Page 43 of Spiteful Lies

“Why not?” he asks.

Chapter 29

Astrid

Though there’s another day left of parents’ weekend, a lot of students and tired parents opt out, including Charlotte and me. We watch from Charlotte’s bedroom window as Roni runs up the path to greet Terri with two older people, no doubt his parents, and the older man looks identical to Terri, with wireframe glasses and lanky legs like his son. His wife looks normal and nice, and what do I mean by that? She looks sane.

“It’s not a nice thought,” I smirk as Roni hugs the dad, “But I wonder if they’re alike in every way.”

Charlotte giggles. “I have a suspicion that it will never be a big part of their lives. If you know what I mean.” Charlotte pulls the chair away from her desk and sits down, grabbing a pad of paper. “I spoke to a lawyer anonymously, and it seems Justin is right. I can repeat in court what you’ve said to me, confirming your statement.”

“Are you sure you want to do this, Charlotte?”

She nods. “Ted Leister may not be our father, but someone’s father needs to be held accountable for his shitty actions.”

I glance over from the purple couch and sigh. The pit in my stomach feels bottomless, and my breathing picks up as I lie down. How am I going to get through this? I’m used to kicking and punching, not using my words to fight. I look up to see a concerned expression etched on Charlotte’s pretty face.

“I can’t do this,” I gasp for air as I sit up, “I don’t even want to think about it.”

Charlotte sits beside me and hugs me. I cling to her with both hands as if I could fall in and drown in my darkest thoughts. “Lie down and close your eyes,” she says, “I’ll shut the light and you just talk.”

“I can’t.” I look at the door. “You know when it’s this quiet, someone is listening.”

Charlotte snaps her fingers. “I have an excellent idea.” It only takes a few minutes for her to book an Uber to Howland’s house. “The place is empty, and no one will be there to listen.” Mrs. Donahue sends back a text, telling Charlotte where to find the spare key. “She only stops by the house twice a day to make sure it hasn’t been robbed or burned down. I doubt my old key will turn the lock.”

I scowl. “He never gave me one after he offered to.”

“I’m sorry he’s sick,” she says, “but if this is karma, he’s screwed.”

The front door key is hidden in the back garden in a flower pot. I roll my eyes, thinking I could’ve found that in five minutes. Walking into the empty house feels strange; we’re alone, but it feels like someone is about to come down the stairs. Mrs. Donahue has covered the furniture in white dust cloths, and the air is stuffy even though the heat is turned down. Charlotte turns on a few lights, and the place looks brighter but feels no warmer.

“It’s just like him,” I whisper, “Attractive but unwelcoming. Do you think he’ll die?”

Charlotte shrugs. “I think the hospital is afraid to let him die, lest he fire the entire hospital staff when he does. Let’s not talk about him. We’ll use my old room if I still have a bed.”

We walk single file up the wraparound staircase, and my hand glides against the smooth oak rail. I clutch it hard to keep my knees from shaking.

“Do you think you’ll live here, Astrid?” she asks plaintively as we both look around at the walls empty of family photos that once hung on the walls. The outlines are permanently etched in dust.

“I can’t picture it,” I reply. “What about you?”

“Never again. It’s hard to think of it as a home anymore,” Charlotte stops at the top step. ”When he dies, I’m going to get a dumpster and throw all this crap into it. With your permission, of course.”

“I’ll help you,” I whisper, looking down the hallway toward his room. The door is open, and the medical equipment surrounds it as if waiting for his return. I wonder how long Howland knew about his cancer and how long it took him to track me down. I sigh deeply and follow Charlotte in the other direction.

Her room is almost empty except for an antique bed, which has only a plain sheet on it. It’s startling to see how bare her room is compared to her dorm room. Charlotte stands in the middle of the floor and stares up at the crystal light fixture. “I left a few things behind. Everything else is gone. I guess he couldn’t get the bed down the stairs. My mother bought it for me in Paris.”

“It’s beautiful.” I stare at the four-poster bed with a white canopy draped down one side. The carved fruit looks ripe enough to bite as the four posts surround a queen-sized mattress. “It’s like a mini-fortress made of wooden fruit.”

“Lie down and make yourself comfortable.” Charlotte disappears, then reappears with a weighted blanket and lays it over me. She frowns at the overhead light, then uses the dimmer to lessen the glare. She disappears again, then drags a chair in behind her and places it by the bed. Charlotte takes her notepad out of her bag, and with her hand poised, she waits for me to begin. I close my eyes, and I have to keep them tightly shut. If I look at Charlotte, I know I won’t be able to do this. I can’t see her expressions, or I’ll lose my nerve.

“This should help.” Ambient sounds fill the room with a soothing beat. “I took a psych class for pre-college credit. Start when you’re ready.”

The sooner I start, the sooner I can get past it. “I went to the Pit…” I describe waiting in line with the other girls and being taunted by the blonde. I continue telling Charlotte everything about how we were taken into a room with a bar. “Blondie handed me a beer in a cup. They wanted me to drink it, and I did, to keep my fear away. It didn’t taste right, but I thought it was cheap. I didn’t suspect anything.

“I felt off as I walked to the ring, like my feet were dragging in knee-deep water. I still didn’t suspect anything was wrong. I had trouble standing, and the room was too bright. It hurt my eyes; that’s when I started to wonder if something was wrong. I was in the ring with Blondie, and she barely touched me. But it was enough to send me toppling down to the ground.”

I stop speaking as the ambient sounds fill my head. In my mind’s eye, I see the old foreman’s office again, where the rich kids used to hang out to watch us fight. But in my mind, they’re not there anymore.

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