The Lies I Told(58)

“I’ll take that bet.”

He held out his hand. “I’m willing to put a dollar on the table.”

I accepted his hand, grateful whatever moody vibe I’d just gotten from him had gone away. He was back to being Jack, my friend. “It’s a deal. If I sell a painting, I’ll pay you a dollar.”

“Consider it my commission.”

He refused any money for the space rental or a real commission on sales. Kept saying to remember him when I hit the big time.

A car’s front end squeaked, and I turned to see a woman dressed in scrubs behind the wheel of a small red car angling into a parking spot. The woman raised a coffee cup to her lips, and for a moment our gazes met. I must’ve looked insane standing here.

The woman got out of the car. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“It’s early.” The woman sensed something was off and couldn’t let it go.

“I was in a car accident here in January. I came to see the spot.”

“That was you?”

“It was.”

“My roommate saw it happen. She said the crash made a horrific noise.”

“I was going too fast.” I wanted to add that I wasn’t drunk, that I didn’t use drugs, but spilling random explanations to a stranger didn’t make much sense.

“Are you really okay?” she asked.

“Just trying to remember the accident. It’s all a blank. Did your roommate tell you anything about it?”

“She said she saw you hit. As she ran out of our apartment toward your car, another man came up to help. He stayed with you while she called 9-1-1.”

“A man?” Carving through the inky blackness, I sensed the faint memory of a man’s hands gently touching my forehead. The report hadn’t mentioned a man. “Who?”

“I don’t know. He was gone when she got back.”

Had he been the one who’d comforted me? Had he taken my phone? I couldn’t back the feeling with facts or memories, but I knew this guy wasn’t random. “Anyone catch his name? I’d like to thank him.”

“No.”

I looked up at the apartment building and noted the numbers. “You and your roommate live here?”

“I’m Roberta Paulson, and my roommate is Jenny Taylor. I can give her your number. She’ll call you when she has a moment.”

“Thanks. If I could call her, that would be great.” Roberta gave me her number, and I texted her a note explaining the situation.

“Look, I’ve got to get a shower and take a quick nap. Working a double,” Roberta said.

“Thanks for stopping. This has been helpful.”

“I didn’t tell you much.”

“Any and all pieces are welcome.” The early-morning chill had seeped into my bones.

Everyone lies.

I’d lied about using drugs and sleeping with Jack.

Jack had lied about spending the night with me.

Brit had omitted she’d fought with Clare that last night.

Kurt, who’d been scrutinized the most, might have been the most honest of us all.

And Jo-Jo was lying, too. Maybe she’d not fabricated a story, but she wasn’t telling everything she knew. Her lies were ones of omission.





33


MARISA

Friday, March 18, 2022

6:30 a.m.

As I climbed the stairs to my apartment, Alan’s door opened. His voice mingled with a woman’s. I couldn’t make out whatever they were saying, but I picked up an awkward strain that ran under the words.

I reached the top landing as Alan kissed the woman, who wore a cocktail dress and heels that looked painful. They both turned toward me.

“Morning,” I said.

“Morning,” the woman said.

Alan’s demeanor was casual, as it always was when we passed each other in the hallway. He seemed a little chagrined and also curious about my sudden appearance. Likely wondering where I’d been this early as he questioned his own timing. Maybe he assumed I was coming home after a night like the one he’d had.

“Have a good day,” I said as I fumbled with my keys.

As I twisted the lock, the woman’s heels clicked on the stone stairs as she vanished down the stairwell.

“You’re up early,” Alan said.

I paused in the doorway and faced him. “Couldn’t sleep. Out for a drive.”

Alan’s hair was tousled, and his T-shirt was on inside out. Roguish, charming even. “I’ve a fresh pot of coffee on. Should be finished brewing now.”

“You didn’t offer her coffee?” I asked.

“I’m tired. She’s a tea drinker.”

I shook my head. “She and I can never be friends.”

He chuckled. “A deal breaker for me, too.”

“Was there a deal to be broken between you two?”

“No.” He jabbed his thumb over his shoulder. “I make a mean cup.”

“I can’t say no to that.”

As I passed by, I caught the whiff of his scent mingling with the faint perfume of his guest. My post-sobriety celibacy kick left me a little jealous of this woman who had a sex life. A little sex would be nice occasionally, but with me it seemed everything was either all or nothing.