Listen for the Lie (25 page)

“Get your fucking microphone and meet me outside.”

“Oh, hello, Lucy, how nice to hear from you,” Ben says on the other line.

I shift the phone to my other ear as I pull my bedroom door shut behind me. “Just get it. I'll be there in ten minutes.”

“Okay. Why?”

“We're going to the damn wedding venue.”

Ben meets me outside his hotel, and we drive to the Byrd Estate. I take us slowly through the winding dirt road that leads up to the event center. Huge, old trees provide shade, and the historic house looms up ahead, a large white tent set up behind it. I can't imagine what kind of masochists are having an outdoor wedding in August.

A woman in an alarmingly bright white suit scurries out of the house as I park and we get out of the car.

“Well, hi, y'all!” she says. “Are you my five thirty?”

“No,” I say.

Her smile falters, but then she spots Ben. “Ben! How nice to see you again!”

“Hi, Trudy.” He swings his bag over his shoulder, holding his portable mic in one hand. The light is on; he's recording. “Sorry to just show up unannounced.”

“Oh, it's fine. What can I help you with?”

“Do you mind if Lucy and I take a walk around? We want to see if anything jogs her memory.”

She recoils at my name. “Oh. Well … sure, if you think it will help.”

“I fainted last time we did this, but I'll do my best to stay upright this time.” I try to sound flippant, but my voice actually trembles a little.

I don't think Trudy notices, because she just frowns at me. “You may tour the Byrd Estate at your own risk.”

“Thanks, Trudy,” Ben says. She turns and walks back into the building, casting a disapproving glance over her shoulder.

“You want to tell me why you wanted to come here today?” he asks me once she's gone.

“Because maybe you're right. I'm very sad to contribute to your already wildly overinflated ego, but, yeah. You're right that I haven't really tried to remember. So here we are.”

“I think my ego is average-sized.”

“Ben, focus. And we both know that it is not.”

He rolls his eyes. “All right. What should we do—” He stops as a truck rumbles up the road and comes to a stop on the other side of the parking lot. Matt jumps out.

“I invited Matt, by the way.” I wave to him.

“What the hell, Lucy?” he calls as he strides over to us. “You didn't tell me the podcaster douche was coming.”

“Podcaster douche is recording, by the way,” Ben says, holding up the microphone.

“Of course you are.” Matt stops beside me, his fingers brushing against my arm. I move away.

“If it makes you feel better, she didn't tell me you were coming either,” Ben says.

It doesn't appear to make Matt feel better.

“I need someone who was there to tell me what we did that
night,” I say. “Otherwise, we're just going to be wandering aimlessly.”

“Lucy, are you sure…” Matt begins softly, but he trails off, glancing at the mic. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Fine, whatever. I'll walk you through it.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely.

“Thank you,” Ben says, flipping him off with his free hand.

Matt returns the gesture and then turns around, pointing at his truck. “I parked over there. Like Colin said, we got here before him and Savvy, and we talked to a couple in the parking lot, but not him and Savvy. The Nelsons.”

“What did you talk about?” Ben asks. “Do you remember?”

“Only because I told the police at the time. It was just small talk—the weather, how hot it was already for May. Just a quick conversation, and then we all went that way.” He points. “It was an indoor reception.” He walks around the house, and we follow him to the side doors and inside the room.

It's empty, chairs stacked in a corner. There's a bar at the back of the room, and my sandals click against the wood floor as I walk across it.

“Does it look familiar?” Ben asks.

“Only because I'd been to other weddings here, before that night.” I turn to Matt. “Do you remember how it was set up?”

“Like a wedding? I don't know.” He points across the room, opposite the bar. “DJ was over there. I'm pretty sure the tables were set up along the sides? Round ones? We were sitting…” He turns in a circle, then points in the direction of the bar. “Oh! We were near the bar. I remember, because Colin said something about it. Something like, ‘Cool, easy access.'”

“Nice! Right next to the bar. Best seat in the house.”

I freeze. I can see Colin standing in front of me in his rumpled suit, grinning as he points to the bar. Savvy, already holding a glass of wine, stands on her toes and kisses his cheek.

She looks so beautiful in that pink dress. The thin straps show off all her tattoos, and it swishes around her knees as she walks. I'd forgotten what that dress looks like when it isn't covered in blood and dirt.

The crime scene photos flash through my mind. Pink dress twisted around her legs, caked in grime. And then it's not the crime scene, it's right in front of me. I'm staring down at her.

But, no, that can't be right, because it's daylight. I never saw Savvy dead in the daylight.

I don't think.

“Lucy.” There's a hand on my back, and I look up to see Matt, his brow furrowed in concern. Ben, standing across from me, looks ready to catch me swooning again.

I blink, stepping away from both of them. “What else? Did we mostly stay in here?”

“I'm sorry, but most of the actual reception is a blur,” Matt says apologetically. “And you and I weren't really getting along that day, so we didn't actually stay together most of the evening. Savvy didn't like me, and she didn't pretend otherwise. I can't really blame her, I guess.”

I look at him in surprise, but his gaze is across the room.

“You and Savvy stuck together that night, for the most part. Not the whole time, though. At one point I looked around and Savvy was at the table without you, and then I looked again like half an hour later and I still couldn't find you.”

“I remember you telling the police that.” I glance at Ben. “You never found any guests to confirm where I was?”

“No. No one remembers seeing you anywhere out of the ordinary.” He points across the room. “The restrooms are that way, right? Let's take a walk down there.”

My heart thumps frantically as I follow him across the room. I take a slow breath. There's no reason to be nervous. I'm walking through an empty wedding venue.

Savvy's in the hallway, wearing her pink dress, holding a bloody knife. She grins and holds it up to Matt's face as he walks by her.

“
You're always just using whatever's around
,” she says. “
Be prepared, like a Boy Scout! Bring your own murder weapon!
”

I shake my head, willing the image away.

We turn a corner. I stop. I look to my left.

There's a door to the outside, sunlight shining through the small square window like it's beckoning us over to it.

“I think I went that way,” I say.

“Outside?” Ben asks. “Why? You hate outside.”

I almost laugh as I walk to it. “I know. But I think I did.”

I push the door open, squinting in the bright sunlight. There isn't much on this side of the building. Just a dumpster, way down at the other end of the building, and what looks like the remains of a broken canopy resting against the brick.

“Are you sure?” Matt stands with Ben in the doorway. “The outdoor area where people were smoking is on the other side.”

I take another step. There's a little alcove, currently filled with several nearly empty cans of paint.

I can feel the brick against my back suddenly. I can smell fresh paint as lips press into mine. One of the straps of my dress has slipped down, and there's a hand on my breast. I kiss him again. It's a man. I can still feel the way he smashed his lips into mine.

“Lucy,” Ben says.

“
Lucy
,” Savvy said sharply.

I jolt. I remember the air on my breast as he'd moved his hand. I'd pulled my strap back up while she stared at me with an expression—anger? Was she mad?

I try to see the guy. I can't. I can feel his breath against my lips. His hips grinding into mine. But there's just empty white space when I try to see his face.

“
Let's go
,” Savvy barked, and turned on her heel.

And then there's nothing. I don't know whether I said goodbye
to whoever the guy was. I don't know whether I followed her right away. Maybe I stayed and had sex with the mystery man. The way he was grinding his hips into mine, we may have been headed that way.

I look at Matt.

“What?” he says. “You remember why you were out here?”

One thing's for sure. The guy wasn't Matt.

And whoever it was, he hasn't bothered telling anyone.

“No,” I say. “I don't remember.”

Matt cocks an eyebrow.

He knows I'm lying.

I drive Ben back to his hotel and make an excuse for why I can't stay. I've slept over nearly every night for the past week, but he doesn't argue when I claim I'm exhausted and I'm going back to my parents' house. He probably wants to edit everything into an episode anyway. He seemed pretty thrilled by today's turn of events.

I drive across town to my old house. To Matt's house. He opens the door and steps out onto the porch as soon as I pull up to the curb, like he was waiting for me.

Dammit. I hate how predictable I am.

I walk up the path. Matt sweeps his arms out toward the house, as if welcoming me back. The shutters are open today, the light inside warm and inviting.

“Good timing,” he says. “I was just about to order us some dinner.”

A tiny part of me thought that maybe Matt had turned over a new leaf and stopped drinking this week after Julia's episode aired, but I see the loaded bar cart as soon as I step inside. It's still on the same side of the living room, to the right of the huge teal couch.

The same teal couch that I bought. The same bar cart that I bought.

I stop, looking left and right. There are a few new pieces of
artwork—there's some abstract art that's either flowers or just some random blobs of blue and yellow paint that I don't particularly care for—but everything is mostly the same. Beautiful dark hardwood floors, high ceilings, a sleek white kitchen to my right with a huge island in the middle. I always thought that those enormous kitchen islands were the best thing ever, and it turns out I was right.

But it's weird how much everything looks exactly the same. If I hadn't known that Matt remarried, I wouldn't have guessed it walking in. Julia didn't leave much of a mark on the house. Or even on him, maybe.

“I need a drink,” I say, even though I know I shouldn't drink with Matt. I should encourage sobriety with Matt. That would be the mature, responsible thing to do for someone you know has a drinking problem.

“A stiff drink,” I continue.

He laughs. “Me too.”

No one here is mature and responsible.

He doesn't ask what I want; he just grabs the vodka and cranberry, because he knows what I like when I've had a hard day.

I sit on the couch (my couch) as he makes the drinks.

“I'm glad you finally came over,” he says as he shakes the tumbler. He's making himself a martini.

“Why is everything the same?”

He strains the liquid into his glass. “What do you mean?”

“Julia didn't want to redecorate?”

“Why would she? You have great taste.”

“Ah.”

He walks across the living room, two glasses in hand, and passes one to me. “What does
ah
mean?” He sits down next to me.

I take a sip of my drink and then set it on the coffee table. “It means I just realized that you didn't
let
her redecorate.”

“I wouldn't put it like that. I mentioned that I liked the way things were, and she didn't seem bothered by it.”

That seems unlikely, but I don't know Julia. Maybe she hates decorating. Maybe she really did think I have great taste.

“Are you going to tell me?” he asks.

I raise an eyebrow like I don't know what he's talking about. I do.

“What you remembered when we were outside.” He puts his glass on the coffee table. He's already finished half of the rather large martini.

I look at the photo over the fireplace. It's of Julia and Matt's wedding day, her in a sleeveless mermaid-style wedding dress with shoulders that look like they were perfectly sculpted in a Pilates class. Our wedding picture once hung there.

I think it's even the same frame. They just took the old one out and stuck the new one in.

Christ, that's weird.

“I was kissing someone out there,” I say.

I turn my attention back to Matt. His jaw twitches, like it always does when he's angry. His mouth is set in a hard line.

“Give me a break,” I say.

“I didn't say anything!”

“I know your angry face. And you have no right to an angry face. You were fucking Nina that night.”

He blows out a breath. “Not that night, but you're right. I have no room to judge.”

I can't hide my surprise.

“I'm trying to be more honest,” he says, noticing the look. “With you. About everything. I thought that if I pretended to have a good marriage, I would magically have one. I should have always just been more honest with you. I don't think you ever would have cheated if I hadn't done it first.”

I actually have no idea whether that's true. I absolutely slept with Kyle as a “fuck you” to Matt, but I kept doing it because I enjoyed the thrill of it.

I decide not to tell him that.

“Who was it?” Matt asks. “Will it make me mad?”

“What
doesn't
make you mad?” It slips out before I can stop it. I used to love to antagonize him.

But he just smiles, a little sadly. “That's a good point.”

Jesus. I reach for my drink and take a long gulp.

“I don't know,” I say as I put it back down. “I remember being out there, and kissing him, but I can't see his face. But I remember Savvy interrupting us, and she looked kind of pissed.”

Matt's eyebrows shoot up. “Pissed?”

“Yeah. She looked mad, and I think we must have left after that, because she said,
Let's go
.”

“Must have been Colin,” Matt says.

“No, there's no way,” I protest. “I didn't really even like Colin, and I never would have made out with Savvy's boyfriend.”

“He wasn't really her boyfriend. They saw other people.”

“Still, I don't think that I would have…” I trail off, considering. I make a face and shake my head. “He slept with my
mom
that night. Are you saying he made out with me, and then went back inside and started hitting on my mother?”

“Why not? You guys kind of look alike.” He laughs at the expression on my face. “There's a solid chance he didn't even know that Kathleen was your mom. The guy is dumb as a bag of rocks.”

“True.” I run a hand down my face. “I just can't see it. Even if I was drunk. It had to be someone else.”

He reaches out, nudging my skirt up to put a hand on my knee. “It doesn't matter,” he says gently.

I slap his hand away. “Of course it matters! It's the first important thing I've remembered in years.”

“It's not going to bring her back. Nothing will bring her back.” He puts his hand back and squeezes my knee. “I know that this whole podcast thing has been hard on you, but it's almost over. And it doesn't matter what that guy says. Whether Ben points the finger at you or me or Colin or Nina or whoever. He's not the police.”

“It doesn't matter what he says, but it matters to me who killed her. I want to know if it was me or you or Colin or Nina or my mom.”

“Your
mom
?”

“She was out that night! It could happen! Her alibi is Savvy's boyfriend.”

He gives me a look that is both amused and a little pitying. I take another sip of my drink and consider whether I should do something about the fact that his hand has moved from my knee to my thigh.

I glance over at the wedding photo above the mantel. If I squint, it could be our wedding photo. If I squint, this whole house is mine again. This whole life is mine again. My pulse begins to race. A sick feeling rises up in my throat.

Matt leans forward and kisses me, and I kiss him back, despite the frantic beating of my heart. I want to knee him in the balls, but I force myself to sink into this for a moment. I need to be twenty-four again, in this house, feeling everything I felt the night that Savvy died. I don't want to push it away anymore. If I can remember what it's like to be that fucked-up twenty-four-year-old again, maybe I can remember everything.

He slides an arm around my waist, pulling me closer. I remember always feeling conflicted when Matt and I would have sex. Because on the one hand, I wanted to fucking murder him.

On the other hand, we always had really fantastic sex.

He pulls away to press his lips to my neck. “Stay here with me,” he murmurs against my skin. “Don't go back to L.A.”

I say nothing, and maybe he takes my silence to mean I'm thinking about it, because he pulls back and looks at me seriously. An uncomfortable feeling unfurls in my gut.

“Or we can go somewhere else. Start over. Just the two of us.” He pushes my hair back, and then leaves his hand on my cheek. “I've missed you. What happened to us?”

“What happened to you? Lucy, what happened to you?”

The memory slams into me so suddenly that I reel back with a gasp.

Matt stood in front of me. Matt of five years ago, with longer hair and a horrified expression on his face. His eyes were bloodshot. He was drunk.

“Jesus, is that your blood?”

What did I say to him? I can't see myself. I can only see him, and that look in his eyes.

He kept glancing down at something. What is he looking at?

Something in my hand. I can almost feel it. It's wet and rough and—

“Whose blood is that?”

“Lucy, no.” Matt's voice is sharp. I blink and he comes into focus. Present Matt. He's got both hands on my cheeks, forcing me to look at him. “Stop.”

“No, I remember something, I remember—”

“Oh my god Lucy, what did you do? Oh god. Is she dead?”

“Let's kill…” I say the words out loud. I said the words then, to Matt. The forest takes shape around me.

“Let's kill…” My brain was short-circuiting. I could hear Savvy in my head, on a loop as I stood in front of my frantic husband. Fat raindrops hit my skin, landing on my eyelashes and blurring Matt's face.

“What?” Matt dropped his hands from my face in shock. “You killed someone?”

“Deserved it,” I muttered. “We had a plan.”

“Jesus Christ.” He took a step back, his horrified expression intensifying.

“Savvy tried to…”

“To what? Lucy, what did Savvy try to do?”

“I know.” Matt shakes me gently, bringing me back to the present. “Lucy, I know that you had to.”

I can see it now. I was holding a tree branch. Huge and thick and covered in blood.

I screamed, and I dropped it.

And then I ran.

I'm breathing too fast. My vision is tunneling. Matt still has his hands on my cheeks. I think he's holding me upright.

“I don't know what went on between you two out there in the woods, but I know that you did what you had to do,” he says firmly. “I am so sorry that I got there too late and I couldn't protect you.”

“Why did you…” I can't get words out. Tears stream down my cheeks. “Why didn't you call the police? When you saw me that night? Why did they find me the next morning…?”

“I looked for you. But I grabbed that tree branch first and I took it to the trunk of my car, because I knew it would be harder for them to convict you without a murder weapon. I drove it down to the main road and dropped it in a dumpster behind a bar. When I came back, it had started raining really hard, and the road was flooded and I couldn't get to where you'd been. I thought you'd go home, but when I got there … well, you weren't.”

I shake my head. I'm fully sobbing now.

“It's okay,” he says gently. “I was trying to protect you back then, and I completely botched it. I was drunk and stupid and then I freaked out about everything when you got home. It's my fault.”

A shudder goes through me.

He puts a hand to his chest. “Seriously, it's my fault. Things had gotten out of hand between us back then, and I knew it. I should have stopped us. I shouldn't have let it go on so long.”

I blink at him, confused.

“The fighting,” he says. “The way we used to go at each other, hurt each other. It got to you and changed you, and I know that's partially my fault. I don't think you could stop yourself, that night.”

I draw a ragged breath. The way he's describing the violence in our marriage—the violence
he
started, the violence that only ever left
me
with serious injuries—doesn't seem right.

None of this seems right.

“Blame me,” he continues. “Scream at me. I deserve it.”

I stand and stumble backward, away from him. “No. I didn't kill her. I never would have—no.”

He stands as well. “She tried to hurt you. I don't know why, but you told me that she did. I should have just called the police right that second and we could have claimed self-defense, but I was drunk and I panicked. And—” He cuts himself off.

I look at him sharply. “And?”

He hesitates. “Why don't you go lie down? Or take a bath? You love that tub. I'll run it for you.”

He reaches for me. His fingers brush my wrist before I yank it away.

I rush to the door like he's going to chase me. He doesn't.

I throw it open and look back at him. “You're lying.”

He slides both hands into his pockets with a sigh. “Lucy, please just let it go. You don't want to remember anything else.
Trust me
.”

I don't trust him. I didn't then, and I don't now.

I walk out, slamming the door shut behind me.