Текст книги "The Beauty of Lies"

Автор книги: Brinda Berry

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 4 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

“I’m only his neighbor.” I follow her out the door.

“You a natural blonde?” she asks without turning to look at me.

Leo opens the door of his car he’s pulled to the curb. “Grandma Lulu. Can you behave yourself?”

I glance over at Leo to see he’s grinning. She’s not bothering him at all.

“Yes, this is my natural color,” I say. “But when I was a teenager I did let my friend put highlights on my hair once.”

“I like the color it is. You shouldn’t mess with what Mother Nature gave you.” Her gaze moves from me to Leo. “You look good beside Leo. You’ll make pretty babies.”

My cheeks warm. “Thank you. About the color, I mean.” Grandma Lulu is either ornery or set on matchmaking. Or both.

I look to Leo for some help. He ignores me and takes her walker to put into the trunk of his car.

At my extended hand, Grandma Lulu scoffs. “I don’t need help sitting down, honey. It’s the getting up that’s the problem. That’s the way of life and love. Falling is easy. Getting up is the hard part.”

She maneuvers into the front passenger seat, and I get into the back. While I’m buckling my seatbelt, she whips around in the seat. “How old are you? You look too young for Leo.”

I should be accustomed to elderly ladies like Grandma Lulu. Our church was full of the ones who’d passed the age of conversational filtering. I’m out of practice.

“Twenty-two.” I fold my hands in my lap, waiting for the next question.

“Leo’s twenty-four,” she says. “Time for people to be settling down. I’d like to have some great-grandbabies before I’m dead. My grandchildren are scattered from New York to Alaska. Do they ever visit me? No. Leo and Josie are my only hope for holding some babies.”

I’ve given up on denying dating Leo.

Leo starts the car and glances at Grandma Lulu. “Harper lived in Texas. Didn’t you live there for a while?”

“When I was married to my second husband,” she says. “You don’t remember him. You were but a spark in your daddy’s eye back then. Those were the days.”

“Mm hm,” Leo says. He glances up at the rearview mirror and grins.

“I miss home,” I say and turn to the window. “I miss the heat and the wildflowers. There’s nothing more beautiful than bluebonnets in the spring.” My throat tightens at the fullness of the statement. For a brief, silly moment, I’m afraid I might cry so I dig my nails into my palms and inhale.

We’re at a red traffic light. Our gazes meet in the rearview mirror. His eyes are so blue and knowing. It’s as if he felt a shift in my emotions from the front seat. He’ll never let me tag along again if I act all crazy.

Grandma Lulu sighs. “We should take a trip there. You and Harper and I could pack up and go. We’re all single. Or at least I am.”

I’m glad when he looks back to the road. After another ten minutes, we reach our destination.

The Talbot Seniors’ Center is a large building with limestone walls and beautiful flowers in planters. Grandma Lulu allows Leo to help her out of the car and we walk her inside. Once we enter the building, we take an immediate left to a room full of elderly ladies and a couple of men. Some have chosen their seats already and a few stand near a table with desserts and coffee. A couple of the women immediately walk over to hug Leo.

Grandma Lulu makes her way over to a chair next to one of the few men.

I follow her and quietly place the canvas bag on the floor beside her chair. She turns to me and grabs my arm to pull me closer to her side. “William, this is Leo’s girlfriend, Harper.”

The man leans in to offer his hand. “Leo’s girl. How nice.”

This Leo’s girlfriend thing won’t die. Sometimes you just have to go with it. “Hi.” I place my hand in his and he squeezes.

He winks at me. “Sure picked a pretty one.” He looks past me.

Across the room, Leo politely listens as an older woman talks to him. He points at me and then strolls my way.

“Grandma Lulu, we’ll be back in an hour. Harper and I have errands to run.”

She’s waves a hand at us, signaling that we should go on. I walk with Leo to the door and outside. “Errands?”

“I’m sorry. That was a lie. If it would make you feel better, I could definitely make up some errands. Want to take a walk?”

I laugh at him. “Sure. The lady you were talking to looked very disappointed when we left.”

He smirks. “I swear. Some of those ladies flirt worse than a sixteen-year-old looking for a prom date. They’ll do a little quilting in the next room, but they mostly talk.”

“It seems like fun. I’m sure they’re lonely. It’s very sweet of you and Josie to bring Ms. Lulu here.”

We duck our heads as we walk under a low hanging tree branch. Baskets of begonias hang along the wooden fence and litter flower petals across sidewalk.

“I don’t mind. It’s not like I have to set work hours, so it’s no trouble.” He slows his pace.

“What are you writing now?” I peer up at him. Maybe he’s never mentioned the Mr. Expose blog because he’s embarrassed or thinks I won’t know about it. He published a new post today. I check it constantly to ensure my postcard isn’t the image at the top of the page.

He stops in front of a gift shop and folds his arms while looking at the window decor. “I have to tell you something. As a writer, I’m constantly trying to analyze why people do the things they do. I watch them and look for clues. I listen to what they say. And then I listen more carefully to what they don’t say.”

“Uh huh.” I’m not a people watcher, but even I can read the discomfort rolling off him in tense waves.

He changes subjects like a racecar changing lanes. “Why didn’t you move back to Texas instead of coming here?”

“No reason. I like Nashville.”

He is not deterred by my short answer. “I visited Hawaii, once. Really liked it, but I’m not moving there.”

Maybe if I give him something—a real answer—he’ll open up about his writing and his blog.

We turn to follow the sidewalk past another block of shops. “My parents love me. But they’d try to run my life if I went home, because they didn’t want me to marry Wesley. I eloped and didn’t give them a chance to talk me out of it. At eighteen, I thought I knew everything. I just left a note and it really hurt both of them. I’m an only child and it took a while before we made amends over the phone. I don’t want them to think I can’t make it on my own.”

I’ve been wrong about so much; I can’t stand another person judging me. Wrong about love, about my ability to give, about being a kind person. But for some reason, his opinion is important to me. I want him to think I’m a good person.

The answer satisfies Leo and he glances at his watch. “We can head back and wait in the air-conditioning until she’s ready to leave.”

“Oh, yeah,” I say, disappointed that the time has passed so quickly.

“Thanks for coming along today. And for what it’s worth, I see you as strong and capable. You’re hardly a failure.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t tell if he’s trying to make me feel better by giving me a compliment, or if he really believes what he’s saying.

Leo puts a hand on the back of my bare neck and squeezes lightly. “We all need time to find ourselves.”

His words do something weird to my chest. He doesn’t know how terrible I am. How much I wanted Wesley to pay for what he’d done to me.

How careless I was with my thoughts and prayers and words.

From: isabellawarren@iconic.net

To: angelgirl@me.com

Dear Harper,

Thank you for taking my call last night. It’s funny—the bond we’ve discovered through tragedy. I lie awake at night with no one to talk to about what’s happened. I’d been married twelve years when Warren died—sorry, does it feel odd for me to use the name Warren? I wonder what he called himself and if he ever got confused.

That’s not funny in the least, yet I cannot stop laughing at the thought. I may need to visit with a counselor, but somehow, right now talking with you does the trick.

The other night, I watched a show about sister wives. I wonder if they feel like we do. But that’s all wrong. At least, they know about each other. It’s easy to be bitter, but it’s never directed at you. You’ve been hurt by his double life as much as I.

When I’m really angry, I remind myself that at least Warren was a good father to Charley. He was a good provider for her and she never suspected.

If you ever need anything, please tell me.

Yours truly,

Isabella

7

Passing Strange

Leo

Hard and fast rules are meant to be broken. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to justify having Harper in my apartment watching television.

“Is the volume too high?” she asks.

I shake my head and glance over my shoulder at her. “No. It’s fine.

Even though I say this, Harper points the remote control at the TV and lowers the volume. “I can turn the closed caption on.”

She turns the sound even lower and places the remote beside her on the sofa.

“Harper. Please quit worrying. You can’t even hear it now.”

“I can read lips.”

I give up arguing with her. She’s as stubborn as Josie. My fingers rest on my keyboard and I urge them to move, make magic in the form of a story.

Nothing.

I’ve always guarded my writing time. By habit, I rise early and work on Mr. Expose blog entries. Then I contact blog advertisers, conduct billing, create ads. In the late evenings, I work hard on my real passion—my novels.

I ask Josie not to interrupt. The guys don’t drop by. I’ve never even allowed a girlfriend to cut into this ritual.

But now, Harper’s on my sofa watching television while I work on my current manuscript. This is the third night in a row for her to sit in my living room and watch a movie. She rarely says a word while I bang away on the keyboard. I only offered because she won’t buy a television for some reason, and I feel sorry for her.

It’s how neighbors behave. Cordial, friendly, comfortable.

And everybody likes Harper—Josie, Dane, and my landlords. Grandma Lulu likes her so much that she’s asked me to bring her again. I reminded Lulu that Harper is only a friend. Nothing more. Because I’m not interested in her for more than a platonic relationship.

All utter bullshit and dressed up excuses.

Each day when I see her, I want to know a little more about what’s inside her head.

Yesterday, Harper borrowed Cormac McCarthy’s book, All the Pretty Horses. When she returned the hardback today, we discussed it—the story, characters, the language. Even Josie, who is a serious reader, doesn’t discuss novels with me…unless she’s going on and on about who should star in the movie adaptations. Dane probably hasn’t read a book since middle school.

I admit it. I love talking to her. She’s a mix of smart and kooky. Sexy and sheltered. She amuses me. It doesn’t hurt that she’s hot, with a frail but fierce Emma Stone look.

I swivel around in my desk chair to face her. “Want a soda or water? Coffee?”

Her gaze flicks over to meet mine. “I’m fine.”

“I’m getting something for myself. What’ll you have?”

Her phone buzzes and she examines the display. She answers cheerfully. “Hi Josie.”

While she listens to whatever Josie says, Harper traces an invisible pattern on her bare thigh and pulls the hem of her shorts down. “Oh,” she says in a low voice as if I can’t hear every word. “I’m at Leo’s watching TV.”

She stares and her lap while she listens and tugs again at the hem of her shorts. A nice pink bubblegum blush tinges her cheeks.

I stop watching her because it’s driving me crazy that I can’t hear what Josie’s said to make her embarrassed. Time to grab my drink.

I’m standing with my back to Harper when she touches my back. She moves like a sneaky cat.

Harper holds out the phone. “She wants to talk.”

I take out a soda and hand her one. “Thanks,” I say, taking the phone. “Hey, Josie.”

“Watching TV? How come you don’t watch TV with me?” Josie asks in a teasing tone.

“I’m working. She’s watching a movie.” I pop the tab on my can.

Harper makes her way back to the sofa. I’m distracted by the way her khaki shorts cling to her perfectly round ass. She’s thin, but her ass is this masterpiece that would fit in my hands—

“Did you even hear what I said?” Josie’s impatient voice interrupts my fantasy. “Your mind is somewhere else, isn’t it.”

It’s like my sister has ESP. Which is creepier than hell when it comes to some things you don’t want your sister to know. “What do you need? I’ve got to get back to work,” I answer in a rough, no-nonsense voice.

“I said, since you’re obviously not working, can Dane and I come over?”

“You’re with Dane? You guys went on a date?”

“No. I helped him close tonight.” Her tone challenges me to ask anything else.

“Oh,” I say, not in the mood to antagonize her.

“I had a drink at Dastardly’s and then helped him close. Let us come over. It’ll be fun. When’s the last time you had fun?”

Harper is watching me and when I catch her, she looks back to the television.

I sigh. “All right. You guys can drop by.”

“Good. See you guys in a few,” Josie says with barely contained glee.

“Bye.” I walk over to hand Harper the phone. “Josie’s coming over. And Dane. I should’ve asked if you can stay a while. I’m sure she’s coming to see you.”

Harper takes the phone from me and our fingers brush. A frisson of electricity passes between us that jolts me into needing more contact. I’m suddenly like a junkie, wondering if it’ll feel that good a second time and with more skin. Lots of skin.

I back away and return to my desk. What’s wrong with me? It’s true I’ve been without a girlfriend for almost a year. That doesn’t mean I’ve been celibate. It doesn’t mean I’ve been satisfied either.

Hooking up is what it is…a brief meeting of two lonely bodies in the night. The problem is that one-night stands always leave me thinking about my ex-girlfriend later. I’m not ready to be relationship screwed again, so I end up avoiding a second time around with anyone.

Tori. She couldn’t tell the truth if the fate of all mankind depended on it. Each time I see her name on my cell phone display, I cringe. She won’t accept that it’s over between us, and I’m not opening that door a crack in case I’m weak enough to walk through it again.

I sit at my desk, staring at my computer and wondering if there’s a possibility of something between me and Harper. She’s visited daily to borrow books, and now watch TV. But I’m not sure if she’s into me or not.

I decide to give up on getting any work done and wait until Josie and Dane arrive. The television shares a wall with my desk. My desk is at the wrong angle to see the movie well, something I did on purpose when I arranged the furniture in this room.

Harper’s so into the scene that it’s like her body’s been dragged inside the movie. Her hands ball into tight fists in her lap and send distress waves across the room. My desire to comfort her drives me to my feet.

“Which movie is this?” I stand and move to the center of the room, my arms folded.

“What Dreams May Come. It’s an old one.”

“I don’t remember it. Robin Williams, huh. So, what’s this about?”

“He died and then his wife commits suicide. He’s searching for her in hell,” Harper says in a tight voice without ever looking away from the screen. The movie is doing a number on her emotions.

I’m thinking about her phenomenal ass and conversation skills, and she’s thinking about her dead husband.

Perfect.

“Harper?”

She glances over at me, then gives a slow blink as if to ground herself in this time and space. “Yeah?”

It bugs me that she’s watching this movie and it’s putting her head in a place from her past. I want her emotionally here in my apartment, not back in Washington. It’s selfish, I know. But I am always honest with myself. Lying to yourself is the ultimate betrayal, a foolish indulgence which only gets you into more trouble. I smile so she’ll focus on my face and remember she’s sitting in my living room. “I think Josie and Dane will be here in ten minutes or less. Want to help me see if I have something to eat?”

“Oh,” she says and straightens. She looks once more at the television and then hops to her feet in a single move, blonde hair swinging around her shoulder. “Sure. Sorry.”

I take several steps and turn the television off. There’s no way I want to compete with the movie.

“I have guacamole dip in the fridge if you’ll get it out for us.” I take one step to the right and bump into Harper. “Sorry, babe.”

The endearment slips out. I’m not even sure where it came from, but she’s been around so much lately that I’ve grown comfortable with her. Also, there’s the fact I’ve been thinking of her in a different way. Maybe I should ask her out. Maybe she would cleanse the bad taste that Tori left. Then I back away from the idea because I get the feeling Harper’s not ready.

“I, um…Guacamole.” She walks quickly to the fridge and sticks her entire head in as she pokes around looking for it. Her head pops up above the door. “You sure have a lot of food in here.”

“Just went grocery shopping last night. The guys are coming over here to play poker this week, so I needed supplies.”

“You have a lot of liquor.”

I laugh. “My friends drink a lot.”

She doesn’t say anything and pulls out a plastic container of store made guacamole. “Do you have chips?”

“Cabinet to your right.”

She turns and opens the door. The cabinets hang high on the wall and she tiptoes to reach the bag of chips on a shelf.

“Here. Let me.” I move behind her and reach above her head to grab the chips. With one hand resting on her shoulder, I lean in and retrieve it.

Her entire body tenses with the touch and she turns her head the slightest amount to stare into my eyes. Flecks of green glimmer in her hazel eyes, reminding me again of cool water.

A man could lie down in that gaze and drown.

“I’m in the way,” she says and looks away.

“You’re fine. Don’t move.” There’s other things in the cabinet that I hadn’t intended to get but suddenly seem like a good idea. Dane and Josie will be more interested in what I have to drink than eat. “What about pita chips? You like those?” I reach up to the shelf again.

She takes a step to the side and twists, so her body angles toward mine. We’re two magnets, naturally pulling together until our bodies touch. Harper’s face tilts up and her cheeks turn pink.

She wants me to kiss her. I don’t doubt it. I lean closer and bring my mouth within inches of hers.

My apartment door opens. “Honey, we’re home.” Josie sings the phrase, doing her best to imitate something she’s heard from an old TV show.

Harper pulls in a quick breath and shoves at my chest to put distance between us. I stumble back until the island bar hits my ass.

Is she embarrassed by Josie seeing us so close? If anything, Josie would throw a party to celebrate my interest in just about anyone, after Tori.

“Heard of knocking?” I ask Josie. Dane trails in behind her and gives Harper a curious look.

Josie raises one eyebrow but otherwise ignores me. “Hey, Harper. Cute outfit.” She walks to the bar and places a brown paper takeout bag from Dastardly’s on the counter. “We come bearing gifts.”

Harper peers into the bag and her eyes widen. “More liquor?”

I slide the bag to me and remove a bottle of whiskey, a bottle of daiquiri mix, and a bottle of rum. “She travels equipped.”

“Not my fault,” Josie says. “Dane’s trying to get me wasted so he can take advantage of me. As if…”

Dane smirks. “My plan has been discovered. Since Josie won’t have me, maybe Harper will succumb to my charms.”

His comment is said lightly enough that I know he’s kidding. Dane walks over to the other side of the bar near Harper and slings an arm over her shoulders.

“She’s smarter than that, man.” I chuckle, but there’s an uncomfortable panic that pelts me like a sudden hailstorm.

Dane is a flirt. He’s always been ballsy and confident. But I don’t want him making Harper think he’s really interested.

And then there’s Josie. In the second Dane has so carelessly paid attention to Harper, my sister’s expression has fallen into a gloomy pit of doom.

Fuck Dane for being such an asshole.

“Let’s mix some drinks then, people.” I glance at Josie. “Can you grab something for me? Shot glasses are in my desk drawer.”

“What the hell?” Dane laughs. “You doing the Hemingway thing and doing shots while you write?”

“You know who Hemingway is? I’m so impressed,” I say dryly. Maybe the dude does read.

Thank God, he moves away from Harper. I exhale and hand the chips and dip to Harper. “Can you put these on the table?”

I spend several minutes helping Dane make daiquiris and wondering how to defuse the tension he’s caused with Josie. I love my sister and could kick his ass.

Josie stands at the far end of the room and hooks her phone to my stereo speaker. Dane watches her as she absently dances to the music she starts. The noise muffles what she and Harper are saying to each other.

I pour daiquiris into two glasses for the girls and tilt my head toward Dane. “When in God’s name are you two going to stop pretending?”

“Pretending what?” He examines a bottle opener he’s taken from my drawer. Dane grins. “There’s a breast for the handle.”

“Put it back. Groomsman gift. I didn’t buy it. Back to my question. You and Josie need to go out and start acting like grownups.” I give him a cold stare but know he’s not going to answer. Chickenshit.

I grab the two drinks and carry them to the table.

Josie turns the music down and meets me before I can set hers down. “Thanks!” She sips the icy drink.

Dane takes a chair on the opposite side of the table and sets down a couple of cans of soda tucked into the curve of his arm like a football. In his other hand, he holds the bottle of whiskey and promptly breaks the seal. “What do you guys want to do?” he asks.

I sit in the chair closest to where Harper’s been waiting. Josie takes the remaining seat.

“Let’s play ‘Have you ever.’” Josie pushes Harper’s drink in front of her.

“What are we? Twelve?” I ask and take the shot that Dane slides toward me.

“I hope not,” Josie answers. “Twelve-year-olds should not be drinking.”

Dane downs his shot. “I’m down with it. How does this game work? I haven’t played.”

“Liar,” Josie says. “I ask the first question, ‘Have you ever?’ and then everyone who has must drink.”

“I don’t know about this. This game doesn’t seem like a good idea.” Harper’s voice hesitates like we’ve asked her to participate in a bank robbery.

Any other girl and I might think she’s playing innocent, but not Harper. Man, she’s cute.

Josie shrugs. “If you don’t want to play, we won’t.”

“I’ve never played any party games.” Harper takes a sip of drink and sits forward. “I want to.”

I lay my hand flat on the table and tap with the beat of the music. I’m dying to play this stupid game. I can think of all kinds of things I’ll discover about Harper.

But my motives are childish and selfish. Temptation beats a drum while chanting that I give in. I inhale. “Let’s just play cards,” I say.

Dane uses two fingers to nudge the shot glass. “Drink up, buddy.”

“You don’t want to play?” Harper’s eyes glitter.

I raise one eyebrow. Then I make sure to look at Harper when I say my next words in case she needs an out. “I’ll play if everyone wants to.”

Josie looks to her left at Harper. “Here we go. Have you ever gotten arrested?” She raises her daiquiri to her lips. “Cheers,” she says and takes a huge drink.

Harper’s mouth drops into a cute little ‘O’ and she exhales. “Not me.”

Dane takes the shot glass and upends it.

I grin at him. “Man, this doesn’t bode well for you.”

Josie turns to Harper again. “This is going to be fun. Your turn to ask a question.”

“Have you ever cheated on a test?” Harper asks.

Dane rolls his eyes. “I cheat on every test.”

Harper drinks from her daiquiri. “This tastes pretty good.”

I don’t take a drink and grin while Dane and Josie take their penalty.

I’m up for a question. What do I want to know about Harper? Maybe a sure bet so she’ll have to drink. “Have you ever gossiped?”

We all take a drink. Harper’s grin warms my chest. Or maybe it’s the whiskey. Either way, I’m starting to feel mellow.

“My turn,” Dane says. He pours liquor in both our shot glasses.

At this rate, I’m going to be wasted long before the girls finish their little icy drinks. Shit.

“Have you ever wished you were with someone else while on a date?” Dane asks.

I grin. Dane is an asshole. I lift my shot glass and so do Dane and Josie. “So much for romance,” I say and drink the shot in one long pull.

We continue with a few inane questions that have us laughing because everything now qualifies as funny. Josie gets up from the table several times to make more daiquiris and brings one for Harper every time she refills her own.

It’s Harper’s turn and she stares at the table in concentration. No one rushes her. Finally, she raises her head. “Have you ever loved someone? I mean really, truly loved?”

The music still plays in the background, but there’s a sonic boom sound in my head and my entire body clenches in response to the question. I didn’t see that coming.

I take the shot in one gulp. The heat of the liquor burns my throat. The sensation is a welcome assault after that question.

I cannot take my eyes off Harper. It’s such a serious question to ask. And then, she surprises me by not taking a drink.