Perfect Lies (32 page)

“It’s not a matter of choosing anyone over any—” Meg began, but Lark cut her off.

“That’s where you’re so wrong! You can’t be wishy-washy about loyalty, Meg. There aren’t any gray areas when it comes to whose side you’re on. Not when it’s something as important as this. Not when it comes to me and the girls. If you’re not with us—then you’re against us.” Lark started back down the steps, but Meg grabbed her arm.

“That’s not true,” she said.

“I’m sorry, older sister,” Lark replied slowly, the venom in her tone spreading with every word, “but you are no longer in the position to tell me what the truth is. And to think I used to worship the ground you walked on.” Shaking Meg off, she continued down the steps, followed by a sad-faced Francine “How are you feeling?” Meg asked Lucinda, turning in her seat to face her. Lucinda was staring out the window at the bleak strip of KFCs and Jiffy Lubes that lined the road out of Montville on the way to the interstate.

* * *

“Well, like,
tired.
“ She sounded aggrieved.

“That infection cleared up?”

“Yeah.” The gratitude that Lucinda had shown in the courtroom earlier was gone, replaced by a moodiness that Meg couldn’t figure out. Was Lucinda intimidated by Hannah? Had the hearing taken more out of her than Meg had, at first, realized? No one spoke for the ten minutes it took to reach the state highway heading south. Lucinda lit up a cigarette.

“Not in the car, Luce,” Meg said, turning around again. “And ask first, please.”

“Oh,
excuse
me,” Lucinda replied, holding her cigarette up between middle and index fingers with elaborate artifice as she pretended to look around for an ashtray.

“That’s all right,” Hannah said. “But open the window.”

It was another ten minutes before anyone spoke again.

“Have you given any thought to what you might want to do in New York?” Hannah asked. “Sleep.”

“Luce, don’t be rude,” Meg said. “Hannah’s been incredibly generous to come all this distance to pick you up.”

“Yeah, I know. And brave, too, with all those fucking housewives wanting to put me away.” The fear in her voice suddenly explained her belligerence.

Meg kept her eyes on the road ahead while she said, “You heard what the judge said, they’re just trying to use this case to further their own agendas.”

“Yeah, right, which I’m sure they’ll eventually get around to after they lynch me.

“I think they plan to string us up together,” Meg pointed out, trying to make light of a threat she felt was all too real. She remembered the look of righteous anger in Paula Yoder’s face, the shocked outrage in Lark’s parting words.

Lucinda drifted off to sleep twenty minutes later and slept soundly all the way back to the city. Meg, grateful for everything Hannah had done for them that afternoon, devised conversation that would please and flatter Hannah, asking questions about the gallery and Hannah’s circle of artist friends.

They were back in the city by seven that evening—all too soon as far as Meg was concerned. She was beginning to realize how ill-equipped she was to handle what she’d suddenly taken on. Any teenager would have been a handful, but one with a troubled history and an uncertain future was beginning to feel to Meg like an impossible challenge.

Meg invited Hannah to join them for take-out pizza, but Hannah’s horrified look almost said it all.

“Thank you, but no. I’m sure I can find dinner plans that don’t involve eating with my fingers while crouching over a cardboard box.”

The greasy but delicious dinner had a salubrious effect on Lucinda, however. As she polished off the last two slices of extra cheese, she said, “That’s the best pizza I’ve had in a long time.”

“Well, don’t expect this kind of home cooking every night,” Meg said. “And speaking of expectations. I think we should set some ground rules.”

“That’s cool,” Lucinda said, lighting up a cigarette.

“Such as, no smoking in the apartment.”

“Oh fuck—” Lucinda glared at her.

“And no swearing. And no drinking. And no drugs. And remember to clean up after yourself. We’re going to get along fine.”

“Even Lark let me smoke, for chrissakes.”

“I didn’t see Lark on your side of the courtroom this afternoon, or footing the bill for your bail. I’m all you’ve got right now, Luce, so you better make an attempt to make nice.”

“Yeah,” Lucinda dropped the lit cigarette into her open can of Diet Pepsi; it sizzled out. “I hear you. Don’t worry.”

“You’ll sleep in the study. There’s a futon in there. I’ll get you some sheets.”

“Okay,” Lucinda said, yawning. She made no move to clean up after their take-out meal, but Meg decided to let that slide. Lucinda looked exhausted and, despite what she had said about her infection clearing up, not particularly well. When Meg came back into the living room to tell her that she’d made up the bed, she saw that Lucinda had fallen asleep. She woke her gently, and led her into the study.

“Thanks, Meg,” Lucinda murmured after she’d climbed in. Two little words. But Meg realized as she got ready for bed herself how much she had needed to hear them. It wasn’t going to be easy having Lucinda in her home, she realized that now. There had already been awkward moments—when they were waiting for the delivery and disagreed about what to watch on TV, the business about smoking. Meg resented that her privacy was being usurped by Lucinda—the teenager took up space, both physically and psychologically, that she had come to treasure. But Lucinda’s thanks—however grudging and belated—gave her a warm feeling as she climbed between the sheets. It lasted maybe a full minute, or just long enough for the phone to ring.

It was Abe. He’d been calling almost every night from Los Angeles.

“How did it go?” he asked. Meg had given him the date of the hearing.

“Good and bad.” Meg hesitated. “Depends on who you are.”

“I meant for you, of course. What happened?”

“Boardman was able to get Lucinda out on a bail.”

“I told you he was good. So? Where is she? I can’t imagine she’s too welcome in Red River.”

“That’s exactly what I thought.” Meg rushed her words. “And she needed to stay with someone close to her whom the judge could deem responsible. So—”

“Oh God, Meg—don’t tell me—she’s with you?”

“Well… yes.”

“She’s there now? She’s going to be living with you? For how long?”

“I guess until the trial …” Meg hadn’t gotten much further in her thinking than feeding Lucinda and getting her into bed. Clothes, school, counseling—over how many weeks, or even months—she hadn’t begun to sort it all out.

“And no one else could have done this thing? There is no other responsible person in Lucinda’s life besides you? I can only imagine how Lark is taking this news.”

“Not well,” Meg conceded. “I’m just trying to do—”

But he cut her off, his voice sounding tired and worried. “The right thing. I know, you’ve already told me. I know you well enough now to realize that I’m never going to be able to talk you out of anything. No matter how much I think it might hurt you—and others. I already warned you to be careful about picking enemies, Meg. I think you better start being even more cautious about whom you choose for friends.”

O
ver the next week and a half, Meg discovered that Lucinda’s moods could race and spin with bumper-car abandon—nasty and uncommunicative in the morning when Meg headed off to work, needy and confiding by the time they both arrived home in the evening. With Boardman’s help, she’d found a psychiatrist for Lucinda on the Upper East Side whom the court approved for counseling. She’d also been able to get Lucinda placed as a temporary student in a public high school not far from Meg’s apartment. But where Lucinda was tight-lipped about what went on during her therapy sessions, she was vocal in the extreme about her new educational situation.

“I hate it there,” she declared at the end of that first week.

“I’m sorry, I know public schools in the city can be on the tough side,” Meg sympathized. She’d tried to get her into one of the private schools in the area, but there had simply been no openings.

“It’s not that,” Lucinda had pouted. “I’m as tough as they come.”

“What’s the matter then?” Meg had asked. Lucinda’s bad-girl pose was Meg’s least favorite of the teenager’s ever-changing attitudes.

“Everyone looks at me funny.”

“What do you mean?” Meg was concerned that somehow Lucinda’s indictment had been discovered by her fellow students. She’d advised Lucinda to keep her delicate legal position to herself if she wanted to make friends and attempt a more normal existence in the city.

“I’ve got, like, nothing to wear,” Lucinda responded sulkily. “I’m in the same ugly clothes every fucking day.”

“Oh, for heavens’ sake, Luce, is that all?” Meg was irritated and relieved at the same time. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She called Francine from the office the next morning, asking if the minister could possibly arrange to have some of Lucinda’s clothes and other possessions sent down from Red River.

“I’m sure you’re aware that Lark’s not talking to me,” Meg explained. “And I remember how kind you were to Lucinda when she was in the hospital. Besides, I have a sinking suspicion Lark doesn’t want Lucinda’s things in the house anyway.”

“Meg, I’d love to help,” Francine responded, though Meg could already hear the big “but” in her voice. “Things are extremely tense around here now. After the hearing, the D.A. lit a fire under the police investigation, just when we hoped it was dying down. It’s all anyone’s talking about now. Matt’s been called back in for further questioning. Apparently his alibi didn’t hold up.”

“Matt?” Meg had never seriously considered him as a suspect. Though, knowing what she did about his feelings for Lucinda, she wondered how she could have overlooked the possibility.

“He claims he was on the Internet that morning,” Francine replied, her usually calm and steady voice reedy with concern. “But our phone records don’t show any modem activity at that time.”

“I’m sorry,” Meg said. “And I’m sorry to add to your problems, but do you think you could talk to Lark about Lucinda’s possessions?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Meg could imagine the minister trying to weigh all the pros and cons, the good and bad, of her request.

“I can’t, Meg,” Francine finally replied. “But not because of Lark’s feelings. I’m just so worried about Matt. He refuses to tell me what’s going on—what happened that morning. I think he was with Lucinda. I know that he cares about her—probably thinks he loves her. That’s the only reason I made an effort to reach out to her. Because, you see, I’m afraid my real feelings toward Lucinda are not … they just aren’t very Christian.”

Meg considered the news about Matt and decided not to mention it to Lucinda until she was in a better place emotionally. The following Saturday, Lucinda and Meg spent the day out clothes shopping—an exhausting and ultimately frustrating experience for Meg. She was generous with her credit card as well as her advice about what flattered Lucinda, but the teenager didn’t even pretend to listen to her. The merchandise in Saks, Bloomingdale’s, Lord & Taylor, was “totally uncool.” Finally, in Macy’s, after a quick stop at a nearby McDonald’s for lunch, Lucinda spotted a pair of boots that she liked: hideous platforms with grotesque rounded toes and wavelike slabs for heels.

“Can I wear them now?” she asked as Meg was signing the receipt.

“If you think you can actually walk in them without falling over,” Meg replied, but she saw in Lucinda’s expression something she’d never seen before: an unguarded, childlike delight.

The shopping breakthrough came as they were passing the cheaper discount stores on the way to get the subway down to SoHo and some of Meg’s favorite boutiques.

“Cool,” Lucinda said, stopping in front of a window display. Slinky lime green bell-bottoms and matching tunic made out of some ultra-shiny fabric that Meg suspected was highly flammable.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Meg moaned.

“Like you would know what’s really hot. Can I at least try it on?
Puh-leeze?”

It wasn’t until Lucinda proudly modeled the shimmering, cheaply made outfit, complete with her new boots, that Meg realized how close the clothes were to the User Friendly line that SportsTech had assigned to Hardwick and Associates.

“Whaddya think?” Lucinda asked with a big grin, though it was clear that she thought she looked pretty stunning. In truth, the soft fabric of the pants glossed over Lucinda’s heavy thighs. And the top, though nothing special, was cut tight across the chest where Lucinda had the greatest bragging rights. Meg’s speculative look obviously worried Lucinda, who hurriedly went on, “But it’s like ten times cheaper than that crap you wanted me to buy at Saks.”

“It’s not the money, Luce. I was just wondering
why
you like these particular things, that’s all.”

“Because,” Lucinda turned around to catch the full effect of her reflection in the three-way mirror, “it’s what
everyone’s
wearing.” And, when it became clear that Meg was going to buy the clothes for her, Lucinda went on to magnanimously describe who “everybody” was: the lead singer in a band whose latest CD Meg was ready to burn and the teenage star of an insipid TV show that Meg had been forced to watch with Lucinda on Wednesday nights. In other words, role models not unlike the ‘70s icons who had dictated Meg’s fashion tastes at the same age. She remembered her mother’s despairing reaction to the shag hair cut that Farrah Fawcett Majors had inspired her daughter to try.

They went on to three other similar discount outlets and ended up with six purchases altogether. Meg knew that it was a relatively cheap way of buying Lucinda’s gratitude, but after the emotional whiplash she’d experienced living with the teenager for just a few weeks, she decided that she deserved a break. She had been working hard to maintain at least a surface equilibrium in her new life with Lucinda, but it wasn’t easy. Nothing was these days.

The once familiar rhythms of her existence upstate—her talks with Lark, her closeness to Brook and Phoebe, the frequent weekend trips to Red River—had all abruptly stopped. But like a person who continues to sense the motion of the waves after returning to dry land, Meg could still feel the disconcerting pull and sway of what she’d been forced to leave behind. The lilt of Lark’s voice. The smell of freshly mown hay in the fields beyond the farmhouse.