Behind Every Lie(62)



But now he looked gray and haggard.

He didn’t smile when he saw me. His expression hovered somewhere between uneasy and upset.

“What happened?” I gasped.

Liam’s mouth flapped open, then closed. He lifted his shoulders, casting his eyes over the mess. He blew out a long breath while shaking his head. “You happened.”

“What do you mean?”

“You went crazy last night, Eva.”

“I did this?” Guilt surged as what I’d done hit me full in the throat. “I-I don’t remember. Last thing I knew I was in the kitchen watching you cook. And then you carried me upstairs.”

Liam nodded, his blue eyes shadowed. The fine lines around his eyes were more pronounced than usual. “But you woke up. You came downstairs and said you had to go see the detective. You were obviously exhausted and pretty drunk so I tried to stop you. You went absolutely ballistic.”

His words bolted down my spine.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“You were pretty pissed at me. And you said you were scared of this Sebastian guy. I swear, Eva, I didn’t even recognize you.”

I sank onto the steps and pulled my knees to my chest, remembering how I’d started to pass out in the kitchen, my mind drifting in and out like the tide. I dug my fingers into the thick pile, gripping it to keep me in place.

“I don’t know what to say. I’m so, so sorry.”

His forehead was creased with that intense look of concern that’d become familiar lately. He handed me the mug of tea and knelt in front of me. He tugged the zipper of my hoodie up, pushing the hair from my forehead.

“How do you feel?”

“Not the greatest,” I admitted.

“Well, I’ve organized some things that might help. Come look.” He helped me to my feet and tugged me around the broken glass to the front door. He pulled it open. The sunlight sliced through my retinas, too bright for my fragile brain. I shaded my eyes and squinted in the direction he was pointing.

“Motion detector floodlights. I’ve installed them at the front and the back of the house so if anybody approaches, we’ll see them. I’ve also changed the locks and put in a dead bolt and a chain on all the doors: front, back, and the one in the garage. And, best of all, I’ve called an alarm installation company. They’ll be here tomorrow. I got the premium package: video monitoring, two-way intercom, panic buttons. Everything you need to feel safe. And it’ll all be hooked up to their central monitoring system.” He smiled, looking proud of all the manly things he’d accomplished. “What do you think?”

“Wo-wow,” I stuttered. I took a giant sip of scalding tea, trying to give myself time to answer.

Liam threw his arms up in the air and pulled away from me. I’d offended him. “What’s wrong? You said you were scared. You said you were afraid someone’s been following you. I wanted to help. I just want you to feel safe.”

“You’re right.” I rushed to fill the space widening between us. “This is great. Thank you.”

He pulled me inside and threw the new dead bolt shut, slid the chain into place.

I should’ve been grateful he’d gone to all this trouble to make me feel safe. Liam was a nurturer. He liked taking care of me, and I’d never minded before. In fact, maybe—no, definitely—I’d en couraged it. He made me feel safe and cared for; it was one of the things I loved about him. Paying the bills, organizing life insurance, planning our meals, getting my kiln and pottery wheel set up in the garage, and driving me to and from work—he was so much better at these tasks than I was.

So why did this bother me so much?

Standing in the middle of the overly bright living room, all secured with locks and bolts and alarms, the sickening heat chugging out of the fireplace, I didn’t feel grateful. I just felt unsettled.

I stared outside at the lake. It was a peculiar shade of gray, reflecting the ominous clouds hovering in the sky. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t remember what I’d done last night. A shutter had fallen over my mind.

“I can’t remember.” Nausea churned in my stomach, my breath coming in shallow bursts. Panic narrowed my vision to pinpricks. I stumbled backward, away from him. “Liam, I can’t remember any of it!”

He reached for me, his face a mask of pity. “It’s okay.”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t understand! Maybe this is what happened at my mom’s! Maybe I snapped. Maybe I went crazy and accidentally …”

My legs went weak and I collapsed onto my knees, my eyes squeezed shut. I was shaking so hard my teeth were chattering. When I opened my eyes, my distorted reflection shimmered in the shards of the crystal vase shattered across the hardwood floor.





thirty-two

kat




17 years before

OVER THE NEXT EIGHT YEARS, I learned that time is an intractable thing, barreling on no matter how broken our hearts or minds. At times I wanted to curl up and die. To just give up. But my children demanded I live, and so I did. I could not allow bitterness to wear me down.

Mike and I settled in Seattle with Eva and our son, Andrew. I went to university and became a high school physics teacher. We were mostly happy, I certainly cannot lie about that.

Eva easily forgot about her life before America. Only now is research about childhood memories becoming clearer: children can remember events before the age of three when they’re small, but by the time they turn seven, those memories are lost, sometimes forever, in the neurons of their developing minds.

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