The Better Liar(52)

I blinked hard as my eyes watered. “You went with me because you were failing in Vegas,” I said, hearing the edge in it. “So don’t pretend it was because you care about my problems. I need the money, and so do you. It doesn’t matter why.”

Mary studied my eyes dispassionately, as if trying to determine whether the tears were real. Finally she said, “I thought we were kinda getting along, you know. I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to get dressed,” I said flatly.

Mary raised her eyebrows, but got up off the couch and went upstairs. I shut the TV off and gathered up the pizza detritus.

When she came back down, she had left the white Adidas on, but changed into a polo dress. Not ideal, but it was enough. We got into the car in silence. Mary looked out the window as I started the car and pulled us onto the main road.

After a minute I dug Robin’s passport out of my purse and tossed it into her lap. “Found that in the safety deposit box. It’s got three months left on it. You can use it if they ask you for ID.”

She thumbed through it. “There’s no country stamps in here.”

“We didn’t travel much.”

Mary flipped back to the photo. I could see her examining it out of the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry for lying to you,” I said finally. “I didn’t know what else to say to explain why I need the will to go through.”

“You could tell me what’s really going on,” she said timidly.

I shook my head. “I can’t tell anyone. It’s not personal. And it won’t affect you.” I looked over at her. “I promise.”

Mary’s hair had fallen into her face. The light turned green as we stared at each other, and I hit the gas. Mary glanced back down at the passport in her hands. “She takes a good photo,” she said.

    I knew the photo she was looking at. My dad had been talking about a trip to Europe as a reward if Robin stayed out of trouble. But Robin never stayed out of trouble. They’d told us not to smile in the picture, but she’d smiled anyway, looking into the camera as if it were her conspirator, the light turning her pale skin pink at the edges. Like she really had thought we were going to Europe.

“She ran away right after that.” I didn’t know why I said it. To stop Mary looking at the photo that way, maybe. “I saw her leaving, you know.”

Mary flipped the passport shut. “You didn’t stop her?”

“She left all the time.” I glanced over my shoulder and switched lanes. “She always thought she was quiet about it, but my bedroom window was right next to hers. I heard it every time she opened it.”

“And you saw her that night?”

“Yeah.” I pulled the visor down. “She just walked straight across the backyard and climbed the fence, and then she was gone. She barely took anything with her. I figured she’d be back in a few days.”

“But she wasn’t.”

“No.”

Mary rolled her window down and adjusted the side mirror so that she could put on lipstick. “Do you ever wish you had stopped her?”

I shook my head. “I was angry at her. For making everything so hard. She was failing school, lying about where she was. And she wouldn’t have listened to me. We were really close when we were kids, but after our mom died, she was different.”

Mary rolled the window back up and snapped the cap back on her lipstick. “Different how?”

“I don’t know.” I flipped on the radio. “Anything you need to know before we go inside?”

“How’d your mom die?”

Vintage radio, Tino Rossi. Besame, besame mucho…

“She drowned.”

“Huh.” Mary rubbed her lips together.

“I meant anything about Robin. So you won’t slip up.”

    “I won’t slip up.” She gave me a facetious glance that did in fact look exactly like Robin, and I thought maybe she had forgiven me.

We were in the parking lot. I felt strangely buoyed by Mary as we got out of the car. I had been alone with my secret for a long time. Now I had somebody in this with me, even if she was a stranger. I reached for her hand impulsively as we approached the building, and she let me take it, the surprise showing on her face, which was so much like my sister’s face. We looked mirrored in the mirrored doors, two of a kind, side by side.





36


    Robin


After the funeral, Leslie was allowed to stay in the living room with the adults, while my four-year-old cousin Tad and I were shut in the rec room. In Family Plot there was singing. I didn’t hear any singing.

Tad rolled underneath one of the plastic chairs and began lifting it with his feet, like a parent playing airplane with a baby.

I draped myself across the beanbag and decided to sing anyway. I didn’t really know the hymns so I sang “Un-Break My Heart” instead.

In the middle of my song, my father’s friend Albert walked in. He was wearing a brown suit. I looked at him from upside down on the beanbag chair and kept singing. Albert folded his arms and waited for me to finish.

“Very good,” he said when I’d run out of lyrics.

“Oh, thank you,” I said, still upside down.