“It was fine,” she replies dismissively, “but your father is acting strange. He’s quite withdrawn. How was he with you?”
Good, I think, but then I’m not the one betraying him, but what I say is, “We had a great pizza night. He seems to be enjoying his work again.”
“Oh, did he tell you his news then?”
I stiffen, confused by the direction this conversation is now traveling. Did my father change his mind and enlighten my mother on the pending patent sale? Did she find out on her own?
“What news is that?” I ask, my voice sounding appropriate, or inappropriate, depending on how you look at it, strained.
“I guess not then.” She sighs. “Okay, I’m going to be honest with you. I intentionally volunteered for the convention to get out of town and give him some time with you. I thought he’d tell you what’s going on, and then you’d do what you do and work your magic on him.”
I blink in consternation. “What does any of that mean, Mom?”
“He was invited back to Lion’s Den. It’s a second-chance season, with the biggest flops now being offered the chance to become the biggest winners. All investments promised during the show will be automatically doubled by a pool of money established by the studio.”
Confusion ripples through me. What the heck is going on? Why didn’t he tell me this? And what does it have to do with what he did tell me? “He’ll never go back on that show, Mom.”
“You could convince him.”
“He didn’t tell me because he doesn’t want to be convinced.”
“I just want him to get the credit he deserves,” she argues. “He’s worked so hard.”
There is tenderness in her voice, and my head is officially spinning, the ground with it. Is she or isn’t she cheating on my father? And if she isn’t, why is he hiding the patent from her?
“I think it will all work out, Mom. As Dad always says, there are more ways to fry an egg.”
“It would be nice if it got fried while he’s still young enough to enjoy it.” She doesn’t give me time to reply. “Anyway. I need to go. And by the way, your father is not supposed to be eating pizza. His cholesterol is off the charts. I meant to warn you. And before you assume as much, I’m not chiding you. I just want you to help me convince him to care about his health and his work.”
It’s my father with the cholesterol issue? What is going on? “He cares about his work.”
“As long as he’s safely locked away in the garage. Everything in life is not safe, nor does every risk end in disaster.”
When my mother and I finally hang up, I set the phone down, an eruption of hail on the roof sending me seeking refuge in my windowless kitchen for cover. The way secrets seek refuge from the lies they may soon become. It seems everyone in my life, except Jess, has a secret. Then again, maybe she does. Maybe we all do. Even me.
Adam is my secret.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Present . . .
I gasp awake, hunching forward with my hand pressed to the stickiness on my belly, the biting pain stealing my breath. Air rasps through my teeth, my chest heaving, my gaze lifting to the stairwell around me. Now I know where I am. Images, horrible images, scratch at my mind.
“I . . . need out of here.”
I need a phone. Where is my phone?
My chin lowers, and I search only for the knife—no, no, the letter opener. It’s a letter opener. I lift my hand to reach for it, but my fingers curl into my palm, resisting the blood-stained silver. More images stab at my mind, and I shove them aside. I cannot go there right now, not when I’m still in this hellish place, dying, for all I know. The hesitation of moments before evaporates. My hand closes around the knife’s handle, and I shift in an attempt to stand, fighting through the ache of my body. Somehow I manage to roll to my knees, crawling toward the stairs, inching my way closer and closer. Every part of me hurts, little dots swirling in my vision, but I pull myself forward. At some point the pain fades, and my body is numb, but my energy is nonexistent. I rest my forehead on the steel bars, telling myself it’s just for a moment.
At some point I realize I’m dozing, and I jerk out of the darkness. That’s when the distinct heavy thud of footsteps, above me and headed down in my direction, registers in my mind. My heart races, adrenaline surging through me in that fight-or-flight way fear overtakes us mere humans.
I don’t know if I should call out or run.
Chapter Thirty-Six
A single lie discovered is enough to create doubt in every truth.
—Unknown
The past . . .
The hail ends as abruptly as it began, the way truth ends in lies in a few spoken words.
With her contact with my father regarding his patent on my mind, I dial Jess in hopes she might clue me in on what the heck is going on.
“Hey, you,” she answers. “My God, this rain. It won’t let up.”
“Did you know my father got invited back on Lion’s Den?”
“Oh good Lord, tell me he said no.”
“He didn’t tell you when you talked to him about the attorney?”
“Why would he tell me? No. Our talk was fast. I connected him with Nick Morris, the attorney I told you about. Is he going back on Lion’s Den?”
“My mother says he was invited but on the fence about it. He didn’t tell me.”
“That’s kind of strange, but, you know, maybe it seemed unimportant since he doesn’t need them. He’s on his own path.”
“That my mother doesn’t know about?”
“Well, if she’s cheating—”
“What if she’s not? What if it’s not my mother who’s cheating, but my father?”
“Oh come on, Mia. Your dad—”
“Is human and flawed.”
“Okay. There’s truth in that statement. We’re all human and flawed. Only assholes think differently. But worrying about this won’t change anything. They’re adults. They make their own decisions. And maybe, just maybe, your father is simply doing what he told you he was doing. Surprising your mother with his success.”
Did I tell Jess he said that? I don’t remember. I must have. I tell her everything. “Right,” I say and change the subject. “What are you doing today?”
“I agreed to go meet some guy for coffee. He’s the president of some bank.”
“Some bank? Just some bank?”
“I don’t believe anything anyone tells me. You know that. I’ll remember what bank when he’s worthy of me remembering what bank, which is likely never.”
“Cynicism is sinful.”
She snorts. “Did you make that up just now?”
“Yep. Just now. I’m bubbling with brilliance today, let me tell you.”
“You’re snarky today. No more wine for you. Do I dare ask? Anything on the dating site?”
“Nothing worth mentioning,” I say, and my secret cuts, while my answer borders on one of those lies I despise and try never to tell.
We chitchat for a few more minutes before she has to dart off to her date. I consider calling Jack for another opinion on my mom and dad, but he’ll talk about more than them. He’ll talk about me. The normal me would talk about Adam.
I don’t want to talk about Adam.
As Benjamin Franklin said, “Three may keep a secret, if two of them are dead.”
As guilty as I feel about keeping secrets from my friends, Adam is all mine right now. Only mine.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
If you’re going to be two-faced, at least make one of them pretty.
—Marilyn Monroe
Are there really two sides to every person, or are some of us simply one point of view and in our very simplicity, content?
Then again, variety is seen in all forms of living. Light and dark chocolate. Red and white wine. Two sides of a record album, both with songs to sing along to with my father, as he tells stories of the days past, but not forgotten. As my father says, there can be more than one answer to a question.