The Truth About Air & Water (Truth in Lies #2) (49 page)

“Butter, Tally? You
are
going all out today.”

“Funny. Just be glad I can cook a little. Don’t get real lofty expectations in the cooking department, okay?”

“I’m good. You’re mighty fine in all the others.”

He sets the table and the whole domestic action scene gets a little too surreal.

He looks dangerous. To me. To my very well-being. He’s wearing his Fresno Grizzlies jersey. It’s black with a big yellow “F” with bear claws across the logo on the front. He’s also got on these black athletic shorts that cling to his hips just so. He’s barefoot. He’s shaved. He’s showered.
Fresh. Hot.

Stop it.

“So what’s the plan?” He asks looking all innocent like I haven’t just checked him out thoroughly, and he didn’t notice.

“I have to go meet with the people at the Saroyan Theater at ten. I could use a ride. You can drop me off. That would be great.”

“Or, you could borrow my truck. I don’t need to be at the field until four-thirty if you don’t mind hanging around early even though the game doesn’t start until seven. I’m pitching.” He smiles wide. “I’m glad you’re staying.”

I concentrate on my eggs pushing them around the plate. “I don’t drive actually. I haven’t for years.”

“Like at all?" He asks surprised.

“In San Fran, that is not that hard to carry out. BART, the metro.” I lift my head in defiance and stare at him. “New York it was even easier…I don’t drive.”

It’s like confession. You just say it. I said it to Sam and he got it.

Why is this so hard for this version of Lincoln Presley to understand?

There are
versions
of Lincoln Presley.

Think about that.

“I could teach you. I mean if you wanted to—”

“It’s not a question of
learning
. It’s a matter of I don’t drive anymore; okay?” I shake my head. “You and Sam.
Stop
teaching
me things. Just accept me for who I am. Just drop me off. You never stayed anyway. Just drop me off. Okay?”

“Okay. Okay. I never stayed? To watch you rehearse? Dance?”

“No.” The air rushes out of me again at the curious look he’s giving me and I rush to fill the vacuum. “It was complicated. Our life together. It was new. A few months at the most since we got back together? I’d just moved back from New York with Cara. We’d just gotten engaged. It was all new. To us. There was always a baseball game or a practice. Cara would need to be picked up from preschool, daycare…
things
. I’ve solved some of that with Andy. She’s our nanny. Sam hired her for me…”

“Sam,” Linc says looking decidedly unhappy. “He took care of everything for you, didn’t he? Better than I did?”

“It was different. He was
there
. You were always…
gone
. I don’t know. We
won’t
know, will we? It was baseball season. It’s
still
baseball season. You play for the next twenty days, right?” He nods slowly getting this stricken look as if he’s finally figured out the punchline just as much as I suddenly have. “We’ve never been together in the off-season. Weird, right?”

“The whole thing about us is tragic.”

“Tragic?” I shake my head side-to-side. “A
guy
using the word
tragic
? You wound me. Or, you’ve ruined me. One of those. We were
epic
. Trust me on this, Elvis.” I try to laugh but it doesn’t work.

Fun time is over.

He looks at me intently and goes for the charm. “Well now. Now we’re even. You ruined me, too,
Princess
, for anyone else…about seven months ago.” He gets this serious face. “Five years and three months and one day ago.” He holds up his iPad and slides it over. It’s a time line. He points to Valentine’s Day more than five years ago. The caption reads: Valentine’s Day - Met Tally for the first time. Car accident.

“The best and worst day of my life rolled into one.” After another two minutes under his intense scrutiny, I stand up, pick up my plate, and start to clear the table.

“You’ve barely eaten anything.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?" He asks.

“Don’t try and
rule
me, sire. I’ve got this. This is still
my plan
. Back off,” I say irritably. “Food is my issue. I deal with it in my own way. You got that?”

“Somehow I doubt you’re going to call me Elvis right now,” he says slowly. “Or do the deed with number nine slow like you’ve planned and promised.”

“No.”

I stare at him feeling sudden waves of unhappiness wash over me. He takes the plate out of my hand and scrapes the food into the trash. And right then, I decide to bring up the topic we’ve managed to avoid for the last thirteen hours.

“Trinna Danner. I want to know about that night…start to finish. So you think about that, Prez. I’ll be in the living room waiting for the truth from you about that one.” I slice my hand through the air and stalk from the room leaving him staring down into the trash bin. He’s probably looking for the answers in there.

Suffered enough?

I don’t think so.

What am I doing?

What am I doing?

The plan. The plan. The plan will save me.

I start moving through the house stuffing my castoff clothing and things into my carry-on bag.
Make-up. Hair brush. Jeans. Shoes.

Pick it up. Pack it up. Let’s go.

Once that’s done, I grab my iPhone and text Marla as I go.

Text: “Hey, how’s Cara this AM? Avoid the news. I’m okay. Don’t ask.”

Fifteen seconds later.

Marla: “You sure know how to rock a dress AND set it on fire. E-P-I-C.”

Me: “Something like that.”

Marla: “What’s the plan?”

With a grim face, I send Marla the plan.

It only takes twenty seconds for her response. “I assume you’re looking for a pen.”

Me: “Yep.”

Marla: “You okay?”

Me: “Think so. Favor? Book a flight for me from Fresno to San Fran this afternoon. Pick me up at SFO?”

Marla: “Demanding. Sure you’re okay???”

Me: “Never better. I’m free of him.”

Marla: “How is that possible?”

Me: “Nuclear version. Trinna Danner. He forgot one or two. In the bed. You dig?”

Marla: “Ah. Not cool. United. 55 min. Check-in at 1 for 2PM flight.”

Me: “You travel agent & psychic in one. Perfect. Call you when I land. xoxo”

Marla: “Sure you’re okay?”

Me: “I’ve got this. Trust me.”

And just like that, the plan becomes clear again. I call Yellow Cab, grateful they have these in Fresno and ask them to send a driver to pick me up in the next half-hour after checking Linc’s mail for the address.

Me to Sam: “I’m sorry. About everything. I never deserved you & now deserve you even less.”

Sam: “Are you free of him?”

Me: “Almost???”

Sam: “Come home.”

Linc walks in looking troubled. The Trinna Danners of the world can rock it just like that.
Been there. Served in that role once too. I can’t blame her. I don’t hate her. Our motives might have been different, but the results are the same.

Clarity. Fucking clarified. I am.

I don’t even let him start.

I start.

I finish.

“It occurred to me early this morning,” I say slowly.

Breathe. Prepare. Get it out. Get it right.

“Something about what you said before on Cara’s birthday…about Trinna. Two near the bed. Two in the freezer.” I look at him long and hard. “You forgot the one in the bed, didn’t you?” He’s nodding even as his face goes white. “Say something. Explain yourself, Prez.
Try
.”

I sink down slowly to the stairs and then lean back even as the step’s edges cut into my back and look up at him.
Not a superhero in sight right now.

You guess.

You guess right and you inadvertently rock your world when you just meant to rock someone else’s.

“You’re right. I forgot about the bed.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I didn’t check inside the bed because she was there still sleeping. I didn’t check. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

I shake my head side-to-side real slow. “Tell me all of it.
Now.
”

“I was ordering shots. Patron with orange slices. I guess I know who taught me that one. But I didn’t remember you, did I?” He smiles a little but it disappears when he see my impassive face. “I was feeling no pain. I took twice the dosage of Percocet. My head was raging, but it felt like everything was finally coming together in slow motion and I thought I was in control.”

“You
were
,” I say deathly quiet. He jolts back a little as if I’ve just touched him with a Taser.

“At the bar, Amy Ransom the LA Times reporter? She was asking questions about baseball, and Trinna was asking me questions about what I liked. Food. Drink. Clothes. Movies. Sex.” He hangs his head and won’t look at me. “She was fun and I wanted fun. I was pissed off. Camp wasn’t going well. Kimberley was gone. I had no one. I was washing out. I panicked; no, I fucked up,” he says in a toneless voice. “We stopped and bought condoms. She insisted. I told her my brand. Then she took me to her place because I was in no shape to drive. She opened some wine. I remember dancing in her living room with her. I think I even called her Tally a couple of times. But how would I know that? I didn’t remember you.”

I cover my face with my hands because looking up at his contorted face while he’s confessing all of this suddenly becomes too painful to watch.

I hear him sigh big, and I look at him through my fingers. “I didn’t know about you, Tally. Please listen to me about that. I remember stumbling to her room, and then the trouble began. I couldn’t get it up and no matter what she did, it didn’t work. But there were condoms, more than one, and I forgot to check the bed, and it’s possible that she’s pregnant with me from a condom I forgot to grab from the bed because I’m stupid, and I don’t deserve you and—”

“
When. Did. You. Know. This?
” Each word is long and loud and cuts a wide swath through both of us as I say them. Simple sounding words that zing across space and destroys the universe.
Ours.

“A few weeks ago. Kimberley kept asking me. ‘Could you have forgotten anything? Is it possible that it’s yours?’ And that’s when I remembered I didn’t check the bed because she was in it. So that’s why I agreed to the paternity test after the baby’s born in the middle of September.”

“You lied to me essentially. You didn’t tell me all of it before.”

“Yes,” he says as I stand and turn up toward the stairs. “Where are you going?” I hear the panic in his voice and the wheezing begin.

“Just checking around for my stuff. I’ve got a meeting in less an hour. I’ve got to go.”

“Tally. Don’t leave me. I’m begging you. We can work this out.”

Keep going. Up the stairs.
Don’t look at him.
I pass up the guest room.
Head to the master.

We haven’t been in here. We slept in the guest room.
Me in the covers. Him on top. Sam and I used to do this. Sam. Good. Linc. Bad.

I go to the night stand and pull out the first slip of paper I find.
Perfect.
It’s another receipt. A dry cleaners one again.
Classic.
I write: “Thank you, Elvis.” and twist up the receipt and feed it through the loop of his mother’s ring and toss it onto his bed.
He can find it when he cries into his pillow later tonight.

I just make it to the doorway before he comes into the room.

“Tally. Don’t leave me.” Linc looks completely undone.

“We’re a metaphor. A circus act, just like I said before.” I move past him and start down the hallway and then turn and face him. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to go outside and fight the press while they try and get another salacious story about us while we attempt to get to your car—truck, what-the-fuck-ever. I wanted a simple life. I wanted simple. I wanted that. I wanted us. I wanted to trust you and love you and be with you forever. I wanted a little wedding at Half Moon Bay with Pastor Dan and a dozen of our friends and family. I wanted a life with you. But now it’s all gone and we can’t get it back, Linc. No matter what we try. I’ll resent you because you can’t remember. And you’ll resent me because I can’t give you a son.”