Lies We Tell Page 4

  Estelle fell into step beside me. Her warm breath made white puffs in the chilly air. “Thanks for the help, but I’ve got it from here.”

  “I’ll walk you home,” I said, ignoring her statement.

  “It’s not necessary.”

  “I insist.” I didn’t want Chris to follow them, or that’s what I told myself. I really just wanted an excuse to hang out with Estelle a little longer.

  The sky had cleared to reveal a blanket of twinkling stars. Sometimes, the tiny boundaries of Corbett hemmed me in like a fence. At other times, like this one, I liked my little town. Quaint houses on narrow streets, fresh air, and peacefulness.

  “Why are you being nice to me?” Estelle asked suddenly.

  “Maybe I’m a nice person.”

  “Maybe.” She cocked her head to study me. “Your brother… I mean, do I need to be worried about him?”

  “I don’t know.” I avoided her gaze and concentrated on matching my stride to hers. My sense of family loyalty warred with my need for honesty.

  She skipped in front of me and put her hand on my chest. We stopped in the middle of the street. My heart thudded against her palm. Her touch sent a lightning bolt of heat into my gut. “Tell me what I’m dealing with here.” The weight of the world hovered in her voice. “If he’s going to be a problem, then I’ll make a better plan to keep Lanie under control.”

  Even though he was a dick, I couldn’t betray him, but she deserved to know who her sister was seeing. “Chris isn’t like most people. He doesn’t have much of a conscience.” Her eyes widened, making me backpedal. I didn’t want her to worry needlessly. “But he’s mostly harmless. I’ll talk to him.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  We were almost to the end of her driveway. I hated to see her leave. I had so many questions to ask. We were strangers, but I felt more comfortable with her than anyone else in my life. Most of the time, my parents ignored me, and I didn’t have a best friend. The wind blew her hair across her face. She brushed it away and stopped near the mailbox.

  “You asked why I was being nice to you,” I said, gathering my courage. “It’s because I like you.”

  “Really?” A smile brightened her face, rare and fleeting. It was gone before I blinked, making me think it was a figment of my imagination. I’d give a thousand dollars to see her smile just one more time. “I like you too.” She rolled her lips together, her gaze seeking my mouth. “You can kiss me if you want to.”

  Being an intelligent kid, I didn’t have to be told twice. I cupped her face in my hands and backed her against the same tree as last time. She tasted sweet, like strawberries. Strands of her hair drifted across my cheek. Her little moan vibrated our lips. I opened my mouth and pushed deeper, greedy for more, wanting to lap her up and swallow her whole. Taking a chance, I slid a hand beneath her shirt.

  “Owen.” Her hands pushed against my chest. With a reluctant groan, I pulled back. A flush spread across her cheeks, and her lips darkened to cherry red. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Can I call you?” I asked, shouting into the darkness before it enveloped her.

  “I don’t know. Can you?” She cast an impish grin over her shoulder and waved before jogging into the shadows of the driveway. I waited by the street until her figure reappeared on the porch then made my way back home.

  Five

  Stella

  Present Day

  After a brief meeting with Dad to go over a punch list of repairs, I heeded Lanie’s advice, loaded my camera into the car, and fled the premises. For distraction, I scoured the countryside for landmarks to photograph. Maybe I could sell some pictures for a spread on America’s heartland, the mysteries of the Midwest, or design a wall calendar. It had been many years since my last visit to Corbett, and I’d forgotten the details of the area. Little had changed. There was a beautiful round barn down the road. Its weathered red boards and metal roof sparked my creativity. I took a few test photos. The camera felt good in my hands. After a few hours, the tension ebbed from my neck and shoulders.

  Photography had always been my refuge. The desire had started when Stan, desperate to occupy my juvenile delinquent mind, had given me his castoff 35mm Nikon. In the evenings after school, I’d helped him develop film at his camera shop. On the weekends, we’d traveled around the county, taking pictures for the local newspapers of the 4H Fair, champion livestock, and an occasional portrait for feature articles. Three years later, his referral had gotten my first job at The Indianapolis Star. His input and tutelage had provided the skills to become a photojournalist, and I’d be forever grateful. Time had torn us apart, but I’d never forgotten him. In one final act of kindness, he’d also given me his home. Knowing that he had remembered me after so many years brought a lump to my throat.

  By the time I returned to the house, the workers had gone. I rattled around the empty rooms then suffered through a sleepless night. The creaks and groans of an unfamiliar home raised the hairs on the back of my neck. Dawn streaked across the sky by the time my eyelids closed. Minutes later, the roar of trucks and the slamming of car doors forced me from bed. Dad and his boys had arrived.

  Through the window, I watched the men swarm the house, but it was Owen who held my fascination. Morning sunlight caught the golden streaks in his hair. From behind the curtain, I followed him as he unloaded lumber from the back of his truck. The muscles in his chest flexed beneath his tight T-shirt. He joked with a coworker, flashing his brief smile. The sight of it stirred butterflies in my belly. Was he happy in his new life? I wanted that for him, more than anything. A less-pleasant thought gave a bitter edge to my musings. Many years had passed. Maybe he had a wife and children waiting at home for him. I hoped he did. He deserved happiness.

  No, wait. That wasn’t true. The selfish monster inside me wanted him to remain frozen in time as the boy who’d adored me. In my mind, he’d been in a time warp—locked up in a prison cell, his life put on pause—waiting for me. A bitter laugh burned my throat. He’d stopped waiting for me the moment the guards had closed his cell door. I shut the curtain. If I wanted to get through the day, I had to stop this endless parade down memory lane.

  I threw on a pair of shorts and a tank top then trotted downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee. Sometime soon, I needed to buy a stove and refrigerator. Dad knocked on the back door. He smiled at me, yellow hardhat beneath his arm. I smiled back and waved him inside. “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Good morning to you. Coffee sounds great.”

  While he watched, I withdrew a sleeve of disposable cups from the otherwise empty cabinet and poured a cup for him. “I hope you like it black. I haven’t been to the store yet, and I don’t have any cream or sugar.”

  “Black is perfect.” He took a sip and hummed in approval. “Strong. Just the way I like it.”

  “Me too. Working on assignment, I always had to get up at the butt crack of daylight. It gave me a healthy appreciation for caffeine.”

  Dad chuckled. “Owen says you’re a big-time photographer. He showed me a few of your pictures from that magazine. What was it? National Geographic? You’ve done really well.”

  Butterflies pinged against the walls of my belly. Dad scanned over his clipboard, launching into his plan for the day, but my mind clung to his previous statements. Owen knew about my photographs. I’d sent a copy of my first magazine feature to the prison, but it had been returned. Had he seen them by accident? Or had he read the magazine to stay in touch with me and my life? The idea planted a tiny seed of hope in my soul. Maybe he didn’t hate me after all.

  “Owen’s going to replace the water heater this morning, if you approve the expense.” Dad’s gruff voice cut into my daydreams.

  “Yes, please. Just let me know how much.” I’d expected a few hiccups along the way since the house had sat empty for so long. From the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Owen’s long limbs and broad chest in the utility room and couldn’t hide the heat racing into my cheeks. />
  “I know you planned on replacing the HVAC and appliances later, but I figured you’d appreciate some hot water before then.”

  “Definitely.” Despite the scalding August heat, I’d been unable to face the icy water and had taken a quick bath in the sink this morning.

  Owen appeared at the kitchen door. At Dad’s invitation, he joined us, moving stiffly, like he was about to meet the firing squad. Yesterday, I’d been paralyzed with shock, unable to face him, but today, I couldn’t stop staring. He was taller and broader than I remembered. The top of his head almost brushed the door frame. And there was something hard in his gaze, like he’d seen unspeakable things. I’d seen the same look on a few of the soldiers I’d photographed while on assignment in the Middle East.

  “Morning.” His raspy baritone, smooth yet abrasive, shimmered over me. The sight and sound of him filled up my senses. It was like I’d been starving for the last eighteen years and hadn’t known it until this minute. Now that I’d had a taste of him, I couldn’t get enough. I drank in each plane and angle of his face, memorizing them in case fate yanked him away from me again.

  “Coffee?” It took all of my courage to form the question. His presence turned me into a simpering schoolgirl, all blushes and stammering.

  “Sure.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and rolled his lips together, moistening them until they glistened. How many times had I kissed those lips? Soft kisses, playful kisses, passionate kisses. Kisses that had gone on for days.

  I blinked, severing the connection between us, and cleared my throat. “Is black okay?”

  “Yes.”

  With trembling hands, I poured the aromatic liquid into the cup and nudged it toward him.

  He nodded and wrapped long, tanned fingers around the white cup. “Thanks.”

  Dad, noticing the tension in the air, narrowed his eyes, but his smile remained warm. He clapped Owen on the shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without this guy.” His weathered face glowed with affection. “Best worker I ever had.”

  “Don’t know about that,” Owen said, glancing toward the door like he wanted to make a run for it.

  “And modest too.” Dad winked at me. “I had hernia surgery a few months ago. Owen here stepped in and ran the crew for me until I was up and going again. Never missed a day of work in two years. He’s worth his weight in gold.”

  “Yes. He is,” I said, finding my voice again. “Or at least he was when I knew him.”

  “People change.” Owen’s voice held an edge, a note of warning. Was he talking about himself or me? He lifted his chin. Each breath filled and swelled his wide chest. The knife blade edge of his nose, once perfect and straight, was now crooked at the bridge, like it had been broken. The imperfection loaned character to the square lines of his face, roughness to his expression, and made my knees weak.

  Even though it was at least eighty degrees in the house, a sudden chill drove my arms around my waist. I shivered and shifted from foot to foot. “Well, if you don’t need anything else…”

  “I think we’re good here. I’ll check in with you at lunchtime. Thanks for the coffee, Stella.” Dad squeezed Owen’s shoulder, his gaze filled with sympathy. Did he know about us? About Owen and me? I dismissed the thought before it had fully formed. Of course not. No one knew. Owen had been silent for eighteen years, and his actions had made it clear that he intended to keep our secrets. I was being paranoid.

  I retreated to the living room with cleaning supplies. For the next several hours, I wiped down the walls and washed the tall windows. The hardwood floor needed refinishing, but that could wait until later. After lunch, I planned to paint. This room would be my oasis while the rest of the house was renovated.

  At noon, the buzz of locusts replaced the cacophony of hammers. From the bay window, I watched the workers break for lunch. Owen went to his truck and took a seat beneath the willow tree in the front yard. He opened a paperback book, its cover worn and tattered, and began reading. The rest of the men piled into the company van and drove away with Dad. The sight of him alone tugged at the steel bands around my heart. Why didn’t he go with the other men? In my experience, Owen had always been a pleasant guy, quiet but interesting. He’d been popular in high school, an excellent athlete. Had the misfortunes of his life stripped away his friendly personality?

  Following a whim, I grabbed a plastic container of brownies from the kitchen and two bottles of water. Outside the house, my footsteps crunched on the dry grass. Before long, the days would grow shorter and the temperatures would drop. Even though it was August, the leaves on the tulip tree beside the garage had already begun to yellow. The realization made me a little sad. Somehow, while traveling the world, I’d missed another summer.

  Owen glanced up as I crossed the weed-strewn yard. He jumped to his feet, back against the tree, feet spread wide, like he was bracing for an attack.

  I stretched out a hand. “It’s okay. I come in peace.” His shoulders lowered a notch, but he didn’t move. I forced a smile. “I picked up some brownies at the bakery. I thought you might like one.” The Owen of my youth had loved all things chocolate. Surely that hadn’t changed.

  “Yeah? Thanks.” He didn’t smile but took the proffered container and withdrew one of the brownies. After furrowing his brow, he resumed his place at the base of the tree. I sat on the grass beside him. He closed his eyes, humming in approval after each bite, washing it down with the water. When his long lashes fluttered open, our eyes met, giving me another vicarious thrill. The feeling added to my confusion. I didn’t want to be attracted to him, but how could I not? He’d been my first crush, my first date, my first boyfriend. I’d given him my virginity. I hadn’t stopped loving him by choice. He’d ended it. Not me.

  “What are you reading?” I reached for the paperback and flipped it over to see the cover. “Ah, Les Misérables. I just got back from France a few weeks ago. Have you ever been?” He cocked an eyebrow, letting me know just how stupid my question was. I cleared my throat. “I never took you for a classics kind of guy.”

  “The prison had a pretty good library, and I had a lot of spare time on my hands. This was my favorite.” He ran his tongue over his lower lip to capture a crumb. My gaze snapped to the fullness of his mouth. Catching my focus, his eyebrow lifted higher.

  “It’s a little too dark for me.” To avoid the cool blue of his irises, I plucked at the grass near my side.

  Once upon a time, secrets hadn’t existed between us. I wanted to end the uncomfortable silence with a million questions about the past eighteen years and what he’d been through, but I didn’t know how to begin. Today, with the burden of deception and untruths between us, we struggled to make polite conversation.

  “Have you dated that guy for very long?” he asked, breaking the quiet. He shifted, lifting his knees and resting his forearms on top of them.

  “A few months. He’s a good man.” Talking about Michael with the former love of my life made me uneasy, like I was being disloyal to them both. I bit my lower lip.

  “How’s Lanie?”

  “Fine. She has three kids now.” By three different absentee fathers but I kept that tidbit to myself.

  “Really?” For the first time, a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Good for her.”

  Relieved to find a neutral topic, I blundered on. “You should see her. You wouldn’t believe the way she is. She’s a soccer mom with a van and a house full of clutter.”

  “Tell her I said hi, would you?”

  “I will.” The wind rattled through the branches overhead, bringing with it a bank of gray clouds and the promise of rain. His gaze roamed over my face, searching for answers I wasn’t ready to give. I picked at my fingernails, anything to avoid looking straight at him. The questions kept building inside me until I thought I would bust. Finally, I blurted, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

  “That was the plan.” The chill of his reply stirred up the feelings of reject
ion I’d fought so hard to overcome. The thin façade of politeness between us evaporated. Darkness filled his eyes. “You changed your name. I didn’t know this was your house, or I would’ve taken steps to make sure our paths didn’t cross.” A sharp knife of anguish pierced my chest at his confession.

  “I’m divorced, and I kept my ex-husband’s name. Stella Valentine sounds so much better than Estelle Strunk, don’t you think?” I forced a smile, trying to ease some of the tension in the air. “It was easier to reinvent myself with a new name.”

  “I liked Estelle Strunk.” The reproach in his words wrenched my guts. I barely remembered that girl.

  “If you liked her so much, then why did you break up with her?” Maybe the question was inappropriate, but I’d been dying to know since the moment he’d ghosted me. Estelle, the girl, might have been too timid to ask, but Stella, the adult, needed answers.

  “You know why.” The anger in his tone echoed the distant rumble of thunder.

  “No, Owen, I don’t.” I picked up a small rock and heaved it across the driveway. It skipped twice on the gravel, kicking up small puffs of dust before landing on the opposite side. “You never gave me any explanation.”

  “Does it really matter?”

  “Maybe not to you, but it does to me.” Eighteen years of hurt swelled to a crescendo and burst from my lips. “I wrote to you for an entire year. I went to see you.” I’d saved money for months for the bus ride to the prison, running away from the children’s home, only to be refused visitation at Owen’s request. He doesn’t want to see you. The warden’s words still haunted my nightmares. Afterward, I’d cried on the bus ride home until I’d made myself sick.

  “I did you a favor.” Anger vibrated through his proud body.

  “You hurt me.” We stared at each other. I scrambled to my feet. He stood with me.