Park to make the call. Bikes, Rollerblades, and skateboards filled the paths around the grassy park.

  “Not good, Grandma.”