Lies I Told(10)

“Because,” he sighed. “People say different things to friends than they do to significant others. Pillow talk and all that.”

Parker’s face tightened, but he nodded. “How long will the setup on this take?”

“Hard to say.” He looked at each of us. “But it’ll be worth the wait.”





Eight


I was stepping onto the back patio, trash bag in hand, when Parker’s voice came from the shadows.

“You don’t have to do it.”

I peered into the darkness, letting my eyes adjust until I could make out the smudge of his body. He was leaning against the house, a tiny orange light glowing in front of his face. The scent of pot, tangled with night jasmine and salt water, drifted to me on the sea breeze.

“You can’t do everything,” I said carefully. “I’m part of the family, too, you know.”

A bitter laugh escaped his throat. He took a drag on the joint. “Family, huh?”

His words jabbed painfully at my heart. I didn’t like it when Parker got like this. Dark and brooding, his sarcasm a shroud for the anger that seethed underneath it. I wasn’t stupid. I knew our life wasn’t perfect. But we were safe and healthy. We had parents who loved us. It was more than a lot of people had.

“Parker . . .” I put a hand on his arm, choosing my words carefully. The backyard was shielded on either side by bougainvillea-covered fences, but it still wasn’t the War Room. “Let’s not do this again. There’s no point. This is the way it is.”

“Well, the way it is sucks.” He pushed off the wall of the house and lifted a black backpack from the ground near his feet. Swinging it over his shoulder, he stalked into the dark.

“Where are you going?”

“To do my job.”

I stared after him as he faded into the night. Then I picked up the trash bag and headed for the side of the house, looking for the trash can my mom had said was there.

I was halfway down the walkway, so overgrown with trees and vines that the light of the full moon was almost completely obliterated, when I heard humming. I stopped walking and listened, trying to determine the source of the sound. A few seconds later I realized it was coming from the backyard next door, hidden from view by the fence that separated the properties, and was accompanied by a low gurgling that could have been the jets on a hot tub.

A man’s voice rose into the night, singing.



You always hurt the one you love

The one you shouldn’t hurt at all.



The song sounded old and a little sultry. I wondered if the man singing it was the same person who had watched Parker and me walk to the car that morning. And then I wondered something else: Had he heard me talking to Parker in the dark?

I walked carefully to the fence, peering through one of the gaps, hoping to get a look at him.

At first all I could see was the backyard. It was lush, almost overgrown, with so many flowers and trees I could barely make out the glow of lights on the deck, steam rising into the night air. A hairy arm was flung over the wooden edge of a hot tub, but the rest of the man was obscured by climbing vines on a trellis that acted as a screen for the Jacuzzi. I adjusted my position, trying to get a better look, but all I got was a glimpse of a baseball cap.

Stepping away from the fence, I forced myself to think, to remember what I’d said to Parker. Had I given us away? Broken one of the cardinal rules by talking about the job outside the War Room?

But no. I hadn’t said anything incriminating—only that Parker couldn’t do everything, that I was part of the family, too.

It could have meant anything.

I shook off my unease and continued to the trash can, dropping the bag inside before heading back down the path. A gust of wind blew through the trees, and a commotion rose in the branches over my head, a cacophony of flapping wings as birds took flight. I looked up, but all I saw was the shadow of leaves and twisted branches.

“Yes, yes!” the man next door called out, his voice magnanimous.

I froze.

“Take flight, my little parrots. Be free,” he continued. “As free as you can be in this gilded cage. As free as any of us can be.”

I hurried to the back door, rubbing my arms against a sudden chill.





Nine


I was staring out the window the next morning, hoping for a glimpse of the birds, when my mom’s heels sounded on the tile in the kitchen.

“Are there really parrots here, Mom?” I asked, still scanning the trees.

“There are. I thought I told you.”

I turned to her. “You didn’t.”

She twisted the cap on a bottle of vitamins and shook a couple into her hand. “The Realtor said it started sometime in the 1980s. A bunch of people had them as pets, and they got out or were let go or something. Now they’re naturalized.”

“What does that mean?”

She thought about it. “They’ve been here so long they’ve gotten used to it. It’s like they belong here now.”

I turned my eyes back to the window, hit with an unexpected pang of loss.

My mother’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “You okay, Gracie?”

I looked away from the window. “I’m just tired, I guess.”

She reached out and smoothed my hair. “It’s tough getting used to a new place.” She surveyed me with knowing eyes. “Maybe we can do takeout tonight, watch a movie on the sofa if you don’t have too much homework.”