Page 8 of The Lies I Told
“Jo-Jo.” Brit likes to draw out theO.
“Time to get your hat,” I warned.
“Right. On to the business of this party.” She turned and her grin widened. “Brit, can I be whoever I want to be?”
Brit, her white witch hat cocked, handed Jo-Jo the Scarecrow hat, complete with straw. “I’ve chosen all the hats. Keeping everyone out of their comfort zone.”
“Why am I the Scarecrow?” Jo-Jo grimaced as she settled the hat on her head.
“Doesn’t really matter, does it?” Brit said. “Hats are meant to be conversation starters.”
“I’d rather not be remembered as brainless,” Jo-Jo said.
“Think of yourself as the good loyal one. Kurt’s certainly not made of tin and has a heart,” I said. “And I’m no Dorothy.”
Brit’s smile faded. “It’s all in fun.”
“I know,” I said quickly, seeing the tension rising in my sister. She never handled mutiny well. “Fun, right?”
“Exactly,” she said.
Jo-Jo waved to Kurt. They hugged briefly, and that counted for something. During the police investigation, Jo-Jo had told the detective that she’d seen Kurt and Clare fighting before she’d vanished. “Hey, Kurt.”
“You look good, Jo-Jo,” he said.
“Thanks, Kurt.”
Our next arrival was a man I didn’t recognize. He was tall, good looking, and kept his dark hair cut short. He wore khakis and abutton-down shirt, and his slightly doughy frame was not quite fat but certainly not fit. I pegged him as one of the financiers who worked in the city across the river. There were enough of those types around here because of our proximity to the city. The Banker Boys, as I called them, always looked a bit like fish out of water in this industrial area.
Brit hurried over to him and kissed him on the lips. He leaned into her and pressed his hand to the base of her spine. Okay, he wasn’t here for me.
Tucking her arm around his, Brit brought him over. “David, I’d like you to meet my sister, Marisa.”
“Nice to meet you, Marisa,” David said as he handed me a bottle of wine. “Happy birthday.”
I accepted the bottle and guessed that he and Brit hadn’t been dating long. My older sister was always good about telling people that her baby sister was in AA. Still sober after one year. Fighting the good fight.
“Thanks, David,” I said. No point making a fuss. In fact, it was nice passing as a real person instead of someone to tiptoe around.
“Oh, that’s sweet.” Brit usually pointed out errors, but she didn’t this time. Definitely in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, when they each still laughed at the other’s jokes, didn’t wear their favorite sweats around the house all the time, and smiled even when annoyed.
“I like the hat,” David said to me.
“Just you wait,” I teased. “There’s a hat on the table with your name on it.”
“It’s a silly party game.” Brit was worried now. She clearly didn’t want her new man to see her as mothering. Too soon for that. “If you don’t want to wear one, you don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind,” he said easily. “Who am I to be tonight?”
“I was thinking the Wizard,” she said.
“Perfect. I’ve always fancied myself a bit of a magician. Have I showed you my sleight-of-hand trick?”
Brit’s nose wrinkled with a smile as she reached for the purple-and-silver spiraled hat. “No. And you’re a sport.”
To David’s credit, he settled the hat on his head, raising his chin. “I think it suits.”
“We’re still missing the Lion,” I said.
