The Beauty of Lies Read online

  Leo frowns at me and I get the feeling he’s not a morning person. He really should work on his happiness factor.

  “Hi Harper,” he says.

  His gaze travels down the length of my body and my nipples tighten. I’m wearing cotton pajamas, since I thought I’d spend the morning reading Glorious Dead in bed. My clothing is perfectly acceptable for messenger type duty. Except for the lack of a bra and the obvious headlights I’m sporting, I’m more covered than most of the girls he’d pass on the street.

  “Hey. Josie called.”

  “What’s wrong?” Alarm spreads across his face so fast I barely have time to stop it.

  “Nothing. Whoa. Sorry. It’s just she couldn’t get you to answer your phone.”

  He exhales, and if anything, his expression grows darker. “I’ve told her to leave a message. I don’t pick up when I’m writing.”

  My gaze narrows to an assessing squint. I recognize this unfriendly man as the Mr. Expose who is too rude and stubborn to look for my postcard.

  “Don’t shoot the messenger. I’m supposed to tell you that she can’t take your grandma to some club thing…” I trail off, trying to remember exactly what Josie’s message was.

  Leo raises both eyebrows. “My grandmother is dead.”

  “No. I meant to say…” I’m flustered that I appear to be so inept. “Grandma Lulu.”

  He opens the door wide. “Were you even awake when she called you?” He again glances at what I’m wearing.

  “Yes, I was. For your information, I was reading your book and then she called. But you’re so grumpy it made me forget what she said exactly.”

  “What book?” He grabs his phone from the end table. “Glorious Dead?”

  “Yeah.”

  He studies his cell phone. “She’s blowing up my phone. Ten missed calls. I hope she doesn’t call you like that.”

  “No. It’s the first time she’s called me. But I’m so glad I have her number now.” I try to tamp down the wistful tone to my voice, but it’s out there and too late.

  He punches the screen and holds the phone to his ear, listening to a voice mail. When he’s finished, he sits on his bar stool. “You could’ve asked me for her number.”

  “You seem busy. I don’t want to interrupt your creativity flow or whatever you do in here.”

  He chuckles. “The thing I said about Josie calling and messages? Well, she calls me a lot. Every day. I can’t spend all my time on the phone with her.”

  “Must be nice.” I sit on the arm of the sofa. “I mean, to have real family that you can share your life with.”

  Leo stares at me and then out the window. “It’s good. When our parents died a few years back, we realized we can’t take family for granted.”

  I nod. “What happened to your folks?”

  “Plane crash. My dad was a pilot. He ran charter flights. They were on a trip to pick up some organ transplants and the engine failed.”

  A hollow feeling bottoms out deep in my stomach. I picture an aircraft encased in flames and the mental image takes my mind to the car wreck. To Wesley. I grip the side of the edge of the sofa, digging my nails into the leather arm. “That’s terrible.”

  Leo’s gaze flicks down to my hands and his eyebrows dip in concern. I inhale and relax my body.

  “We don’t have to talk about this,” he says.

  “I’m OK. But if it bothers you…”

  “It was years ago.” He stares at me silently for several seconds before turning his back to me to glance out the window. “Man, it’s nice out there today. Not too muggy.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Josie’s message says I have to take Grandma Lulu to quilting. I guess I need some fresh air. I’ve been working on a deadline and haven’t been out enough lately.”

  “Where does Grandma Lulu live?”

  “Nursing home. It’s about 25 miles from here and her quilting club meets at a senior citizens’ center down the road. I have to wait a couple of hours in the area while she’s there.”

  “I wish I could get out of here today. Could I tag along?”

  He turns around slowly. “To take Grandma Lulu? Are you serious?”

  “Oh. That was kind of pushy. Sorry.” I get to my feet.

  “It’s not very exciting.” One corner of his mouth quirks.

  “I’ll be in my pajamas all day if you don’t take me. How’s that for a party?”

  He grins. “The quilters are gonna love you.”

  I hop from my perch on his sofa. “When do I have to be ready?”

  “How about 9:30? She needs to be there at 10:00.”

  I nod and smile. “Got it. See you in a while.”

  * * *

  Grandma Lulu isn’t what I’d pictured. A complete opposite to my grandmothers back in Texas, Lulu is loud and rowdy. After the introductions in her tidy room at the nursing home, she shoves a twenty-pound canvas bag into my hands.

  “Make sure you don’t drop that. There are two jars of boysenberry jam inside,” she says.

  I nod and clutch the bag by both handles. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Darlin, just call me Grandma Lulu. You need to eat more. What are your intentions with Leo?”

  Leo walks ahead to open the retirement home door. “She’s only a friend.”

  Grandma Lulu shakes her head. “Boy, I should tan your hide for stringing this girl along. Of course she’s your friend. But that’s not all. You’ve never brought a girl to meet me before.” She scoots her walker along at a remarkable pace. The yellow tennis balls at the bottom of each leg thump against the linoleum.

  “I’m only his neighbor.” I follow her out the door.

  “You a natural blonde?” she asks without turning to look at me.

  Leo opens the door of his car he’s pulled to the curb. “Grandma Lulu. Can you behave yourself?”

  I glance over at Leo to see he’s grinning. She’s not bothering him at all.

  “Yes, this is my natural color,” I say. “But when I was a teenager I did let my friend put highlights on my hair once.”

  “I like the color it is. You shouldn’t mess with what Mother Nature gave you.” Her gaze moves from me to Leo. “You look good beside Leo. You’ll make pretty babies.”

  My cheeks warm. “Thank you. About the color, I mean.” Grandma Lulu is either ornery or set on matchmaking. Or both.

  I look to Leo for some help. He ignores me and takes her walker to put into the trunk of his car.

  At my extended hand, Grandma Lulu scoffs. “I don’t need help sitting down, honey. It’s the getting up that’s the problem. That’s the way of life and love. Falling is easy. Getting up is the hard part.”

  She maneuvers into the front passenger seat, and I get into the back. While I’m buckling my seatbelt, she whips around in the seat. “How old are you? You look too young for Leo.”

  I should be accustomed to elderly ladies like Grandma Lulu. Our church was full of the ones who’d passed the age of conversational filtering. I’m out of practice.

  “Twenty-two.” I fold my hands in my lap, waiting for the next question.

  “Leo’s twenty-four,” she says. “Time for people to be settling down. I’d like to have some great-grandbabies before I’m dead. My grandchildren are scattered from New York to Alaska. Do they ever visit me? No. Leo and Josie are my only hope for holding some babies.”

  I’ve given up on denying dating Leo.

  Leo starts the car and glances at Grandma Lulu. “Harper lived in Texas. Didn’t you live there for a while?”

  “When I was married to my second husband,” she says. “You don’t remember him. You were but a spark in your daddy’s eye back then. Those were the days.”

  “Mm hm,” Leo says. He glances up at the rearview mirror and grins.

  “I miss home,” I say and turn to the window. “I miss the heat and the wildflowers. There’s nothing more beautiful than bluebonnets in the spring.” My throat tightens at the fullness of the statement. For a brief,
silly moment, I’m afraid I might cry so I dig my nails into my palms and inhale.

  We’re at a red traffic light. Our gazes meet in the rearview mirror. His eyes are so blue and knowing. It’s as if he felt a shift in my emotions from the front seat. He’ll never let me tag along again if I act all crazy.

  Grandma Lulu sighs. “We should take a trip there. You and Harper and I could pack up and go. We’re all single. Or at least I am.”

  I’m glad when he looks back to the road. After another ten minutes, we reach our destination.

  The Talbot Seniors’ Center is a large building with limestone walls and beautiful flowers in planters. Grandma Lulu allows Leo to help her out of the car and we walk her inside. Once we enter the building, we take an immediate left to a room full of elderly ladies and a couple of men. Some have chosen their seats already and a few stand near a table with desserts and coffee. A couple of the women immediately walk over to hug Leo.

  Grandma Lulu makes her way over to a chair next to one of the few men.

  I follow her and quietly place the canvas bag on the floor beside her chair. She turns to me and grabs my arm to pull me closer to her side. “William, this is Leo’s girlfriend, Harper.”

  The man leans in to offer his hand. “Leo’s girl. How nice.”

  This Leo’s girlfriend thing won’t die. Sometimes you just have to go with it. “Hi.” I place my hand in his and he squeezes.

  He winks at me. “Sure picked a pretty one.” He looks past me.

  Across the room, Leo politely listens as an older woman talks to him. He points at me and then strolls my way.

  “Grandma Lulu, we’ll be back in an hour. Harper and I have errands to run.”

  She’s waves a hand at us, signaling that we should go on. I walk with Leo to the door and outside. “Errands?”

  “I’m sorry. That was a lie. If it would make you feel better, I could definitely make up some errands. Want to take a walk?”

  I laugh at him. “Sure. The lady you were talking to looked very disappointed when we left.”

  He smirks. “I swear. Some of those ladies flirt worse than a sixteen-year-old looking for a prom date. They’ll do a little quilting in the next room, but they mostly talk.”

  “It seems like fun. I’m sure they’re lonely. It’s very sweet of you and Josie to bring Ms. Lulu here.”

  We duck our heads as we walk under a low hanging tree branch. Baskets of begonias hang along the wooden fence and litter flower petals across sidewalk.

  “I don’t mind. It’s not like I have to set work hours, so it’s no trouble.” He slows his pace.

  “What are you writing now?” I peer up at him. Maybe he’s never mentioned the Mr. Expose blog because he’s embarrassed or thinks I won’t know about it. He published a new post today. I check it constantly to ensure my postcard isn’t the image at the top of the page.

  He stops in front of a gift shop and folds his arms while looking at the window decor. “I have to tell you something. As a writer, I’m constantly trying to analyze why people do the things they do. I watch them and look for clues. I listen to what they say. And then I listen more carefully to what they don’t say.”

  “Uh huh.” I’m not a people watcher, but even I can read the discomfort rolling off him in tense waves.

  He changes subjects like a racecar changing lanes. “Why didn’t you move back to Texas instead of coming here?”

  “No reason. I like Nashville.”

  He is not deterred by my short answer. “I visited Hawaii, once. Really liked it, but I’m not moving there.”

  Maybe if I give him something—a real answer—he’ll open up about his writing and his blog.

  We turn to follow the sidewalk past another block of shops. “My parents love me. But they’d try to run my life if I went home, because they didn’t want me to marry Wesley. I eloped and didn’t give them a chance to talk me out of it. At eighteen, I thought I knew everything. I just left a note and it really hurt both of them. I’m an only child and it took a while before we made amends over the phone. I don’t want them to think I can’t make it on my own.”

  I’ve been wrong about so much; I can’t stand another person judging me. Wrong about love, about my ability to give, about being a kind person. But for some reason, his opinion is important to me. I want him to think I’m a good person.

  The answer satisfies Leo and he glances at his watch. “We can head back and wait in the air-conditioning until she’s ready to leave.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say, disappointed that the time has passed so quickly.

  “Thanks for coming along today. And for what it’s worth, I see you as strong and capable. You’re hardly a failure.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t tell if he’s trying to make me feel better by giving me a compliment, or if he really believes what he’s saying.

  Leo puts a hand on the back of my bare neck and squeezes lightly. “We all need time to find ourselves.”

  His words do something weird to my chest. He doesn’t know how terrible I am. How much I wanted Wesley to pay for what he’d done to me.

  How careless I was with my thoughts and prayers and words.

  * * *

  From: [email protected]

  To: [email protected]

  Dear Harper,

  Thank you for taking my call last night. It’s funny—the bond we’ve discovered through tragedy. I lie awake at night with no one to talk to about what’s happened. I’d been married twelve years when Warren died—sorry, does it feel odd for me to use the name Warren? I wonder what he called himself and if he ever got confused.

  That’s not funny in the least, yet I cannot stop laughing at the thought. I may need to visit with a counselor, but somehow, right now talking with you does the trick.

  The other night, I watched a show about sister wives. I wonder if they feel like we do. But that’s all wrong. At least, they know about each other. It’s easy to be bitter, but it’s never directed at you. You’ve been hurt by his double life as much as I.

  When I’m really angry, I remind myself that at least Warren was a good father to Charley. He was a good provider for her and she never suspected.

  If you ever need anything, please tell me.

  Yours truly,

  Isabella

  7

  Passing Strange

  Leo

  Hard and fast rules are meant to be broken. Or at least that’s what I tell myself to justify having Harper in my apartment watching television.

  “Is the volume too high?” she asks.

  I shake my head and glance over my shoulder at her. “No. It’s fine.

  Even though I say this, Harper points the remote control at the TV and lowers the volume. “I can turn the closed caption on.”

  She turns the sound even lower and places the remote beside her on the sofa.

  “Harper. Please quit worrying. You can’t even hear it now.”

  “I can read lips.”

  I give up arguing with her. She’s as stubborn as Josie. My fingers rest on my keyboard and I urge them to move, make magic in the form of a story.

  Nothing.

  I’ve always guarded my writing time. By habit, I rise early and work on Mr. Expose blog entries. Then I contact blog advertisers, conduct billing, create ads. In the late evenings, I work hard on my real passion—my novels.

  I ask Josie not to interrupt. The guys don’t drop by. I’ve never even allowed a girlfriend to cut into this ritual.

  But now, Harper’s on my sofa watching television while I work on my current manuscript. This is the third night in a row for her to sit in my living room and watch a movie. She rarely says a word while I bang away on the keyboard. I only offered because she won’t buy a television for some reason, and I feel sorry for her.

  It’s how neighbors behave. Cordial, friendly, comfortable.

  And everybody likes Harper—Josie, Dane, and my landlords. Grandma Lulu likes her so much that she’s asked me to bring her
again. I reminded Lulu that Harper is only a friend. Nothing more. Because I’m not interested in her for more than a platonic relationship.

  All utter bullshit and dressed up excuses.

  Each day when I see her, I want to know a little more about what’s inside her head.

  Yesterday, Harper borrowed Cormac McCarthy’s book, All the Pretty Horses. When she returned the hardback today, we discussed it—the story, characters, the language. Even Josie, who is a serious reader, doesn’t discuss novels with me…unless she’s going on and on about who should star in the movie adaptations. Dane probably hasn’t read a book since middle school.

  I admit it. I love talking to her. She’s a mix of smart and kooky. Sexy and sheltered. She amuses me. It doesn’t hurt that she’s hot, with a frail but fierce Emma Stone look.

  I swivel around in my desk chair to face her. “Want a soda or water? Coffee?”

  Her gaze flicks over to meet mine. “I’m fine.”

  “I’m getting something for myself. What’ll you have?”

  Her phone buzzes and she examines the display. She answers cheerfully. “Hi Josie.”

  While she listens to whatever Josie says, Harper traces an invisible pattern on her bare thigh and pulls the hem of her shorts down. “Oh,” she says in a low voice as if I can’t hear every word. “I’m at Leo’s watching TV.”

  She stares and her lap while she listens and tugs again at the hem of her shorts. A nice pink bubblegum blush tinges her cheeks.

  I stop watching her because it’s driving me crazy that I can’t hear what Josie’s said to make her embarrassed. Time to grab my drink.

  I’m standing with my back to Harper when she touches my back. She moves like a sneaky cat.

  Harper holds out the phone. “She wants to talk.”

  I take out a soda and hand her one. “Thanks,” I say, taking the phone. “Hey, Josie.”

  “Watching TV? How come you don’t watch TV with me?” Josie asks in a teasing tone.

  “I’m working. She’s watching a movie.” I pop the tab on my can.