Page 42 of An Honest Lie

She replayed the voice mail he’d left earlier. When she put her phone away, the longing for her mother hit her so deeply she hugged her arms around herself and held her eyes closed against the threatening sting of tears. Rainy made a split-second decision. She was here, so why not? Warming to the idea even as she threw a dress over her bathing suit, pushing away thoughts ofhimand focusing solely on her mother. The way things currently felt in the group, she wouldn’t be missed, and she’d be back before dinner, their last dinner before their flights home in the morning. Her seat on the plane was next to Braithe. She could talk to her then. Sort things out. She grabbed her bag and headed out the door.

It was no less crowded on the street outside their hotel. People swarmed around each other in a frenzied, colorful tempest. Everything smelled of gasoline and food, and Rainy’s dinner rolled in her stomach like it didn’t want to be there anymore.

Shedidn’t want to be here anymore. But where was here? Vegas? With these strangers? In her new, partnered-up life that was built on a lie? She sat down on a wall, a short distance away from the crowds, and called an Uber, then she tried Grant again. If he answered, she’d tell him everything, because in the moment she couldn’t bear the weight. When it just rang, she thought about calling Stephen’s phone to see if he was with Grant, but then he might ask her about Braithe, and Rainy didn’t want to have to lie to Grant’s best friend. She sent him a text, knowing he’d see it later and respond.

Miss you. We really need to talk.

She hit Send and was about to put her phone away when she saw the dots appear on her screen: Grant was texting her back. The relief was a solid thing, like a chunk of concrete. It was moments like these when she realized how deep she’d fallen down the relationship hole. She waited for his words to appear, wondering why he didn’t just call, but as suddenly as they appeared they disappeared. Her phone notified her that Riva had arrived in a Jeep.

“The address you put in, it’s not showing up on my map—it’s just a dot in the desert.” The driver pivoted her body sideways toward Rainy, trying to see her where she sat wedged behind the driver’s seat.

“It’s the right place,” Rainy said. “Do you have an issue driving me that far out?”

“Nope, just wanted to make sure you know you’re asking to go somewhere I ain’t never been.”

Rainy turned toward the window then so she could look out as Riva pulled into traffic. The radio was playing a Johnny Cash song that made her think of Taured. No, it wasn’t just the song that made her think of him; it was all the dust, too, coating everything in film. She could feel it on her tongue, on her skin, and then suddenly she was somewhere else.

Friendship was a greasy spoon of a town meant to provide highway comforts to drivers before the desert swallowed them up. There was a post office, a diner called Nirvana that doubled as a bar in the evenings, a pharmacy named after its owner, Red, and a highway motel called Charlie’s Inn.

Rainy’s jaw ached from grinding her teeth for most of the drive, and now that the Jeep was almost there, she was unsure if she’d be able to get out of the car when it stopped. This was the place where her childhood had shriveled up and died. Her chest was tight as they idled at a stop sign; she wished she’d brought a bottle of water with her. She’d buy one at Red’s Pharmacy, if it was still there.

“Nice place,” Riva snorted, turning onto Main Street. “Would you like me to leave you at the pharmacy, the dollar store or what looks like a bar over there...”

The bar was new. The building was modern, and it looked funny standing amid all the old buildings that had been there since before Rainy’s time.

“Drop me at Red’s,” Rainy said. The Jeep made a sudden stop and her forehead bumped against the window. She poured out of the back seat and onto the sidewalk, already missing the air-conditioning.

“And how are you going to get back?” Riva looked over her sunglasses at Rainy, who had gotten out of the car and was standing by the driver’s-side window. She had one arm propped on the window, and as she waited for Rainy’s answer, she wiped her face with a yellow bandanna and then tossed it on the passenger seat.

“I don’t know yet,” she said. She looked over at the dollar store and wondered if Slav was still around; he owned the only taxi in a fifty-mile radius. She turned toward Riva. “I’ll figure it out.”

Riva rolled up her window and Rainy watched as the Jeep disappeared in a cloud of dust.

She couldn’t get close to the compound; they had it watched around the clock. But Rainy didn’t want anything to do with the compound; she didn’t want to see the pale cream walls or smell the fry oil that permeated the air. Everything in this shithole town was owned in some way by Taured. He supported them and they supported him. If she wanted to know things, she’d have to find someone willing to talk.

Main Street was deserted, but there were a few cars parked outside the diner. The one-story yellow brick building—the old diner had a new name: the Canary. She wondered if they named it that so they wouldn’t have to bother painting the outside.

Rainy spat on the ground outside Red’s doors. The back of her neck stung as the sun’s rays hit her skin. It was the hottest part of the day, and no one was outside. If she went into the Canary, chances were, it would get back to Taured. Though probably her very presence in Friendship would get back to him, anyway. She touched the ends of her hair, glancing at the newly built bar. He probably owned that, too. She could walk into either building and run into Sammy, or Frank, or any one of Taured’s goons. Looking between the two, she decided on the Canary; chances were the same, and she was hungry.

The Canary, she noticed, still had the same giant bubble gum machine that had been there when she was a kid. It looked to be pretty empty, the shells from the candy coating dusting the bottom. The breakfast counter looked the same, too: a trucker in a red flannel slouched over his plate, an old man with a shiny egg for a head reading a novel and drinking coffee. A young couple sat in a booth across from the breakfast bar wearing matching Las Vegas hats: tourists on a road trip. Rainy sat at the breakfast bar a few seats down from the old man. A young server came over, a guy maybe in his twenties but not quite; he still had a smattering of acne across his chin. His name tag said Derek.

Rainy ordered a coffee and a large stack of pancakes from Derek and settled back to study the place. It had undergone a little face-lift: the paint and posters were different, but other than that it looked to be the same old place. She sipped the coffee Derek brought her and looked at the old guy. He wasn’t wearing glasses as he read his novel; she was impressed. He was pushing seventy at least. He’d talk to her, she knew it; that’s what old-timers did.

“That stuff will kill you,” he said, putting his book down and picking up his mug. He was referring to the fake sugar she was pouring into her coffee.

“Gotta die some way.” She shrugged. He seemed to like that, and he spun his chair an inch or two toward her.

“I always said cigarettes would kill me and here I am eighty-two years later.” He patted his shirt pocket where a pack of Marlboros stuck out. “I’m Marvin.”

A memory slammed into her, dragging her beneath the belly of a truck: she could almost feel the heat of the asphalt on her back. She looked away, but Marvin’s sharp eyes caught what she was trying to hide. Her brain was galloping loops.ThatMarvin? How could she ever forget that name or that conversation?

“You smoke?”

“Not anymore.” She hadn’t smoked since her New York days, but the feel of this place was making her crave it.

“Good, why don’t you come outside and keep an old man company.”

Rainy smiled. “Sure thing.”

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