The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (20 page)

“Yeah, he called early this morning, a few hours ago, before Charlie left for rounds.” She looks away and starts to fidget. “He called Charlie and his dad the other day to review the real estate papers with them over the phone…, but I answered the phone today.” She takes a sudden interest in Cara’s swing set in the backyard and stares out the kitchen window. She turns back to me and looks uneasy. “He’s…different now.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just begins to pick at an invisible thread on her designer jeans. She looks up and catches me scrutinizing her. She gets this guilty look then rewards me with one of her most winning smiles, but it’s forced.
And I know it.

She’s holding something back from me. The thing is she went out of her way to meet up with me today, practically invited herself over when she called early this morning, and insisted again even when I told her today wasn’t good. I have a run-through later this afternoon. I need to drop off Cara at Mom and Dad’s before that. Even so, she still insisted on coming by, driving the forty odd miles from Palo Alto to meet up with me.

Why?

We’ve been sporadic with seeing one another over the past couple of months. I intentionally isolate myself from her because experiencing firsthand her fabulous life with Charlie is more than my present state of mind—
a special brand of crazy
—can handle.

But it’s almost Christmas. Three more nights of
The Nutcracker
and I have three weeks off before winter rehearsals begin in mid-January for the next production this spring. I practically panic at the idea of having free time. I’ve tried to keep busy. It’s work or Cara or time spent at my parents. I’ve learned to cook a little more and clean a lot. I willingly take on anything that will keep me moving because thinking is the last thing I want to be doing.

My strategy mostly works. Until now.

Until Marla starts looking at me with recognizable sympathy. It’s the bad news look—the how-can-I-possibly-keep-Tally-from-falling apart? look. We know each other so well. She’s been here for every bad thing that’s happened to me. The good ones too, but the bad ones are more prominent.

Bad news.

Right.

“Tell me,” I say softly, “
how
is he different?”

“He’s not himself. He’s acting so
different
. He’s—”

“He’s
sleeping around
or
seeing someone
,” I say finishing her little speech for her.

Marla’s face twists up. She’s uncomfortable in delivering this ugly news. “Possibly both,” she says hanging her head, she won’t even look at me.

“Fuck me.”

“Language.”
Marla frantically gestures towards Elliott and Cara who play side-by-side on the living room floor not far from us.

Wood building blocks painted red and blue and yellow are scattered about the floor. Elliott dutifully goes around and picks them all up and hands them back to Cara, who then works deftly in silence building the tallest tower possible. Elliott claps and gleefully laughs every time the two of them work together knocking it all down for the umpteenth time. It’s been fun to watch.

The idea of knocking something down begins to sound pretty good about now.

Simple joy. Catch me some, and let me drink it down right the fuck now.

I attempt to smile over at Marla, but my lips are frozen. My mind is stuck on her words,
possibly both
.

I hate being right. I hate being clairvoyant. I am a little bit of both and most often at the same time.
Like now.

Marla grabs my hand from where it rests on the table between us. “Got any wine?”

“I have a run-through in a couple of hours. I can’t. Mikhail would have my head. There are only three more performances. I need the money. Daycare is expensive.”

“You need a nanny or an Au pair.”

“Yep, but that stuff doesn’t come cheap, now does it?” I wince and feel the edges of a raging headache coming on fast. “I’m some thirty thousand dollars in debt for a wedding that didn’t happen, and my former fiance is sleeping around. It doesn’t get much worse than that.” I take an unsteady breath and blow it out. “
Sorry
, it’s not your fault, he’s W-H-O-R-I-N-G around.”

“Right.” Marla laughs a little and finally so do I.

I mean what am I going to do? Cry? No way.

“Her name is Trinna,” she says helpfully. “It was on the sports page of the Chronicle and the LA Times, just about everywhere this morning. ESPN.” Her voice trembles as she delivers the news.

“He made national news?” She nods looking as miserable as I suddenly feel. “Trinna,” I say the name as if it is somehow foreign and sounding it out will make it all better.

“She’s pretty enough. Blond. The papers say she wants to be an actress. That she met him in a bar. That kind of thing...” Marla bites at her lower lip and looks miserable.

“Right.” My one word answer gushes with all kinds of sarcasm. “Didn’t know that.
Don’t
want to know that.
Don’t
tell me anything more.
Don’t
want to hear it.” I put my hands over my ears like Cara sometimes does. She might not talk but she still knows how to throw a tantrum when she wants to. “How many
don’ts
is that?” I ask lowering my head to the table unable to look at my best friend.

“Quite a few,” Marla says on a sigh. “I don’t blame you for being pissed. I don’t. But I just think you should talk to him and maybe you two could try and work things out.”

I look up at her and toss my hair back over my shoulder because her sudden empathy for Linc sets me off. “Work
what
out? He
doesn’t
remember me. He’s obviously moved on. Exactly what would we be working out?”

“I don’t know. I just think you shouldn’t give up so easily.”

“You think it’s been
easy
to give up? Try living my life for just one day, Marla. One fucking hour in fact,” I whisper. “Think what it would be like if Charlie didn’t remember you at all, that when he woke up from a coma and looked at you he saw
nothing
. He saw through you or just looked right past you. And then asked who you were? Demanded to know who you were and why you were there? Please don’t sit there and tell me how to feel or what to do because you just don’t know what it’s like to lose somebody who used to love you. You don’t know. Please, don’t do that. I’ve managed to fu…
screw
up a number of times in my life, but this isn’t one of them.
Okay
?”

“Okay. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to see you unhappy like this.”

“I’m not
unhappy
.” I choke on the word but force myself to smile. “See? I’m
happy
.” My voice trembles and Marla waves a finger at me. “Not completely unhappy. I have Cara. A roof over my head. A job.
For now.
My parents. Tommy. You. Charlie. Elliott. A semblance of a life. I just don’t have…
everything
anymore. I just don’t have
him
anymore.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know.”

“So no wine?” She sighs again looking even more unhappy.

Her mysterious obsession with the wine request pisses me off but it gets me moving up and out of the chair. I start rummaging through the kitchen cupboards and slamming doors. Two minutes later, I hold up a bottle of scotch in victory.

“That’s all you’ve got?” Marla asks looking at the amber-colored bottle in disgust.

Linc’s favorite scotch. Glenfiddich. The one unopened bottle he was saving for a special occasion. I should have poured it down the fucking drain.

“This is it.” I hold up the fancy bottle and grin wide. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it. I’m supposed to drive back to Palo Alto anyway. And, I have a kid.”

“Such a responsible soul.” I work at the fancy cork by tearing off the foil with my teeth.

“Something like that.” Her face twists up as she watches me. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“A loaded statement if there ever was one.”

“You should start seeing someone, to even the score.”

“There is no keeping score. I’ll move on when I am good and ready. And I’m not ready. And you know what? I may never be ready. Fuck love, fuck marriage, fuck Tally and the baby carriage,” I chant while pouring a healthy shot of scotch into an over-sized water glass.

Marla’s mouth drops open and her eyes go wide. “Are you
seriously
going to drink all that, Tal? Did you even
eat
today?”

“Yes. And no.” I smile feeling completely wicked as I hold the expensive glass of scotch up to the light as if it’s under some kind of inspection. “Will you drop me off at the studio after we take Cara to my parents?”

“Sure,” she says softly.

I think she’s sorry she suggested drinking. I’m not sorry. I’m relieved. So fucking relieved.

“Thanks for telling me I guess and for being here.”

I drink down the whole glass of scotch in one long swallow and then wipe the corners of my mouth with the back of my hand. The liquor burns my throat all the way down. The alcohol rushes my veins like a narcotic would.

I begin to feel a little dizzy even as I push a stick of gum into my mouth to keep Mikhail off the trail. The man looks for any reason he can, threatening to demote me or fire me at least every other day. I haven’t figured out what his problem with me is quite yet.

Does it matter?

No, not at all.

As long as I stay two steps ahead of him, I’ll be fine. And keep busy. And keep myself from thinking. I’ll be fine.

Possibly both.
Marla’s words burns all the way to my soul.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

You Oughta Know -TALLY

“So you saw her picture in the paper?” I ask, deciding to dive right in and open all these slightly healed-over wounds of heartache and jealousy about Lincoln Presley all over again.

“Yeah.” Marla looks down avoiding my gaze like before. “It was one of those bad PR moves on his part. In other words, it looked bad, but he says nothing
bad
really happened. That’s what he told Charlie anyway when he called earlier today. Charlie told him he should apologize to you for it though.”

“He doesn’t know about me to apologize. He doesn’t even know my name or know about Cara.
Remember
?”

“I know. I was hoping since a few months had gone by that he somehow…remembered or something. I guess it’s not surprising then that he told Charlie he had no intention of apologizing for something he didn’t
do
to someone he doesn’t even
know
.”

“That hurts.” I swallow hard on the lump forming in my throat. “You know; I went along with his dad’s whole program about staying out of his life for a while, so he wouldn’t be confused or stressed out, but I thought eventually he would call me. How stupid have I been?”

Now it’s my turn to stare out the window. I give it a few minutes and take in the view—the consolation prize of a backyard and Cara’s swing set—and then casually wipe at my eyes before turning back to Marla’s scrutiny.

“I’ve been holding onto this silly thread of hope that he’d remember everything. And now I find out he’s slinking around with somebody else.” I fist pump the air. “How am I supposed to explain all of that to Cara. Imagine what it would do to her? How confused she would be. I have to do something about this. I really do. I have to do something about this.” I start pacing. “I’ve got to think about this. Think this whole thing through. And
do
something.”

“I
think
you should talk to him.”

I stop pacing and study Marla’s face intently. “
Whose side
are you on, babe? Because you have to pick one, Mrs. Masterson. If it isn’t my side, then I need to know that. I know you’re somewhat caught in the middle because of the family connections—what with the first cousin ties and all.
I get it
, I do. But you need to understand that I have to protect myself
and
Cara. It’s becoming a little hard to explain to her why her daddy doesn’t come home. Imagine trying to explain that Daddy doesn’t remember her at all on any level whatsoever and he has a girlfriend? She’s dealing with enough as it is right now. I don’t want her confused or hurt any further by any of this. I should have done something about this a long time ago,” I say quietly enough that Cara won’t hear me from the open doorway.