Dangerous Lies (34 page)

“More threats?” Trigger spat, his face as dark as the thunderclouds overhead.

“I’m helping you see your options. These things always play out one of two ways: the hard way, or the easy way. You pick.”

“You think there’s a chance in hell I’ll take the easy way, let you intimidate me?”

Chet laughed softly and wiped his bright red knuckles on his jeans, as though dusting them off for round two. “I hope you choose the hard way. I’m just getting started.”

“You must have a death wish, you crazy sonofa—”

“Not crazy. Angry. I’ve got more unresolved anger than you can imagine. Hitting you is helping to release it. So tempt me, Trigger. Get back up and give me what I want.”

Something changed in Trigger’s face, as if he’d figured out Chet wasn’t bluffing. He inched backward. He held a hand out, signaling Chet to keep his distance. His other hand cradled his jaw, which glowed violet with a fresh bruise.

“Your girlfriend isn’t who you think,” Trigger said, pointing accusingly at me. “The foster-kid story is a cover. She’s got a mom—a strung-out mom in Philadelphia. And that’s only one of her secrets. I’m digging. I’ll find more. Something about her just ain’t right.”

“When I’m finished here, people will say the same about you,” Chet said, advancing toward him.

“Ain’t you listening?” Trigger yelped, scrabbling away. “I just told you your girlfriend is lying to you. To all of us.”

“So she’s got a few secrets, does she? What the hell does it matter to you?” Chet leaped to my defense, but I could hear an underlying pain in his voice. It hurt him to know Trigger was right. I’d lied to him, and while he apparently wasn’t going to hold it against me, he wasn’t ready to forget, either. His eyes flashed. “Why does she matter so much to you? Why can’t you leave her alone?”

“All right, man, calm down. I’ll stay away from her.”

“You’ll give her every opportunity to forget you exist.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that too. Whatever, man.”

“She won’t see you again.”

“Not on account of me.” Trigger backed up cautiously, making no sudden movements. “I’m leaving now. Just stay away from me, you hear?”

As soon as he was a safe distance from Chet, Trigger turned and limped hurriedly away. Chet and I ducked out of the gale-force winds, shutting ourselves inside the Scout. But the wind was blowing so hard, even after we’d rolled up the windows it continued to rock the car.

Chet shook his fist, flexing his fingers. “Been a while since I hit someone. Forgot how much it hurts.”

“Why did you hit him? It was so—” I searched for the word. It was so—
unlike
Chet.

“He beat you up at the Sundown, didn’t he? He was your attacker,” he said quietly.

I swallowed. “Chet—”

“You didn’t tell me. You knew, but you kept it from me.”

“I was scared you’d go after him. I was scared of seeing you in trouble. I didn’t want Trigger to be the cause of a black mark on your record. Or worse.”

“Yeah?” His eyes turned fiery. “Well, I’m scared of seeing you in trouble. It kills me to think of him hurting you. Nobody—not Trigger, not anyone—touches you that way. You were bruised and broken, Stella,” he said, his voice climbing. “How could that not affect me? How could I not go after him? When you love someone, you look out for them. You fight their battles.”

I frowned. “I don’t need you to fight my battles. I’m not a fragile little girl. I can take care of myself.”

His head cocked as he scrutinized me. “You’re angry that I hit him.”

“No.”

“Like hell you’re not.”

“Take me home.” I said it with my face to the glass, not looking at him.

“Now I get the cold shoulder?”

“I said, take me home,” I said through my teeth.

“Tell me why you’re pissed. That I can deal with. The cold shoulder? Silent treatment? I’ve lived with a guy the last year, Stella. I don’t do passive-aggressive. Tell me what you’re thinking. Don’t punish me with silence. Don’t treat me like I’m one of your girlfriends.”

“You condescending bastard.”

“Tell me what’s bothering you,” he said, louder than before.

Tears of rage stung my eyes. I wanted to tell him I resented him for thinking I was weak. I’d been looking out for myself for years. He had no idea what I’d been through or how strong I was. But most of all, it scared me to think he was falling in love with me. I wasn’t going to let him fight my battles, only to leave him. It wasn’t fair. It was a cowardly thing to do, and I was done being a coward. Leaving him would be easier if I didn’t have to deal with knowing he loved me.

He tried again. “You’re pissed that I fought over you. You don’t like male aggression. Or violence. Did someone hurt you? Someone in your past? Is that it?”

I turned on him, furious. “Shut up, Chet. Just shut up.”

At the sight of my face, he stopped abruptly. “What’s wrong? Dammit, just tell me. I won’t fight anymore, if that’s what you want. I just need to understand you.”

Plowing my hands through my hair, I tried to calm my thumping heart. I wanted to tell Chet the truth. It hovered on the edge, just like my tears. I could tell him. It would feel so good to be honest with him, to have someone to share my burden, to open the floodgates and finally be free of these toxic secrets.

But telling him the truth would only give me momentary relief; it wouldn’t solve my problems. In fact, it would compound them. And it would entangle Chet in a web of danger that wasn’t of his making. So I locked down my pain and ordered myself to swallow the words I desperately wanted to get out.

Sitting stiffly, Chet spoke first, his voice flat. “Fine. I’ll take you home.”

*  *  *

I found Carmina in the backyard, latching the storm shutters while tumbleweeds and leaves pelted the house.

“Bad feeling in the air,” she called over her shoulder as I ran to help. “This storm isn’t holding back.” She saw my face. “What on earth’s the matter, Stella?”

Even though I wished I didn’t have to tell her, I didn’t see an option. Between doing what I wanted and doing the smart thing, there was only one answer. So I told her that Trigger had figured out I was from Philadelphia. Then I told her my mom had left rehab. She didn’t ask how Trigger had pieced together my past or how I’d gotten the clinic’s number; she immediately went in and called Deputy Price.

Trigger’s discovery was a threat to my safety. A minor one, but he would keep digging. Eventually he might find something that could genuinely endanger me. I wasn’t safe here anymore.

I was leaving Thunder Basin.

THAT NIGHT, I LISTENED TO
the storm howl and rage. Gusting air lashed the windowpanes and hail bombarded the roof. From my bedroom window, I watched the frozen pellets paint the lawn white and turn the road to ice. The world was so dark, it took flashes of lightning to illuminate the landscape. Cattle and horses had vanished from the pastures, and prairie grass flapped like the waves of an angry sea.

The wild tempest mimicked my own raging heart. I thought of my secrets, trapped there, dashing themselves like wild birds to get out. Even now, I felt them overcoming me, and I wondered where Estella’s vicious strength had gone. Months ago, I’d made the decision to lie to the authorities. I’d told the detectives the story I wanted them to believe. Even if I hadn’t fully realized what I was doing, I’d trusted myself to be strong. I’d promised myself I’d guard my secrets until I died.

I did not know they would kill me.

The violent thrashing outside made my ears ache, and at last I put my headphones on. But tonight the throbbing, guitar-heavy music of Nathaniel’s cassette tapes didn’t distract me.

*  *  *

The next morning, the sky was a brilliant shade of sapphire. Trash and branches littered the yard, and puddles of mud pocked the road, but they were the only evidence of last night’s storm. Birds sang merrily and the dew on the grass caught the morning sun. The air was calm, enveloping my shoulders like a warm, thick shawl.

A note on the kitchen counter told me Carmina had gone to the grocery store for milk, but I wasn’t fooled. She was buying food for my trip. I imagined crusty sourdough rolls, roast beef, cheese, and chips would find their way into a brown paper sack with my name on it. In Carmina’s mind, nothing was worth doing without food, especially meat, potatoes, and bread.

Deputy Price was scheduled to arrive tomorrow night to transport me to my new living quarters. This time, I was determined not to resent him for it. It was his job. My job was to let him keep me safe. End of story. No attitude this time, and no longing to stay where I could not. To prove my point, I reminded myself I would have been leaving Thunder Basin in a couple weeks anyway. So what if the date had been pushed up?
Get over it.

I inhaled deeply. I would not think about tomorrow. I had nearly thirty-six hours left in Thunder Basin, and I wanted to make the most of them.
Chin up, be brave.
That was my strategy. But deep down, I was scared of so many things. Of leaving this place I’d learned to love. Of breaking Chet’s heart. Of letting go of Carmina. Of facing the world without both of them. I didn’t want, or know how, to say good-bye.

Maybe it was better this way. When Deputy Price came for me, there wouldn’t be time for a sappy, drawn-out farewell. We’d have to keep things quick, tidy. I’d be in the car, Thunder Basin miles behind me, before the loss and heartache hit. I’d deal with it alone, like I always had.

Outside, I fingered the petunias in Carmina’s whiskey barrels. I drank in their fragrance, searing it to memory. I ran my bare feet over her warm grass. I felt the sun on my face and listened to the sweet, friendly song of the meadowlarks.

I was padding barefoot up the drive, sifting through the morning mail, when I heard tires chew the road behind me.

Sunlight glinted off the car’s windshield as it pulled into the drive. The driver swung out, shielding her eyes as she sized up the white clapboard house. She wore a floral dress—cleaned, ironed—and sandals. Her soft brown hair swung over her shoulders; it was freshly washed and full of bounce. The hollow look in the woman’s eyes was gone. When her gaze came to rest on me, I saw an eagerness, a brightness, that whirled me into the past.

“Mom?” I said, stunned.

“Baby doll!” She sashayed toward me, her arms stretched wide. The next thing I knew, I was smashed against her chest. “Oh, honey. Your mama’s missed you!”

I detached myself. “What are you doing here?”

She pinched my cheek. “Is that any way to greet your mama? Let me have a look at you.” She held me by the shoulders, her eyes drinking me in. “I can’t believe how dark you are! I see how it is, me cooped up under fluorescent lights all summer while you’re out here sunbathing.” She clucked her tongue. “Hardly seems fair.”

I just stared at her. Seeing her here, washed and sober—it didn’t seem real.

“Well,” she said, plopping herself down in Carmina’s porch swing and crossing her slender legs prettily. “Tell me about your summer. Tell me everything.” She glanced around the yard with a smirk. “I’m impressed you lasted as long as you have. What do people do for fun around here, anyway?”

“How did you find me?”

She let out a hoot. “How do you think? I’m your mother. Those Feds had to tell me where they were keeping you. I demanded to know right from the start. Did you think I’d let them drag you off and hide you without my knowing?”

“I called the rehab center. They said you checked out. I thought—”

“Surprise!” she said, throwing her hands up and wriggling her fingers. “I checked out early. What kind of boring suss would I be if I told you I was coming? I wanted to surprise you. Anyway, don’t worry a thing about me. I’m clean. My whole outlook has changed. Much as I hated that place”—she wrinkled her nose—“I’ll be the first to admit it was what I needed. You were right, sweet baby girl. I needed help. Well, I got it. This is our chance to start fresh. A do-over. Things are going to be different this time, Estella.”

“Stella,” I corrected automatically. But she was right. Things were different.
Way
different. Who was this overly affectionate woman? Two years ago, my mom had taken a path that led her straight to the intersection of depressed and strung-out. It was hard to remember her as anything but lost, disinterested, and, intentionally or not, very cold and indifferent toward me.

She flapped a hand dismissively. “You’re Estella to me. And I’m Mama to you. The Feds and their documents don’t change that.”

“I— What are you doing here?” I repeated, still dazed.

“Would you stop asking that? Makes me feel unwelcome. You don’t have to stay here anymore, baby girl. We’re done with this place. I came to pick you up. It’s me and you again. We’re going to buy a house, get jobs, put down roots. Oh, we’ll miss Philly, but we’ll find something almost as good. I know you love Boston.” Her tone was rosy, full of hope. “Just a hop, skip, and a jump away from our old life. Now, tell me you don’t like the sound of that.”

“Boston,” I echoed.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We’re moving to Boston.”

Stunned, I found myself unable to draw up a response. Before I could draft one, Carmina’s truck rounded the drive. She braked at my mom’s car, clearly not expecting it, then backed up and parked alongside it. I didn’t know what it said that my first reaction upon seeing her was sweeping nervousness, a strange tingle in my bones of wanting to step away from my mom, to dissociate myself from her.
I’m ashamed of her,
I realized. I felt uneasy at the thought of introducing her to Carmina. I didn’t know how to explain what she was doing here. Carmina hadn’t planned for this. She didn’t like surprises.