White Lies (5 page)

The bell finally rang. Talk about a long fifty minutes. She felt as if she'd been sitting there for hours. The students clambered to their feet and made a general exodus toward the door. Zach busied himself sorting the papers on his desk, doing a poor job of trying to appear nonplussed.

Diane went to the front of the classroom. Katrina followed.

“Do you two know each other?” the VP asked after the last of the students had left. It wasn't a question, but it wasn't a statement either. Somewhere in between.

“No,” Katrina said quickly before Zach could say anything to the contrary.

Diane's calculating eyes kept calculating. “It's just that both of you seemed, well, as if you'd seen each other before.”

Silence, brief but intense. The hesitant silence that precedes a lie. Katrina's mind reeled for an excuse. Zach beat her to it. “Ah!” he said. “I believe I did see you, Miss Burton. In town this weekend. You were shopping at—”

“Victorian Simplicity,” she improvised, naming the first shop that popped into her head.

Diane looked at Zach quizzically. “What were you doing in there?”

Katrina realized her mistake. Victorian Simplicity specialized in women's fashion and collectables along the lines of dishes, dolls, and tea sets.
Stupid, stupid
.

But Zach recovered smoothly enough. “It's my mother's birthday next week,” he said. “I was getting her a present. Ended up with—what are those things called? Right. A mortar and pestle.”

Katrina wasn't sure whether Diane believed their tale or not, but she didn't press them further. Instead, she told Zach he had given an interesting lesson, nodded for Katrina to join her, then exited the classroom. Katrina didn't have to be told twice. She followed the VP out, leaving Zach staring after them, expressionless.

Katrina was eating lunch at her desk, browsing a quirky online news story exploring whether Jesus, had he been alive today, would believe in evolution, when a teacher stuck her head in the door and introduced herself as Monica Roberts. She was young and energetic and had big, curious eyes, as if she was seeing everything for the first time. Katrina liked her instantly.

“So you're the new teacher everyone is talking about, huh?” Monica said. “Guess you really are as pretty as they said.” Katrina felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You know, you're more than welcome to join us in the faculty lounge.”

“I would have,” Katrina said, “had I known where it was.”

“It's right by the library. I'll show you tomorrow. Actually, I have to run. Cafeteria duty. Ugh. But I wanted to stop by to tell you about tonight. Did Hawk Eyes mention anything?” When Katrina only frowned, Monica added, “Right. You wouldn't know, would you? Hawk Eyes. That's what we call her, Diane, the VP. Haven't you noticed? Black eyes, sharp nose, and everything?”

“What was she supposed to tell me?”

“She wasn't supposed to tell you anything. I just thought she might've. Then again, we didn't invite her, not formally, but she knows about it. We do it every year. Wait—I'm sorry. I'm babbling. People say I babble. I'm trying to get better.” She gave her mouth a rest, maybe to organize what was going to come out next. “Back to School Night. That's what we're doing tonight. Nothing special. A bunch of us just go down to the pub and have some drinks. You know, long summer, get back together, catch up. It's fun. You
should come. Get to know everyone. So? What do you think? Wanna come?”

Katrina wasn't really a pub person—she didn't like the dark and sometimes dingy atmospheres, the greasy food, the general rowdiness—but she thought it would be a step in the right direction of losing the stigma of the new teacher. “Sure,” she said. “Just tell me where and when.”

“It's called Ducks & Drakes. On Front Street. And come as soon as you can get your butt out of here.”

Monica smiled, showing big white teeth to go with her big curious eyes. Still cute though. She reminded Katrina of a Care Bear, maybe Cheer Bear. That, or a person whose face got used on the cover of Hallmark birthday cards.

After she left, Katrina didn't return her attention to the Jesus story. A new and unsettling thought had struck her. What if Zach Marshall was there tonight?

No matter, she told herself. That would save her the trouble of seeking him out. Because the sooner they could get their stories sorted, the better.

Ducks & Drakes was loud and standing-room-only busy. It had old-time British pub charm, and Katrina felt a little like Andy Capp as she stood inside the entrance, looking past the mash of people for the other teachers. It was one big room with what appeared to be a roped-off lounge near the back. Sports were playing on the four TV sets and music blared from speakers. Behind the bar, which had about a dozen beers on tap, was a blackboard with a “This Day in History” list, as well as the names of a couple celebrities whose birthdays were today. Katrina looked around and spotted everyone on the back patio, which offered a spectacular view of the mountains and the churning Wenatchee River, which she'd read was famous for its white-water rafting. Fourteen teachers—eight male, six female—were crowded around two tables that had been pushed together. Three half-full pitchers of beer sat on the tables, alongside two baskets of fries and a tower of nachos swimming in the works. Someone had ordered a hamburger because on one
white plate was a leftover crescent of bun, a broken bit of patty, and untouched garnish.

A few quick introductions were made with people Katrina had not yet met—these were much more jovial than any had been at school, which was likely due to the flowing beer—then the geography teacher Vincent topped an empty mug. He handed it to her, saying, “It's called Whistling Pig, dear, and a damn fine red ale at that!”

Conversation whirled around her, competing with the chatter of the people surrounding their table, who were either taking in the view or smoking cigarettes. Katrina was listening but not really listening. Mostly she was wondering where Zach was. She hadn't seen him anywhere inside, and he wasn't at the table. Had he decided not to come? Because of her? She was just about to resign herself to that fact when she heard someone mention his name in passing, laughing afterward, as if Zach had been the butt of a joke. She kept listening as the teacher—a youngish fellow named Graham who had a spongy red afro, droopy mustache, and crazy muttonchops—finished his story: “So he went to the bar and came back, right? We were sitting down in the lounge, playing Double Dragon on the Nintendo they have hooked up in there, and I'm kicking ass, and Zach's doing all right, then all of a sudden the fucker bends forward and spews all over the machine!” Laughter around the table. “Seriously, it was disgusting. He was too fucking blitzed to clean it up. The waitress was livid! I think they actually banned him from here for a while.”

“Well, the ban is apparently over,” Monica said. “I saw him over by the pool tables.”

“Playing by himself?” Graham said. “What a frog.”

Katrina excused herself and went back inside the pub. The pool tables were up by the front, near an air hockey table. She made her way toward them, and there he was, Zach, not playing pool but throwing darts. He saw her approach but didn't smile or wave or react in anyway. Not that she'd expected him to. In place of his Detroit Red Wings jersey was a fine-knit wool sweater. His hair, although still shaggy and Rod Stewartish, had a bit more
texture to it, as if he had used some pomade. When she stopped in front of him, she could smell a spicy lavender cologne. Seeing him now, dressed up and in a mundane bar environment, she could hardly believe he had ever made her fear for her safety. The other night already felt like a dream, something that happened but didn't really happen.

“Hello, Zach,” she said. “I hoped we could have a word in private.”

He shrugged without looking at her and threw a dart. “Go for it.”

She frowned.
Go for it
? Where was the embarrassment? The apology? Because as much as she may have overreacted on the highway,
he
had been the one who had harassed
her
.

“Isn't there anything you wanted to say?” she pressed.

“Nope.” He refilled his mug from a pitcher of beer he was apparently drinking all by himself. His words weren't slurred, and his eyes were clear and alert, but she had a suspicion he was drunk again. “Can't think of anything.”

She was in no mood for games and cut straight to the chase. “Why didn't you get out of my car when I asked you to?”

Their eyes met for an instant before he threw another dart. But it had been long enough for her to see he was fiercely embarrassed. Was it remorse? About time.

“Well?” She realized she'd crossed her arms across her chest. Her right fingers were tapping her left bicep impatiently.

“How the hell do I know?” he said. “I was pissed.”

“That's not good enough for me, Zach. You scared the daylights out of me.”

“Yeah?” The final dart. Triple fifteen. “Why? What did I do?”

“You don't remember?”

“I told you. I was pissed.”

Could that be true? Could he really have been that drunk he didn't remember what happened? At least the details of what happened? She remembered his glassy eyes when he'd turned toward her. Maybe, she thought. Zach went to the board to collect his darts. Two teachers slightly older than herself, though she couldn't
remember their names, made their way to a nearby pool table and racked the balls.

“Listen, Zach,” she said as soon as he returned, deciding to be the bigger person and end this right then. “I want you to forget about it. Forget everything that happened. As far as I'm concerned, we never met before this morning. Deal?”

He gave her his full attention for the first time, and she was surprised to see that anger now burned in his eyes. “Just like that, huh?” he said, scowling, and she was getting a glimpse of the Zach from the other night. “You kick me out of your car, for no good reason, in the middle of a goddamn storm, and you expect me to pretend that nothing ever happened?”

“I told you, you scared—”

“
What did I do?
”

Katrina glanced toward the teachers at the pool table. The one with the goatee and glasses was bent low over the felt, taking aim with the cue, while the other one—beer belly, ruddy nose, chipper disposition—had his head tipped back, draining a beer. She couldn't tell whether they were listening to her and Zach's conversation or not. Probably were. “You—” she began a little more softly. “It wasn't what you did. It was—I can't explain it.”

“Isn't that convenient.”

“Don't get sarcastic with me.”

“Where did you go after you dropped me off? You never turned off for Lake Wenatchee.”

Christ, she thought. Another glance at the teachers playing pool. All cool, it seemed. Back to Zach. She considered telling him the truth. That she came straight to Leavenworth. But she reconsidered. In his present state, drunk and worked up, the truth didn't seem to be the best option. It would only light a fire under him and incense him further. And she didn't want to see an incensed Zach. Not here, not now. He was too unpredictable. She had to placate him before their conversation drew any more attention than it might already have. “I drove to the next turnoff,” she said.
Count 'em up, Kat
, she thought.
That's lie number
—
what?
She didn't know. She'd already lost count.

“And you doubled back?” He barked a laugh. “You think I'm an idiot?”

The duo playing pool was joined by a third person, an old fellow with an outrageously loud Hawaiian shirt. Katrina thought he'd said he was a chemistry teacher.

“Keep your voice down,” she warned Zach, “or I'm leaving.”

The bluff didn't work. He went on just as loudly as before, “You expect me to believe you live on Lake Wenatchee? That you make a two-hour-plus round trip commute to work every day?”

Monica, Katrina noticed, had just stepped inside the main room. She looked around, spotted Katrina, waved, and started over.

“Listen, Zach,” she said harshly, aware she was now very much on the defensive. How that happened, she had no idea, but she had no time to waste thinking about it. “If it really matters, I'm renting two places. One on the lake. One in town, on Wheeler Street. You satisfied?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Why would you need two places?”

“The cabin's a getaway.”

“You must be getting paid a helluva lot more than I am.”

Monica had stopped to speak with their waitress, likely ordering more drinks, buying Katrina valuable seconds. She swallowed. She needed to nip this thing in the butt. Right now. “My parents were killed in a car accident,” she said in a voice that was almost a whisper. “They were well off. The point is, I don't teach because I have to, I do it because I want to. Okay?” She stared at Zach, feeling awful. The part about being well off was true. Nevertheless, it was one thing to lie about where she lived because she had been in fear of her safety. It was another thing altogether to keep feeding that lie with more lies, as she was doing now, especially incorporating her parents' death into the whole mess. But he had her against the ropes, and she could see no other option.

Zach snorted, as if to express his disbelief. He pushed his way past her just as Monica arrived.

“I guess I didn't have to come rescue you after all,” she said,
watching Zach go. “He's a good guy. But you heard Graham earlier. He tends to drink too much. Like, way too much. Some people say he's an alcoholic. I don't know if it's true. But it's what some people say. I don't think I've ever seen him sober outside of school.”

Katrina shook her head. She was amazed by the dichotomy of Zach's character. This morning he'd given a stellar lecture on philosophy. Now he was half trashed and carrying on like a first-class asshole. She couldn't help but think of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.