One Last Lie (14 page)

She leaned against the railing that overlooked the ground floor apartment. Her arms were crossed and she tapped her foot on the pavement, reminding him of the elementary school teachers who used to drag him to the Principal’s office.
I’m not ten years old anymore,
he told himself.

“Do I even ask?” Angela reached down and slipped off her left shoe, then her right.

He leaned against the railing beside her so they were both facing the street. “Ask what?”

She kept her gaze on the sidewalk. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Tommy tightened his lips, determined to stick to his story. “What are you talking about? I was coming from the festival on 23
rd
and thought I’d pass by to see if you were home.”

“I don’t believe you.” She stretched her toes on the pavement. “You just happen to be walking down my street at the exact time we’re getting out of the cab? Give me a fucking break, Tommy. I’m not that stupid.”

Stick to the story. Stick to the story.
“I don’t give a shit what you believe, Angela. It is what it is. I checked out the arts and crafts show in the park, which was a load of crap by the way, and came down your street to see if you wanted to grab a bite or some espresso.” He kicked the toe of his shoe against the sidewalk. “Believe whatever you want to believe. Coincidences happen.”

A full minute of silence passed between them before Angela turned and started walking up the steps.

“Okay, let’s go upstairs.”

Tommy’s insides were shaking. “Wait a second, Angela. I have some questions.”

She stopped midway up the steps and turned around. Lowering her shoulders in frustration, she sighed.

“Questions about what, Tommy?”

“The emergency you had to take care of today. What was it? If it was so freakin’ important, why were you having dinner with those fags from Connecticut instead of with me like we planned?”

She looped her fingers through the straps of her shoes and swung them back and forth by her side. Smirking, she shook her head.

“How did you know we went out for dinner?”

SHIT!

Unable to respond, paralyzed by his blunder and sheer stupidity, Tommy simply stared at her. All those hours of thinking… all that time to prepare. For nothing. It took him only seconds to blast his plan to smithereens and drown any hope of negotiating with Angela. He tightened his fists and clenched his teeth, awaiting the wrath that would fall down upon him.

“Now stop asking questions and let’s go upstairs. I want you inside me. Now.”

Running up the stairs behind her, Tommy shook his head, realizing he’d never be able to figure her out. And maybe that was what kept him coming back.

11

“Twenty five hundred dollars a month?” Angela’s voice quivered.

She held the document in front of her and let herself fall back against the wall. She then slid down until she was able to rest her elbows on her knees, looked around at the half-empty moving boxes scattered throughout the living room, and fought to hold back the tears.

“Well, we want to make sure everything’s taken care of,” said Jonathan, bending down, squeezing her knees.

Angela shook her head, tears clinging to her mascara. “It’s too kind. It’s too much.” She struggled to push the words through her constricted throat. “I have a good job. I can take care of us. This is too generous of you.” She peered up at Philip. “
Both
of you.”

Jonathan pressed down against her knees and sprang up. “Well…” he cleared his throat, looked at Philip, then back down to Angela. “As you can see, unfortunately it comes with conditions.” He backed up and darted his eyes around the room, almost as though he’d heard something and was searching for its source. “If it wasn’t for our lawyer, G, who is also a good friend, we wouldn’t even have you sign this. But she’s a worry wart, very anal, like most lawyers, and wants to make sure we’re protected. Just in case…”

Angela wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “Do you have a pen?”

“For what?” Philip said.

“To sign this, silly!” She extended her arms, waving them back and forth in front of the piles of boxes. “I can’t find anything in all these boxes. How am I supposed to find a pen?” Emotion lined the ragged edges of her voice and this time Philip bent down and grabbed her knees.

“Calm down, Angie. It’s all okay. Everything is fine.” ” He looked up at Jonathan and tightened his lips, almost forming a smile. He turned back to Angela. “You shouldn’t sign this without having an attorney look at it. We want to make sure you’re comfortable with everything. It’s important that we’re all on the same page with this so that there are no surprises down the line.”

Angela placed the document on the oak floor and swept the hair from Philip’s forehead. She let her finger follow his nose and down to his chin, where she pointed her nail into the shadow of his dimple.

“Let’s see, I just moved my entire existence from New York City to Fairfield, Connecticut. Do you think I’d do that if I wasn’t comfortable? I trust the two of you so deeply there’s no reason for me to get an attorney.”

Jonathan bent down beside the two of them. “You never know what can happen, Angela. You just never know. You can’t sign this document without reading what we’ve put in there. It’s important that you…”

Angela rolled her eyes and grabbed the document. “Okay, how ‘bout this? You both go get us a pizza or something, and while you’re gone I’ll read it. When you come back, it’ll either be signed or you’ll find it shredded on the front porch.” She laughed as she used Philip’s shoulder to help her stand. “Like I said, I trust you guys and know you’d never want to hurt me.”

Philip brushed the back of his hand along her cheek. “Well, we really think you should have an attorney read it. If you need one, I’m sure G knows another lawyer.” Angela grabbed Philip’s arm, then Jonathan’s, turned them around, and pushed them toward the door. “Now, I don’t like sausage, but I do like pepperoni. And make sure there’s plenty of onion. And olives. I need my olives.”

“Angela…” Jonathan started until he looked at Philip.

“It’s no use,” Philip said, “Let’s just go.”

“Smarter than I thought,” Angela said, now pushing them onto the porch and down the wooden steps. “And don’t forget the Diet Pepsi!”

*

As the soothing hum of the Beemer faded into the distance, Angela sat on the top porch step. The sky was typical November Sunday: a dark-silvery blanket holed with patches of bright blue. The tree-lined street was quiet; eerily still; almost as if time had pulled up stakes and taken any sign of life with it.

She looked around her small front yard.
Not bad for a quarter acre.
The picket fence would need a new coat of white paint, but she’d wait until spring for that; the season was changing too quickly to start such an undertaking. The small porch grabbed onto something within her, pushing a vague childhood memory toward her mind’s fringe: paint-chipped planks of wood, either gray or white, it was hard to tell, lined the empty porch, begging to be sanded and painted with a fresh coat of paint — another spring project. She crossed her arms and grabbed each shoulder, trying to warm herself and put a stop to the shivering thoughts creeping up her spine.

What did I get myself into? Holy shit!

A gust of wind skidded dead leaves across the empty street. She grabbed the sweater hanging on the porch post and threw it over her shoulders.

Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Stop it.

The buzzing in her sweater pocket made her jump. She fished around the huge woolen pouch, found her cell phone, and glanced at the display. It was Tommy calling for the third time since ten o’clock that morning. Tossing the phone back into her pocket, she pulled the sweater around her, bracing herself against the wind that was getting gustier by the second.

Tommy was going to be a problem and she should’ve ended things with him once and for all. She’d had the opportunity — it was right in front of her that day in her apartment; the day before she moved when Tommy practically begged her to stay.

“I still don’t understand this whole fucking thing, Angie.” Tommy paced the floor, kicking boxes as he passed them. “One day you love me and we’re going to move in together and the next thing I know, you’re packing up to go live with those fags. And in Connecticut for Christ’s sake! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Angela closed the box flaps and fixed them closed with the tape dispenser, the friction creating a “shhhhhh” that echoed through the apartment. “First of all, Tommy, keep your voice down.” Another “shhhhhh”. “Second of all, I’m not moving in with Philip and Jonathan. I’m moving miles away. And third of all…”

“Say what you want, Angie. Just tell me
why
. I don’t get it. Why
are you moving? And why are you leaving me?”

Angela picked up the box and placed it atop the other three cartons piled against the wall. She crossed her arms, laid them on top of the box, and buried her face within them, her nose rubbing the acrid-smelling packing tape.

This could be the moment
, she thought, the turning point, but only if she decided. It was now or never: get rid of Tommy so she could start fresh without this crazy albatross hanging around her neck, or say something that would keep him around if she needed him, but far enough away to not destroy her plans.

She heard his breathing increase; laborious puffs of air coming out his nose. Knowing she had to make the decision quickly, she glanced up to get a look at his face before speaking. He had stopped pacing and was staring at her, waiting, still breathing heavily, a veiled expression of sorrow and disbelief poking through his rage.

A stab of empathy shot through her; a feeling she had not felt for years, since the days her weight had given others the perfect opportunity to snub and reject her at every turn. The expression on Tommy’s face was identical to the devastation she felt with every rebuff; the swelling anger of unjustness; the primal, yet silent pleading for someone to look into her heart and see her pain. She wondered if she’d ever shown it the way Tommy was showing it now. If she had, she could slap herself across the face for allowing anyone to see what she was feeling; the same way she could slap Tommy for showing it now.

His pitiful expression and air of helplessness enabled her to make the decision. She bit her lip, knowing what she was about to say was a lie. But it didn’t matter. Her future hung in the balance and no one was going to fuck with it.

“Tommy, we’ve been through this before. Don’t you understand it’s for both of us?” Angela slid her bare feet across the wood floor and stood in front of him. “I can’t stand this city anymore. It’s too crowded… too hot in the summer… too full of crime... too dirty. I’m just waiting for
you
to see the same thing. Once you do, you’ll come and be with me.”

Tommy seized her hand. “You’ve said that before,” he lowered his voice. “But why wasn’t I involved in
anything
? You decide to move without talking to me about it. You buy a house, I wasn’t involved at all. You’re packing and don’t even ask for my help.” He shook his head. “Yeah, I’m a little fucked up Angie, I know that. That’s why I’m taking the meds. But no matter how crazy I am, or how crazy you think I am, I know there’s something’s not right here.”

She placed a hand on each of his shoulders. “You’re not fucked up.” She pulled him toward her, pushing the back of his head until he let his forehead fall onto her shoulder. “I’m the one who’s fucked up. I’m just used to being on my own and making all my own decisions. I should’ve involved you more, especially if you’re going to move in with me one day. I promise that from now on you’ll be involved a lot more. I just have to get through the move, settled in, and then we’ll make all our future plans together, okay?”

Tommy didn’t say a word. He slid his hands around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Angela looked up to the ceiling, hoping she’d made the right decision.

Sitting on the porch, immersed in her sweater, doubts about Tommy crept over her like ants on half-eaten candy. Between Philip, Jonathan, her new job, the house, and getting pregnant, she was overwhelmed and Tommy added yet another complication. For now she’d have to deal with him one day at a time; one phone call at a time, until she was ready to let him go — for good.

The way her foot tapped incessantly on the porch step made her realize that her anxiety was reaching a new level. Angela knew how important it was for her to find a way to keep her nerves under control; this was no time for weakness. She couldn’t bring herself to walk back inside the house, into the mess of boxes and chaos that would make her more anxious, so she grabbed the cell phone from her pocket and stared into the darkening sky, lost in thought, until she figured out who to call.

“It sucks here without you, Angie,” said June. “It really does. There’s like no one to talk to anymore. And work
really
sucks. The new woman who took your place is a bitch on wheels and…”

“June!” Angela shouted into the phone. “Could you close your mouth for one freakin’ second?” She waited for silence. “I’m going crazy here. I called you for
support
for Christ’s sake, not to hear you bitch.”

Angela heard rustling on the other end of the phone and could tell June was taking a pill. She rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry for yelling,” she started. “How are your meds? You have enough?”

“Yes, thanks.” June said. “Mor
e
than enough.”

“Good, then take what you need and please calm down. I need you to be level headed.”

Angela pictured June in her typical position: on her sofa, legs tucked beneath her and hanging off the sofa to her side, head resting against the wall. It was a stamped image in her mind, the way she knew she’d remember June long after their friendship ended, which, if Angela had her way, would be within the next few months.