The Lies I Told(65)

Shaking off the memory, I rose and moved into Jack’s and my bedroom and then the walk-in closet. Rising on tiptoes, I grabbed an old shoebox and sat on the closet floor. Carefully I removed the top and dug through the random keepsakes until I found the small point-and-shoot camera.

The battery had gone dead a long time ago, but when I’d discovered Clare had left it tucked in her coat pocket, I’d opened the viewfinder and looked at the pictures. I’d scrolled back to the November dates and looked at the images. Marisa sitting on her unmade bed. Jack with Brit. The morning sky. An art show in the city. And the partly turned face of a guy I didn’t remember. Was he the guy?

The camera had also proved that Jack had been around Clare about the time she got pregnant. I had always thought Clare told me everything, including anything to do with Jack. But maybe Clare and Marisa were more alike. Marisa sure had kept her night with Jack a secret for thirteen years.

I’d never told anyone about Clare’s baby or the camera, not even the police detective who stared at me with the wary eyes of a predator. I’d never told Brit or Marisa. The baby was a secret that I alone had shared with Clare and the camera my only tangible souvenir of her. Besides, telling would’ve broken the bond between us, and I couldn’t let that last tentative connection break.

The cops must have figured out about the baby. There’d been an autopsy that had delayed the funeral by a week. And Kurt had told me the cops had taken cheek swabs from all the boys who’d been at the party. There’d been no public announcement about the pregnancy, and Marisa never mentioned it. I figured the baby was one of those details they were keeping secret. Their ace in the hole to catch the killer.

Once I’d seen an autopsy on YouTube. It was gross, and I’d been thinking about Clare as the doctor’s knife sliced around the breasts and down the belly, creating a Y shape. Imagining Clare getting cut up made me cry.

I shoved aside the old memories as my stomach rolled. I stood and filled a glass with tap water and sipped slowly.

And now I was pregnant and feeling just as nervous as Clare had looked that day. Of course, our situations weren’t even comparable, but fear, nerves, and uncertainty didn’t care about age or job description.

The front door opened, and I quickly put the camera back in the box and tucked it behind sweaters on the top shelf.

I recognized Jack’s steady steps, which reminded me of marching soldiers going into battle. He said he’d picked up the purposeful footsteps in prison. “Get from point A to B as quick as you can,” he’d said. “Staying alive was the single goal.” He still approached every day like he was fighting to stay free.

“Hey,” I said, smiling. “I thought you had meetings all day.”

Something in my voice (nerves maybe) must have caught his attention. He missed very little. “I thought you’d be at school.”

“I called in sick.”

“What’s wrong?” Feeling his strong arms always calmed me, and I should’ve been thrilled to tell Jack about the baby. This child was what we both wanted. What we’d dreamed about for the last three years. And yet I drew in a deep breath before I said, “I’m pregnant.”

He laid his hands on my shoulders, studied my face closely. “What? You said it was negative yesterday.”

“The test this morning popped with double lines.”

He stood still as stone, and I thought he might be annoyed. He always looked like a statue right before he exploded. But he broke the stillness with a slow, steady smile. “Jo-Jo, that’s fantastic. Are you happy?”

“Shocked. Scared. Happy. I’d given up thinking this was going to happen.”

He hugged me close, wrapping me in the strength of his arms. He smelled of restaurant-renovation sawdust, fresh cold air, and the Irish soap I bought him. “You’re going to be a great mom.”

“You mean it?” I asked against his flannel shirt.

“Of course I do. I always thought that, even back in high school.”

I drew back, looked up at his face. His square jaw was covered in stubble, but there was a rare softening in his gaze. Sudden tears burned in my eyes. I wiped one away. “Sorry.”

He smoothed a tear off my face. “What’s gotten you so upset?”

“I was thinking about Clare.”

Stiffness rippled through his muscles. “That was a long time ago.”

“I just keep thinking about that last night. I know I need to put it behind me, and I have for the most part. But it comes back when I least expect it.”

“Because of her pregnancy?” he asked softly.

I’d lied to Marisa when I said I’d not told anyone about Clare’s pregnancy. I’d told Jack last year. It was New Year’s, another time of year rife with triggers, and I’d had too much to drink. I’d whispered my secret and immediately regretted it. Time and booze had given me the permission to betray Clare.

Jack had not said much, frowned as if he were working this bit of information into a bigger puzzle. He’d held me close, asked about the baby’s father. I didn’t know. He’d kissed me and taken me back to our home. As we’d made love, I could’ve sworn Clare was standing in the corner, staring at me, her gaze filled with pain.

Now he tipped my face back with his crooked index finger. “Did you ever tell anyone?”