Page 53 of Count My Lies

When we get back to the house, sun-flushed and salt-caked, Jay is on the back patio off the kitchen, standing over a smoking grill. “Who wants a hot dog?” he calls when he sees us. “Harper?”

“Yes!” Harper yells. “Ketchup only, though. I don’t like it with mustard,” she tells Sloane, who nods intently, like she’s just received incredibly important information. I feel a surge of affection, both for Harper and for Sloane. Then, a flash of anger at Jay. He never remembersthat Harper hates mustard, always offers it to her no matter how many times she reminds him.

We eat at the little table in the kitchen nook, still in our bathing suits, towels wrapped around our waists. Jay has a beer while the rest of us drink cold lemonade from plastic wineglasses.

Sloane barely takes her eyes off Jay. She laughs loudly whenever he speaks, hangs on to every word. He seems to enjoy the attention—of course he does; he always has—glancing at me every so often to see my reaction. I pretend not to notice, laughing along, keeping a happy smile stretched across my face.

At seven, our hot dogs eaten—I had three—and our glasses empty, I look to Harper. “Okay,” I say. “Time for a bath, little bean. Jay, you ready?”

Harper juts out her lip. “I want you to give me a bath, not Dad!”Good girl, Harp.I’d told her earlier that I had a plan to make her bath extra fun tonight.

I give Jay a helpless look, like,Well, what do you want to do here?He holds up his hands in surrender. “I’ll do the dishes; that’s fine with me.”

“I’ll help,” Sloane says quickly. She glances toward Jay, then looks away. Silently, I congratulate myself. Hook, line, sinker. Nothing but net.

“Great!” I say. “Thanks.” The more alone time they have together, the better. “Come on, then, let’s go.” Then, to Jay and Sloane, “I’m probably going to head to bed after I’ve tucked Harper in. I’m still beat from today. See you in the morning?”

They both nod.

While I’m in the upstairs bathroom with Harper, Harper splashing in the tub, I hear the clink of dishes being washed, the refrigerator opening and closing. If I had to guess, Jay is scrubbing the plates while Sloane dries, tidies up the kitchen. There’s the rise and fallof their voices, laughter, a happy yelp every so often. He’s probably flicking soap bubbles at her as she leaps away, swatting at him with a dish towel, grinning. They’re both high from their afternoon together, light-headed. I imagine the electricity when he passes something to her, their hands brushing. With Jay, there’s always electricity, the snap and crackle of heat, the promise of something more.

I’m reading to Harper in bed when the door slowly creaks open, Jay’s head appearing. “Night, Harp,” he says softly when he sees she’s still awake.

He crosses the room and gives her a kiss on the top of the head. She reaches up and wraps her little arms around his neck. “Night, Dad,” she says. “I love you.” I feel a pang. She’ll miss him when he’s gone. But I’ll make it up to her. I’ll love her enough for the both of us.

When he leaves the room, I hear his footsteps descending on the stairs. I haven’t heard Sloane come up yet. Maybe they’ll end up on the couch together, watching a movie, sharing a blanket; I wonder whose pants would unzip first. But when I step back out into the hallway, closing Harper’s door behind me, Sloane is coming up the stairs.

She smiles at me. “Is she asleep?” she whispers, motioning to Harper’s room.

“Out like a light.” I nod. “And no need to keep it down. Once she’s out for the night, she’s out. She’ll sleep through anything.”

Anything. Even yelling, the sound of glass breaking, sirens. How she slept through that night, about a year ago now, I’ll never know. But I’m so grateful I could bend down, kiss the ground.

“Well, I’ll see you in the morning,” Sloane says. “I’m exhausted.” She gives a little wave when she enters her room, then closes the door behind her.

Thirty minutes later, Jay comes into our bedroom. I slow my breathing,pretend I’m asleep. He undresses and climbs into bed next to me, the mattress sinking under his weight.

“Violet,” he whispers into the darkness. “Violet?” He moves against me, and I feel him press into my back, body warm, wanting. I stay still. He presses harder, breath in my ear, in my hair, then, when I don’t respond, he gives up, rolling over.

Even if I’d wanted to, which I don’t—I’d rather fuck a cactus—I’d have turned him down. The sting of rejection has always been too much for Jay to bear; he’ll need something to soothe it. Someone, rather.

Lucky for him, he won’t have to look far.

24

The next morning, I wake to sunlight streaming through the window, the whole room awash in it, so bright I have to cover my eyes, blinking to adjust. Jay is still asleep, his mouth slightly open.

Slowly, as not to wake him, I grab my phone from the nightstand, squint at the time. It’s just before seven. I ease out of bed, grab a few things from my suitcase—a thick-strapped striped swimsuit, faded tank, cutoff shorts, baseball cap—and dress quietly in the bathroom. I don’t wash my face, don’t apply any makeup.

As I leave the bathroom, I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. It surprises me how I feel, seeing myself like this, undone and bare-faced. It’s like a deep sigh of relief, like I’ve finally exhaled after holding my breath for too long, my whole body unclenching. I feel, now—again—like the girl I used to be on the island. It’s not because of what I’m wearing, the too-big shirt and comfortable swimsuit, but because for the first time in I can’t remember how long, I’m not dressing for someone else. I don’t care what anyone thinks when they look at me. I’ve stepped out of Jay’s box. I’m free.

It’s how I thought I would feel in college, finally on my own, myparents’ expectations and private school uniforms left crumpled in my closet. But before I found myself, I found Jay. I thought he was the antidote to the straitlaced dear daughter I was expected to be at home, the liberation I was chasing, an authentic love-me-for-me kind of love. I was wrong. Instead of becoming the person I wanted to be, I became whohewanted me to be. The girl from the island was buried again, just like she had been in my parents’ house. But now, she’s resurfaced, she’s here. I smile at myself.Welcome back, Violet. It’s good to see you.

Downstairs, I pack a beach bag: a stack of towels and a blanket, waters and a few cans of soda, snacks, sunscreen. I find a couple of beach chairs and an umbrella in the garage that I set on the porch.

Just before eight, I hear Harper’s door open. I pop two pieces of toast in the toaster, then meet her coming down the stairs. She’s still blinking sleep from her eyes, yawning.

“Hi, lovey,” I say softly. “Everyone’s still sleeping. Let’s get your swimsuit on and we’ll go to the beach!”

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