Page 101 of The Lies I Told
“We know it’s a bit fast,” Brit said.
“But the heart wants what the heart wants,” David said.
I studied the ring. Not Brit’s style, and I wondered how long it would be before she had the diamond reset. “It’s lovely.”
David took Brit’s hand in his. “I hope you’re happy for us.”
“Of course I am.”
“David thought it would be fun if you took our engagement pictures. Not the wedding, of course,” Brit said. “You’ll be in the wedding party and can’t very well be running around with a camera.”
I pictured myself in an eggplant or fuchsia dress with flowers in my hair, standing beside three of Brit’s friends dressed exactly the same. “I’d love to do your engagement pictures.”
David smiled. “That’s great. I know whatever pictures you take will be fantastic. Brit tells me how talented you are.”
“Thank you.” My stomach tumbled a little. How many brides and grooms had I photographed who’d been hungover from the rehearsal dinner and rallied to project the image of the perfect couple? How many families had used the wedding stage to prove they weren’t dysfunctional?
I missed Clare in times like this. We’d commiserated when Dad had announced he was marrying Sandra. All the side-eye and suppressed giggles when that happy couple fawned over each other. There was no one else now who would understand the true meaning of one of my eye rolls or smirks.
“I don’t have much of a family,” David said. “And you two only have each other. I feel honored that Brit is allowing me into your inner circle.”
Our inner circle. Brit, Clare, and I had been an oddly tight little, disjointed unit bound by our mother’s death, our father’s abdication, and our own destructive habits that kept us looking out for each other. And now the remaining Stockton sisters had David, leaving me to wonder what was wrong with him.
42
HIM
THEN
Monday, January 17, 2022
2:00 p.m.
It took me three days to get up the nerve to visit Marisa in the hospital. I spent too many hours figuring out how to get inside unnoticed. I’d finally resolved to dress in an orderly’s scrubs. These individuals moved about the hospital easily and often went unnoticed. Credentials were an issue, but that turned out to be easier than I thought as I lingered in a coffee shop near the medical center. An older man who went to pay his bill at the register left his lanyard and identification at his table. As his head was turned, I swiped them and slipped outside to the busy sidewalk.
It took some asking around to find Marisa’s floor after she’d been moved from the surgical unit, but again motivation was a powerful tool. I was soon stepping into her room with an armload of clean sheets I’d swiped from a cart.
The room was dimly lit, and the television mounted on the wall was muted. Marisa was lying in her bed, her eyes closed. Her head waswrapped in a large bandage, and I could see the surgeon had cut her hair on the right side of her head. Long hair on the left and shorn on the right, the lopsidedness was almost comical.
Machines beeped as I set my linens down and walked to the bed. Her face looked pale, drawn, and without her expressive eyes staring back at me, rather plain.
“Marisa,” I said softly.
Her chest rose and fell in a steady, even pattern. She was going to live. That much I could see for myself, but what would she remember?
I took her hand in mine as I’d done so many years ago. It was cold, limp. I squeezed it gently at first, but when she didn’t respond, I tightened my grip, knowing I was crushing her knuckles against each other. Finally, her forehead furrowed. Relief surged. Knowing I was hurting her didn’t bother me. She was alive through no fault of her own. She’d been a naughty girl who had put me through a lot of worry during the last twenty-four hours. It seemed only fair she got a little back.
I leaned closer to the bed until my lips brushed her ear. “Marisa, wake up. I need to know you’re in there, Marisa.”
She didn’t react until I folded her wrist back on itself. A self-defense move I’d learned years ago when it had been done to me a few times, and it hurt like hell. No different from what a doctor did with the pins and needles they stuck in a patient.
The frown deepened, the heart rate monitor sped up, and then her eyes fluttered open. I eased off the pressure, knowing a real spike in her heart rate would summon a nurse.
At first her gaze was vacant, and I assumed that she was swimming up toward consciousness. “Marisa, can you see me?”
Her head shifted toward me and those eyes focused. She stared into my face a long moment. I tensed, fearing she’d scream or call for help. But there was no flicker of recognition.
“Can you see me?” I asked.
