The Lies They Tell(61)



They drove most of the way home in silence before she asked, “Have you thought any more about what I said?” Her gaze was on his hands. They were trembling slightly. “You know . . . about maybe moving off MDI?”

After the other morning, she thought he might bark at her, but all he did was turn the radio down. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t know. I guess I thought you might not want to leave. This is your home, too.”

Pearl thought of Reese, the backseat of his car packed with boxes, and the grief grabbed hold again. “I don’t care,” she said quietly, and Dad didn’t ask any questions.

They ate, Dad having a cup of coffee with his meal, adjusting the mug on the place mat enough times that Pearl could practically feel the need burning in him, the willpower it took for him not to look at the fridge, where the better part of a six-pack waited. She was clearing away their plates when she finally worked up the nerve to say, “You don’t have to stop on your own, you know.”

His hand reached out, covered hers. “I’m not on my own.”

“I went online. There’s an AA group that meets in the basement of the Congregational Church every week. Maybe you could check it out.”

“Maybe.” Then his touch returned to the coffee mug, and she went to the sink, where late-day sunlight filtered in the window at eye level and she could see nothing of the outside.

It wasn’t easy, deciding to go see Reese. She mulled it over for a couple of hours; what she really wanted to do was hang around her room feeling sorry for herself, but she kept remembering last night, how he’d asked her not to run off and she had anyway. Not much better than giving him the silent treatment. She didn’t want to go back to that.

It was harder to leave Dad, who she knew must be fighting a battle not to go to the Tavern; it’d be easier for him if she was here. “I won’t be late,” she said, but he waved her off, settling back to watch the six o’clock news with yet another cup of coffee.

She drove to the carriage house, wondering how it would feel to find the place empty and dark, Reese already relocated to the second-story apartment downtown with bedsheets tacked up in the windows. She let herself in and went up the stairs, knocking once on the door out of habit, not expecting a response.

Footsteps crossed to the door, and Indigo stood there. She was barefoot, dressed in a paisley halter top and denim skirt, her earrings heavy silver hoops.

It took Pearl a moment to speak. “Can I talk to Reese?” Asking her permission was like forcing bits of broken glass up her throat.

“He isn’t here. He’s moving some stuff into the apartment.” Indigo stepped back from the door, gesturing over her shoulder. “He should be back pretty soon.”

Pearl hesitated in the doorway. Reese’s mattress and his plastic drawers were still there; Indigo was emptying his clothes into a cardboard box. Pearl nearly turned and left then, but the thought of the keys in her wallet made her step over the threshold. Indigo didn’t look back, but Pearl could sense the girl’s awareness of her. “So, when did you guys decide to do this?”

“About a week ago.”

Pearl looked around the room, realizing that she’d probably never have reason to come up here again after tonight. “Big change.”

Indigo snorted softly, dropped a flannel shirt into the box. “He’ll leave his toothbrush at my place now. That’ll be different.”

“I meant for me.” But she hadn’t intended to say it aloud. Showing her vulnerability to Indigo—that had to be setting the bar for stupidity.

The girl was quiet, didn’t take her shot; too easy, probably. Pearl cleared her throat and took a chance. “The other day, when you asked me if I was going after those guys, you said ‘good.’ Can I ask what happened there?”

Indigo shook out a pair of Reese’s jeans, refolded them. “I help my grandmother clean sometimes. I met them . . . started getting invites to the parties and stuff.” She shrugged. “I know how they are, that’s all.”

“Doesn’t sound like a glowing review.”

Indigo looked back at her. “You’re telling me you haven’t gotten a taste of that yet?” Her eye shadow was bronze, drawn into faint Cleopatra tilts at the outer corners of the lids. “Those guys don’t let a girl hang around unless they think they’re going to get something out of it.”

Almost word-for-word what Reese had said that first day at Dark Brew. “Any particular guy, or all three?” Indigo kept packing. Pearl tried again, her voice loud in the nearly empty room. “I’ve been trying to figure some things out. Like . . . I’ll think I get how they operate—alpha and omega dog and everything—but then they’ll do something that totally blows all that away.”

“Tristan’s not the only one with a mind of his own, if that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t know. I guess I was hoping you could tell me.”

Indigo taped the box top, breathing out. “Look. In the off-season, I work with Marilyn most mornings. Earn a little extra. I’ve been in all their houses—Spencers, Malhotras, Garrisons. I’ve seen enough to know that Tristan doesn’t control everything.”

“Were you there this December?” She nodded. “Was something weird going on?”

She laughed shortly. “No. Pretty typical. Screwing and lying.”

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