Captured Lies (7 page)
Authors: Maggie Thom
Bailey stopped so suddenly she wobbled a bit. Who was this
nut case? What could he mean she wasn’t who she thought she was? That didn’t even
make sense. Was that how he picked up women?
Slowly, she turned around. He
hadn’t moved from his position on the ground but he was leaning forward as
though he was planning on chasing her if she took off again. She stiffened. Her
gaze raked over him. Dark hair, blue eyes, pursed lips and a crooked nose -
maybe broke once or twice. She couldn’t really tell anything from that. Broad
shoulders covered in a black leather jacket and jeans that encased long and
what she guessed, were athletic legs. Normal. Her eyes wandered back to his
face, hard lines there. His jaw clenched. The cords in his neck were taut as a
newly cocked bow. He believed what he was telling her.
He has the wrong person.
“Look. I don’t know who you think I am. But I do.”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Know, that is, who I am. I don’t
know who you’re looking for but it’s not me.” As she talked she walked slowly
backwards. She wanted to tear her gaze away but there was something compelling
in the depths of the coal black center of his. Something that begged for her
trust but at the same time told her to run like hell.
“So good luck.” She balanced on
the balls of her feet.
He jerked upwards. “Wait!”
Every nerve in her body fired up
at his barked command but something about the desperation in his voice kept her
where she was. He hung his head and swore but didn’t make any move forward.
“I have something I want to show
you.” His fingers slid into the pocket of his beige golf shirt. Bailey kept her
eyes glued to his hand. Not waiting to see what he was going to do, she started
slowly moving backwards.
“Stop.” He pulled out his hands
and held them up in the air, like he was being held up in a robbery. The gentle
wind tugged at the paper in his hand. “I want you to look at this.”
“Uh…” She shifted her gaze around
from the right to the left.
“Look. It’s not a trick. I’d set
it down but the wind will take it away. I promise I won’t touch you.”
She immediately looked at his
hands. Soft calluses ringed the palms, those of a weekend handyman. Long
masculine fingers gently held the item towards her.
“Who are you?”
He swore again.
She found herself almost smiling.
“All I know so far is that you have a quite an extensive language that should
have gotten your mouth washed out as a kid.”
“Actually it did.” His lip curled
upwards. “My name is Guy Turner. Please look at this.” His eyes were asking her
to believe him and to trust him.
She could hear her mom screaming
at her, telling her not to trust anyone. Shaking that off, she looked around.
Three young guys raced out onto the grassy field, chucking a football back and
forth.
Relieved, she said, “don’t lower
your arms or I’ll scream like there’s no tomorrow.”
He grimaced but didn’t move. At
about four feet from him she sprinted forward, grabbed what looked like a
picture and ran about twenty feet away. When she looked over her shoulder he
was standing in the same ridiculous pose. She couldn’t believe he’d listened.
She watched him for a second
before looking at the paper, an old black and white picture printed on new 4 x
6 photo paper, thanks to the tricks of modern technology. It was grainy and the
woman’s face was faded. Her head was tilted back slightly as she looked off to
her right. The dimple high on her right cheek, really took away from the
snobbish air or regal look she was trying for. Bailey smiled in sympathy,
tempted to reach up and touch her own cheek. She’d been afflicted with the same
defect. The woman’s hair was neatly pulled back, not a fly-away-strand anywhere
and sat high on the back of her head in some sort of bun. A single row of gems
placed at an angle adorned the front of the hairdo.
“She looks like someone who might
have been well off. I mean who else could have afforded pictures back when.”
She looked up and studied the guy who had his arms straight out as though
waiting for a basketball pass. She shook her head. “Drop your hands but no
sudden moves.” She almost laughed when she realized how stupid that sounded.
Wild
west here we come.
“Okay. So what’s the deal?”
He stared at her for a minute
before he looked off to his right. Bailey followed his gaze. The three guys
were hooting and hollering as two of them tackled the third. Testosterone at
its finest.
“Look. I can assure you I do not
have her crown jewels.” Bailey looked at the single row of gems. “Such as they
are. I doubt they’re even real.”
His head swung back and his gaze
intent. “Oh they’re real, all right. Today that diamond tiara is worth about
five million dollars. Give or take a million.”
Her eyes widened to their fullest
extent as she took another look. It was really a simple strand of large, square
cut stones. Nothing really attractive about it but age does make things
priceless.
“Since I don’t have any jewel
thieves in my family history you’ve got the wrong person.” Bailey moved towards
him to hand him back the picture but stopped when he swore again. She arched
her brow.
“Got it.” He shoved his hand
through his hair. “I’m not here because those jewels are missing. I’m here
because they’re rightfully yours.”
How the hell did I win this
lottery? I didn’t even buy a ticket.
“Okay. Game’s over. It’s been fun but
this is too weird. Even for me.” She thought she’d heard and seen it all, what
with trampling all over the place with her mother for eighteen years. But even
this surpassed that.
“She’s your grandmother.
Actually, your great-grandmother.” He shifted his weight. “I’m a– I’ve been
hired to find you.”
She felt a little light headed
and dizzy all of a sudden. She reached out her arm looking for something to
hang on to. The smooth leather jacket wasn’t quite what she’d had in mind but
she was too busy absorbing what she’d heard to argue. Her hand clutched the
front of his coat.
She had family. Could this really
be her relative? She’d begged her mom on many occasions to tell her something
about her relations. Her mom had staunchly refused, never sharing anything. No
names. No stories and no pictures. She glanced again at the one in her hand.
“Is this where I got my dimple?” For the first time, it didn’t seem so bad.
Guy snorted with laughter. “Could
be.” He shifted his stance. “Look. Is there somewhere we could go to talk about
this?”
She glanced up barely taking note
of him. “Can I keep this?”
He nodded.
She turned and started walking.
Could
this really be my great-grandma?
Wow.
Bailey’s fingers traced the
face. How old was she? How many kids did she have? What kind of man did she
marry? What kind of person was she? Did she ever smile? Not that they did that
back then in pictures. Whoever decided it was bad to look lifelike in a
picture? They were always so stern.
She studied the woman’s dimple,
in the picture and then touched her own. She’d always thought she’d had one of
a kind. Had anyone teased her about it way back when? Many times she’d wanted
to fill the damn thing in. It had been too damn cute. Now it was cool that she
had this connection with someone. It meant she had family. Who was she? What
was her name? Were there more pictures of her? Where was the rest of her
family?
She jerked to a stop. She hadn’t
asked any of that. What an idiot. She turned and stared. There was no one there
because she was at the blue house next door to her mom’s. She wasn’t sure what
to do. Should she go back and try to find the guy who had given her this gift?
Or wait until he found her again? Something told her he’d find her again.
Bailey hugged her arms around her waist. The warm, fuzzy
feeling that comes from being part of a family flooded her insides. It was so
new to her that she almost staggered under the weight of the sensation. She felt
like jumping up and kicking her heels. This had been her Christmas wish for twenty-nine
years. Somewhere deep inside she knew she was overreacting and that there was a
lot more to this story than someone returning a picture and telling her she now
owned an expensive, old tiara. There was a lot she didn’t know. But she wasn’t
ready to hear it yet. She just wanted some time to absorb the gooey, good
feelings going through her. Hanging onto the new sensation, she walked the last
twenty steps to her mom’s house.
Head bowed, she unlocked the side
door and stepped through. It all came crashing back - her mom was gone, there
was a house to pack up and get rid of, she had a job she wanted but felt guilty
about. Her mom telling her to stop always wanting more - she didn’t need
relatives, she had her. Why couldn’t that be enough?
“Don’t do this Bailey, someone
will notice you. Don’t do that Bailey, someone will notice you. Don’t make a
lot of noise Bailey, someone will hear you. Grab your Miss Piggy, we’ve got to
leave, Bailey. Stop crying Bailey, there are more important things than that
ratty old stuffed animal. I’ll get you a new one as soon as we find a place.
I’ll get you some new shoes too. Things will change soon, Bailey. Smile for
Mom.”
She wanted to scream, 'they
never damn well did, Momma’.
Sobs racked her body as she raced
through the house and threw herself onto her bed. Clutching the picture to her
chest she let out all the anger, fear and frustration she’d bottled up for
twenty-nine years. Tears poured down her face and mingled with the snot that
ran freely. Her body rigid, she wailed like a two-year old who had been told it
was nap time. She felt like pounding her fists and kicking her feet.
The anguish poured out of her
like a glacier fed waterfall. It went on and on and on. She wasn’t aware of time
or anything for that matter. Her mind was consumed with the torn lonely feeling
of being alone. Only she didn’t need to be anymore. But then the guilt set in.
Her mom had never allowed family into her life. So how could she? What could
they have done to be cut so totally out of her life?
A long time later, when she felt
drained and barely able to move, she reached over to grab a tissue off the
bedside stand and blew her nose. Shoving herself upright, she tucked the
picture of her great-grandmother in her purse, then pushed herself off the bed.
She headed across the hall into the bathroom. She scooped up the cold water and
drenched her face. The water was jarring but felt somewhat reviving. She
repeated this several times. She grabbed the peach towel hanging off to her
right. The nicely folded lace face cloth fluttered to the counter. She looked
at it and then at the spot where it had been hanging. Another matching towel
and facecloth hung right beside them on another peg. The water ran down her
face and dripped off her chin as she stared at that spot. Everything had always
been just so. Nothing had ever been out of place. Certain things were put in
certain spots. She was sick and tired of it.
She mopped her face, tossed the
towel on the counter and stepped out of the bathroom. She stopped in the
hallway dimly lit from the late afternoon sun filtering in through the window.
It looked dark and dingy. So much a reminder of what her life had been.
“It’s dark, Momma.”
“Shh. Be quiet, Bailey. We’re
playing hide and seek. Remember you have to be very quiet.”
“No, Momma. I don’t wanna play
that again. No, Momma. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. Momma!”
Bailey shivered at one of many
memories she’d rather forget. One of the many, when they’d snuck out in the
middle of the night. Snuck away like really bad people always in the dark. That
thought stopped her for a moment. She ran into the living room, grabbed the
middle of the drapes and yanked them wide open. A peeping tom would never have
gotten a glimpse into this house. It stopped her for a moment to wonder what
her mom covered the windows with when the curtains were cleaned. Every three
months like clockwork they were out the door and dry-cleaned.
She yanked open the inside door
and quickly shoved the window up on the outer door, leaving only the screen. In
the kitchen and both bedrooms she pulled away the blinds and curtains and slid
open the windows. Shooting out of her mom’s bedroom she tripped over the bag of
stuff from the bathroom. Shampoos, soaps, hair stuff, cleaners, hair net. It
was just junk. There was nothing personal there. Grabbing the full bag she
dropped it at the end of the hallway.
Turning, she stepped into the
living room and pulled open drawers. She flipped through the meager things she
found there. Paper. Pens. Then she pulled open the bottom cupboards on the
china cabinet, newspapers, stacks of them, always the precious news. Not caring
about her mom’s fanaticism for keeping them, Bailey was clear that this stuff
had to go. She went to the kitchen and took out four large green garbage bags
and proceeded to fill them. She grabbed and stuffed, grabbed and stuffed.
Every now and then a date would
catch her eye and she’d remember what was happening in her life, on that day.
July 15th, 1990. The year they
had moved twice. Once from a cute little house in some dinky little town in
northern B.C. to a dinky little town in Southern Saskatchewan to…
Bailey couldn’t remember where to
after that. She shoved some more paper in the bag.
December 23, 1993, the year they
skipped Christmas because they were on the move to Lethbridge, Alberta, maybe.
September 5, 1995, yanked out of
school the second month to move again, to leave behind the one friend she’d
finally made. Someone who’d moved almost as much as she had.
Bailey started shredding the
pages as she went. Pieces were flying as she worked like a mad woman, ripping
and filling.
July 14th, 2000. Bailey stopped.
She had no idea where she had been on that date, living in Vancouver, maybe?
But what had she been doing? She frowned. It wouldn’t come to her. After a few
moments she realized how good that actually felt not to know where she was on a
certain date. Thanks to the lifestyle they’d lived, Bailey had kept a diary. Every
day had meticulously been marked down, the events recorded. Because there had
always been something to note. Always the need to tell someone or something how
she felt about each ugly move but never able to whisper a word. Writing it
down, had been her solace, her friend.
She paused for a moment wondering
where she’d put her diaries. Some had gotten lost over the years. She hadn’t
always had time or the opportunity to grab them when they’d moved. Her mom had
shown up at school on three occasions to whisk her away to the next place.
February 14, 1989. Valentine’s
Day.
Hmmm. We lived in a trailer
park. What was the name of the town?
Shrugging, she tossed it away.
June 23, 1985.
At some point she realized that
there were only certain dates of newspapers in there. She wondered how many
years worth, were out in the shed. Not that she was supposed to know that’s
what was out there. Shaking off those memories, she did not want to try to
figure out what had eluded her for twenty-nine years - why her mom had been obsessed
with knowing everything that was going on across the country.
May 1, June 1, July 1, 5, 6, 7,
10... August 1, 3, 6, 7, 8... September 1, 5, 6, 10... October 1, and many more
in1983.
How come so many that year...
the same year I was born?
Tired of the game and the
feelings of being a vagabond that it brought back, Bailey shoved all the papers
into the garbage bags. Most of the newspapers, she absently noted, were the
large conglomerate papers, all the big national ones.
Her mom had been so excited to be
moving into that house. It was one of the few times that Bailey had seen her
almost giddy. They’d had fun picking out stuff at garage sales, second hand
stores, from newspaper ads, to fill the house. Then one day a truck had arrived
with boxes and boxes of stuff. Stuff her mom said she’d put in storage a long
time ago. Bailey had gotten so mad, she’d left. There had been too many times
there hadn’t been enough money for food and yet her mom had found enough to pay
for storing her things. None of which Bailey had ever asked about, mostly because
she doubted her mom would have told her what was in each container. Looking at
the mess she’d made, the bits of newsprint scattered about and the large
garbage bags flopped over like sumo wrestlers, she’d bet it had been the damn
newspapers.
Stepping over the bags, she
grabbed some orange garbage bags and headed for her mom’s bedroom. She’d never
been allowed to enter her mom’s room, not even as an adult, especially not as
an adult.
Bailey grabbed the bedding off the
bed and stuffed it all in one bag, pillows and all. Looking from the bedside
stand to the dresser she realized she couldn’t do either one yet. Too private.
Not that different from everything else of her mom’s but it was still too
personal. It was like her mom was standing there, over her shoulder, watching
every move she made.
The closet was next. She pulled
open the tinny metal doors and grabbed clothes. Her mom was 5’3” and slightly
rounded so Bailey knew that she wouldn’t even have to look at the items as they
wouldn’t come close to fitting her 5’8” athletic build. Besides, her mom liked
cotton dresses like Lucy used to wear on
I Love Lucy
, her mom’s favorite
show, old fashioned, dowdy clothes. Not that Bailey wore dresses anyway but she
liked to think she wore nice outfits.
She yanked clothes off the
hangers and stuffed them into one of the bags. When most of the hangers were
swinging empty she reached up for the last few dresses. Other than the first
one being ugly, she paused as she saw the red silk dress her mom had worn once
a long time ago. Beside it were two other very stylish outfits. They were
beautiful and very expensive. Where had they come from? She’d never seen her
mom wear them.
What were you hiding, Mom?
She shoved them, along with three
pair of black patent flats, one fuzzy pair of white slippers, one pair of
old-lady-square-toe-one-inch heel shoes, into another bag. From the top shelf
she pulled blankets, a few sweaters and her mom’s down filled winter coat.
None of it had any meaning for
her. She kept up a steady pace, not looking at anything she threw out. Nor did
she allow herself time to think. Next she walked into the tiny bathroom off the
bedroom. The medicine cabinet was full of prescription and OTC meds. Paranoia
had been her mom’s best friend. Maybe she should have pushed for her mom to get
some professional mental health intervention. Not that her mom hadn’t sought
help. It had always seemed to be the back street doctors that no one had a good
word to say about. They’d write a prescription for anything. Her mom had one
for just about every ailment you could think of – arthritic hips, insomnia, osteoarthritis,
stomach problems and nausea - the list never seemed to stop. There were
medications for all of those problems – anti-inflammatories, pain killers,
pills for arthritis and pills for sleeping, pills for nausea. The list went on
and on. Depression would have been her diagnosis for her mom but she’d never
been asked her opinion.
There was too much stuff. She
quit reading the prescriptions, chucking it all into the tiny garbage can.
Then there were the supplements -
garlic, Glucosamine Sulfate, Vitamin D, multivitamins…
Her own pain killers - Aspirin,
Tylenol, Ibuprofen, Advil, Contact C…
No wonder her heart gave
out... all this crap.
Bailey kept tossing everything
into the small garbage can, now overflowing. Plastic bottles bounced off others
and shot onto the floor. She stepped back into the bedroom to grab the can by
her mom’s bed. The overflow filled it half way. The cupboard under the sink
held curlers, hair nets and cleaners. Normally, she would have recycled
everything but she didn’t want to take the time to do that. Everything was
going out.
The phone rang. Bailey frowned as
she listened to the second ring. Who’d be calling? It had to be an acquaintance
of her mom’s or the lawyer. Jumping over bags and scattered garbage she raced
out into the living room and grabbed the phone on the fourth ring.
“Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Hi. You’ve reached…”
“Just a minute. Just a minute…
How do you shut this stupid thing off?” Bailey slapped at buttons until the
answering machine quit.
“Hello. Hello.”
Bailey’s hand tightened on the
receiver. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, Guy. We talked–”
“What do you want?”
“I figured you’ve had enough time
to go over what I told you this morning. We need to meet and discuss the rest.”
Bailey clutched her hand to her
churning stomach. She couldn’t meet with this guy, there was no way. She had no
idea who he was. He could be a nut case. How hard was it to find an old picture
and have it look like you? “Look, there’s no money. My mom wasn’t rich. I don’t
have anything of value. I’ve got nothing for you. How’d you get this number?”
“Let me show you what I have.
Meet me at six at Stella’s Bar and Grill in Shaughnessy. Do you know where it
is?”
“Yes. But what’s the hurry?”
A surprised guffaw was her
answer.
The silence stretched for a very
long time. Bailey bit her lip, working her teeth from the right side to left
and back again.
“All right. I’ll meet you there
at six-thirty.”
