The Better Liar(30)

That night after the Floreses had gone to bed I went out on the back porch, dying for a cigarette and some anonymity. It was eerily quiet for a neighborhood with children; noise ordinances, maybe, or rich-people thick walls. And the outdoors itself was free of that heavy, ambient buzz you got in other states, states with trees.

I hadn’t been out here before, and my window faced the street, so I was shocked when I saw they had grass in their backyard. Thick, fresh-cut green grass that must cost a fortune to maintain, even though it wasn’t a full lawn, just a curvy patch bordered by a rock garden and a line of rattleweed bushes. I squatted to touch it. It was cool and slightly damp, as if they had just watered it.

    I glanced back at the empty yellow-lit door and took off my shoes. The grass was probably full of mosquitos, but it felt so good on my feet. I hadn’t walked on grass in ages. You don’t get much in Vegas outside of the golf courses. I probably looked like a moron doing mini laps in the backyard, holding my sneakers in one hand and grinning my face off, but I didn’t stop, happy to be unobserved.

Except I wasn’t unobserved. At the edge of the house, near the neighbor’s property line, I saw a slow orange blink in the darkness, like a firefly, and then I realized what it was.

“I thought you were asleep,” I said.

“Shit,” said Dave, nearly dropping his joint.

I laughed. “That’s not a ciggie…David.”

His dark face was unreadable until his teeth flashed suddenly. “Forgot my manners,” he said. “I won’t tell Leslie if you don’t.” He held out the joint to me between his thumb and finger.

“I do not mind if I do,” I said, setting down my shoes and taking it from him. “So, what, do you stand at the side of your house at ten at night every Monday? And Leslie thinks you’re just, like, taking extra long in the bathroom?”

“Watering the lawn,” he said, retrieving the joint from me. “What are you doing out here?”

There was a little singsong lilt in his voice; automatically I replied, “Looking for you,” as if he were a customer. I leaned back against the wall, next to him. “You know, I usually don’t go to sleep until three in the morning where I live.”

“How old are you? Twenty-something? I used to be able to do that.”

“Around here?” I made a show of looking around the corner at the quiet driveways.

He chuckled. “The nightlife scene is more in the UNM area, not so much out here.”

    “If by nightlife you mean ‘doing exactly what we’re doing now, except with Solo cups,’ sure.”

“Vegas really spoiled you, huh?” Dave said, inhaling. “Too good to climb a mountain and drop acid like a real Burque?a?”

“I hate it here,” I said truthfully. “I don’t know why you live here. I mean, why not at least move to Colorado and smoke whenever you want?”

He tilted his head back and seemed to consider. “My mom is here, for one thing. Eli’s abuelita, she’d be pissed if we moved away. And the food, I always miss it. But mostly it’s because for the last ten years Leslie’s been taking care of her pops.”

He glanced at me. I thought he didn’t intend it as a guilt trip, but he didn’t not intend it either. He was waiting for my reaction. I didn’t give him one.

After a minute of silence, he went on. “He had a home aide, you know, but Leslie was over there all the time. Real sad thing, the way he went.”

“How come you don’t tell Leslie you smoke?” I said abruptly.

“Ah, come on, Robin.” He flicked the end of the joint, examined it, then stepped on it.

“I’m serious,” I said, eyes following him as he deposited the butt behind the rattleweed. “You put the baby to bed and get stoned in your backyard—why should she care?”

He gave me a flat-eyed look, the first negative expression I’d seen cross his face. I felt a small thrill at getting a rise out of him. “You seem real smart,” he said. “You figure it out.”

He started to walk back across the grass. “Night, David,” I called after him.

He looked back at me. The light from the doorway was a bright rectangle behind him, flattening him into silhouette. His black eyelashes flickered in profile as he blinked. “Night.”





22


    Mary


Tuesday morning I woke up to a piece of paper on the floor in front of my door.

    Appointment is Wednesday 4:30 p.m.

There are leftovers in the fridge.

Please be ready for dinner at 7 tonight!



So I was trapped in their house until they got home. Fuck. I smoked my morning cigarette in the closet, hugging my knees to my chest. Where had Leslie gone? She didn’t have a job—and the baby was at daycare—why had she left me here alone? Had I done something to upset her yesterday? I went back through yesterday’s mental file. I’d been super nice to her, I thought. I’d offered to babysit and I’d helped her pack up real neat. We’d gotten through almost a whole bookshelf together. And I’d wanted to poke around for way longer in the room full of faces, but Leslie had looked like she was gonna throw up, so I’d made sure to head right out and help her calm down.