Page 9 of The Lies of Bryn van Doren

“The resorts in the Bahamas? You’re going to—you’re going to buy a chain of resorts that’s going bankrupt? At Christmas? Lohnny, with what money? We’re doing fine, but you just quit your job, and we don’t have—”

“I’ve got a meeting with the bank tomorrow. And my financial advisor, he thinks I can do it. If I liquidate all my investments—”

“Oh, my god. Lohnny, you’re scaring me,” Hollie breathes as she rests her forehead against Khalohn’s chest.

“Hollie—baby,” he mumbles, tilting his head until his lips are pressed into her silky, blonde hair. He smooths his hands along the strands and then holds the back of her neck. “I’m doing this for us. You hear me? I’m not in this alone, and I know it. If I thought the risks far outweighed the reward, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You have to trust me. Do you trust me, baby?”

A soft sound erupts from the back of her throat as she presses her head against him harder. She then lifts her head, in search of his eyes. The expression on her face speaks of her apprehension; but as she circles her arms around his middle, he knows she’s with him.

“I’m scared,” she admits on a whisper.

“I will not fail. Regardless of the outcome, I will not failyou.”

Hollie leans into him even as she reaches up with one of her hands to cup his smooth cheek. “I know. It’s why I married you.” Holding him tight, she declares, “I love you.”

“I love you back.”

A beat of silence passes between them, and then she traces one of her fingers across his lips as he watches hers turn into a small smile. “This better not be my anniversary present.”

Laughing, Khalohn presses his lips to hers and mumbles, “You know I can do better than this. It’s why you married me.”

Jessica shakes herhead, the end of her ponytail brushing across the back of her shoulders as she tries not to mumble to herself in irritation like a crazy person. In spite of her perfectly timed ride on the R train—traveling to and from the pharmacy—her errand has left her running late. She’s convinced, had she not been forced to explain herself three times to Dr. Freeman, beseeching him to alert the pharmacy Beth needed her prescriptions refilled two and a half weeks early, she’d be on time. As it stands, she’ll be at least twenty minutes late. She’s already fighting the urge to roll her eyes at Griffin’s reprimands.

With Beth out of work and the month dwindling to a close, the Chapman women have been doing their best to make ends meet whilst trying to plan ahead. Knowing Beth can’t go without her bronchodilators and her steroids, their best plan of action has been to acquire the necessary medications in preparation for the upcoming month. August will bring with it a new set of challenges. While they are hopeful the application process to get Beth on Medicaid won’t cause too much trouble, they’re unsure how much help the program will be in their situation. Even more, Beth’s meds aren’t their only worry. As much as Jessica doesn’t like to think about it, a month’s worth of back-up meds is merely a drop in the bucket, but it’s the best they can do for now.

She travels at a clip somewhere between a walk and a jog as she hurries down Bay Ridge Avenue, heading for home. Her skin grows slick as her pores open in an attempt to cool her down. It’s no use, with the sun still high in the sky and evening doing little to chase away the summer heat. Even though changing into a fresh top will likely do little to help, she’s already mentally sorting through her stack of clean shirts, in hopes of finding one to change into quickly before leaving for work.

When she reaches 7thAvenue, she holds her purse to her side and jogs around the corner. Light on her feet, she races up the steps to their apartment building. After successfully punching in the code to grant her entrance through the front door, she bypasses the elevator and quickly climbs her way to the third floor.

“Mom?” she calls out the second she crosses the threshold into their humble abode.

It’s a one-bedroom, one-bathroom unit located on the edge of Bay Ridge, nestled in the southwest corner of the borough of Brooklyn. Beth moved into the quaint living space six months after Jessica settled into a place of her own with Stefano. When Jessica packed her bags two and a half years later, intent on making her home with her mother, the thought of a bigger unit hardly crossed their minds. With medical bills to worry about, they’ve simply managed to make it work—like always.

The sofa, situated in the middle of the living room, doubles as Jessica’s bed. Sleeping on a pull-out mattress isn’t ideal, but she never complains. Neither does she neglect to stow away the bed each morning, giving them the semblance of more space—which is nothing shy of a difficult feat. The gray walls are covered in framed photographs, documenting Jessica’s life in the most endearingly cluttered way possible; and every corner is filled with the stacks of books Beth has been collecting for years. To Jessica, they are a constant reminder of the life she wishes she could give her mother—a life filled with rest and days upon days of nothing more than murder mysteries, suspense thrillers, and wine.

Before Beth can respond with her words, Jessica hears her cough as it sounds from the kitchen. Making her way in that direction, she drops her purse beside the sofa, digging out the paper bag full of meds along her short journey.

“In here, baby,” Beth manages as Jessica approaches the arched entryway.

For reasons neither of them has ever been able to justify, the walls in this particular room are painted a soft pink, which causes the white-washed cabinetry to catch one’s eye. The old, white-oak table that’s been around for more than fifteen years is pushed up against the wall across from the sink and the stove—making it nearly impossible to open the refrigerator door all the way, so long as someone is seated on the left side. As awkward as the piece of furniture might be in such a cramped space, Beth has always insisted upon it. Her argument has consistently been thatdinnercan hardly be considereddinnerwithout adinner table. Currently, she occupies the chair on the right, her attention glued to the outdated laptop they’ve had since Jessica was in high school.

Without even having to ask, Jessica is sure her mother is busy looking for a job. She’s been at it for two whole days now, and she’s wearing her discouragement like an ugly sweater draped around her slightly rounded frame, the garment one she’s trying to convince the whole world is comfortable. Staring at the forty-three-year-old woman, who looks closer to fifty than either of them would like to admit, Jessica’s heart feels heavy. She wants to tell Beth to take the night off and relax, but she knows the plea would be useless. Jessica is also conscious of the fact that there’s no way her job a Moby’s Dive will sustain them for very long. They need whatever income Beth can supply.

Shaking her head at herself, Jessica pulls in a breath and gives herself a mental kick in the rear. The last thing she needs is Griffin threatening her job, too, which means she can’t slow down—not for another second.

“Got your meds,” she announces, holding up the paper sack. “I’ll put them in your nightstand, okay? I’ve got to run. Do you need anything?”

Beth looks away from the computer and combs her fingers through her thin, chestnut, brown hair, streaked with gray. Offering her daughter a small smile, she mutters, “Thanks, baby—I’m good. Get out of here. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Jessica forces a small smile of her own before she turns and hurries for the bedroom. She doesn’t take in the details of her mother’s room, having long since memorized them. She does take note of the book resting on top of the nightstand.The Crooked Staircaseby Dean Koontz is open, face down, the binding showing signs of Beth’s multiple trips through the pages. While she’s appreciative the man wrote a book capable of capturing her mother’s attention over and over again, and though she’s grateful there’s something familiar and consistent Beth has found to occupy her mind enough to find rest at night—Jessica wishes Beth didn’t need to seek out the tried and true in an attempt to escape the unexpected and daunting reality that arrived before either of them were ready.

After closing the small drawer of the nightstand, she returns to the living room, where she digs through the laundry basket full of clean clothes. When she finds her loose-fitting, black tank top, with a faded and distressed rendition of the American flag printed down the length of the front, she doesn’t waste any time switching it out with the t-shirt on her back. The cut of the neckline dips low, exposing the small, top swell of her breasts, and she decides it’s a sexy as she’s capable of for the evening. Tucking the front into her short, holey jean skirt, she then reaches for her purse and starts for the door.

Jessica craves a night at home, but she doesn’t let her mind so much as entertain the longing.

“Bye, mom. Love you,” she calls out as she takes her leave.

“Love you, too. Have a good night at work,” Beth replies before Jessica closes the door.

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