The Lies I Told(68)

David drank his beer. “Good to know. Thanks.”

I grinned. “When are you going to do the deed—ask Brit to marry you?”

A hesitant smile tugged at his lips. “Later tonight, actually. I’m meeting her for drinks in a couple of hours.”

“Best of luck to you. She’s a great gal. She’s been through hell and back. Mother died, then her sister. Father split, then died. A lot of tragedy in one family. But you know that.”

“What’s bringing all this up, Jack?” David asked. “You don’t do anything without a reason.”

“Neither do you.”

David shrugged.

“Like you, I’m protecting what’s mine. Jo-Jo just told me she’s expecting.”

He tipped his beer bottle toward me. “Congratulations.”

“A lot on the line now. Not just a wife but a family to protect.”

David traced his finger along the moist exterior of the glass. “This is an odd conversation, Jack. Not one I wanted to have tonight.”

“You’re right, man. Not appropriate. But we need to make sure we understand each other. I can’t afford to clean up any more of your fuckups.”

David slipped back behind his silence.

I sipped my beer. “We both care about Brit, and we want her to be happy. She and I are going to be doing big business together.”

“What’re you getting at?”

I offered my best grin, the one I saved for unruly patrons and squirrelly drug dealers. “Keep the past in the past. Don’t do anything to screw it up like before.”

“I’ve no intention of screwing anything up.”

“Nobody ever plans to fuck up.” The beer tasted weak, too watery for my tastes. “I know how hard atonement can be. Everyone wants to judge you for your past.”

“This is friendly advice?” he asked.

“You know me better than that.” I laughed. “It’s a promise. I’ll fuck you up bad if you mess with Brit or share the old days during some pillow-talk session.”

“It’s in both our interests if I don’t.”

“That’s right.” I rose, tossed two twenties on the table. “Best of luck tonight. She’s a fine woman but a real ballbuster.”





38


MARISA

Friday, March 18, 2022

7:15 p.m.

“Did you know Clare was pregnant?” I asked Brit the instant she opened her front door.

Brit was taken aback by me and my question. I’d not called because I knew she’d put me off. She was fine with showing up at my place unannounced, but that shoe never fit well on the other foot.

“Yes, I knew. Dad told me when he was sick two years ago.” Brit averted her gaze and opened her door wider, already tensing at the idea a neighbor might hear. “Come in. I’d rather not have this conversation on my front porch. Neighbors are nosy.”

I stood my ground, not caring whether the whole damn neighborhood heard me. She wasn’t telling me the entire truth. “Why was I left out of the loop?”

“Inside or we don’t talk.”

I stepped into the foyer, and she closed the door behind me. “Dad only told me because he was sick,” she said softly. “Dying churned up a lot of regrets for him. Though that man had many reasons for remorse, that one rose to the top. And as I remember, two years ago, you were drinking heavily.”

“I’ve been sober a year.”

“And learning your dead sister was pregnant would’ve helped you how?”

“I had a right to know.”

“I didn’t want to challenge your delicate hold on sobriety.”

“I had a right to know. She was my sister. My twin.”

“You don’t get the rights of an adult when you’re high.” Her sharp words lingered between us before she drew in a breath. “Look, I feared if you knew there was a baby, it would be too much.”

“The baby could have been the reason she was killed,” I said.

Without a word, Brit turned and walked down the hallway to her kitchen. From the fridge she pulled out a seltzer for me and set it on the counter before moving to a wine bar and uncorking a bottle of red. She poured a generous serving. “Dad said Richards was worried that the baby’s father could have killed her. But Kurt’s DNA didn’t match. Who was the father?”

Mama Brit didn’t have all the answers.

“Clare was with several guys, some she might not have remembered. I’m not judging. We all dealt with Mom’s death differently. For me it was booze, for her it was sex, and you control.”

“Control? I didn’t want the control. Dad needed me to look after you two. We were all in over our heads after Mom died. The last thing I wanted was to play mommy at age fifteen.”

“You’re right. It wasn’t fair. Dad wanted to forget about all three of us,” I said. “Our home was his physical address, but he checked out months before Mom died. All three of us felt orphaned. The lush, the slut, and the control freak. We were quite the trio.”

Brit’s lips thinned into a grim line. “You make us sound like monsters. We were kids, doing the best we could.”

“Did Mom poison us?”