The Lies I Told(11)

“It’s not a party until you put your hat on,” Marisa teased.

“The hat’s redundant,” he said, stepping back as he surveyed the Lion hat. “We all know I’m a big scaredy-cat.”

Jo-Jo scoffed. “You’re anything but. But Brit did nail Marisa’s hat. Dorothy. The dreamer. Lost.”

I raised my glass. Leave it to Jo-Jo to say something inappropriate. “There’s no correlation.”

Kurt laughed. “I’d rather be a dreamer than heartless or brainless.”

Marisa touched her hat, adjusting it, likely wondering whether she’d been somehow set up to look like the fool. Since my sister was a kid, she could be paranoid, always feeling like someone was trying to hurt her, likely a hangover from prior drug use, or maybe even the cause of it. Either way, since Clare had died, Marisa’s paranoia had increased a hundredfold.

“What did I say?” Jo-Jo asked. “I thought that was the point. To poke fun at ourselves. The Wizard of Oz was Marisa’s favorite movie.”

Marisa’s grin widened, but it was too bright. “Clare loved it most. I was a Sound of Music girl.” That was right. A family escaping tyranny had struck a chord with her.

“Each time I read it to my students, I think of MC,” Jo-Jo said.

“Give it a rest, Jo-Jo,” Jack said softly. “Eat your cake.”

It wasn’t the first time the twins had been mixed up. Still, after thirteen years, it must sting a little.

“Marisa, you’re one of a kind,” I said.

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“Happy birthday, again.” Jack kissed her on the cheek and, as he turned to leave, glanced toward David and me.

Few would have considered Jack’s eyes cold in that instant, but I knew him well enough to see the ice churning behind those baby blues.





5


MARISA

Friday, March 11, 2022

9:45 p.m.

I was grateful when the party finally ended. I’d been ready to walk home, the remnants of my cake and the fondant ruby slippers secured in their original box, and the collection of presents neatly packed in a large paper bag that proved Brit was always two steps ahead. Kurt had insisted on walking me home.

“It was a nice party,” he said. “Brit tried hard.”

“Yes. She always does.”

The box of cake in hand, I approached my building’s locked entrance. I punched in the security code.

“She’s still as uptight as I remember,” he said.

“It’s hard for her,” I said, needing to defend. “She had Mom and Dad all to herself for three years, and then Clare and I showed up and basically sucked the oxygen out of the family.”

“That’s not true.”

The lock clicked, and I opened it. He followed me inside and then down a hallway toward a lone elevator. Before the accident, I took the stairs, but it had been a long day, and my reserves were waning. I didn’t want to stop and catch my breath in front of Kurt. Inside the car, I pressed five. The doors closed, and we slowly rose. When the doors opened, I said, “The pony express has arrived.”

“I’ve aged five years,” he quipped.

On my floor, we stepped off, and I walked to the lone door on the left. There were only two apartments on this floor. The other had been empty several months, but judging by a stack of broken-down, rain-soaked boxes by the door, it looked like I might have a new neighbor. Wrangling keys, I opened my door and flipped on the light, and Kurt followed me inside.

My apartment was the top half of a warehouse. Each of the five floors had two large apartments, creating ten units in all. Three years ago, when I’d first looked at the space, I’d immediately liked its massive square footage, large windows, and reasonable rent. It provided me the space to set up a photo studio in the front half, a small darkroom in a closet, and in the back a galley-style kitchen, my bedroom, and a bath. I used partitions to sequester the rear section when clients visited.

My photography studio was outfitted with a gray backdrop and several vintage settees I’d found at thrift stores to accommodate clients who requested a portrait or the occasional headshot.

The best part of the space was the large window that overlooked the James River and the city of Richmond on the north side. I’d angled my couch toward the window and often sat watching the sunrise. Sleep and I didn’t always get along, so I’d seen my share of breaking dawns.

I set my cake on the concrete kitchen counter, then slid off my coat and tossed it on a chair. “Sorry, nothing to offer you to drink other than coffee, water, or seltzer.”

Kurt set the presents down beside the cake. “I’ve had enough beer and coffee. Don’t need anything,” he said.

He was still very attractive, and it was impossible not to feel the allure. I’d not been with a man since I’d sobered up and was now very aware of that fact. Or maybe this unexpected pull was rooted in his connection to Clare. Maybe on our birthday, I wanted to feel linked to my sister.

In Clare’s last days, she had said sex with Kurt had always been hot, frenetic, full of teenage groping and more hormones than sense. More often than not, it was over before it really began. Still, she’d always been left briefly warmed by a fleeting satisfaction that never lasted.

I wanted to feel that gratification now, even if it lasted only hours or minutes.