3 Lies (9 page)

Hushed voices spilled from a couple at a table nearby. Their bodies curled forward in responsive concentration. Their foreheads touched in singular intent.

Loneliness usurped any of Clint’s remaining anxiety. He scanned the room in vain for Beth.

“Where’s your girlfriend tonight?”

Paige’s words brought him back. He’d almost forgotten she was there with him at the restaurant. Her antennae attuned to such matters. His drink order was taking far too long.

“You’re out of order, Counselor.”

“So it’s serious?” She took a cocktail napkin and started folding it into some kind of origami.

The waitress returned with their drinks. He snatched his glass from the tray.

“Bring me another.”

Patrick came to his side. “Lexi, send the next round to the dining room. Your table is ready, Mr. Masters. Ms. Lambert. If you will please follow me.” He helped Paige out of the booth and ushered them to the dining room down the hall. They settled at a private table near the stone fireplace and looked at the menus.

Clint finished his first scotch before a busboy made it over with a basket of fresh bread. A sage sourdough roll spared him further conversation. He took his time. The scotch had made him hungry.

Paige finished folding her napkin. It didn’t hold shape well. It may have been a crane. Unlike Paige, they mated for life.

She opened her menu, and they made direct eye contact for the first time before she slid behind it. It looked like she had been crying. Her eyelids were tight and shiny. The whites cracked with red.

He huddled with his menu.

A different waiter returned with his drink. A lanky man, younger than his all-white hair, took their dinner order and left them alone.

Paige broke the silence.

“I’m arguing a case before the Massachusetts Supreme Court, a landmark intellectual property rights case, very high profile, cutting edge.” She tried to sound cheery. Instead it came off as smug.

“Cutting edge. Oooh.” He started in on his next drink. “I have a few of those scars.”

Her jaw popped. “When are you going to land? There are thousands of people, not to mention shareholders, who count on you, your creativity, your insight, your genius for their livelihood. What about them?”

He stroked his chin. “You sound like Mother.”

“That’s not funny, Clint.”

“Then find a new topic.”

“I’m sorry.” She wiped at the corners of her mouth. “Your talent is unique. You have a gift, but you don’t seem to appreciate it. You’re like a sculptor who melts down his chisels to make an axe.”

Clint resisted the urge to say something snide because he knew she meant it. And it had been months since she’d paid him a genuine compliment.

She softened her voice. “Our baby is due September 24th.”

He downed the rest of his second double scotch. “Is that so?”

“Can we try this again?”

His feet splayed on the floor. “What?”

“Us.”

“I waited almost two years for you.”

She started to say something. But he cut her off.

“For the baby’s sake, alone, I’d like to say, yes. But it’s not that simple.”

Paige leaned forward. “Do you love her? What’s her name? Betsy?”

“She’s not the only issue. I don’t trust you.”

Her face bleached. Liquid glazed her brown eyes.

“I’m not trying to be cruel, Paige. I don’t know how else to say it. There was a time when I thought of you as a second skin. Now—” His voice trailed off.

He reached for his drink, but it was empty. He waved for the waiter, pointed at his glass, and squeezed an imaginary trigger.

She touched his arm. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Hesitation tempered the edge to her voice.

She was right, of course. He had drunk more than enough. But he didn’t want to give her any satisfaction as he had none to spare.

He watched her a moment. She was so completely unlike Beth. He tried to remember what they ever had in common. They moved in lockstep from grade school to high school to college to married. Decisions played little part in their history.

Paige fidgeted in her seat. “There’s a couple behind you— Don’t look.”

“Then why are you telling me about them if I’m not supposed to look.”

“They keep glancing over here as if they’re discussing us.”

“Brace yourself. I’m turning around now.”

When he sighted the elegant couple at a table across the room, his heart pounded with hope. Maybe they would know. He laid his napkin by his plate and got up from the table, “Excuse me.”

Blake and Cecelia Sutton, Beth’s stepfather and mother, sat facing each other, their wine glasses suspended in air. When Clint reached their table, Cecelia, a generally ebullient woman, smiled without conviction. At least Blake stood and shook his hand.

“Good to see you, Clint.”

“And you, sir. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Cecelia looked past Clint toward his table.

“Think nothing of it, Clint. It’s nice to see you. We came straight here from the airport.” Her voice drifted, and she took a sip.

Blake took over for her. “Back from New York on business. Cessy likes to go shopping, and we take in a few shows whenever I go.”

“Beth did mention you were heading to New York.”

Cecelia’s large green eyes sparked at the mention of Beth. “Oh.”

Even in his scotch-induced oblivion, he now understood her reserve. The attractive, augmented brunette at his table was clearly not her daughter.

“I’m sorry, normally I would be happy to introduce you to my dinner companion. But this particular woman—” He made a dismissive gesture Paige’s direction. “—happens to be my not-nearly-soon-enough-ex-wife. We had some business to discuss.”

The scotch apparently slurred his speech too.

“Oh. I hadn’t realized you were dining here too.” Cecelia said.

Clint knew she lied, but it played polite.

A young black waiter with soft dreads arrived with their meals. Clint stepped aside to let him near the table. He placed a plate of crab-stuffed sole before Blake and a petite filet in front of Cecelia.

Clint looked over to see a glaring Paige then moved back into position. “I was supposed to spend the day with Beth. Have you heard from her?”

Cecelia pushed her seat back a bit from the table. A genuine smile edged the last shreds of discomfort from her face.

His stomach fluttered. Was that the scotch? Or did her mouth curve the same way as Beth’s?

“No. Last we heard from her, she was going sailing with you.“ Cecelia crossed a satin-panted leg over her knee. “We were a little surprised to see you without her.”

“She went to California. Didn’t she call you?”

Cecelia rustled her hair. “California? Why whatever for?”

“To help with the new baby.”

She turned to Blake, her mouth slightly open. He shrugged but said nothing.

She looked back at Clint. “I’m sorry, dear. None of this is making sense. Did you talk to Beth?”

“No.”

“What makes you think she’s in California?”

“Abe told me.”

“Abe told you she went to California.”

“Yes. San Diego. Her cousin had the baby.”

Cecelia didn’t blink. “Abe Melinger told you that Beth went to San Diego to help her cousin with a new baby.”

“Yeah.” Between the conversation and the scotch, Clint dizzied. “Is there something wrong?”

“I’m not sure what to say.” She re-crossed her legs the other direction folding her body inward. “Beth doesn’t have a cousin in San Diego. In fact she doesn’t have any cousins at all.”

The tiny girl shivered as the drug continued to withdraw from her bloodstream. She snuggled against Beth, eye movement rippling the closed lids. Beth watched the girl’s tummy rise and fall with each breath. Strong. Steady. Beth’s own breathing slowed.

“Hi, honey, my name is Beth.” She stroked the girl’s long dark hair. “What’s your name?”

Over the last twelve hours, Beth asked that same question in a dozen different ways as the girl floated in and out of consciousness. She shifted the child and herself higher upon the bed to give her stiff legs a break. She really needed to get up and move her aching body, but the girl nestled close, and Beth refused to let her wake up alone.

As a writer, Beth wrote stories that conjured emotions thick, deep, too disturbing to foster sleep. Now she lived within the page. While she wanted to know what they were going to do with her, she suspected the answer wouldn’t bring her any peace.

The girl rolled over on her side. Her long dark lashes batted open to reveal a root beer brown. She burrowed under Beth’s arm while warm tears seeped through to the skin.

“Did that mean man give you an owie on your bottom?”

The girl turned toward Beth. Her lower lip jutted like a bird perch, and she nodded.

“Me too.” Beth rubbed the sore spot on her own hip with a flourish. “I didn’t like that one bit. Did you?”

The girl shook her head and kept her face in a scowl. The ringlets of Beth’s glossy hair cascaded over the child. She reached up with a widened gaze and fanned it as if it were a mist.

“Are you a fairy?”

“No, honey. I’m a big girl. Like you.”

She ran both hands through the mass of flaxen floss: clapping in it, fingers splaying and closing around the soft, loose coils.

“Pretty.”

“Thank you. I think yours is pretty. What’s your name?”

“Emmy Watters.”

“Hello, Emmy Watters. It’s very nice to meet you. I’m Beth. Can you say ‘Beth’?” Beth lifted the sprite up by the armpits to a sitting position. Her lower leg now cramped.

“Beff. I like Beff.” The corners of her mouth quivered. “But I want my Mommy.”

Beth scooped her up and hugged her. “I know you do. I want my Clint.” More than ever. “But you and I are going to help each other. Okay? We need to be brave and smart. Are you brave and smart?”

Emmy knuckled out some of her tears. “Yeah.”

The voice didn’t entirely match the claim, but it was a start.

“Okay, Emmy, The Brave and The Smart. How old are you? Are you this many?” Beth held up five fingers.

“Nuh-uh.” Her thumb popped out first, her index, middle, and ring fingers followed. “I’m this many.” Her pinkie escaped, but she bent it downward with her other hand. “And a half.”

“Are you hungry?’

She bobbed her head. “I gotta go potty.”

“Of course you do. C’mon.”

Beth led her to the head then tried to leave, but Emmy snatched her hand.

“No. Don’t go, Beff.”

She waited in the tight quarters for the girl to finish. The stale air, effused with chemicals from the toilet, made it difficult to breathe. Her stomach tightened, and she stifled the urge to gag. She hung her head out the door to find a fresher source.

Emmy said, “All done.” She yanked up her pink panties.

Beth swung her foot up to step out of the stall, but it didn’t clear the threshold. She caught the door jam before landing on the floor.

“Emmy, I need to sit. I’m getting a little tired.”

They took her watch when she was drugged, but she knew at least twenty-four hours had passed, maybe as many as forty-eight, since her last bloodletting session with Dracula two nights before her abduction. Her nephrologist prescribed three sessions a week. She could make it another seventy-two hours. Maybe ninety-six.

Clint had offered to help her with the process in place of the nurse who came by. His concern was genuine along with his interest. Unlike her mother who ignored her illness. As if acknowledging the sickness somehow lessened her value. Like so many aspects of her life, the dialysis equipment seemed to fascinate Clint. But dialysis was too intimate. And it was too soon. She wasn’t ready to be that vulnerable.

Nothing like blackmail to fast-forward a relationship. Clint couldn’t believe asking him for money was her idea. She shook the idea from her mind.

“Emmy, The Brave and The Smart, I want you to do three things for me. Can you do three things for me?”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to go knock on the big door. That’s number one.” Beth held up a finger and so did Emmy. “For number two, I want you to run back here and hide under the covers until I tickle you like this.”

Giggles pealed before Beth ever got near her rib cage.

“And the last thing, the number three thing, this is the most important thing.”

Serious slipped over her face.

“I want you to put your fingers in your ears like this.” Beth demonstrated the task. “And you keep them in your ears until I tickle you to come out. Can you do those three things for me?’

“Uh-huh, Beff. Watch.”

The girl skipped to the door and pounded. The noise she made on the metal door sent her scurrying back. She plugged her ears with her index fingers and crawled under the blanket.

Blue-Mask entered their room with a tray of food.

Beth stared. “How—”

“We have cameras, of course.” He handed her the tray of hamburgers and black beans.

Revulsion swept her. “I’ll remember that.”

“Except for the small man in the Black-Mask, it is purely a security measure.”

“How long do you plan to keep us here?”

“No questions.”

She inched to the edge of the futon. Her limbs closed in around her. “Look.” She spoke the word carefully to keep the damn squeak out of her voice. “I ha-”

It didn’t work. She cleared her throat.

“I have reduced kidney function. I require medication daily and blood dialysis three times a week. Without it, my kidneys will shut down, and I’ll die. Now that may be your ultimate plan, but for now—” She reined in the increasing volume. “The only way I’m going to stay alive is with my machine.”

His reaction rivaled a Beefeater’s at Buckingham palace. “Where are these machines?”

“I have one at home.”

“How big is this machine?”

“It’s about the size of an end table and weighs under a hundred pounds.”

“How do you—”

Emmy interrupted their conversation. From beneath the blanket came a muffled sound, “La, la, la, la.”

Beth couldn’t refrain her smile.

Blue-Mask continued, “How do you administer the dialysis?”

Her smile fled. “I run my blood through a machine that pulls out the impurities.”