Page 59 of Lies He Told Me

When his eyes focus, when he sees me, he grimaces with pain. I put my face close to his. “I know who you are,” I say.

I put my lips against his ear, whispering the name so quietly that only he could hear it. No matter the privacy we’ve been given, nobody else can hear this name.

Then I lean back again, look at him square. “Blink once if I’m right, twice if I’m wrong.”

I already know, but I need his confirmation. I need to see him acknowledge the truth once and for all.

He blinks once.

“It was all a lie,” I whisper.

His eyes water up.

“Was I … was I a lie?”

He blinks twice. A tear rolls down his face into his ear. He even manages to move his head side to side.

“Okay.” I believe him. I do believe that much. He loves me. He loves our kids. He loves our family, what we’ve created. That is the only thing allowing my voice to stay strong and steady, my legs to stay functional, my brain to stay focused and alert, even now.

“The detention center?” I ask. “That’s when you first saw me?”

He blinks once.

I reach into my pocket, remove the ring of safe-deposit keys. “This is where it is?” I whisper.

He blinks once.

I lean down and press my lips against his forehead. “I love you. The kids love you. Don’t leave us. Stay alive, mister, forus.”

He blinks away another tear.

“Mrs. Bowers, we really have to go.”

I put out my hand, a stop sign. But he’s right. My time with David is up.

“Don’t worry about anything else,” I whisper to him. “I’ll take it from here.”

BOOK II

SIXTY

WHEN I WAS IN high school, our health teacher tried to give us an idea of what it’s like to care for a baby. She gave us an egg, and we had to carry it with us for a week without ever letting it crack. Everywhere I went, twenty-four hours a day, I had to make sure nothing happened to that egg. Walking to school, sitting down for a meal, getting ready in the bathroom — always I had to preserve that fragile little oval egg.

That’s what it feels like now — balancing an egg in the palm of my hand — as I navigate land mines, as the earth quakes beneath me, as I shoulder the winds of a hurricane, as people known and unknown hurl objects at me and try to force me into a fail.

Except that now the precious cargo I hold in my hands is the lives of my children. Everything I do from this point forward must be with an eye toward Grace and Lincoln. I have to keep them safe. I have to prepare them for thepossibility of a life without a father and the fact that their lives will never be the same again.

But first, I need to get through this problem, a problem I do not fully understand, one I must navigate without David’s help. I don’t know who wants what. I don’t know whom to trust. I know a few things, and I suspect a few others. I am flying on a wing and a prayer.

All these thoughts run through my mind as I sit inside a bathroom stall in the hospital with the police outside demanding answers to questions — some of which I can’t give them, some of which I won’t.

I will not think about the fact that the man I have called my husband has lied to me repeatedly over the years — lies of omission, outright lies, you name it. I will not think about the fact that my entire adult life has been a hoax, a fraud. I will not panic. I will not engage in self-pity. I will not even entertain anger.

Those will be for later. I have to remain completely focused and on mission. I have to have eyes in the back of my head. I have to stay two steps ahead of the police and the people who want to hurt us.

What am I willing to do for my kids? It’s a question all parents ask themselves — a rhetorical question usually. Would you give your life for your children? Almost every parent would say yes. Would you lie for your children? Almost every parent would say yes.

Would you break the law for your children? Would you kill for your children?

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