Page 181 of The Liar's Reckoning

I swallow hard, tears way too close to the surface. She’s been amazing through everything, but this feels like another ending. Another loss. An anti-climactic one at that.

Jesus, I really need to get my life together. Maybe it’s good this lawsuit came to a swift, bitter end. It’s a sign from the universe to get the fuck on with my life and stop dwelling on a past I can’t change. “You’re the best,” I tell her, all out of love to give away. “Thanks for being a great running partner.”

I walk the thirty-six blocks back to my apartment. I’ve got nothing better to do than move and think. It takes me an hour to get home. When I do, I take a shower, put on something comfortable, and sit at my computer, the news off, while I look at apartments and jobs near Trixie.

I’d stupidly allowed myself to count on the money Avery would give me. Not necessarily two point five million, but even a tenth of that could have gotten me started. I could have started some college courses, pursued a goal, taken a step toward a life I wouldn’t have to hide from anyone.

I realize I can still do that. Student loans exist, but I’ve neverhad debt before, let alone massive amounts of it. Becoming a physical therapist takes years—a graduate degree. I’ve looked at nursing, too, but not only does it not appeal to me as much, it’s just as competitive, though it only takes a bachelor’s.

Eventually, I move away from the computer and onto my couch with a bottle of tequila and the third season of “The Handmaid’s Tale.” I don’t feel like feeling good today.

Lilah texts me, and I respond to let her know all is well. But after that, my phone is silent, the show moves slowly, and I miss my mom.

I’m alone, and I don’t want to be alone anymore.

56

GRAHAM

If Avery thinks I can soothe her guilty conscience, she’s whining to the wrong person.

“It wassoawful. Hisface, Graham. Roger was such a dick. I think I might actually hate him.”

I’m on the train back to Manhattan after two weeks in DC. The Democrats are still playing their games, but two more senators, one from New Mexico, the other from California, have come to the negotiation table. They want to talk about housing grants, and we’ve been trying to thread the needle between limiting spending and giving them some bipartisan buy-in.

Between personality clashes and major ideological differences, the progress is slow, and the headaches are persistent. I’ve been on television every day, trying to resist the urge to say how I really feel and let loose on some interviewer, but my exhaustion is lowering my guard.

I hate this bill and everything it stands for. The Democratsmake sense. I’m half-convinced I’ve acquired a parasite.

More than once a reporter has led me into saying something I don’t want to say, forcing me to do the mental and linguisticgymnastics to walk it back into something my party and father would deem acceptable.

Silas remains front and center in my mind. His life, his struggles, his work, his sexuality. All the freedom I have no interest in taking from him and never did. I can’t even understand why anyone would want to tell a grown man or woman what to do.

My sympathies are shifting, and that’s a slippery slope. I have to force myself to focus on what good the legislation will do—because there’s more than a little there—rather than concern myself with what it fails to address or the potential for exploitation of some of its unstated repercussions.

But that’s getting harder.

“You should give himsomething,” Avery says.

“He doesn’t want anything from me.”

“Maybe this will change his mind. It’s like you said, it’s not like he doesn’t deserve it.”

“When did you suddenly start to care about him?” I ask.

“I’ve always liked him,” she says like I’ve offended her. “I don’t think I’ve ever fully explained to you what it was like with Marianne.”

“I never asked because I don’t want to know.”

“Well, she’s basically a sociopath. I mean—she had her weaknesses, but she’s like mastered the art of mind control.”

“Still don’t want to hear about it,” I say.

She sighs. “Are you planning to see him while you’re in town?”

I shake my head, recoiling at the thought. “Why?”

“It’d make me feel better to know he’s okay. I left the mediation with a bad feeling.”

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