Liar (3 page)

He was about to ask himself a question, but he never had the chance.

“JESUS CHRIST!”

Tom Moore furiously stamped the brake, but the pavement was too slick.
No, no, no.
The car wouldn't stop. It was careening out of control. That kid, that
idiot
kid—why had he run out into the middle of the street? The tires whined. Tom cringed involuntarily. But at the moment of impact he was struck by two simultaneous realizations: one, that he
recognized
the kid; two, that Gaia was flinging herself in front of the car and shoving the kid to safety.

“No!”

The word erupted from Tom's mouth the instant the hood struck his daughter. Flesh and metal connected
with a sickening thud. Tom watched dumbstruck as Gaia's body hurtled up into the air and then slammed into the windshield. He threw his hands in front of his face. But miraculously the car lurched to a stop.

Gaia rolled onto the pavement, disappearing from his view.

Silence.

Time came to an instant standstill. The world ceased to turn. Tom didn't hear a sound. He couldn't breathe. His mind shut down but for one horrible thought.

I've just killed my own daughter.

But then something else crept into his consciousness … a noise. Shouting. The kid. He was back in the street, grabbing Gaia and propping up her head. Tom could just barely see her over the hood. His heart rattled like a machine gun. His body felt like it was on fire.

What have I done? What have I—

And then he saw it. Yes! Oh God, she was alive. A warm rush of relief seeped through his veins as he saw the wisp of frozen vapor drift up from under his daughter's nose. She was breathing. She was alive. Thank God she knew how to relax during a collision, to let the force of impact throw her body as if she were a sack of potatoes. One of the first lessons of martial arts was minimizing injury. She would be bruised, maybe even have a few cracked bones … but she would survive.

He gazed at her transfixed, watching in blessed
relief as Gaia lifted her head and blinked her eyelids, pulling the world into focus. He read the single word on her lips:

“Shit?”

He let his breath go. That was his Gaia.

He shoved his panic aside and thrust the car into reverse, simultaneously reaching for the car phone. As the car jumped backward, he punched in three numbers: 911.

“Emergency,” a voice answered.

“I'd like to report a hit and run at the corner of West Fourth and Perry Street,” Tom hissed. “You better call an ambulance.”

He pulled the car around the corner. He'd abandon the car just west of Bleecker and return to the scene of the accident to make certain Gaia was all right. It wasn't a hit and run exactly. More of a hit and hide.

AT FIRST THE SEQUENCE OF EVENTS didn't register in Sam's brain. Everything seemed to swirl together like some nightmarish impressionist painting. One moment he was about to get hit by a car; the next he was lying
on the sidewalk, staring at Gaia as she lay in a heap on the street. And now he was holding her. Cradling her in his arms. Praying that she was alive, that the bastard who'd hit her hadn't killed her …

“Come on, Gaia,” he heard himself whisper. But the words seemed to come from some other place—as if he were standing off to the side, watching the horror as it unfolded. “Come on—”

She moaned. A flicker of hope sparked inside him. He pushed tangled hair away from her lovely face. “Gaia, please be okay,” he whispered. She had a cut along her cheekbone. He held her closer, bending so close to her, his lips nearly touched her forehead. “Please,” he whispered again.

Suddenly he felt her body stiffen. Slowly, mercifully, she lifted her head and opened her eyes. Oh, Christ, she was going to be okay. His heart seemed to levitate above his chest.

“Shit,” she muttered, curling her body in pain.

Sam's head snapped up at the noisy strain of a car engine backing up in a hurry. Before he could clear his head, the car had disappeared around the corner, speeding crazily in reverse down West Fourth Street. Dammit. He wished he'd had the sense to get the bastard's license plate number. What kind of shameless asshole would hit an innocent girl and speed away?

Plenty of people in New York City, Sam answered
his own question. People ran over each other every single goddamn day. And nobody cared. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody wanted to take responsibility.

He urgently scanned the street for Ella, for an onlooker, for
anyone.
Gaia needed an ambulance. But the sidewalks were deserted.

“Sam?” Gaia whispered.

He gazed down at her, startled. A drop of blood trickled over the ledge of her chin onto the sleeve of his coat.

“I'm here,” he murmured. “Just hold on….”

Sirens were approaching. He could hear the distant wail, drawing closer and closer.

“Sam?” Gaia repeated. She squirmed in his arms.

He hugged her as tightly as he could. “Shhh,” he whispered. “They'll be here—”

“Do you think you could let go of me?” she finally managed.

His eyes widened. She squirmed harder.

“But I—I—just … I didn't,” he started stammering incoherently.

“I'm
fine,”
she grunted. Her eyes were open now—alert, awake, fixed on him with a cold intensity. “Just let me go.”

The sirens grew louder.

Let you go?
Sam stared at her, slack jawed. Didn't she know that she'd almost been killed? His grip on
her loosened—and in that instant Gaia pushed herself away and staggered back toward her house.

“Gaia!” he shouted. “Gaia, please don't go—I need to—Gaia!”

But if she heard him, she didn't show it. She stumbled up the stoop and through the door and slammed it behind her, leaving Sam alone on the frozen pavement.

The street was eerily silent. “I need to thank you,” he finished to nobody at all. “Thank you for saving my life.”

So
my wildest fantasy finally came true. Yup. The impossible happened. I told Gaia Moore that I loved her. And she told me that she loved me. I mean, this is the moment I've been dreaming of nonstop for four months.

I don't even think I can explain it. Imagine this: You know the very first guy who ever walked on the moon? Neil Armstrong? I'm pretty sure that's his name. Anyway, picture him as a little boy, looking up at the night sky (and remember, this was probably back in the thirties, when airplanes were still brand-new) and telling his mom: “Mommy, I'm gonna fly to the moon someday.” She probably laughed and patted him on the back and thought:
Little boys can be so stupid sometimes.

And then—a mere thirty years later—he does it. Ha! Bite me, Mom!

Well, for the record: Having Gaia Moore tell you that she loves you is way more impressive than flying to the moon.

Right. Of course, the fact that Gaia Moore made this confession to me doesn't mean squat. Oh, yeah. Did I forget to mention that there was a shitty element to the whole equation?

See, I
always
knew that she loved me—on a certain level. As a friend. A best friend, even. Just not in … “that way.” She never will, either. When she hugged me on the subway steps after nearly killing me and when she made that speech at Mary's funeral, we reached a new understanding. We can share things now. We can afford to be vulnerable around each other. I know all of this sounds like I ripped it off from some made-for-TV movie on the Lifetime channel, but it's true. It's a whole new level.

The flip side is that this whole new level makes it painfully clear that we're never going to be involved in … “that way.”

Don't get me wrong. The new level is great. Maybe I'll finally find out what those deep, dark secrets of hers
are,
anyway. Which would be awesome. Amazing. Radical, as I used to say—when my legs worked and I went by the name of Shred and kicked serious butt on a skateboard.

But even if she does bare her soul, she still won't think of me in … “that way.” In fact, the more she does confide in me, the less likely she'll ever be attracted to me. Generally speaking, people don't date their best friends.

Which kind of sucks.

Her flesh burned; her body ached—but the agony was tolerable.

ED FARGO WHEELED BACK AND FORTH down the aisles of the Village Blockbuster: his version of pacing. He was starting to get impatient. Scratch that. He was starting to get seriously annoyed. Gaia was supposed to meet him—when? Forty-seven minutes ago?

She'd probably gotten held up by Ella. Or maybe she'd decided to stop in the park for a quick game of ice-cold, subzero chess on her way up to meet him. No, what probably happened was this: She'd decided to pick a fight with a gang of demented serial killers and ended up getting blown away with a machine gun—but not before kicking eight guys' asses at once.

Ed smiled queasily as he passed the long row of new releases. That wasn't very funny, actually. Something like that
could
happen to Gaia. Something like that happened to Gaia almost every freaking week.

Okay. There was no point in speculating. He'd give her a few more minutes, and then he'd call her. Right. In the meantime he'd pick a movie for them. His eyes roved over some big-budget comedy starring Mike Myers (nah) … then to the tearjerkers (would Gaia submit to a chick flick?) … after that the Tom Hanks vehicles (that guy probably counted as a genre unto himself by now) … but he was unable to focus on
anything. There was no way he could pick a movie.

The thing was, he didn't even really
want
to watch a movie. The movie was just an excuse. What he really wanted to do was ask Gaia if she wanted to come to his sister's stupid engagement party with him.

It wouldn't be a date, of course. Not technically. Ed just wanted some company, somebody to share in his misery. On the other hand, it
would
provide a convenient excuse to see Gaia in some sexy formal wear—

Wait a second.

He knew
exactly
what to rent. Duh.
The Great Gatsby.
It sure as hell beat reading the book. And his mom had mentioned that they made a movie of it a long time ago, starring Robert Redford. She'd even said it was good. If he provided Gaia with an alternative to doing her homework, then she'd owe him. She'd
have
to go to the party with him.

He deftly maneuvered his way through the Friday night rental crowd and wheeled up to the information counter. A pimply, bored-looking girl in a blue uniform was standing behind it, chewing gum.

“Excuse me?” he asked. “Do you know if
The Great Gatsby
is in?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It isn't.”

Ed frowned. “It isn't?”

The girl blew a bubble. It popped with a sticky smack. She sucked the goo back into her mouth and
pointed at somebody. “Nope. That girl over there just checked it out.”

Ed followed her outstretched finger—and rolled his eyes.

“That girl” was none other than his lovely ex-girlfriend, Heather Gannis. She was standing in line at the checkout counter, smiling impishly and waving the movie at him. He smiled. He should have figured this would happen. After all, Heather was the master at blowing off work by substituting movies for books. Back when they were going out, the two of them had stayed up all night watching a Shakespeare movie marathon in preparation for their English finals:
Hamlet
with Mel Gibson,
Romeo and Juliet
with Leonardo DiCaprio. One thing about Heather: She was very reliable—at least when it came to being dishonest. He wondered if she'd ever done any
legitimate
studying.

She waltzed over to him and dropped the video box into his lap.

“So, Shred, you wouldn't happen to be looking for an easy way out of reading
The Great Gatsby,
would you?” she teased.

He gazed back at her with a perfectly straight face. “Actually, I just wanted to compare the film and literary versions for my own edification.”

She smirked. “Right. Me too.”

“What can I say, Heather?” He bowed his head and shook it. “You beat me.”

“Well, why don't you just come over and watch it with me?” she asked.

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “Why not? I mean, we both have to see it, right? Either that or you go home and spend all weekend reading the book.”

Ed stared at her. There had to be some kind of punch line, some trick she was playing on him that he wasn't getting. This would mark the second time in a week that Heather Gannis had invited Ed Fargo over to her apartment. And that hadn't happened in … well, in forever.

“Going once,” she joked, snatching the movie back. “Going twice …”

Hmmm.
Ed glanced down at his watch, then over at the exit. Gaia was now officially an hour late. Maybe he should go. She would understand if he decided to bolt. Besides, if she missed him here, she would feel so guilty that she'd have no choice but to go to Victoria's party. He'd call her when he got to Heather's.

When I get to Heather's.

Just saying the words to himself sent a strange sensation through his insides. It was almost like déjà vu. Here he was with Heather in their old video store, laughing and hanging out as if nothing had changed. As if he weren't in a wheelchair. As if she weren't going out with Sam Moon. (And why
wasn't
she with Sam tonight, anyway?) As if she hadn't
dumped Ed after his accident because she couldn't deal with the horrible tragedy of it all—

“Going three times …”

As if Gaia Moore had never entered their lives.