Lies We Tell Page 5

  “Don’t pretend that you’re the innocent one in all this.” Up close, he was even bigger. The broad expanse of his chest lifted and dropped with each breath. His fingers clenched at his sides.

  A tide of resentment swamped my self-restraint. I raised a hand to slap him. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, halting the movement in mid-air. Caught by surprise, I jerked backward and landed against the tree. His nostrils flared. In half a heartbeat, our mouths crashed together. The pressure of his lips bruising and defiant. The strength in my knees melted. We’d kissed a hundred times beneath this tree. Time fell away until it was just me and Owen and his tongue fighting to dominate mine. His heart thudded against my breasts. Through the thin fabric of our clothes, I felt every ripple and swell of his torso and the hardness behind the zipper of his jeans.

  His body tensed. He let go of my arm and backed away, shoving a hand through the unruly mess of his hair. “Stop it.” Fury brightened the color of his eyes. The muscles in his jaw tensed. “I don’t want this.”

  The crunch of tires on gravel interrupted our conversation. Three white sedans stopped in front of us. The black-and-gold shields on their doors made the brownie curdle in my stomach. Owen shook his head. The doors opened, and uniformed policemen exited. A short guy, about my age, placed one hand on his holster and approached us while the others formed a wall behind him.

  “Fuck.” Owen exhaled a heavy sigh. “Here we go again.”

  “Good afternoon,” the officer said. His gaze locked onto Owen.

  “Good afternoon,” I replied. My lips buzzed and the space between my legs ached from the kiss. There was no time to reconcile my whirling emotions. I crossed my arms over my chest, feigning indifference.

  “How’s it going, Roger?” Owen asked, his voice even. He let his hands fall to his sides, fingers spread.

  “Can’t complain.” The man kept his hand on the gun, like he thought Owen might make a break for it.

  “I’m Stella Valentine. I don’t believe we’ve met.” I took a step toward the man and extended a hand.

  “Sheriff Coley.” For the first time, his focus turned to me. The way his attention slid over my tank top and bare legs made my stomach turn. My hand dropped to my side, unacknowledged. “Is this your place, Ms. Valentine?”

  “Yes. I just moved in. Owen’s working on the renovation crew.” I shifted my gaze from Owen to Coley and back again. An eerie sense of déjà vu crawled down my back. “What’s the problem?”

  “You mind coming down to the station with me, Owen?”

  “I mind,” Owen growled. Tension crackled through the space between the three of us. “Do I have a choice?”

  “Not really.” The smirk on Coley’s face suggested this was more than business. It was personal.

  “Can I ask why?” I dusted the brownie crumbs from the front of my shirt and flicked my gaze over the other officers. Their deliberate attempt at intimidation seemed too obvious to be real.

  “There was a robbery at the convenience store over in Parker City this morning. Owen fits the description of the suspect.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” No one looked at me. They were all concentrating on Owen. “I can assure you, he’s been on site since early morning.”

  “This is none of your concern, Ms. Valentine. You’ll find it in your best interest to keep your nose where it belongs.” He jerked his head at Owen. The familiarity of his words brought a cold sweat to my forehead. Eighteen years ago, the homicide detective had told me the exact same thing. “Let’s go. We’ll sort it all out at the station.”

  Even though he’d broken my heart, even though we were familiar strangers, I still felt something for him, a responsibility. I shifted from one foot to the other. Was fate playing some kind of cruel joke? Testing me? Coley smiled, the lines tightening around his mouth. I wrung my hands while weighing my options. I didn’t know Owen anymore. Time in a maximum-security facility could turn the saintliest man into a hardened criminal. Maybe he wasn’t the guy I remembered.

  “Is he under arrest?” I hated myself for doubting him almost as much as I hated him for coming back into my life. My emotions were all over the place.

  “Let’s just say he’s a person of interest.”

  “It’s fine, Stella. We do this all the time, don’t we, Roger?” Although Owen’s voice was calm, a muscle in his jaw ticked. “Tell Dad where I’m at. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  Owen walked calmly to the car. He spread his long legs and placed his hands on the hood. The cop slid his hands over Owen’s hard chest, turned his pockets inside out, and patted down his legs. I watched, horrified, as Owen was cuffed and placed in the back seat. The sight brought back vivid, painful memories. The car backed out of the driveway, weaving around potholes and into the street. I swallowed back the bitter taste of bile. History had repeated itself in front of my very eyes, and once again, I’d done nothing to stop it.

  Six

  Owen

  Eighteen Years Ago

  On the next Saturday, I loaded my lawnmower into the back of my pickup truck and headed to Stan’s place. My heart hammered against my ribs as I thought about Estelle and our kiss. Would she be there? I could hardly wait to see her again.

  I pulled the truck into the driveway, all the way to the back by the garage, and unloaded my equipment. Stan came out a few minutes later to chat. Estelle followed, a camera slung over her shoulder. While I mowed the yard, she snapped pictures of me, of the trees and the spring daffodils. She moved with confidence, taking time to find the right angles or waiting for clouds to pass so the subject had the proper lighting. Passion shone in her eyes. I loved seeing her like that, excited, free from worry, happy.

  When I finished mowing, she met me at the back of the house. She had her hair pulled into a messy bun on top of her head. The heavy kohl eyeliner was gone, and her face glowed like it had been freshly scrubbed.

  “Did you get some good pictures?” I asked and rubbed my sweaty palms over the thighs of my jeans.

  “I hope so. I won’t know until I develop the film.” When she bent to advance the film on the camera, I caught a whiff of her shampoo. She squinted up at me. “Do you want to see some of the shots I took last weekend with Stan?”

  I followed her into the house, where Marianne gave me cookies and milk and Stan paid me for the yard work. Lanie lounged on the couch, watching TV and chatting on the phone. The long, curly phone cord stretched all the way from the kitchen into the living room. We ducked under the cord and headed upstairs to Estelle’s bedroom.

  The room was messy with clothes strewn across the furniture and tossed on the floor. She cleared a path to her bed and bounced down on the edge of the mattress. A red-and-blue comforter with race cars covered the sheets.

  “That’s an interesting choice for a girl,” I said.

  “I think this is usually a boy’s room,” she replied. “But the other room is pink and frilly, and it’s more Lanie’s style than mine.” She leaned back on her hands and stared at me. “Marianne said I could paint it, but I don’t really see the point.”

  I stood awkwardly in the doorway. “Are you allowed to have boys in here?”

  “My foster parents are very progressive.” With her right hand, she patted the mattress at her side. “Have a seat.”

  Photographs lined the walls from floor to ceiling. I pointed to a set of black-and-white glossies. “Are all these yours?”

  “Yes. What do you think?” A note of suppressed eagerness hovered in her voice.

  Several shots of the covered bridge captured my interest. They were gritty and grainy and taken from the sandbar in the middle of the river. “These are good. I mean, really good.”

  “Thanks.” Genuine pride glowed in her face. She bounced off the bed and came to my side. “Stan helped me develop the film. He’s got a darkroom in the basement; did you know that?” I shook my head, more captivated by her shining violet eyes than anything concerning Stan. She touched my arm, directing me to the next s
et of pictures. “I took these at that dairy farm down the road.”

  “Renshaw’s,” I said. I’d worked there for the summer a few years ago.

  “Yes. That’s the one.” Red barns, round hay bales, and wood fences had never looked so beautiful. “Stan showed me how to capture the light to get the best effects. I waited for hours to get this one.” The photo featured a closeup of cherry blossoms. Each bloom was clear and bright, like you could feel the petals through the picture.

  “You’re really talented, Estelle. You should enter these in one of those magazine contests.”

  “Really? Do you think they’re good enough?” Her complete lack of self-confidence squeezed my heart. She’d probably never had anyone compliment her on anything before now. How many people had passed over her intelligence and talent due to her circumstances? My chest tightened with a new emotion, one I’d never felt before and would never feel again.

  “I think they’re fantastic. You’re amazing, Stell.” Without thinking about the consequences, I pulled her into a hug. The curve of her cheek pressed against my sternum. I wanted to keep her here, like this, forever, where I could protect her. Her breath warmed my chest. The scent of her shampoo teased my nose. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It felt good. Right. I never wanted to let her go.

  “Don’t let me interrupt.” Stan’s deep voice startled us. We sprang apart, looking guilty, even though we’d done nothing wrong. A quirky smile lengthened the lines on his face. He had one hand in his front jeans pocket and a beer in the other, despite the mid-morning hour. I’d never seen him without a beer in his hand, but I’d never seen him drunk either. Unlike my mom, he handled his liquor well.

  “We were looking at her photos,” I stammered, heat scalding my face. “I was telling her she’s really talented. She should enter one of those contests.”

  “I agree. I’ll see what I can do about that.” With his free hand, he clapped me on the shoulder. “Marianne has lunch on the table. Why don’t you join us, son? And we can talk some more about this.” Lunch with the Hudgens was always a treat and better than scrounging up baloney and cheese at my house with my drunken mother and angry father. I nodded. Stan’s smile grew larger. “Great. Estelle, why don’t you run downstairs and help Marianne set the table. I want to talk to Owen for a second.”

  My stomach clenched with dread. Stan wasn’t a particularly threatening kind of guy, but I respected him and didn’t want to disappoint him. “If it’s about Estelle, I swear nothing has happened between us.” Although, I had a feeling things were about to change on that front.

  “It’s fine, Owen. You’re not in trouble.” Sincerity warmed his eyes. “Just take it easy with her, huh? She and her sister have had a rough time of it. Estelle may act tough, but she’s really very fragile underneath the surface. You’re a good kid, Owen, in spite of your family, and I know you’ll treat her with the greatest respect.”

  Stan was one of the few people in my life who knew my situation. When he offered to pay me for doing odd jobs around his place, I knew it was merely an excuse to get me away from the less-than-ideal environment of my parents and brother. And he’d always been willing to listen to my troubles when things got too intense at home.

  “And if you’re going to have sex, be sure to use protection, okay?” This last statement sent the fire of mortification into my face. He threw his head back and laughed. “Yes, Owen, I know what it’s like to be seventeen and in love. Now, come on. Let’s go eat.”

  Was that what this was? Love? I stared at Estelle across the kitchen table. She kept glancing at me every few seconds, like she thought I might suddenly evaporate into thin air. Each time our eyes met, a pink flush colored her cheeks. I’d never seen her smile so much. Her grins were contagious, and soon I was smiling back. Lanie chattered about a pair of shoes she’d seen in a magazine and the Backstreet Boys. There were a dozen conversations going on between the five us, lots of laughter, and a general feeling of comfort. For a brief moment, I withdrew from the chaos and took time to enjoy the sensation. This was how I’d always pictured family life, something I’d never gotten from my home. Something I never knew I was missing until now.

  “It’s going to be eighty degrees today,” Stan said. “You kids should take a swim in the river. I know it’s not summer yet, but it’s a great day, and the water’s warm enough. What do you think, Owen?”

  “Yeah, that would be great,” I said, trying not to picture Estelle in a bikini but failing miserably.

  “I’ll pull the innertubes out of the garage. It’ll be fun. Maybe I can drag Marianne down there.” He nudged the bowl of mashed potatoes toward me.

  “I don’t see that happening,” Marianne replied as she placed another piece of ham on my plate. “But you guys knock yourselves out.”

  In the end, it was just me and Estelle and Lanie, splashing in the water, laughing, and floating until our fingers wrinkled. That day stuck in my memories forever. Later, when I was locked up, I’d close my eyes and draw upon the sounds of water running over stones, Estelle’s laughter, and the feel of warm sunshine on my face. Remembering kept me sane and got me through the hard days. Loving Estelle had sent me to prison, but remembering Estelle had kept me alive.

  Seven

  Stella

  Present Day

  The back of the squad car disappeared around the corner. The neighborhood had grown eerily quiet. The stillness sucked at my soul. I stared at the empty street, the parked cars, the arched avenue of trees until Dad’s van pulled into the driveway. The shock must have shown on my face, because he strode to my side.

  “Owen. The police. They took him. Downtown. For questioning.” The words came out in short, choppy bursts.

  Dad’s brow furrowed. Lines of sadness etched his usual pleasant countenance. “What is it this time? Anytime something happens around here, they haul him in.”

  “Does he get in trouble a lot?” I hated myself for asking. Maybe circumstance had driven him to acts of desperation.

  “If you believe that, then you don’t know Owen.” The censure in his tone drove me back a step.

  “No. I don’t.” There it was—from the lips of a stranger, from someone who did know Owen. These feelings of nostalgia and remorse, they were for a boy from my past, not the man of the present. “The Owen I knew was kind and smart, and I owe him everything.”

  Dad’s features softened. He reached into his pants pocket and withdrew his phone. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Take care of what?” At the sound of Michael’s voice, I flinched. He’d parked at the road and had walked up behind us on silent feet.

  “Um, the water heater. It quit working.” The lie flew out of my lips before I could stop it. If he knew about Owen’s troubles, he’d have a fit. Another untruth. They were multiplying by the minute.

  “Excuse me.” Dad’s gaze met mine before he lifted his phone and stepped behind his van.

  “You’re back.” I changed the subject swiftly, avoiding Michael’s questioning stare.

  “I couldn’t wait to see you. I drove straight here from the airport.” He lifted a bag filled with cardboard Chinese containers. “I brought lunch.”

  “That’s great.” The cheerfulness of my tone sounded forced.

  “You’re not happy to see me?” The musky scent of his expensive cologne teased my nose as we hugged. His lips headed for mine. I turned my head at the last moment, the kiss grazing my cheek. Hurt flashed in his eyes. I brushed a hand over my forehead, easing the nagging ache between my temples. What was I doing? This wasn’t his fault, but I couldn’t kiss him. Not with the memory of Owen’s lips still burning on mine. He frowned. “You’re busy. I should have called first.”

  “It’s fine.” The ghosts of my past tugged on my heels. I shoved them away and threw my arms around his neck. Our lips met for real this time. A sense of calm washed through me. “I’m just sweaty and gross and need a shower.”

  “No worries. I’ll take you any way I can get y
ou.” He flashed his panty-dropping smile. I waited for the butterflies, but they never arrived. Hooking an arm around my waist, he guided me toward the front porch. “We can have a picnic.”

  I glanced over my shoulder, in Dad’s direction. With the phone at his ear, he paced back and forth beside the van, gesturing with his free hand. Oblivious to my distress, Michael removed his suit coat and hung it neatly over the newel post of the porch railing. He placed the containers on the porch swing. I took a seat at one end, remembering all the times I’d sat on the same swing with Owen. My attention wandered back to Dad. He gave me a thumbs-up before returning to the job.

  “You really need to get some furniture,” Michael said and handed me a set of chopsticks. “Stan could have at least left you a table and chairs.”

  “He left the contents of the house to his sister,” I replied. At times like these, his preoccupation with material things scraped over my nerves. “And I’m not in any hurry, at least not until I get the walls painted. I’ll hit some yard sales and flea markets next week and pick up a few things there.”

  “I don’t know how you can live like this. All this noise and chaos.” He picked through a carton of Beijing beef, drawing out the meat and casting aside the red peppers. Thumps and bumps serenaded us as the crew began hammering on the roof. He raised his voice above the racket. “Why don’t you get a hotel room or rent an apartment until this is done?”

  “If you saw the places I’m used to, you wouldn’t say that.” During photo shoots, hot water and electricity were sometimes a scarcity. We often camped in the wilderness, miles from civilization. “I spent two weeks in a tent on the Serengeti. This place is like the Waldorf in comparison.”

  “Sometimes I forget how worldly you are.” The tenderness in his tone warmed my insides. I met his gaze directly for the first time and felt the butterflies stir from their sleep. Sweet relief flood through me. If I had feelings for Michael, then I couldn’t be in love with Owen. Or could I? With the pad of his thumb, Michael swiped a crumb from the corner of my mouth. “Just because you know how to rough it doesn’t mean you have to.”