Page 50 of The Lies I Told
I looked back over my shoulder and saw Brit roll on her side and curl into a ball like a contented cat. She did look better. And if Mommy said so, then it must be true.
I startled awake to a doorknob turning. I stood up, half expecting to see my own front door open. But it was closed, still secure as I’d left it. The time on my phone read 6:03 a.m. I’d been asleep for a couple of hours.
Quietly, I moved to the door and stared out the peephole as Alan, wrestling a briefcase and a take-out bag, opened his door. He kicked it closed behind him, and somewhere inside a light clicked on and trickled out under the door.
I should have been comforted that I wasn’t alone. But as I stepped back, I folded my arms over my chest and looked around my apartment, struggling with the sense that someone was watching me.
21
BRIT
Tuesday, March 15, 2022
1:45 a.m.
As I stared out my bedroom window toward the trees lining the property, my thoughts drifted to Marisa, as they often did. The birthday party and the dinner with David had been two odd, disconnected events, but they’d been my way of reaching out to her. I wanted her in my life, but no matter how much I included my sister, our lives never really meshed. Even before Clare died, even before Mommy left us, each time I reached out to my sister, I ended up grabbing nothing but air. Marisa remained out of reach, her true thoughts buried under porcelain features teetering between annoyed and amused.
She’d been like that since she was a baby. Impossible to read. Impossible to satisfy. “An insatiable, excitable child,” Mommy had once said. No pleasing her. I’d never understood Mommy’s impatience with Marisa until it was my turn to look after her. Clare had been easy enough. A pliable little thing. But Marisa had been headstrong, a bull in a china shop, though I’d found a way to manage her in the end.
“What’re you doing?” David asked. “It’s cold.”
I smoothed my hands over my arms. I’d barely noticed the chill. “Is it?”
Footsteps padded behind me, and he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me toward him. The silk of my robe molded against his naked flesh.
“You’re worried,” he whispered.
A half smile tipped my lips. “That’s what I do.”
“About your sister.”
“Is there any other reason to worry?”
“She’s doing fine. She did well at the party and the dinner. What’s bothering you?” He rested his chin on my shoulder, and the stubble of his beard rubbed my cheek. We’d been together only a short time, which put us still in the thrilling part of our relationship, but I hoped that never changed. It would, of course. Everything did. But I could dream.
“She’s not fine,” I said.
“How can you tell?”
“I can.” I could recognize the tension building in my sister. The good part about Marisa being a drunk was that she’d been somewhat relaxed. The booze cushioned her reactions. But without it, each sober day sharpened the softness into jagged points.
“She’s come so far. She was near death in the hospital. She’s lucky to be alive.”
I’d met David in the emergency room at the Virginia Commonwealth University hospital. He’d been visiting a friend. I’d been pacing, trying to swallow the dregs of another coffee as I waited for the surgeon to appear and give me an update. David had come up to me with a packet of crackers and a bottle of water.
“You look like you can use this,” he said.
The burst of annoyance tempered when I looked up in his eyes. He seemed genuinely worried. “Do I know you?”
“David,” he said. “I have one of those faces.”
“I never forget a face.”
“We can play a guessing game if it’ll help,” he said.
I’d no energy to solve that little puzzle. “Not much for games tonight.”
“Are you waiting for someone?”
