Page 34 of Lies He Told Me

“The ginger tea helps. Haven’t vomited in five hours.” Camille peers again through the telescope. The house looks relatively still, quiet.

“What’s the latest?” Zoe asks. “Let me guess. He’s still not going to leave his wife.”

“I hate it when you say it like that. They’re married on paper only. They don’t even sleep in the same bedroom.”

“Says him,” Zoe replies. “How do you know he’s telling you the truth? Oh, that’s right — you don’t!”

“You’re making me feel like a home-wrecker, Z. He doesn’t love her, and she doesn’t love him. He just doesn’t want to rock the boat. He’s —”

“Waiting for the right time, I know, I know.”

God, Camille thinks, is she becoming that predictable? Is she just rationalizing? But everything she’s telling Zoe is true. He doesn’t love his wife. She doesn’t love him. Zoe doesn’t believe that, but Zoe doesn’t know him.

“Well, so have you told him?” Zoe asks.

“Have I told him … what? That I’m pregnant?”

“Uh, yeah, Camille. Have you told him you’re pregnant? Kind of an important piece of information, don’t ya think? It might make a difference.”

She breathes out. “I told him, yes.”

“And?”

“He’s going to tell his wife. He’s going to leave her. We’re going to get married and raise our child together.”

Camille looks back through the telescope, tensing as she sees David and Marcie leaving out the front door.

“Gotta go, Z. Talk soon.” She punches out the phone.

She focuses in on them. Marcie, not looking happy, walking in front of David as they move down the porch. David, with his coat collar up, cap on his head, looks even less happy — worried, even.

The expressions on their faces, the body language — distant, unaffectionate.

“Did she confront you, David?” Camille whispers. “Is this the moment of truth?”

THIRTY-ONE

JUST BLURT IT OUT,I tell myself as the cold air stings me on the front porch of our house.Just say it. Then it will be over. Then whatever happens happens. No matter how horrible.

“Marcie, let’s at least stay close to home,” David says to me as we head down our front walk to the street. “With all the weird stuff happening lately.”

I reach the street and turn around. “We can stop right here if you want.”

“Uh — okay, sure. What’s — what’s going on?”

I swallow over the lump in my throat, try to even out my breathing. He’s looking at me intently but, it seems, also with apprehension.

“Today, I went to see you at the pub. For lunch. You said you were too busy. But the pub wasn’t busy, and, more important, you weren’t there.”

“You …” His eyes narrow. “When you texted me today, you were already at the pub? You were, what, testing me or something?”

“No,” I say, my voice trembling, “you are not going to turn this around on me. Yes, I was testing you. I was seeing if you’d lie to me. And guess what? You did. Why?”

“Why did you test me?”

My mouth drops open. “You’re really going to play that game? Misdirect, distract, avoid the question? Okay, David, y’know what?”

I catch myself raising my voice. Nobody else is dumb enough to be out here in the cold right now, but voices carry. No matter the rage and hurt I’m feeling, I will not make a spectacle out here. I will not do that to our children.

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