The Lies I Told(15)

“Dinner with David and me soon?”

“Of course.”

I stepped into the hallway, and as Marisa closed the door, I said, “See the doctor. Take more pictures. Lock the door.”

The door closed, followed by a click, the twist of a dead bolt, and the scrape of a chain. “Satisfied?” Marisa said.

“Yes.”

But I wasn’t. Not even close.





7


MARISA

Saturday, March 12, 2022

10:00 a.m.

Today’s wedding was going to be relatively simple. It was a courthouse elopement. Neither wanted any pregame photos, just the two of them rushing down the courthouse steps and then driving off in his vintage red Corvette.

I swallowed the last of my coffee and hurried to the shower. Out barely a minute later, I towel dried my hair. As much as I missed my long locks, I didn’t miss the drying time. And shorter hair made me look different enough that I wasn’t always seeing Clare staring back in the mirror. Maybe I wouldn’t be in such a rush to grow it back out.

I dressed in my “uniform”: black slacks, a turtleneck, and boots. I checked my cameras, which I’d charged yesterday before the party, and double-checked my bags for extra battery packs, tripods, and all the bells and whistles.

Grabbing my purse and keys, I stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut. As I turned to go down the stairs, I spotted the growing pile of empty boxes gathered by the other apartment door. For several months, I’d had this floor all to myself, and I liked climbing the stairs knowing it was all mine.

As if my thoughts had set off an alarm bell, the door opened, and a tall man backed out of the apartment, dragging a big box filled with trash. When he turned, I stopped short, recognizing the outdoorsman / office-work guy from J.J.’s Pub last night. Alan.

Alan’s smile telegraphed that he also remembered me. “Two tequilas.”

“Guinness beer. You’re the new guy on the floor?”

“I am. You live here?”

“For the last three years. I was beginning to think the landlord was never going to rent the space. Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Alan.” Name recall was a must in wedding work. “If you need anything, I’m steps away.”

“How about you show me where the dumpster is?”

“Sure. Walk out with me.”

He lifted the boxes. “Lead the way.”

I moved steadily down the stairs, holding the railing with one hand and my bag strap in the other. Alan’s steady steps followed close behind me as I reached the door out to the first-floor lobby. Holding it open, I let him pass before opening the front door. I walked around the side of the brick building and down the alley, now littered with an old mattress, beer cans, and weeds that reached up between the cracks in asphalt still glistening from last night’s rain.

“There’s an alcove up ahead on the right. The dumpster is there.”

Alan’s gaze followed my outstretched hand. “I should’ve walked a little farther when I was looking for it.”

A cold morning breeze blew down the alley, ruffling the folds of my jacket and traveling up my spine. “It’s an easy mistake to make. Must go. Work.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Wedding photographer.”

That prompted a smile. “Be careful out there.”





8


HIM

NOW

Saturday, March 12, 2022

10:15 a.m.

I followed you from your apartment to the courthouse. You were still taking an Uber. Made sense at first after the accident. Gun-shy. Head injury. But it’d been two months, and you still hadn’t bought a car or driven. That was not like you. You were an independent soul. That was one of the things that drew me to you.

As I parked in front of the courthouse, I watched your long legs climb the tall stairs with deliberate care. You were moving better, steadier on your feet, and walked with your old confidence. Your coat flapped open, no doubt showing off your breasts, not quite hidden by the black sweater. Several men stopped what they were doing, glanced in your direction, and ogled those breasts. Even the short red hair added to your allure.

Rising out of the car, I watched as you waited by the front door and strung a couple of cameras around your neck. You were in position, locked and loaded, when the doors opened to a thirtysomething couple. The woman was dressed in an ice-blue dress that skimmed her petite figure, and a white fur jacket warmed her shoulders. The man was wearing black pants, a white shirt, and a sport jacket. Three small yellow roses on his lapel matched the bride’s bouquet.

You snapped pictures, followed them down the stairs to a waiting SUV. You said something to the couple I couldn’t hear, but they turned back toward you. Both were laughing. You fired off a dozen more images.

I marveled at you and wondered again what it was about you and Clare that wouldn’t release me. I’d tried hard to forget. Unhealthy obsessions never end well, as I knew, but even in death, Clare had never been far.

I’d heard identical twins could be hard to distinguish, but I’d never really believed it. There was always something—the shape of a face, the voice, even mannerisms generally varied slightly. But with you two, you were mirror images.

Standing there, I was transported back to a wildly loud New Year’s Eve party. Dressed in black, Clare—yes, I definitely knew now it was Clare—tipped her face to the crescent moon. I’d been smitten and glad I’d taken the chance that she’d be there. Seeing Clare on that fateful night had altered the course of all our lives. So many things I’d have done differently.