The Lies We Told (26 page)

“I started crying and told him everything,” I was finally able to say.

“I’m sorry, Miss Maya,” Simmee said.

“I expected him to get angry with me, but he held me. He rocked me in his arms like I was a little girl. He said he’d help me. I didn’t understand much about abortion—” I looked up at her. “Do you know what an abortion is?”

“’Course,” she said.

“He said he wouldn’t put me through having a baby. He was going to arrange an abortion for me without telling my mother, and he was going to make sure Zed never came near me again. I felt terrible that I was going to have an abortion,” I said, “because my mother had taught me it was wrong. But
I also couldn’t imagine myself pregnant. I
especially
couldn’t imagine giving birth. I viewed the whole thing through a child’s eyes.”

“You
was
a child,” Simmee said. “I think I was older when I was fourteen than you were.”

“I think you’re right,” I agreed.

“So what happened?”

“I told Zed that my father knew everything and that I was pregnant and was going to have an abortion. He was furious. He said it was his baby, too, and I had no right to get rid of it. He wanted to know where I would have the abortion so he could go there and blow the place up, and he said if my father thought taking a life was no big deal maybe he deserved to have
his
life taken. I think that’s when I realized he was crazy, and I was so glad my father was going to make him stay away from me.” It wasn’t until years later that I learned my father had retained a lawyer and planned to have Zed locked up for statutory rape. Another father might have tracked him down and beaten him to a pulp, but Daddy was far too civilized for that. “So Daddy took me to the clinic and I had the abortion,” I said. “When we got home, though…” I looked at Simmee. “This is so hard to remember.”

“Tell me.” She tightened her hand around mine, just a little.

“We were in the driveway, and my mother ran out of the house and I thought she’d figured out where we’d been. I was terrified of what she’d say. I was mostly terrified of her…her
disappointment
in me. She opened the car door and I expected her to…I don’t know. To yell, I guess. But she got in and slammed the door shut and screamed at my father to drive.”

“Why?” Simmee frowned.

“Because Zed was there. In the driveway. I didn’t realize it right away, because he was wearing a ski mask…a mask that covered his whole face. Except for his eyes.” I swallowed hard
once. Twice. “That’s how I knew it was him. His eyes…he was holding a gun.” The old terror swelled inside me, and I heard my mother’s screams. “I ducked behind the driver’s seat, and then he started shooting. Blood was…it was everywhere, and the gun was so loud.” I pulled my hand from Simmee’s to cover my ears, as though I could block out the sound of gunfire and breaking glass that still filled my nightmares.

“Maya,” Simmee said softly, and somewhere I registered the fact that she had never simply called me
Maya
before, omitting the
Miss,
as though we were suddenly equals in age. In social status. In
heartbreak
. She reached for my hand where it covered my ear, and drew it back to the table, cradled it in both of hers. Her eyes were red. “Poor little girl,” she said.

“My sister.” My voice broke. “Rebecca came out of the house and threw something at him. This boot cleaner we had.” I pictured the boot cleaner on Lady Alice’s porch. “She threw it at Zed. And he ran away. I didn’t see any of what happened, because I was hiding behind the seats.”

“Did the sheriff ever catch him?”

“The police did, yes. Rebecca told them he was one of my father’s students who was angry over something. That was true. He was one of Daddy’s students. She didn’t say anything about him being her ex-boyfriend, and I didn’t say anything about my connection to him either, because then Rebecca would have known that it was my fault our parents were…gone. The cops went to the place he was living and there was a shootout and Zed was killed.”

“Good,” Simmee said. “He deserved it.”

“Becca and I never talked about it,” I said. “I know she probably blamed herself, just like I did. Like I still do. I was always afraid she’d somehow figure out it was all my fault.”

“It
wasn’t
your fault,” Simmee said. “Not even a little bit.
You said yourself, you was just a kid. You wasn’t the one that shot the gun.”

“It still feels like it was my fault. That’s how it’s always going to feel.”

“Just how I feel like my mama dyin’ was my fault, but you were right. It wasn’t. I was a baby, and you was a kid. Ain’t neither of our faults.”

I looked at the table, where she had locked her fingers with mine. “The abortion left scars,” I said. “They think that’s why I keep losing my babies.”

Simmee unlaced our fingers and turned my hand over, peering at my palm. “What you told me explains somethin’ I seen here,” she said, her fingertip lightly touching my palm. “Here on your lifeline. This little square? It’s s’posed to mean you been in prison sometime, but I knew you wasn’t the type that ever was in prison. Now I get it though.” She looked at me. Bit her lower lip. “You made a prison right inside your own head.”

R
EBECCA’S PATIENT, A MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN WITH A MIGRAINE
, leaned toward her, “Oh, good Lord,” she whispered, pointing to the corner of the busy clinic, “look at that.”

Rebecca turned her head. In the corner, Adam was bandaging a shoulder wound on a guy whose entire back was covered by a tattoo. A bald eagle sailed across a blue sky, the American flag waving in a breeze behind the bird’s wing.

Rebecca swiveled back to her patient, giving her a look of mock horror. “Yikes,” she said quietly as she handed the woman a bottle of pills. Her own head was still a bit achy, though her cold was nearly gone.

“Why would anyone do that to his body?” the woman asked.

“No way!” The man suddenly shouted so loudly that everyone in the room turned to look. Rebecca saw him leap to his feet, his hand over the bandage on his shoulder. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen.

Adam, syringe in hand, looked up at him in surprise. “You really need a tetanus shot,” he said. “You said the hinge was rusty and—”

“Uh-uh!” The guy grabbed his T-shirt from the gurney. “I’m scared of needles, man!” he shouted, heading for the classroom door.

Adam looked over at Rebecca and burst out laughing, and half of the people in the clinic, patients and staff alike, joined in.

“Oh, good Lord,” Rebecca’s patient said again as she stood to go. “Do you believe it?”

Rebecca smiled. It felt so strange to smile. So very strange.

That morning, she’d told Adam that she’d broken up with Brent—although she didn’t tell him Brent’s response. Brent had hesitated a moment after she told him, then asked, “So who are you fucking there?” His assumption—and the way he delivered it—irritated the hell out of her. It was only his hurt and disappointment coming through, she knew, but it still irked her. Breaking up with him had been the right decision. The relief she felt in every cell of her body told her so.

She was cleaning her examining table, readying it for her next patient, when a teenage boy suddenly burst into the room. His blond hair was so long that, at first glance, she thought he was a girl,

“My mother passed out in the hallway!” he shouted.

Rebecca glanced at Adam. He was shaking hands with a woman who held a squirming little boy in her arms. “I’ve got it,” she said, and started to follow the boy out of the clinic. Fainting in the airless hallway while waiting to see the clinic staff was nothing new. Fainting
anywhere
in the school was nothing new.

In the hall, she saw people huddled around the woman on the floor.

“Let me through!” she said, and when they parted, she caught her breath.
Maya?
The woman was Maya’s height and
weight and her blonde hair was cut in Maya’s chin-length style. Rebecca rushed forward, filled with irrational hope. She dropped to the floor next to the pale, unconscious woman, knowing she was not her sister, yet still wishing there was some miraculous way to turn her
into
Maya.

She rested her fingers on the woman’s neck, searching unsuccessfully for a pulse.

“Run back to the clinic,” she told the boy. “Tell Dr. Pollard we need the crash cart. Hurry!”

Rebecca raised the woman’s polo shirt and began chest compressions, ignoring the sickening feeling in her own chest as she crunched down on her patient’s rib cage. In less than a minute, she heard Adam pushing the crash cart toward her in the hallway.

“Ambu bag!” she called. Glancing toward him, she saw the startled look on his face as he took in the woman’s features. He sank to the floor opposite Rebecca. Attaching the monitor leads to the woman’s chest, he whispered, “For a minute I thought—”

“I know,” Rebecca said.

Adam pressed the bag to the woman’s mouth and began squeezing it. “EMS driver’s getting the backboard,” he said.

Rebecca glanced at the monitor. Nothing. She took the paddles from the defibrillator and Adam leaned back as she delivered the shock.
Come on, honey,
she whispered.

The monitor registered an irregular series of beats that eased into a thready, sluggish rhythm. Good enough for now, she thought.

The EMS driver appeared carrying a yellow backboard. “The medics are at the hospital,” he said. “I’ll drive, but you two’ll have to come with her.”

“Great,” Adam said under his breath.

He wouldn’t be familiar with the back of an ambulance,
Rebecca thought, but disaster work had made her a Jill of all trades. She’d be able to find what they needed. If she did one thing today, it was going to be to save the life of this woman who looked so much like Maya.

Inside the ambulance, Adam quickly intubated the woman with the ease of an anesthesiologist, despite his grumbling about the equipment, while Rebecca started a second IV.
Like we’ve been working together all our lives,
she thought. The driver turned on the siren, but the roads were filled with potholes and the going was slow. They’d all be deaf by the time they reached the hospital, but she didn’t care as long as they could keep their patient’s heart pumping and oxygen flowing. That was all that mattered.

When they finally arrived in the E.R., the woman was quickly whisked into one of the treatment rooms. Rebecca watched the doors close behind the gurney, and bit her lip, folding her hands together almost as if she was praying. She glanced at Adam.

“Wow,” he said. “That was spooky.”

“I’m just glad we got her back,” Rebecca said, then winced at her words. “You know what I mean.” She nodded toward the door. “This patient.”

He nodded, giving her an empathetic smile. “I know exactly what you mean.” He tossed an arm across her shoulders. “We’re a team, you and me,” he whispered, as if no one should hear. As if it was a secret.

A few minutes later, she and Adam were in the ambulance once again, heading back to the school. This time, though, Adam drove and Rebecca sat in the passenger seat. The EMS driver had bumped into his elderly aunt in the waiting area of
the E.R., and he wanted to stay with her. He’d handed Adam the keys. “I’ll find a ride back later,” he’d said.

There was far less traffic on the road leading away from the hospital than there had been leading to it, and they were quiet in the ambulance. Rebecca was tired, both from the tail end of her cold as well as from the frantic effort to save their patient. But she felt exhilarated, nevertheless. High from saving a life. She leaned against the door as they bounced along the road, her gaze on Adam. He was smiling, and she guessed he felt the same euphoria that she was feeling.
We’re a team, you and me.
His perfectly shaped fingers tapped the steering wheel to music only he could hear, and he nodded his head to a soundless rhythm. His hair was too long, curling over the collar of his uniform vest. She felt an unexpected joy at being with him, and then an ache that stretched across her chest and rose high into her throat.

She loved him.

He glanced at her and she wondered if the emotion, so raw and exposed and
wrong,
was written all over her face. If he were not her brother-in-law, she might have said something provocative. Suggestive. Instead, she felt her throat grow red and hot, and quickly looked away. Uncomfortable, she reached toward the cluster of knobs and buttons on the dashboard. “Is this the radio?” she pointed to one of the buttons.

“Looks like it,” he said.

She started to push the button just as they hit a pothole. Losing her balance, she leaned hard on the console and its array of toggle switches between their seats. Suddenly, the siren began to blare.

She jumped. “What did I hit?”

“Turn it off!” Adam shouted.

She tried to read the lettering above each toggle switch, but the ambulance was bouncing from pothole to pothole and she couldn’t make out the words.

“I have no idea which one to press!” she said.

Adam glanced at the console, but quickly jerked his eyes back to the road as they dove into another hole in the pavement. The siren squawked above their heads, and the cars and trucks in front of them drove onto the shoulder of the road to let them pass.

Rebecca toggled the switches on the console, feeling as if she were in a comedy sketch, and before she knew it she was laughing. By the time she found the right switch and the interior of the ambulance filled with a welcome silence, they were both laughing so hard they could no longer see the road.

Adam called the hospital to check on the Maya look-alike as they walked back to their trailer after their shift that evening.

“Fantastic!” he said into the phone.

“She’s doing okay?” she asked as he flipped his phone closed.

“No major damage,” he said. “Now we’ve got a good excuse to celebrate.”

They’d picked up a six-pack of beer, a bag of tortilla chips and a jar of salsa after the siren fiasco, and she’d been looking forward to indulging in them all afternoon. Now, though, she was not so sure.

“We should invite Dot over,” she said, knowing perfectly well why she was making the suggestion: she didn’t want to be alone with Adam, especially not with a couple of beers in her. She’d do something stupid. Something they’d both end up regretting. This was not some guy she could quickly bed and forget, nor did she want to.
Family
. That’s what he wanted and what they both needed. Her feelings for him felt both right and wrong. Until she could sort them out, she wouldn’t play with fire.

“She’ll drink on duty?” he asked.

“Hell, yes,” Rebecca said. “As long as she’s not working in the clinic. She’ll drink us under the table.”

Adam looked reluctant as he dialed Dorothea’s number and issued the invitation. He got off the phone with a shrug. “She’ll be over in a little while,” he said, as they stepped into the trailer. “She asked why we didn’t buy a six-pack for each of us.”

Rebecca poured the salsa into a bowl, while Adam pulled two beers from the refrigerator. They climbed onto the double bed and sat opposite one another, their backs against the trailer walls. Rebecca crossed her legs and took a sip from the bottle. She would talk about Maya. Safe subject. She’d keep Maya foremost in her mind.

“Okay,” she said, “did that woman today look like Maya’s twin or what?”

“Totally freakish,” Adam agreed.

Thank God it wasn’t Maya
.

The thought slipped into her mind so quickly she couldn’t stop it. She lowered her eyes to her beer bottle, her face hot again, as though she’d said the words out loud. She started peeling the label from the bottle, unable to look Adam in the eye.

She was ready to let Maya go. She
had
to let her go. She could no longer tolerate the uncertainty.

“I keep feeling she’s not dead,” Adam said suddenly.

She couldn’t quite read his tone. She glanced up from the bottle. “Intellectually, though, you know she’s gone, right?” she asked.

He looked thoughtful as he leaned forward to dip a chip in the salsa. “Well, I guess if I didn’t think that, I’d still be out there looking for her.” He chewed the chip. Took a swallow of beer. “Where do you think she is?” he asked.

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you mean…her body? Or her…”

“Her soul.” He looked suddenly shy, and so, so vulnerable. The open, trusting beauty in his face made her throat ache
again, as it had in the ambulance.
You are so beautiful,
she wanted to say.
So beautiful, I don’t know what to do.

“I can’t think about it.” She tore the label clear off the bottle. “When my parents died, I tried to convince myself that they were in heaven together. That’s what I was brought up to believe—by my mother, anyway. My father was totally…faithless, I guess you’d say. But it all seems like magical thinking to me.”

“Well, I choose to believe that’s where she is,” Adam said. “I choose to believe she’s an angel, singing karaoke with a good voice.”

“What?”
Rebecca laughed. “She didn’t have a good voice.”

“No kidding.” Adam smiled. She loved the way his overgrown hair curled over the tops of his ears. “Maybe in heaven, though, she could have one.”

Rebecca remembered Maya and their father singing along with the tape deck in the car. Their father had a good voice and Maya did not, though that didn’t seem to matter to him. They sang stuffy old show tunes. To this day, any rendition of “Oklahoma” or “Edelweiss” could make her toes curl.

“Didn’t she tell you about the wedding we went to where she sang karaoke?” Adam crunched down on a tortilla chip.

“No way. She’d never…I can’t picture it. And she really couldn’t sing.”

“This is true,” he said. “But you know how funny she could be when she had too much to drink?”

“Actually, no.” One more thing she hadn’t known about her sister.

“She was a little tipsy at the reception, and we egged her on and she finally got up and did it.” He laughed. “God, she was terrible, but she got points for being a good sport.”

“What did she sing?”

“‘Dancing Queen.’”

“No!” Rebecca said. She already had the beginning of a buzz, and it felt good. Excellent, actually. It was a relief to shut down her thinking for a while. “Tell me you’re joking,” she said.

“I’m not.” Adam held the bottle in front of his mouth and started singing, waving his free arm dramatically through the air. “Dancin’ queen, la la la la, dancin’ queen!”

“Oh my God, I wish I’d seen that!” Rebecca laughed. “Although, seeing this impersonation is nearly as good.”

Adam chuckled as he leaned back against the wall, and Rebecca watched him take a long pull on his beer. “How ’bout that siren?” he asked, and they both cracked up again. She was laughing so hard she didn’t even hear the trailer door open. Adam must have, though, because he lifted his head toward the trailer’s interior, where Dorothea stood in the dim kitchen light, hands on her hips.

“I see you two have reached the hysterical laughing stage of grief,” she said.

She was smiling, but Rebecca felt a stab of guilt, and she sat up straight. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

“You know,” Dorothea said. She walked straight to the refrigerator and took out a beer. “Elizabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grieving?” She kicked off her shoes and joined them on the bed, sitting cross-legged on Rebecca’s side of the wall. Aging hippie, Rebecca thought. Except for the beer she was swigging, Dorothea looked like a yoga instructor for seniors.