Page 60 of Count My Lies

Jay goes on. “We agreed to live together through the divorce proceedings, but we’ve been sleeping in separate bedrooms, living two separate lives. The only time we talk is around Harper, or about her. Up until recently—right around the time she met you, now that I think about it—she wouldn’t even look at me. Lately, it’s been better, though; she’s been pleasant, friendlier than she’s been in a long time.”

This is what he thinks Sloane wants to hear, what it will take to convince her to sleep with him. If he could only hear how it sounds,if he was just a little bit smarter, he might put two and two together. But it just wouldn’t be fair if he had looksandbrains, right?

“Do you think she wants to get back together?” Sloane asks. I almost laugh out loud. Even though it’s what I’m pretending to want, I’d rather choke on my tongue.

Jay nods slowly. “Maybe? But it’s over. For me, at least. I think she knows that. I’ve made it clear.”See?he’s trying to say,I’m a stand-up guy. A good guy. Are you wet yet?

Sloane doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, then finally, she asks, “Why did you come on this trip?”

Jay sighs. “For Harper. Violet said she wanted to keep as much normalcy as we could. I said no, but she begged me. She wanted Harper to have one last happy memory of her family together.”

“I can’t believe she didn’t tell me,” Sloane says softly. I have to lean closer to the window to hear. “I wish I’d have known.”

Is she upset that I didn’t tell her the truth about me and Jay? That I lied? I hold back a snort. Come on, Sloane, really?

“You’re a good friend,” Jay says. He reaches out and tucks a strand of Sloane’s hair behind her ear. My stomach turns. I can’t believe this shit used to work on me.

They both fall silent. A minute passes, then two.

Finally, Sloane shifts. “I should go to bed,” she says.

I can see Jay’s head nodding. “Me too.”

Carefully, I sneak back up the stairs. My blood burns hotly in my veins, anger boiling, simmering. Jay’s lies burrow under my skin like a tick, latching and feeding, making me sick. He’d told Sloane a sliver of the truth, a tiny, microscopic piece; the rest was bullshit.

Shortly after I close my door, I hear the door to Sloane’s room shut, too. Briefly, I wonder if Jay followed her upstairs, into her bedroom,but a minute later the doorknob to our bedroom turns. I squeeze my eyes shut. I feel the mattress shift as he climbs into bed next to me.

It’s time. I was going to give it a few more days, but I can’t wait any longer.

Strike while the iron is hot, isn’t that the saying?

26

The next morning, we’re all in the kitchen, bustling around. Sloane came down shortly after I did, giving me a small, hesitant smile. I waited for her to ask me about the divorce, about what Jay told her last night on the porch, but she didn’t.

If she had, I planned on confirming what he said—that we’ve been fighting a lot and have decided to end things—and tell her that I’ve been embarrassed to say anything, that I’m still coming to terms with it myself. It doesn’t really matter if she knows or not at this point; in fact, it might be just what she needed to hear, the permission she would never ask for.

Jay has just come back from his morning run with Anne-Marie, sweaty in workout shorts and an old, faded T-shirt from our alma mater, hair damp. The smell of his sweat is salty, ripe. I’m at the stove scrambling eggs; Sloane’s at the toaster. Harper is already seated at the table, pretending to feed two of her Barbies. She lifts an empty fork to one of their mouths, then the other.

Sloane and Jay are trying to avoid eye contact, but I notice when they accidentally brush against each other, Sloane’s face reddens. Sheturns, busying herself with buttering toast, pretending to concentrate deeply on the task. It’s clear that their conversation last night has changed things between them.

When the eggs are done, I join Harper at the table, dishing some onto a plate for her, then setting the bowl in the middle of the table. “Want some?” I say to Sloane.

“Huh?” she says after a beat, looking at me in surprise.

“I asked if you wanted some eggs.”

“Oh, sure,” she says. She pulls out a chair and sits down across from me. “Thanks.”

Jay finishes at the coffee machine, then grabs a bagel from a brown paper bag and starts toward the stairs. He smooths Harper’s bangs as he passes her. “Have a good day, baby,” he says.

“Oh, before you go…” I say. Jay pauses, turns. “I made dinner reservations for tonight at five thirty. For all four of us.” I look at Harper and Sloane. “At the lobster house. Murph’s. And”—I turn back to Jay—“don’t say you have to work late. You can take one day off early.”

Jay holds up his hands in surrender, the ever-so-gallant knight. “Okay,” he says. “Dinner at five thirty.”

I want people to see them together. With Harper, as a family. It’s not entirely necessary, but it’ll make things more believable, give credibility to my story. Murph’s is the perfect place.

When Jay’s out of the room, I turn to Sloane and Harper, a big smile on my face. “So, what do you say we go shopping? Should we buy you a new dress for tonight, Harp?”

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