Liars, Inc. (23 page)

December 17th

IT'S A WEEK LATER WHEN
I finally get my birthday dinner.

The FBI kept their promise, and so far no one has gotten wind of the fact that Parvati and I were involved in Senator DeWitt's arrest. Still, I had to tell Darla who Adam really was. I didn't want her to read about the kid she almost adopted going crazy in the newspaper. She took it like I expected, blaming herself for everything that happened. I reminded her she did what she thought was right for her family at the time, and that a lot of other factors contributed to the person Adam became.

Then I told her I was really glad she made the choice she did. She got a little teary-eyed at that.

The
LA Times
broke the whole story, from the accidental
shooting of Preston DeWitt to the fake adoption to everything Adam Lyons did. The senator resigned from politics and DeWitt Firearms. Claudia DeWitt took a deal from the DA to testify against him. I don't know where Adam ended up. McGhee told me he was transferred to a lockdown psychiatric facility and that Parvati and I would be notified if his status changed.

“Table for four?” The Steak Shack waitress smiles down at Amanda. “Do you want a kids' menu?”

“I'm a vegetarian,” my sister informs her.

The waitress laughs. “I'll take that as a no.” She seats us at a long table next to a giant plastic Christmas tree covered in fake snow and silver tinsel. Amanda immediately begins to speculate if the wrapped boxes arranged around it have real presents in them. The waitress gives us each a plastic menu shaped like a cow and disappears into the back.

I ball up my straw wrapper and launch it across the red-and-white-checked plastic tablecloth at Amanda. She giggles and takes aim at me with her own wrapper. The crumpled ball pings directly off the center of my chest.

“Nice shot,” I say. She flashes me a grin before building a catapult out of a salt shaker and a spoon. The waitress returns with glasses of water and a fake smile. She tries not to stare at the remnants of our wrapper war.

“Settle down, guys,” Ben says. “Time to order.” We end up
with three steaks and one spinach salad. Ben digs right in, but Darla seems more interested in cutting her prime rib into teensy tiny pieces than in actually eating it.

“If you cut that any smaller it's going to be a liquid,” I say. “Are you planning on taking some home for the twins?”

Darla laughs nervously. She blots her mouth with her paper napkin, even though I'm pretty sure she hasn't taken a single bite. “So, Max. We have a couple of things to discuss with you since you're now eighteen.”

Uh-oh. Hopefully they just want me to start thinking about what I'm going to do after high school or something. It's a discussion I've been expecting for a while, but, jeez, you'd think it could wait until after my birthday dinner.

“What's up?” I ask.

“Your da—um, Ben and I made some calls. If you're interested in changing your last name back to Keller, we can help you fill out the paperwork.”

That's
what this is about? I've never even thought about changing my name.

“Don't do it.” Amanda kicks me under the table. “I want you to stay my brother.”

I see her smile in my head, the one she gave me with my birthday mug, the one I flashed back to when I thought I was going to die. “Mandy, I will always be your brother.”

She plucks a slice of tomato out from under a mountain
of spinach and holds it up for closer inspection. “Promise?”

“Fork please,” Darla says.

I snatch the tomato out of Amanda's hand and pretend to take a bite out of it. She smiles, but it's a fake smile, mouth only.

“I swear on, uh, this tomato.” I make the sign of the cross on it and pitch it back onto the top of her salad. She stabs the tomato with her fork.

I turn back to Ben and Darla. They're both smiling at us, even though Darla's trying to look stern. I feel horrible for the way I've held them at a distance all these years, for the way I never even gave them a chance to be my parents. I could have missed out on so many things because I was afraid to trust them.

You know what, though? I don't think I did. They loved me too much to let me sabotage our relationship. Even though I did my best to keep them locked outside, they found their own ways into my life. When Adam pointed that gun at me, all I thought about was them—my family.

Ben, Darla, and Amanda are my family. And, okay, even the twins, though I can't wait until they outgrow their insane screaming phase. Still, it's a pretty amazing package, and I'm not ever letting anyone—least of all myself—take it away from me.

“Actually, I kind of like being a Cantrell,” I say. As I reach
out and pat Darla on the hand, I try to squeeze out the word “Mom,” but I can't quite make it happen. But just because I can't say it, doesn't mean I don't feel it.

Darla sniffles and I keep talking so that she doesn't break down right here at the Steak Shack. “Well, then,” I continue. “If all the boring stuff is out of the way, let's go back to having fun.” I launch a packet of sugar at Amanda with her salt shaker catapult. She drops her fork and catches it.

Ben clears his throat. “There is one other order of business.”

Oh boy. He sounds very serious. I fiddle with the edge of my cast. Maybe this is the part where I get the lecture. “Yeah?”

Ben hands me a white box with a blue ribbon. “This is for you.”

Everyone watches as I untie the ribbon and lift up the top. Inside it are a manila envelope and a birthday card shaped like a drum. The card looks like it's for an eight-year-old, but at least Darla didn't get one of those ones with poetry verses and people holding hands around a lake.

I flip open the card and the keys to Ben's truck fall out. I almost don't recognize them without his ginormous work key chain attached. “I don't understand,” I say.

“We didn't know what your plans were regarding college,” Darla says. “But we figured that no matter what you were going to need something to drive.” Her face brightens into a
smile. “The car seats fit better in my car, anyway.”

I am, literally, speechless. I broke down and told Ben and Darla the whole story after most of the charges were dropped, including how Langston and Marcus got rid of my car. They were less than thrilled. I never expected them to give me 50 percent of their wheels.

“Thank you,” I finally manage to choke out. A lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it down. Now I'm the one in danger of losing it at Vista Palisades's
numero uno
family restaurant. I blink hard as I turn my attention to the manila envelope.

I undo the clasp, figuring my birth certificate or some other legal junk they felt compelled to give me is inside. I peek inside and see a letter and what looks like a bank statement. I can't help it—I look at the bank stuff first. The statement's in my name. My jaw drops. I glance over at Ben. “This can't be right.”

“We didn't read that,” he says. “Straight from the lawyer. It's not our business what your dad left you.”

My fingers shake a little as I read the letter.

Dear Max,

Enclosed you will find information regarding Alexander Keller's assets at the time of death, 100 percent of which was bequeathed to you, Max
Alexander Keller, now Max Alexander Cantrell. This amount is payable in full on or after your eighteenth birthday.

Please contact my office at your convenience for more information.

Sincerely,

Roy Tanner, Attorney at Law

“Holy sh—crap,” I say. Darla clucks her tongue. Amanda looks at me curiously. I slide the paperwork back in the envelope and put the envelope back in the box. I never really thought about my real dad's estate. It's going to feel weird having money. “Dinner is on me,” I say with a grin.

“Absolutely not.” Ben grins back at me. “But we'll let you buy dessert from the Cupcakery if you insist.”

“Sounds like a plan,” I say, but I'm already plotting one more purchase. If they can give me Ben's truck, I can replace it with a better vehicle for them—a nice one, like my family deserves.

As Darla pulls her car into the driveway, the sun hovers just above the horizon, painting the sky a mix of pinks and oranges. Wind sends a cloud of the neighbor's grass clippings spinning across the lawn. It's a beautiful Southern California evening.

But there is something even more beautiful sitting on the front steps. Parvati. She's dressed in camo pants and an olive-green long-sleeved shirt. Her hair is back in a ponytail so tiny that she must have hacked off a couple more inches at some point. I don't think she's wearing a speck of makeup, but somehow she's never looked more stunning.

Amanda bounces out of the car while I'm still gathering my thoughts. “Hi, Parvati,” she bubbles. “I heard you were in the hospital. Are you better now?”

“I just got out today.” Parvati pulls the collar of her shirt down slightly to expose the edge of a gauze bandage. “I'm mostly better but I'm going to have a really cool scar.”

“No way,” Amanda says. “I know this other girl with CF like me and she has a scar—”

“Let's let Parvati and your brother talk, okay?” Darla steers Amanda into the house.

Ben disappears into the garage. I sit next to Parvati on the steps, both of us staring straight ahead, watching the bits of grass dance across the driveway.

Parvati opens her mouth to speak, but then the door squeaks and the twins' babysitter slides out of the house. She bounds down the front steps and heads toward a car parked across the street. Parvati and I watch as she pulls away from the curb.

“I'm glad you're okay,” I say finally.

“You too.” She turns to me, her eyes lingering on my cast.

“Simple fracture,” I say. “No big deal.”

She nods. “My parents dropped the restraining order so I could come give you this.” She tosses me a rectangle of white fabric, tied closed with a plastic bow. It looks suspiciously like a piece of the sari she wore to Pres's funeral.

I untie the ribbon and fold back the cloth. My shark's tooth pendant spills out onto my palm. The cord is mostly burned away, but my breath catches in my throat as I finger the sharp point of the tooth. “Thank you,” I say. “But how?”

“I stole it out of the evidence locker.”

“Parvati! You're going to—”

“I'm kidding,” she says. “My mom heard that Adam confessed to setting the fire. I knew they wouldn't need it anymore. We went to get my dad's gun back, and I asked her to pull some strings. I think she might have had to sign that she was part of your legal counsel to get it.” Her eyes flick up to meet mine. She tugs at the ends of her hair. “I guess I should go so you can be with your family, huh?” The muscles in her jaw strain against her skin. I can feel how scared she is as she waits for my response.

I make her wait longer than I should, but there aren't words for everything I'm feeling. Or if there are, I don't know them. Finally I say, “You don't have to leave.”

Her dark eyes grow damp and she immediately turns
away. She counts to five under her breath and turns back, her face a mask of composure. “Do you
want
me to stay? Because if not, I don't need your pity.”

“I mean, you got yourself shot and still managed to save my ass,” I say lightly. “That's probably worth a cupcake.”

The joke falls flat. “You don't owe me anything.” Parvati starts to stand. “I know how bad I hurt you.”

I reach out and touch her arm. “Hey. I want you to stay.”

She exhales a single, shaky breath as she lowers herself back to the porch. “Really? It's just, you didn't come see me in the hospital. You didn't even call.”

“Sorry. Once we knew you were going to be okay, Darla started bugging me to catch up on schoolwork, and then I had to deal with all this legal stuff. The awesomeness that is my lawyer helped me get my charges reduced, but what's left still scored me a month of suspended-sentence jail time and about ten million community service hours.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I guess I wasn't too eager to get in more trouble by violating a restraining order.”

“Oh.” Parvati's voice is barely a whisper. “I thought maybe you didn't even want to be my friend anymore.”

“Is that what you want?” I ask slowly. “To be friends?”

Her eyes water again, and this time she doesn't fight it. “No, but I don't want to lose you totally, so I can settle for that.”

I snort. “Parvati Amos? Settling? I'll believe it when I see it.”

A smile plays at her lips. “I still want to be with you, Max. But maybe I don't get to have everything I want. I feel like we broke up. Did we?”

“I sort of stopped thinking of you as my girlfriend when I found out you dated me as a dare.”

“I guess I can understand that.” Her lower lip trembles and a single rogue tear cuts a slick path down her cheek. “You want to hear the whole story?”

“Probably not,” I admit. “But it's okay if you want to tell it.”

She nods. “I was going to tell you everything after the funeral, I swear.” Her body trembles slightly. She looks down at the porch. “I met Pres, Adam, whoever, freshman year. For some reason I just . . . liked him. He was different from most of the kids at Bristol. More raw. More real.” She laughs bitterly. “Or so I thought. We got up to all kinds of trouble, and I told myself we were besties, partners in crime. In reality I was just some girl he screwed when he was bored.” Her thick eyelashes glisten with tears. “I never should have listened to him. What I did was thoughtless and cruel.” She looks up. “I was so blind. I let him use me to
hurt
you. I know how pathetic that is.”

Sometimes I think I'm the worst sheep of all.
I remember the tiny flash of vulnerability I saw the night of “Preston's” New
Year's Eve party. Adam played her, just like me. And I can understand what it's like to do dumb things for something that feels like love.