The Lost Truth (4 page)

P
aul left after dinner and dessert. As Janice closed the front door and came back toward the kitchen, she wore a smile on her face. I wasn’t surprised so much that she was grinning, but I caught a glimpse of something different. There was a twinkle in her eye that I hadn’t seen before.

“What are you so happy about?” She came over to the table as I dealt us out a hand of Rummy.

She pulled a seat out and just kept smiling as she sat down. When she brought her hand up onto to the table to grab the cards, I saw why she was so happy. It took the form of a rock, and it was on her finger. Boy, was it gorgeous. The white gold of the band and the diamonds caught the lights above the table just right and reflected a beautiful array of colors. In a slow drawl, I said with a smile, “’Bout time he put a ring on that lonely finger of yours.”

She beamed with joy as she glanced down at it. She seemed genuinely happy. “He loves me, Clay. He really does.”

“After five years of dating, I’d hope so.” I glanced down at my cards.

She giggled as she began organizing her hand. “I always knew he was the one, from the first time I laid my eyes on him down at the Spokane County Fair.”

Blatantly ignoring the reminiscing state, I pried. “Did he clue you in onto
why
he waited so long?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know why, and honestly, I don’t care.” Janice’s smile grew wider as she looked at her ring again. “We’re finally getting married.”

“Grats.” Remembering I’d agreed to some sort of fishing trip with the guy, I asked, “What’d I agree to? A fishing trip or something?”

“What do you mean?” Tilting her head as she looked over at me, her smile fell away and then returned a moment later. “Were you not listening?” Janice’s sinister smile grew bigger.

Flush with embarrassment, I shook my head. “The medication I’m on doesn’t let me remember.”

“You mean Advil?” she replied with a laugh.

“Shut it . . . was it fishing?”

“Yes, a fishing trip is where you’re going, little brother. Have fun with that.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Why do you think he left so early?”

Sighing heavily, I shook my head. “Tomorrow’s not going to work.”

“Really? What do you have to do?”

“Anything else . . .” I looked over at her as she glared. “You know what? I’m a man! I can’t be told what to do all the time!”

Her eyes went wide. “You call him and tell him you’re not going and that it was all a misunderstanding because you weren’t
listening
.”

Clenching my jaw, I knew I couldn’t get out of it. My pride was too big. “I’ll go. I haven’t been fishing since . . .”

“I know,” she replied with a soft tone. “Dad.”

I nodded as my eyes fell on that ring of hers again. “Man, that rock is big!”

She smiled and held it out again to admire it. “I know . . . Paul sure is the sweetest man in the world.”

We played cards until it was ten o’clock. Janice stretched her arms out and yawned. “I’m going to bed. I have a showing of a house tomorrow morning at seven.”

I tossed my cards into the mix on the table. “And Paul’s picking me up at five.”

Smiling, she stood up and headed out of the kitchen and down the hallway to bed. I stood up and headed toward the porch to check on Kip, but I saw the freezer. Looking toward the hallway, I listened for Janice’s door to open again. She knew I drank, but I liked to keep it off the radar whenever I could. She already thought I was a drunk. I didn’t need to show her it was true. I carefully opened the freezer hatch and slid the bottle of whiskey from between the tater tots and frozen chicken. Taking the bottle, I headed out to the porch.

I sat down in my chair and took a swig. Glancing at Kip, I could barely make him out through the light from the porch that was shining down on the hamper. Slats of darkness kept most of Kip concealed, but hints of blue were there too.

“How’s your wing?”

He was silent.

Looking out into the yard, I could hear the crickets and the warm summer breeze blow through the field just beyond Janice’s yard. Relaxing into my chair, I realized my leg pain hadn’t been bothering me as much. Rolling my eyes up to the roof, I said a quick prayer, thanking God for that fact. Awkwardly, after I was finished praying, I grabbed the bottle and took another swig.

“Kip. You know what?” I asked, glancing over at him as I slouched in my chair.

Squinting, I looked for him in the shadows and saw a spot of blue.

“You need to get better, man. You know. So you can go be on your own. Go fly around and eat worms or whatever bird stuff you do.” Adjusting in my seat, I leaned forward and rested my forearms on each leg. Clasping my hands together, I continued, “You can’t expect to be in that cage forever.”

Realizing Kip and I weren’t too far off from each other’s circumstances, I leaned back into my chair. “But you know. Take all the time you need. I get it.” Pushing my bottle his direction, I said, “I feel ya, Kip.”

Kip let out a little chirp and moved his position under the hamper and out of my sight.

Pulling my cellphone out of my pocket, I sat up straight and cleared my throat as I dialed Gail. My heart raced at the thought of talking to her. She had twisted and tangled me up so much over the last year that I could barely think straight.

I wanted to know how Cindy was doing so badly though. I hadn’t talked to either of them in almost a month. My guilt over the man I had become held me back from calling as often as I wanted to.

Each ring brought doubt into my heart.
She’s not going to answer.
What was going on in their life in Ocean Shores? How was Cindy? Was everything okay? The questions swirled around in my mind, helping to agitate the storm inside.

“Clay?” Gail answered.

“Gail . . .”

“Let me grab Cindy.” She turned away from the phone and called for our daughter. “Just a moment. She has a friend here right now.”

“Oh. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No. She’ll want to talk. It’s okay, Clay.”

A few moments passed, and then Cindy got on the phone.

“Daddy?” she said in her soft and innocent voice. I could picture her saying it. It was my angel, my precious little girl that I hadn’t seen in far too long.

Smiling, I said, “Hey, Doll.”

“I have my friend, Rose, here tonight. We had ice cream!”

“You did?” I asked as I leaned forward and held the phone closer.

“Yeah! We’re going to stay up all night watching movies and eating candy!”

“Wow. That sounds like a lot of fun.”

I could hear Gail in the background, insisting it wasn’t true, and it caused me to laugh a little as I thought about the way our family used to be. When we all lived together, Cindy and I would sneak candy from Mommy’s drawer in the kitchen. I’d always get the Snickers and she’d always get the Skittles.

“Daddy?” Cindy asked.

“Yeah, dear?”

“How come you aren’t here with us? You’d love the ocean.”

It stung to hear my daughter ask that. She was too young to be dealing with her mother and father splitting ways. “I do love the ocean, but I can’t come there.”

“But why, Daddy?”

My throat clenched as my mind raced for the right words to say. Breaking into the conversation, Gail took the phone from her and said, “You don’t need to know about it, dear. It sounds like your friend needs help changing the movie anyway. Tell your father ‘bye’ and go see what Rose needs help with.”

“Bye, Daddy. Love you!” I could hear her run down the hallway.

Gail brought the phone up to her ear and sighed. “You didn’t say anything, did you?”

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. “I don’t know what to say to something like that.”

“Me either . . .”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then I said, “I’m going to counseling now and cutting down on drinking.”

“You can probably call back in a couple of days. We have a few things going on, but I’ll make sure she’s available if you want to shoot for six pm on Thursday. Sound good?”

She ignored me. Not even slightly, but entirely. “Okay. Um. Thursday should work.”

Click.

She hung up without a goodbye. As I pulled the phone away from my face, I saw the bottle of whiskey come into clear sight of me off to the left on the patio table. Reaching over, I brought it up to my lips. Breathing in the cinnamon flavored salvation, I let the rim of the bottle touch my lips and took another swig. The lump in my throat, the pain in my heart, and the dastardly regrets of my past began to subside.

T
he sound of knocking startled me awake the next morning as I laid face-first into a couch cushion. My eyebrows furrowed as I pushed my eyelids open. My muscles were stiff and my head ached.

Again, the pounding of a fist on the door radiated through my skull. Each slam of the door expanded my growing headache.

“I’m coming,” I roared as I rolled off the couch and onto my knees. Still in my jeans and shirt from the night before, I used the couch to hoist myself up. As I stood, pain shot down my leg. I grunted.

I walked to the door and grabbed the doorknob as I realized I hadn’t set an alarm for the fishing trip.
Paul.
I opened the door, and it was Paul.

He squinted at me in confusion as he looked me over. “Why aren’t you ready?”

I shook my head and dropped my chin into the bend of my arm as I held onto the door. My aching skull pounded. “I’m sorry, man. I overslept.” Forcing a fake smile, I continued, “Maybe next time?”

“It’s okay . . . I can wait.”

Taken aback, I shook my head. “I couldn’t possibly make you do that.”

“No, really. You look about ready anyway. Just toss a cap on and some shoes. Let’s go.”

I forced another smile. My head pounded. “
Great
. I’ll just be a moment.” Shutting the door slowly, I waited for it to latch. Sighing, I turned around and scanned the room for my shoes.

Janice came down the hallway. “What’s all the pounding about?” She looked at me and then over at the clock that hung on the wall separating the kitchen and the living room. She said, “You were supposed to be gone an hour ago. It’s already six.”

Looking at the clock, I laughed a little sarcastically. “Overslept.” Spotting my shoes near the kitchen table, I went over to them.

“You’re a jerk, ya know that?” Janice hurried by me and over to the front door.

I slipped my shoes on as she greeted Paul back at the door. I smirked a little, thinking about how she had to be partially thrilled to say hello to her fiancé.

Going over to the fridge in the kitchen, I snagged my Yankees hat off the top and grabbed a quick glass of water. I stood at the sink while I had my water, and I could overhear Janice and Paul talking at the door in quieted voices.

“I don’t know what to do about him anymore . . .” Janice sighed.

“Just keep praying. God’s good, Janice. We can’t forget that.”

“I know.” Her voice got quieter, to the point I couldn’t hear it anymore.

Putting my glass in the sink, I walked through the living room and over to the door.

“Don’t you need your cane?” Janice looked over my shoulder to where it was leaning against the wall in the living room.

I shook my head. “I should be fine. I feel great.” The truth was my pain was more present than usual. I was just too prideful to tote it around in front of another guy.

“Ready?” Paul asked.

I tipped him a nod and headed out the door to his truck. Paul hung back with Janice and said his goodbyes with her as I made the painful walk down the driveway and out to his truck.

“What about your pole?” Paul asked from the doorway.

“I’ll go grab it,” Janice offered and then vanished inside to grab it from the patio shed.

“Forgot about that,” I replied as I leaned my arms over the bed of the truck from the passenger side.

Paul nodded. “Pretty important part of fishin’.”

“Yeah.” Using the side of the truck to help me along, I made my way to the passenger side door and got in. Relief came over me as I took the pressure off my leg by sitting in the truck. It made no sense to me that someone like myself, a God-fearing man, has to live with a bum leg, but people like Lance could do that to a little girl in a trailer park and get away with it.

Soon, Paul came out and tossed my pole into the bed of the truck. As he climbed in and fired up the engine, he had a grin on his face.

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

He smiled over at me. “Saw the sticker still on the fishing pole.”

Immediately, I felt embarrassed. “I’m sorry . . . I just haven’t had—”

After shifting the truck into drive, he held his hand up to me. “No, don’t worry about it. It doesn’t bother me. Just funny.”

I was thankful my leg wasn’t as bad once we arrived at the lake. Still, it was enough to make me uncomfortable. Walking behind Paul as he led me down a dirt path off the main park area that was inside Bear Lake, I kept reminding myself I should have brought the cane with me. The tip of my pole that was leaning against my shoulder grazed against the leaves of the overhanging tree branches above us. Though it wasn’t even seven in the morning, the air had a feeling about it. It gave off the strong impression that today was going to be a hot one.

We arrived at an opening in the path. The trees thinned out and the grass turned into mostly dirt that hugged a bank of calm water off Bear Lake. Burned up beer cans and random bits of garbage were strewn in and around a makeshift fire pit in the midst of dirt and pine needles. Paul set his cooler and pole down and began cleaning. Setting my own pole against the cooler, I let out a groan.

“I got it,” he said, shooing at me with a hand as he scooped beer cans and took them to the fire pit.

“I’m fine. Just because my leg doesn’t want to work like it’s supposed to doesn’t mean I will let it boss me around.” Getting over to scraps of a wine box, I leaned over and began gathering the garbage.

He let out a chuckle as he continued to pick up garbage. “Man. You’re crazy.”

“Why?”

“Coming out here with a bum leg. I honestly didn’t think you were going to come.”

I laughed. “Me either.”

We finished cleaning and Paul was smacking his hands together to get the ash off them. “Why did you come out here, Clay?”

Looking out beyond the cooler and poles, I could see the lake and a set of birds flying across the surface. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to agree to it. So . . . pride.” Looking over at him, I noticed a dumb grin come on his face. Furrowing my eyebrows, I asked, “What?”

“Do you believe in signs?” he asked.

“Road signs. Yes.”

He let out a hearty laugh and then said, “No. No. I mean
signs
. Like angels, ghosts . . . God?”

My eyes shifted back over to the lake. “We don’t need to talk about this kind of stuff.”

He nodded quickly like he was embarrassed. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to upset you.” He went over and picked up his pole and cooler. Paul pointed out to a slab of rock over on the bank, just a few steps down. “Here’s the spot we’re going to fish.”

“Great.” I began walking across the pine needle-riddled dirt area and toward the slab of rock.

Without a drink of whiskey in over twelve hours, plus a shirt sticking to my body and a fly that wouldn’t stop buzzing right near my ear, my uncomfortable state came to a tipping point around the ten o’clock hour that morning. Reeling in my pole, I set it down beside me and began to take my shirt off.

“What are you doing?” he asked as I pulled my shoes off, one after another, in a fury.

“Swimming. It’s too hot.” My tone was sharp, precise and emotionless.

“It’ll disturb the fish.”

Rising to my feet, I began to laugh at his remark. “What fish? We’ve been here for three hours.” Turning, I walked farther down the rock slab and checked over the rock’s side. It looked deep enough. With one firm push using my good leg, I jumped into the water.

The icy waters washed over my body, and I felt myself become weightless under the surface. The pain in my leg shifted into a dull pain, barely noticeable. Under the lake’s surface, I felt relaxed, and the quietness that was present in the water’s depths filled me with a sense of calmness. Shooting up through the surface, I expelled the remaining breath in my lungs and pushed back my hair.

“What’s that scar from?” Paul asked as he finished pulling in his line.

My eyes fell on my shoulder, where the scars were evident. “Bad misunderstanding.”

“What happened?”

Swimming over to the rock, I furrowed my eyebrows as I flashed back to the trailer park, Missy standing in the distance behind Lance and Peter as they both approached me, Lance with a knife in his hand.

Flashing back to reality as I climbed up the rock and sat on the edge, I shook my head. “Some things in life are better left in the past.” I glanced over to him as the sun beat down on my back and the water ran down my spine and through all the scars on my back.

He nodded. “I get that. You shoot pool?”

I shook my head.

“Too bad. There’s a tournament coming up next Tuesday.” He jumped up and took off his shirt and shoes as he continued. “$1,000 for the winner. I’m feeling pretty good about winning.” He looked a little nervous as he peered over the side of the rock down at the water. Turning his eyes to me, he asked, “Cold?”

“Extremely. But it feels great.”

Jumping into the air, he cannon balled into the water and then came up a moment later. Paul let out short breaths rapidly after surfacing. “Wow! You weren’t kidding!”

I smiled and looked over at the cooler on the rock. “What’d you bring other than worms to eat?”

He swam over to the rock and pushed himself up. “Few pieces of cold pizza. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds great.” Cold pizza took me back to my college days at Whitworth, when Preston and I would eat nothing but the stuff every day. We would often be running late in the mornings and not have time to stop by the mess hall for a bite to eat. Instead, we’d have a cold piece of pizza hanging from our mouths as we scurried across the campus lawns to our classes.

Four years I spent working on that degree in business management at Whitworth. I even landed myself a job at S and E Corp shortly after graduation, which eventually led to me managing the Western United States Division of Operations. I was happy in those days. I had my family, my career and God.

“Clay?” Paul said, knocking me in the shoulder and out of my thoughts.

“What?”

“I was talking for a while there. You didn’t hear anything?”

Shaking my head, I looked over to his hands and saw he was holding my lunch—a slice of pizza. “I was just thinking.”

He handed over the slice, followed by an ice cold cola. As I cracked open the soda, I could feel the sun beating down my shoulders, and the droplets of water still residing there warmed. While we ate, we looked out into the lake while we shared the silence. It was a nice change of pace from every other time I had spoken to him.

“How come you enjoy fishing so much?” I decided to ask.

Finishing his drink, he leaned back and planted his hands on the rock slab and kept his eyes locked on the water. “It’s the one place I can go and find solitude. I leave my cellphone in the truck and just carry my pole, bait and maybe a meal. There aren’t very many things left in this life that you can do without distraction. Fishing . . . well, that’s one of them.”

“Careful now, Paul. You almost sound like a thinker.”

He laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”