Page 168 of The Liar's Reckoning

She’s much less fixed up than I normally see her when she’s out and about. This is more like the version I saw in the mornings while we were in the Hamptons. Wide-legged sweatpantsand a tight, cropped tank. Her brown hair is in a frizzy ponytail.

She looks younger like this. “I was thinking and researching all the way down here,” she tells me when she joins me in the kitchen to mix her own drink. “I have an idea, but you’re going to hate it.”

“I hate everything,” I tell her. “What’s your idea?”

“Check in with me first. How are you doing?”

Honestly? I’m depressed. Thinking about my mom didn’t help with that, but Lilah doesn’t know anything about her. My life is stuffed into so many different compartments, it’s sometimes hard to remember who knows what about me. But unlike Graham, I don’t lie. And if I get drunk enough tonight, Lilah may end up being one of the few people who knows everything there is to know.

“I’m not happy. I did some research, too. A certain someone seemed to keep coming up.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I’m glad you know about that. I didn’t want to have to show you.”

“You know—and I’m not defending him—I swear, I’m not—but the way he talks about it makes it seem perfectly reasonable. Who wouldn’t want to protect kids, right?”

“From being kidnapped at CVS? Listen—that’s just not how human trafficking works. I’m not saying shit like that never happens, but real victims are runaways. Kids in the system who have no way out. And they’re disproportionately queer. Did you knowthat?”

I shake my head but lean back on the counter to listen and learn.

She goes on. “This myth about child abductors is to keep suburban moms scared so they vote for harsher laws and death to the cartels or whatever. But they’re not fixing the problem. The problem is the lack of services for homeless kids—kids who got kicked out for being gay or got addicted to drugs. Or left a shittysituation where their parents were addicts. But I didn’t see anything in the press about this stupid bill that talks aboutthat.”

“That’s not really the part of it that lost me a job today,” I say.

“Right. Bring the bottle. Let’s go sit.”

We take the liquor over to the couch. I sit with my legs propped on the small coffee table, and she faces me, her own legs cross-crossed. “It’s interesting—isn’t it? That the people trying to make a living are royally screwed, but the guys who pay them basically get off scot-free.”

“Sounds about par for the course. No one ever told me life was fair, did they? I hope they didn’t.”

She gives me a wry grin. “You’ve met my brother, haven’t you?”

I nod in acknowledgement.

“My point is, it’s a slippery slope. The thing about all this shit that happens in Washington is you have to ask three things—who does it hurt, and who benefits? Spoiler alert—the answer isn’t suburban moms.”

“What’s the third thing?”

“What it sets the stage for down the line,” she says, and I admit, she’s losing me. Politics gives me a headache. Talk about depressing.

“I can’t get into the weeds of all that right now,” I tell her.

She sighs heavily. “People like you—you’re the reason we’re all gonna be wearing red cloaks in five years saying shit like blessed be the fruit.”

I give her a look of complete confusion.

“The Handmaid’s Tale,”she says.“Watch it.”

“I’ll put it on the list.”

“So how screwed are you? Financially?”

“My aunt lives in a fancy retirement community in Florida.”

“Uh-huh.” She nods because she knows that already.

“I pay for it.”

“Oh.”

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