The Lies We Told (23 page)

“Maya told me you wouldn’t let social services put her in foster care.”

“How could I? It was all my fault. I had to take care of her. I was going to keep us together no matter what. We had some life-insurance money and we’d inherited the house. I sold the house, and Maya and I moved into an apartment. We had some emotional support from family friends, but no therapy. We both should have been in therapy, but it was the last thing on my mind.” Rebecca’d been so frightened and wounded during that time. No one seemed to pick up on her weight loss. Her exhaustion from too many nights without sleep. She’d cut herself off from her social life to focus on her penance: Maya and work. She didn’t sleep with another guy until medical school, when, with Maya safely in college, she began making up for lost time.

“It’s unbelievable how well you and Maya did in school after going through all of that. I mean, I know you took a year off to work, but she…from what she told me, anyway, it sounds like she didn’t miss a beat.”

“It was our way of handling the grief,” she said. “Just like now. The way you and I are working such long hours here. It keeps us from thinking.”

“Right.” He sighed.

“I was always afraid that, deep down, Maya knew I was still seeing Zed.” She lit another cigarette. “That I was still sneaking out with him. I told her once right after it happened that I hadn’t been, but she said she didn’t want to talk about it. I’ve always wondered if she thought I was lying to her and she was angry. I never brought it up again.” She peered into his eyes. “So do you see what I mean?” she asked. “About unfinished business? There was so much left unsaid between us.”

Adam leaned back on his hands. “I never got the impression that she blamed you for anything,” he said. “I think she was grateful that you kept her out of foster care.”

“I know. But I feel as though…” She shrugged. “It
was
my fault, really. Zed was only angry with my parents because of me.”

“Give yourself some credit, Bec,” he said. “Don’t you see how remarkable you were? You were eighteen. You made the kind of mistake every eighteen-year-old makes—falling for the wrong person. You ran a household, raised your sister, became a doctor and helped her become a doctor, too.”

She smiled, grateful to him for trying to ease some of the burden she carried. Quickly, though, she sobered. “There’s an elephant right here, right now,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“What we’re both thinking about Maya, but aren’t saying.”

He was quiet, and she knew he understood what she was talking about.

“It’s hard to let her go,” he said.

“Unbearable,” she agreed. Leaning forward, she did what she’d wanted to do for days. She wrapped her arms around him, and he embraced her with his own, and they sat that way for a long, long time.

I
SAT IN THE KITCHEN FOR A GOOD THIRTY MINUTES AFTER MY
conversation with Simmee. I wasn’t sure whether to follow her to her bedroom or not. She’d walked away from me, and I thought I should give her privacy if that was what she wanted. My mind was reeling from our talk, and I didn’t like my thoughts one bit.

I was being offered a baby and I believed that, at that moment at least, Simmee sincerely wanted me to accept her offer. Adam was so against our adopting, though. Maybe it was the hassle factor that was at the root of his objection. Maybe if we could adopt a baby freely given to us, he’d feel differently. I knew in my heart of hearts, though, that was not the case. We’d talked about it enough. He wanted that blood tie. That damned blood tie I was unable to give him.

Besides, Simmee’s baby had a father, and I was sure Tully would never agree to relinquish his child for adoption. Simmee was making the offer under duress. She was frightened of having this baby. The whole idea of giving birth had to conjure up the loss of her mother for her. All the problems and deprivations of
her own childhood at Last Run Shelter, most of which I couldn’t begin to relate to, were coming to the fore as she prepared to bring a new and utterly dependent life into the world.

She was only seventeen—in many ways, a child herself—and living in poverty. Would social services even allow her to keep the baby if they knew about it? Was that why she thought Tully would be so resistant to her giving birth in a hospital? Was he afraid the baby would be taken from them?

I left the house, determined to talk to him. I would make him understand. He didn’t know what it was like to be a woman about to give birth, especially a woman whose mother had died as Simmee’s had. I needed to make him see.

I found him behind the house, where he was sitting with his back to me on a long flat rock. In front of him, a fire roared in the concrete pit where they burned their trash, and dark, acrid smoke rose into the treetops.

My steps slowed when I spotted him, remembering how uncomfortable I’d felt during our last conversation in the yard. “Hey, Tully,” I said as I neared him.

He started a bit in surprise, turning toward me. “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“As long as it’s not about buildin’ a raft,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Set yourself down.” He nodded toward another rock near the fire pit. I started walking toward it but froze when I saw the rifle in his hands.

“Don’t freak out,” he said. “I’m just cleanin’ it.” He leaned over to lay the rifle on the far end of the long rock, as if showing me he had no plans to use it in my presence. “I know you’re not too keen on firearms,” he said, tucking the end of the rag he’d been using into his pocket.

“How do you know that?” For some reason, I felt paranoid.

“You look at ’em like they got a life of their own.” He laughed. “Like they can go off all by themselves.”

“They…” I lowered myself to the rock. It was hot beneath my thighs from the heat of the fire as well as from the mounting heat of the day. “I’m just not used to being around them,” I said.

“Me, I’ve been around ’em all my life.” He stood up and poked at the fire with a long stick. Sparks flew into the air and I could see the wrapper from a package of ramen noodles curl into the flames. Watching him work with the fire, I thought of how he was always on the go. He had the energy of two men. He could get a good job if they lived on the mainland.

“My father took me huntin’ from the time I could walk,” he said. “And livin’ out here, we’d get pretty sick of fish if we didn’t hunt.” He’d said “we” as though Jackson, his hunting buddy, was still alive. I remembered Lady Alice telling me that Tully’d cried when he brought Jackson home to her. It was hard to imagine the tough guy in front of me shedding tears. I knew from the fathers of my young patients, though, that looks could be deceiving.

“Well, I’m glad you’re good at it or we’d be starving,” I said lamely. I hated how awkward I was coming to feel around him.

He tipped his head to one side, appraising me. “So what’s on your mind?” he asked.

I drew in a breath, glancing at the rifle, as though I
did
expect it to go off all by itself. “I wanted to talk to you about Simmee,” I said. “About your baby.”

He stopped poking the fire, and I saw the worry in his eyes. “You think somethin’s wrong?” he asked.

“Oh, no,” I said. “Not at all. Simmee seems very healthy, and she’s going to be an excellent mother, just like I think you’ll be an excellent father.” I tried to smile, hoping he didn’t think
I was patronizing him, which, of course, I was. “You’ll have your own child to take hunting in a few years.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “I’m looking forward to that, for sure.” He folded his arms across his chest, the stick hanging from his fingers as he waited for me to continue. He could probably tell that I had plenty more to say.

“What if it’s a girl?” I stalled.

“Ain’t no law says a girl can’t hunt, is there?”

“Not that I know of.” I shifted on the hard rock and wiped my perspiring forehead with my hand. “But here’s why I wanted to talk to you,” I said. “Simmee’s nervous about having the baby here. I mean, giving
birth
here.” I wouldn’t get into Simmee’s concerns about raising a child at Last Run Shelter. One thing at a time.

“She is?” Tully frowned. “She ain’t said nothin’ about that to me.”

“Well, I think she’s trying to be brave,” I said. “Plus, she probably doesn’t want Lady Alice to know she has reservations. But think about it, Tully. Her mother died giving birth to her, and Lady Alice was attending her then. So naturally she’s a little nervous that something like that could happen to her.”

“But it won’t.” He sat down on the rock again, and it shifted a little beneath his weight. “You said yourself, she’s healthy.”

“I think everything will be fine,” I said. “But sometimes the unexpected happens and things can go wrong very quickly. It would be so much safer for her to have the baby in the hospital. And it would ease her mind so much.”

He frowned again like he didn’t quite get what I was saying. “I wouldn’t want to move her when she’s, you know, ready to have the baby,” he said. “We could be out on the water and anything could happen.”

His argument made no sense to me at all. “It’s only, what?
Five or ten minutes across? You’ll have another boat by then, I’m sure.” I was counting on it.

“And then we’d need to get to Larry’s.” He looked toward the waning fire, as if thinking the idea through. “We usually walk from where we dock to his house, but it’s a couple miles and she wouldn’t be able to walk all that well. And then it’s still a ways to the hospital.”

I opened my mouth to offer a rebuttal I hadn’t yet formulated, but he kept going.

“And we ain’t got no money,” he said with a shrug. “What if they kick us out? Plus, there’s those diseases in hospitals. That’s how my grandfather passed. My ma insisted he go to the hospital this one time for his sugar, and he got sick while he was there from some bug and was dead before you know it.” He leaned over to pick up a twig and tossed it on the fire. “Just seems a lot safer to let Lady Alice do it,” he said.

“Maybe if you talked to Simmee,” I suggested. “See which risk she’s willing to take, having the baby here or in the hospital.” I hadn’t thought about how they would get from the dock to Larry’s house, though. It never occurred to me that it would be that difficult.

He stood up and gave another poke to the base of the fire, and when he turned to look at me, his face had gone hard. “Look,” he said, “you need to watch steppin’ in where you don’t belong. Outsiders think they know what’s best ’cause that’s the way
they
do it, but they don’t understand about our lives.” The dying flames altered his features and I looked down at my hands before his eyes could turn to ice. My heart was pounding all out of proportion to what he was saying. I glanced at his rifle or shotgun or whatever it was. I could almost hear how it would sound going off out there in the middle of nowhere, the way it would echo through the woods and across the water.

I stood up, brushing ashes and sand from the back of my pants. “I understand,” I said, but I knew I was just plain wimping out.

“Right,” he said, and he leaned over to pick up his rifle.

“I’ll see you later.” I turned and it was all I could do not to run back to the house. My body tensed as I walked away from him, waiting for the bullet to crack open my skull. I turned the corner, pulled open the screen door and then sank into one of the kitchen chairs. My hands shook so hard I had to lock them between my thighs to keep them still. I should have tried harder, I thought. Should have apologized for overstepping my bounds, but told him I’d help them figure out how to get from the dock to the hospital, and that there would be financial help for Simmee and the baby. I could help them financially
myself
if they needed it. But I’d chickened out because he’d raised his voice two decibels and the blue of his eyes threatened to turn to ice and he was within a few feet of a gun, and now it would be impossible for me to bring up the topic with him again. I felt as though I’d failed Simmee in the way I’d handled the conversation.

I only hoped I hadn’t made things worse.

S
HE WAS CATCHING THE SORE THROAT AND STUFFY NOSE THAT
was running rampant through the school. She’d felt fine during her shift in the clinic until around three in the morning, when she noticed it hurt to swallow and her sinuses felt swollen and achy. By the time she climbed into the trailer at sunrise, with acetaminophen, decongestant and cough lozenges crammed in her pockets, she was certain she was sick.

Adam was pouring coffee into his thermos. “Uh-oh,” he said, “you look like crap.”

“Don’t touch anything I’ve touched,” she said. “Don’t even
breathe
in here or you’re doomed.”

“Poor Bec.” He screwed the lid on his thermos. “What can I do for you before I take off?”

She headed for the double bed, but he stopped her with a hand on her forehead.

“Fever, kiddo,” he said.

“I refuse to be sick.” It hurt to talk.

“Have you taken anything?”

She pulled the acetaminophen from her pocket and shook a couple of the pills onto her palm. He handed her a bottle of water and she winced as the pills scratched her throat on the way down.

She felt even closer to Adam since she’d told him about her parents’ murder. Closer, and a hundred times lighter. Maybe she hadn’t needed to talk to
Maya
about that night as much as she’d needed to talk to
someone
about it.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed taking off her shoes, when Adam peered through the window to the parking lot.

“Dot’s here,” he said. He opened the door and Dorothea climbed into the trailer.

“Morning, you two,” she said. Rebecca no longer panicked at an unexpected visit from Dorothea, but something in the tone of the older woman’s voice caused her hands to freeze above her laces.

“What is it?” she asked.

Dorothea leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms folded. “They’re calling off the search for the crash victims,” she said.

Rebecca shut her eyes.
“No.”
The word came out as a small, strangled sound. The end of the search wasn’t really a surprise; nearly two weeks had passed, and the search and rescue teams were stretched thin, with hundreds of other people still missing from the storms. Yet the complete loss of hope, the loss of
answers,
that Dorothea’s announcement carried with it was hard to bear.

Adam sat down next to her on the edge of the bed and pressed her hand between his.

“I’m sorry,” Dorothea said. “I know this has been hideous for both of you, and that you have no—” she hunted for a word “—closure. I also know that you must hold me responsible, since I asked you to talk her into coming.”

“No, Dot,” Rebecca said.

“This wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Adam said.

Dorothea stared at the floor. “Well,” she said, “I guess I’m not as forgiving of myself as you two are. I insisted she get on that chopper.” She looked at them. “She was a good worker,” she said. “Definitely
not
the wimp I thought she’d be.”

“I told you.” Adam tightened his grip on Rebecca’s hand.

“You were right.” Dorothea sounded so tired. “One of the churches is having a memorial service tomorrow night for the storm victims,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “I think Maya and the nurse and pilot need special mention. I’ll do it, if you like.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Adam said. “Unless you want to, Bec.”

She should be the one to do it, but she would need months, maybe years, to sort through her feelings and come up with what to say about her sister. She shook her head. “I don’t think I can.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

“You’d be fine,” he said. “But I’d like to do it. You can tell me if there’s something you’d like me to say. It can be a statement from both of us.”

“I’ll leave you two to work this out.” Dorothea shoved her hands into her pockets. “The service is at seven, and a van’ll pick us up by my trailer.” She glanced at Rebecca. “You get some sleep, babe,” she said. “You sound like you’ve got the crud that’s going around. And, Adam, take the day off.”

“I’ll be in later.” Adam got to his feet and walked Dorothea to the door. Rebecca didn’t move from her perch on the edge of the bed, one shoe off, the other unlaced. She heard Adam whisper “…not going to leave her alone,” and she was glad. She didn’t think she could handle being alone just then. She’d lost more than her sister in these two weeks. She’d lost her fire. Her steel. At times, when she imagined babies in her arms or her parents on the bleachers, she wondered if she was also losing her sanity.

She took off her other shoe and lay down on the bed, but instantly sat up again. “I can’t breathe when I lie down,” she said to Adam. “My nose is too stuffy.”

Adam took his own pillow from the couch and propped it up on top of hers at the head of the bed. “Try sleeping sitting up partway.”

“I’m going to get your pillow all germy,” she said.

“Like I care.” He went into the bathroom, and she heard the water running. When he came out, he had one of their thin white washcloths in his hands. He’d wet it and folded it into a rectangle, and he rested it on her forehead. He was so gentle. She was glad now that Maya had had his caring as long as she did.

He sat on the edge of her bed as she tried to get comfortable. She could breathe if she lay on her right side, propped up by the pillows, though she had to hold the washcloth against her forehead so it didn’t fall. Her back was to Adam, and for a long time, neither of them spoke.

“Are you okay?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. “It’s not like this was unexpected,” he said.

“That’s not what I asked.”

“I’m okay.”

“You can go to the clinic,” she said, although she didn’t want him to leave. “I’m just going to sleep.”

“I don’t want to go,” he said. “Not yet.”

Her eyes were closed, and Maya’s face was on the inside of her eyelids. She blinked but couldn’t get rid of the image. Maya was smiling. She didn’t look like a woman who’d suffered many losses, but she
had
and it wasn’t fair.

“It’s never enough,” she said, her voice breaking.

“What is?”

“You can never get enough of somebody you love,” she said.
It’s like…I wish I had been with her every single day. Every minute of every day.”

“I know.” He rubbed her shoulder.

“She’s on the inside of my eyelids.”

He laughed. “Mine, too.”

“Really? She’s smiling. Is she smiling on the inside of your eyelids?”

He hesitated. “Yes,” he said, in a way that made Rebecca doubt his honesty.

“I wish I’d talked to her every day, the way some sisters do. We should have. But I was always away someplace without cell coverage.” She hadn’t been the best sister. “If I could have her back, I’d do that. Talk to her every day.”

“There’s something I want, Rebecca,” he said abruptly.

She thought he meant something tangible. Did she have something of Maya’s he wanted? A keepsake. “What?” she asked.

“I want you to always be my family.” His voice was husky. “We might not technically be in-laws any longer, but I want us to stay family forever. Okay?”

She rolled onto her back, her head pounding and stuffed with cotton, and said, “Maya wouldn’t want it any other way.”

He nodded, leaning forward to turn the damp washcloth over on her forehead, and when she shut her eyes again, she could have sworn Maya’s smile grew wider.