Page 57 of Cunning Lies
Is he feeling like himself yet?
“Uncle Jay is all I have left,” I explain. Kenzo’s eyes barely flick to mine, but his posture stiffens; he’s listening.
“All you have?” he asks.
Guilt weighs down on my shoulders. “Not like that,” I say. “You know, like family-family. You’re my husband, but Jay is my—”
I take a sip of soup so that I don’t have to say anything. My cheeks flush; what am I doing? This is a job; Kenzo isn’t my real husband. So why do I feel so guilty for saying what I said?
I focus on the soup; it’s salty and warm, and the tofu melts in my mouth.
Kenzo’s bowl is empty, but he’s still watching me.
The last time I told him about our past, Patrick wound up dead. But for some reason, this impulse to spill everything grows inside of me. Kenzo needs to know why Uncle Jay matters.
“When I was six, burglars broke into our house. Luckily, we weren’t inside when it happened—we were coming home from a candle shopping trip—I can’t remember too much, to be honest.” Everything about those memories is foggy, like my brain doesn’t have the power to process them. “From the driveway, we could see that something was wrong.” My hands sweat, and I’m instantly back in the car, the scent of a million different candles tickling my nose, the leather crunching under my fingers as I waited. “My father went inside to check things out, but when he didn’t come back, my mother went in, telling me to stay in the car.” I swallow a gulp, trying not to let the anxiety creep in. This is just a memory—it’s notreal—but sometimes, it’s hard to see through it. “They never came back out.”
Kenzo’s eyes darken, but his shoulders remain relaxed, and he’s still, listening to me completely, taking every word in. He’s not even flicking his fingers in bored agitation.
“Uncle Jay found me like that. In the back seat. All alone,” I say.
You’re not supposed to be here,he had said, before unbuckling me from my booster seat.
“He took me home that night,” I say. “I was so scared, but Uncle Jay stayed with me. He promised he would always be there for me, that he’d take care of me like his own kid. And you know what?” I laugh, because it’s funny looking back on it all now. “I didn’t believe him. Not for a long time. And why should I? My own parents had died. That’s not something you can control. That’s something thathappens.Why wouldn’t the same thing happen to Uncle Jay?”
Kenzo’s eyes peer into me like he can see to the other side of my soul. But he stays quiet, letting me guide him through my past.
“Patrick didn’t like it when I came into their lives, but Uncle Jay wasalwaysgood to me. So please,” I beg. “Don’t take Uncle Jay away from me too.”
Kenzo blinks, but there’s a softness to his posture, and I wonder if he can relate. If Tomo was always good to him too.
“I promise,” he finally says.
Relief swells through me. I don’t know Kenzo that well, but I know he honors his word, and if he makes a promise, hewillkeep it. He cleans his bowl and stores the rest of the soup. Humming to himself, he disappears into the back of the penthouse, and I let that anxiety go.
Patrick is dead, but at least Uncle Jay is safe. I trust Kenzo to keep his word.
But maybe that’s my mistake.
Kenzo emerges from the bedrooms in a clean white suit. “I’ve got some work to take care of,” he says. “But tonight, we’ve got plans.”
“Plans?”
“I’m taking you to work. Be ready.”
I blink at him. “Okay.”
Once Kenzo’s gone, I dial Uncle Jay, wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. My heart races like a stampede in my chest, but Uncle Jay has to know. It’s his son. I can half-lie to Kenzo, but keeping this from Uncle Jay is impossible.
“Vi? Everything okay, sweetheart?” Uncle Jay asks with sleep in his voice. “Do you know where Patrick is?”
I swallow my guilt, then glance at the clock. It’s past one o’clock in the afternoon now. This isn’t the kind of thing you want to tell someone right when they wake up.
I can change subjects. Switch to Golden Honor Firearms. Make this phone call about work.
But I don’t.
I start, “Patrick is—”
