Page 49 of The Lies I Told
I scanned my apartment. Everything was just as I’d left it. The dishes in the sink, the two coffee cups by my large-screen computer, Richards’s copied files on the floor by my desk.
I turned on a halogen lamp, which shot light onto the exposed pipes and ducts on the ceiling, and I moved toward my bedroom, still gripping my phone. Mouth dry, heart pumping, my brain said again I was overreacting.Jesus, Marisa, do you have to get so spun up? You’ve always been like this.Overreactshould be your middle name.
Clare had been my balance when we were kids. Whenever I was frustrated and wanted to break something or cut off a doll’s hair, Clare talked me out of it. When Dad gave us the Jeep, I pressed the speed limit past one hundred miles an hour until Clare’s screams finally reached me. And when I drove down I-295 drunk, Clare was there to swap IDs.
After Clare’s death, I’d been even more out of control. I was an engine with no governor. And then two years ago, I’d overdosed. That had been my wake-up call.
Even now I could remember sitting in that dark alley behind J.J.’s Pub. My eyes had drifted closed, and I’d slid to the ground against the hard, wet brick. My heartbeat had slowed, my breathing was shallower than a teacup, and my hands and feet chilled. In that moment, I knew I’d screwed up. Everyone had said I had a death wish after Clare died, but I hadn’t. I’d simply wanted to numb the pain, which was so intense it took my breath away. All I wanted was to feel normal, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I’d expected that as Death grew closer, I’d see Clare or my mother. But I hadn’t. No bright light. No angels. It had been utter darkness. More loneliness, if that was possible.
Jack had found me. He’d been out dumping the trash, and I must have moaned or done something to catch his attention. He’d cupped my face in his hands and pried open my eyelids with his thumbs.
“What the fuck have you done?” he whispered. “I’m not doing this again.”
“I miss Clare,” I muttered.
“You and I are too much alike. Loyal to a fault.”
He’d called the rescue squad, Narcan was jabbed into my system, and I was dragged back from the brink.
For a couple of months after the overdose, I’d been more measured, but not sober by any stretch. I didn’t inflict the self-made errors that had derailed me too many times. Still got buzzed from time to time, but nothing outrageous. And then I’d cleaned up for good last year.
I fumbled for my bedroom light switch, flipped it on, and sent more light spilling over the nightstand and the untouched prescription bottles from the doctor, my reading glasses, a battery-powered alarm clock, and a small pair of Clare’s gold hoop earrings I’d jerked from my ears the night of our birthday.
I moved toward the closet, gripped the doorknob, drew in a breath, and yanked it open. Inside were the few clothes I’d bothered to put on hangers, a collection of ankle boots in varying shades of black, and a suitcase I’d not used in years. Next I moved to my darkroom, opened the door, and found only the print I’d developed the day before swaying from the clothesline.
“No one’s here,” I whispered. “You’re alone.” Just as it should be.
Back in the living room, I slowly closed my apartment’s front door and slid the dead bolt into place. The unsettled feeling chased me to the kitchen, where I slowly lowered my purse onto the counter. I slid my phone into my back pocket and collected Richards’s notes from the floor around my desk. I’d already read them twice but was certain I’d missed something. Was this what Richards did with his cases? Did he stare at the files, endlessly revisiting them, even praying over them for the small detail that danced out of reach, like a 1990s sitcom name?
A can of seltzer in hand, I sat on my couch, staring out at the river and the Richmond skyline. I took one sip, found the taste too plain, and set it down. My head dropped back against the couch as I stared at the ceiling. Adrenaline finally crashing, I slowly closed my eyes, surprisedmy mind was so easily slipping to that euphoric place between awake and asleep. Thinking I should reread Richards’s notes, I fought to stay alert, but the soft lure of sleep, now stronger than the notes, guided me toward an edge. One more step, and I fell face forward into sleep.
It wasn’t a soft landing like you’d expect. When I hit, my body struck a hard, rocky surface with jagged edges. Moaning, I rolled on my back and stared into the upstairs hallway of my parents’ house.
An unidentifiable whisper mingled with the wind as I moved down the long hallway. When I reached Brit’s open door, I saw a woman’s figure standing by Brit’s bed, hovering over her as she nudged my sister’s lips open and coaxed her to drink. “This will make you feel better.”
When the woman stood and turned, I realized it was Mommy. Her expression was a mixture of surprise and annoyance. And then her features softened, and she smiled. “What’re you doing out of bed, pumpkin?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
“Poor baby. Let me tuck you back in bed.”
“Is Brit sick?”
“Not anymore,” Mommy said. “I made her better. Now let’s get you back to bed, little miss. Daddy’s home, and I’d like to spend a little grown-up time with him.”
“Can I see Daddy?” It had been weeks since he’d been home.
“In the morning. Tonight, it’s just the two of us.”
“Is Daddy mad at us?” I asked.
Mommy smoothed a red strand off my forehead. “Why would you say that?”
“He’s always gone.”
“He works hard,” Mommy said. “And I think he’ll be spending more time at home from now on.”
