Behind Every Lie(69)

“Mom? You ho—?” She stopped, her eyes flicking between Rose and me. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.”

Rose stood, a smile pasted on her face. Only I could see that her hands were shaking.

“You must be Eva,” she said. “Lovely to meet you, my dear.”

She shot a look at me. I shook my head, a sharp warning.

“I was in the neighborhood looking at purchasing an art gallery up the street. I thought I’d chat to some of the neighbors.”

Rose looked at me again. The rims of her eyes were blood red. She smiled a sad little smile. “I was just leaving.”





thirty-five

eva




I SNATCHED MY PHONE from the coffee table and answered.

“Hey.” Jacob’s voice was hollow. I knew instantly something was wrong.

“What’s up?”

“My dad passed away last night. I’m having a funeral for him next week, if you’re around.”

“Oh, Jake.” I sat down on the couch. I’d been so wrapped up in my own fears and worries that I’d completely let slip that Jacob’s father was dying. “I’m so sorry. Of course I’ll be there. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “I’m … sadder than I thought I’d be. It’s a lot to process. What about you? You’re home from London?”

“Yeah, just back yesterday.” I went to the kitchen and made myself a cup of tea, giving him a quick highlight reel of what I’d learned in London, including that my birth name was Laura.

“It’s just a name,” he said. “Didn’t Shakespeare say something about names and roses? Your name doesn’t change who you are.”

“Maybe. But it scares me to think I’ll never be able to go back to who I used to be.”

“I guess you don’t go back,” he said. “You just keep going forward and trust you’re doing the right thing.”

I sank onto the couch and tucked my feet under me, the tea gripped in one hand, the phone in the other. A million thoughts flut tered through my mind. The corduroy jacket. The gun. The texts. I closed my eyes, projecting Mom’s living room onto the chalkboard of my mind. Maybe I’d missed something when I was there last. Some important detail my brain was hiding from me.

My eyelids flipped open. “Jacob, were you home the night Mom was killed? You would’ve been right across the road! What did you see?”

I wanted to shake myself. I would be a seriously god-awful detective. How had I overlooked asking Jacob what he’d seen?

“I was home, but I didn’t see anything useful. I’m sorry.” His voice was filled with regret.

“Anything could help.”

“I’ll tell you what I told the detective. I heard a really brief scream and looked out the front window, but it was dark and I didn’t see anything unusual. I gave my dad a dose of pain medicine. When I looked out the front window about fifteen, twenty minutes later, I noticed your mom’s front door was open. I called the police then.”

Crushing disappointment filled me. He really hadn’t seen anything useful.

“There was one thing, though,” he said hesitantly. “Not that night, but a few days before. I was up with my dad around four or five in the morning—he wasn’t sleeping very well by that stage—and I saw a woman sneaking out of your mom’s house.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Sneaking out, like stealing something?”

Jacob laughed. “No, more like doing the walk of shame.”

I held my tea under my chin, letting the steam warm my face. “I guess it makes sense. My dad told me yesterday that Mom was gay. I guess it’s why they divorced. Mom cheated on him.”

“Huh. No kidding.” He didn’t sound that surprised.

“Did you know?”

“No, not at all. I just wondered after seeing that woman. Plus, you know, Lily and her were always so close.…”

“No.… Lily and—” I shook my head.

I couldn’t see Mom and Lily together. They were close, but close like sisters; they loved each other but they competed with each other too. Christmas was a race to see who would decorate the most elaborate tree; Halloween a ridiculous contest to see whose pumpkin was biggest and who had the scariest spiderwebs strung across the boxwoods in their front yards. Mom wasn’t usually a competitive type; Lily just brought it out in her.

I’d never forget when I was fifteen and I lost my photography club’s annual photo competition—to Jacob, of course. Mom had brushed it aside and told me not to worry about it. “Winning isn’t everything,” she said.

After she’d left the room, Lily had caught my eye. “Don’t listen to her. Winning is everything. You don’t have to win today or even tomorrow. Just make sure you win one day.”

I said to Jacob, “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”

“Does it matter?” he asked.

“No, but why would she hide such an important part of herself?”

“Maybe she was scared. Self-doubt and fear are sort of a buy-one, get-one-free package. They work together to make us feel like shit about ourselves.”

His words punched me in the face. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was as simple as believing I was worth trusting.