Listen for the Lie (26 page)

“Lucy.”

I turned to see Matt walking out of the reception, a couple fist-pumping to the music on the dance floor behind him. The music faded as the door shut.

He put an arm around my waist, pulling me close. I let him. It was just the two of us in the dimly lit hallway, the murmurs of voices distant.

“I'm sorry about earlier,” he whispered.

“You're always sorry.”

He kissed me. I should have pushed him away. I might have slapped him if we were at home.

Instead, I looped my arms around his neck. I kissed him back. He tasted like whiskey.

“I'm going to do better,” he said as he pulled back to look at me.

I wondered whether by “do better” he meant that he was going to stop smacking me around, or whether he was going to stop sleeping with other women.

He wasn't going to stop doing either, no matter how many times he claimed he was trying to be better.

He slid both hands over my ass, pressing his lips to my neck. “Remember how we had sex in the bathroom at the last wedding we went to here?”

Vividly. My body remembered too, because it was angling toward him, ready to get bent over a counter again.

Someone coughed, and I quickly stepped back from him to see Savvy standing outside the bathroom door.

“Am I interrupting?” she asked, her tone dripping with judgment. I couldn't blame her.

My face heated. I didn't know why I kept falling back into Matt's arms, after everything. There was something wrong with me. Something broken that kept drawing me toward him, like a painful bruise I couldn't stop poking at. It's just that when it was good with Matt, it was
good
.

I was so deeply fucked-up.

A group of women trailed out of the bathroom behind her, laughing as they paused in the hallway. Nina was among them, and she nodded at me once.

Savvy walked past me, and I reached for her arm.

She yanked it away, my fingers only barely brushing her skin, and I heard the laughter from the women abruptly stop.

“The fucker doesn't deserve you,” she said through clenched teeth. “You know exactly what he actually deserves.”

She stomped away, and I swallowed as I watched her go. For all my big talk, I didn't think I could actually ever go through with killing Matt. I didn't think I could kill anyone, but especially not him. He'd already turned me into a rage-filled monster I didn't recognize. I wasn't going to let him turn me into a murderer too.

Savvy, however, seemed ready to actually go through with it. I was almost reluctant to tell her the plan was off.

I turned to see the women headed back into the ballroom, stealing glances at me as they went.

Matt was still grinning at me, oblivious to Savvy's words. “Looks like the bathroom is clear.”

The look on Savvy's face had strengthened my resolve. “I'm not fucking you hours after you tried to drown me in the bathtub.”

He rolled his eyes. “Don't be so dramatic. I didn't try to
drown
you.”

I could still feel his hand around my neck, holding me under the water as I struggled and splashed. He'd laughed when I came up sputtering after he finally let me go. He shrugged it off so easily that I was, once again, wondering whether maybe his version of events was the true one.

I had this wild urge to start pounding my hands against my head. Like if I smacked my skull hard enough, I'd be able to think straight. I just needed to get my brain into the correct position, and then I could trust my own memories more than Matt's.

I resisted the urge and brushed past Matt. He caught my arm.

“You know I could just find someone else.” He curled his lip. He always had the ugliest expression when he reminded me of how much other women loved him. “There are ten women in there who would immediately take me up on the offer.”

I yanked my arm away. “Then go grab one and do it. I don't care.”

His eyes glinted. “Don't test me.”

“Go crazy, Matt. You're already fucking half the town anyway.”

He blinked, clearly startled that I was aware of his (incredibly indiscreet) cheating.

“And there are way more than ten guys in there who would love to fuck
me
.” I laughed as I gestured at the doors to the reception. “Maybe I'll give it a go too.”

His face twisted in rage. I would have been in real trouble if we were at home.

But the door opened, bringing music and laughter with it, and he was forced to hide his anger. He ducked his head and walked past me, roughly bumping my shoulder as he went.

“Hey, Lucy, you okay?”

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

Matt's lying.

I go back to my parents' house after leaving Matt's, and barely sleep. Savvy is screaming in my head, and I have no idea whether it's a memory or a figment of my imagination.

“She tried to—”

What? Kill me? She bashed me over the head and so I returned the favor and accidentally killed her?

I wake with only that thought swirling around in my head. I grab the trash can from under the desk and puke in it.

Ben texts asking whether I want to visit the woods near the Byrd Estate again.

I book a flight home to L.A.

Savvy stands in the corner of my room in her bloody pink dress, arms crossed over her chest, judging me.

I deserve it. I'm giving up. I don't want to know anymore. Even though I told Ben that I didn't think Matt did it, I have to admit that a tiny part of me was holding on to the tiniest hope that he did. Now that I can so clearly see in my memory the shock on his face, the absolute horror as he looked at me, I can't hold on to that hope. Matt didn't kill her.

I
was the one holding a bloody tree branch, mumbling about murder. I was probably talking about Matt, about
him
deserving it,
but that doesn't change anything. Maybe I snapped. Maybe I told Savvy that I didn't want to kill Matt and she went after him anyway. Maybe I stopped her.

The thought makes me feel sick. I can't imagine a world where I decided to kill Savvy instead of letting her kill Matt, but it could have been an accident.

And I don't want to know. I'd rather live with the uncertainty forever than the knowledge that I murdered her.

I decide I can't completely ignore Ben, because he's already decided I'm guilty, and shutting him out will just make things worse.

I drag myself out of bed by noon, throw away my puke-filled trash can, and shower.

“I enjoyed killing that guy. Why weren't you scared of me? Why is it so hard to believe I'd snap? It happened before.”

I close my eyes as the water drips down my face. Savvy's voice is too loud. It's not her. It's me, projecting my fears onto her.

Panic swells in my chest, and I turn the water off.

“
I will kill you!
” Savvy screams.

This is why I stopped trying to remember. I couldn't tell what was real.

I close my eyes and desperately try to shut out everything.

“Leaving?” Ben repeats. I'm standing near the door of his hotel room, hoping to make a quick escape. He takes a step back, into the kitchen, like he hopes I'll follow him. I don't.

“Day after tomorrow.” I try to keep my expression neutral. I've forgotten how to have a face.

“Why?” He's wearing his gray T-shirt, the one with the tiny hole at the collar. I've pulled that collar to the side so I could kiss his neck. I look past him.

“I've been here two weeks. It's hot. I have to get back to L.A. and move my stuff out of my boyfriend's apartment.”

He blinks. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend. He doesn't want to date a murderer.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He doesn't look sorry. “Can I call you for some follow-up interviews in L.A.?”

“Ben, I have spent hours talking to you. Just tell the world I'm guilty and let's move on.”

He leans against the kitchen counter, staring at me. “What happened?”

“Nothing happened.”

“What did you remember?”

“I remembered that I hate true crime podcasts.”

“Lucy.”

I reach for the doorknob. “Say whatever you want about me. I don't care.” I pull open the door and walk out.

“Dad.”

He jumps a mile high, dropping the knife he was using to cut an onion. It clatters across the kitchen floor and stops near my feet. It's a big knife, a chef's knife, and I stare at it.

I can't actually bring myself to imagine killing him.

At the moment, I can only kill Savvy. Over and over, on a loop in my head. A tree branch straight to her skull.

“Lucy.” Dad puts a hand on his chest. “You scared me.”

“I know.” I pick up the knife and put it on the counter.

“Are you all packed?” He doesn't hide his cheerfulness at my leaving.

“I don't leave until day after tomorrow. And I'm having dinner with Grandma tonight.”

“Oh good, she'll appreciate that.” He reaches for the knife, turning on the water to rinse it off.

“Did Matt tell you I killed her?”

He turns off the water. When he looks up at me, it's not in surprise. Matt clearly already told him this conversation was coming.

“Yes.”

“When?”

He wipes off the knife with a towel, for longer than necessary. An excuse not to look at me. “He came over that night.”

I take in a breath as it clicks into place. “That's where he went. After he came home.” I frown. “Does Nina know as well? Why was she at my house that night?”

“No. Apparently she was drunk and had planned to cause a scene so you'd know they were together. Just bad timing. He sent her away.”

“And then he came over to the house and told you both I killed Savvy.”

“Just me. I told your mom a couple days later. She…” He trails off, putting the knife aside and then bracing both hands against the counter. “She wanted to come clean right away. Said that even if it wasn't self-defense, you'd get a light sentence. But Matt and I disagreed. You genuinely didn't seem to remember anything, and we both thought we should just wait. I figured your memory would come back in a few days, and then you could tell us exactly what happened and we'd go from there.”

“And when it didn't come back?”

He looks away, uncomfortable. “I figured you either just wanted to move on or you really had blocked it out. The trauma of that…” He sighs. “I can't blame you, I guess.”

“You guess.”

“I would have preferred to face it head-on. I regret not going to the police. Matt said that your memory started to come back when Ben pushed you to remember. I chastised your mother for pushing you. I thought you needed space to do the right thing. She was right, of course.”

“You believed him, then? Matt.”

Dad looks up, startled. “Should I not have? I didn't know then that … Well, I didn't have the full story. But I didn't have any reason not to believe him.”

“He was drunk. He didn't actually see me do it. There could have been someone else there, it could have been—” My voice has gone too high, hysterical, and I stop abruptly. I know how it sounds.

“He didn't mention anyone else being there,” Dad says gently. “He said … Well, he explained what he saw, and what you said to him.”

“
He
could have killed her.”

“Do you think he did?” He's humoring me.

I see Matt's hysterical face in front of me. I've already tried to convince myself a hundred times that he could have been panicking because he just killed Savvy, but it seems unlikely. I know him too well. I know what he's like when he's just gone too far, caused more pain than he intended. He goes calm. Fix the problem. Be nice. Convince her that it's partially her fault.

He wouldn't have been hysterical about killing Savvy, even drunk. He wouldn't have had that look on his face.

“No,” I say. “But you weren't there. You just had Matt, telling you that I killed someone. You thought I was capable of that?”

“I didn't want to. But sometimes you have to do the best with the information you have. That's the information I had. And Matt wanted to protect you. I saw that right away.” He gives me a sad look. “We both did.”

“And Mom wanted to hand me over to the cops.”

“She was also just trying to do what was best.”

“It wasn't a criticism.”

He looks startled. I might have done the same thing, if I were in Mom's place. Just get the truth out there and let the chips fall where they may.

Or maybe I wouldn't have done the same thing. I didn't immediately run to Ben or the cops when the memory of Matt resurfaced.

I booked a flight home to Los Angeles.

I eat a quiet, awkward dinner with Grandma. I can't tell her the truth, the only family member who believed in me. She believed in me so strongly she turned over all our secrets to a smug podcaster.

“Ben says something happened,” she says, once she's deep into her second gin and tonic. The television is on, muted, but I keep
getting distracted by a woman on the screen with very long red fingernails. She taps them against her chin, over and over. She could take someone's eye out with those fingernails.

I gather up the remains of my burger and walk to the trash can. “Nothing happened. I told him that.”

“I don't think he believes you.”

I laugh hollowly.

“
Did
something happen?” she asks.

“Well, I had sex with him,” I say, because I want to change the subject.

“Oh, hon.” She smiles, a bit sympathetically. “I know. It was obvious that night you two came over for dinner after going to the crime scene.”

“We hadn't actually had sex yet at that point.”

“Obvious that there was tension, I mean. I don't blame you. I would have done the same thing. He does look like an Avenger, after all.”

I laugh despite the crushing weight on my chest. “Thanks, Grandma.”

My phone dings, and I glance down at it as I slump into the couch next to her.

It's an email from my agent, informing me that I shouldn't worry about my books being sold out everywhere, because the publisher is already in the process of printing an additional fifty thousand copies of each of them. “
So exciting!!”

I guess it is, but I can't really feel anything but numb right now.

“Turns out people actually did want to buy romance novels from a suspected murderer,” I say as I lower my phone.

“Of course they do,” Grandma says. “Like I told you, better to be interesting than likable.”

She flips the TV off. “Ben told me you're convinced that he thinks you did it.”

I frown. “That's basically what he said. He wrote out a whole ending about how I did it.”

“He says that was just one rough draft, and you weren't supposed to see it. Just him working through some thoughts. He sounded really frustrated, if you want to know the truth. I don't think he has an ending.”

“He'll decide I did it, just like everyone else did.” I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“Not
everyone
,” Grandma says softly, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I close my eyes and tilt my head back in an effort not to burst into tears, but I fail. They leak down my cheeks and suddenly I'm crying on my grandmother's couch like I'm ten years old again. She scoots closer to me and wraps an arm around my shoulders.

“I think I did it,” I whisper, eyes still closed. “I think I killed her.”

“No, you didn't.”

“You don't know.”

“Neither do you! You just said you
think
you killed her. You still don't remember, do you?”

I open my eyes and roughly wipe my hand across them. “No.”

“You didn't do it.” Her mouth is set in a hard line, the wrinkles around her eyes more prominent as she frowns harder.

“Stop having so much faith in me.”

“No.”

“I don't deserve it.”

“Horseshit.”

“I haven't told you everything.” My hands are shaking, and she reaches over and clasps them both.

“I don't need you to tell me everything.” She holds my gaze, her dark eyes serious. “I don't need you to lay out every single secret and detail of your existence for me to judge. I
know
you.”

I dissolve into tears again, and she wraps her arms around me and pats my back.

“Don't give up, sweetheart. Don't give up.”