Lily White Lies (5 page)

Downing the last mouthful of her water-downed drink, Cory flipped her hair back and stood, saying, “I think I’m going to visit outside awhile.  I’ve never seen a cow up close and personal.  C’mon Charlotte, let’s go meet Bessie.”  With one of her playful chuckles, she added, “If you’re lucky, maybe Stewart will let you milk her.”

I smiled gratefully, appreciative of her consideration.  Many people had the impression of Cory as being shallow, thoughtless and self-centered—a party girl without a purpose.  I knew her better than that.

Once the girls had disappeared from the kitchen, I went over to where my grandmother sat and wrapped my arms around her from behind. 

“I’m sorry.  I just thought maybe Aunt Karen was showing signs of…”  I kissed the top of her head.  “Oh hell Gram, I don’t know what I thought.”

She sat silently, slowly swirling the last mouthful in her glass.  I waited patiently as she put her thoughts together.

“Meg, your aunt wasn’t always the way she is now.”  She looked up, nodding faintly.  “Now don’t misunderstand, she was always special, but her current state was brought on by tragedy.”

“You mean the accident.”  Being the only tragedy I was aware of, confusion distorted my face when Gram shook her head.  Puzzled, I asked, “Then what?”

With the help of the table, Gram stood and ventured over to the window.  She peered out as if she expected someone to be listening at the screen.  She returned her attention to me and sorrow filled her eyes as she began to speak. 

“Karen was such a sweet child—did I ever tell you she was the greeter each week at church?”

I shook my head as Gram poured herself another drink.

“Yes, my little girl.  She loved people.  She had her challenges but what made her special was that she didn’t know she had them.  Of course there were always a few rude people, but she was oblivious to them.”

My heart ached for my grandmother, as she talked about her daughter.  The love in her eyes was as evident as the pain.

“Well, Pastor Graham thought that if she had more to occupy her time with, it would give her a feeling of self-worth and take some of the burden from me… you know, with her needing constant attention and all.  So he gave her the job of folding the church bulletins every Friday.”

Gram peeked out the window and then turned sharply.  “Meg, no one is ever to know I told you this, especially your grandfather, do you understand me?”

Her tone was beginning to scare me.  I nodded.

She choked back the tears, as she began to speak.  “Meg, while my little girl was there to fold bulletins, someone took advantage of her.  She was…”  Stifling a sob, she continued, “…she was raped in the basement of our little church.” 

Words escaped me.  What could I possibly say to her now that wouldn’t make her feel worse?  I walked over to where she was standing, put my arms around her, and breathed, “I’m so sorry” into her steel gray hair—the only consoling gesture I could offer after what I had just heard.

As I stood there, feeling emotionally depleted, Gram swallowed hard and shook off her horrifying recollections.  She slipped from my embrace and eased herself into her chair.

At that moment, I saw her in myself.  I had obviously inherited the ability to separate myself from emotional pain from my grandmother.

Once she had consoled herself with the last mouthful of vodka in her glass, she looked at me and motioned me to sit. 

“There’s a lot more, child.  You’d better sit yourself down.”

Four

...He saw stained walls, missing linoleum tiles, stopgap equipment and—as he put it—not enough space to trip in.  I saw what he didn’t.  I saw the dream...

With a headache that could rock Gibraltar and unable to go back to sleep, I slowly opened my eyes.  Between my everyday worries, last night’s screwdrivers and my grandmother’s shocking news, I felt as lost as an autumn leaf on a windy day.

“What time did you crawl in?”  Even in my hung-over state, I noted the disgust in Brian’s tone.

The room had taken on an echo and my words came out as no more than a whisper. 

“I have no clue.”

Brian strutted around the room, never taking his venom-filled eyes off me.

“Well then, by all means, allow me clue you in.  At twelve-fifty-five, a cab pulled up in front of the building, backed up, beeped and pulled away.  Four minutes later, the same cab returned, letting two women out.  It promptly pulled away while one of the women stood on the sidewalk screaming, ‘Hey…  Wait…  Come back, I'm going with you’ —louder than if she were at a Steelers game.”

He paced back and forth in front of the bed, as he would a jury in a courtroom.  I partially covered my head in an attempt to avoid his mocking stare.  He continued, “Considering how loudly the woman yelled it’s no wonder the cabdriver heard her and returned.  And as she stumbled into the cab, the other woman," he motioned to me, "Exhibit A…" he paused, "…stumbled up the front steps while a neighbor yelled from her window for everyone to shut up.” 

He stopped at the foot of the bed and took a stance of authority.  “I heard the key fumble in the lock… something fall to the floor and break… the words ‘oh shit’ slurred out almost beyond recognition… and then stomping up the stairs.”  He paused.  “I have to hand it to you, Meg.  When you set out to make a fool of yourself—you hold nothing back.”

He stood and stared at me as if he were waiting for an apology or an excuse. 

My mind went blank, and all I could say was, “What did I break?”

“What did you break?  Who cares?  Where the hell were you?”

Although it took enormous effort, I managed to lift myself off the bed in one, fluid movement.  I grabbed the bedpost to balance myself and shot Brian a look of disbelief. 

Holding my head with my free hand, I said, “You know Brian, I’m getting real tired of this self-righteous attitude of yours.  Are you marrying me or adopting me, because you’re acting more like a father than a husband.”  With the palm of my hand, I applied pressure to my throbbing forehead and winced, adding, “Since you seem to disapprove of everything I do anymore…”  Staring him down, I asked, “Why do you want to marry me?”

Disbelief flashed through his eyes.  “What are you saying, Meg?  You don’t want to get married?”

Making it to the bathroom in three clumsy strides, I heavily breathed, “Maybe I am,” as I closed the door on our conversation.

~ ~ ~

Charlotte and I met for breakfast at our café and I filled her in on the details of my morning encounter.

“I can’t believe you told him you didn’t want to marry him.”  Charlotte shook her head while approval danced in her eyes.

“Well, I didn’t exactly say I didn’t want to marry him.  I was just fed up with his bullying and… well; I sort of left it up in the air.”

“Up in the air, huh?  You know what they say about what goes up.  You may be surprised where it comes down.”

“What do you mean?  Do you think something will change because of one argument?”

“Brian—change?  You have a better chance of getting Elvis and the Wizard of Oz to sing a duet at your wedding.”  She smiled to herself, proud of the sarcastic humor directed at Brian.  “Seriously, I do think he might call your bluff, Meg.  He may be canceling the hall as we speak.”

“You really think so?”

She shrugged.  “Would it upset you if he did?  I mean
really
upset you, like tears-on-your-pillow, I’m-sorry-I’ll-never-do-it-again, please-forgive-me upset.”

It hadn’t occurred to me that our argument might actually mean the end of our relationship.  I processed Charlotte’s words and tried to decide if his calling off the wedding would bother me.  I didn’t gush with sadness over the idea, and that was sad in itself.

~ ~ ~

I sat anxiously on one of the leather couches in the marble lobby of the Commerce National Bank and thought about the news Gram had thrown at me last night.  I wanted to talk to Charlotte about it over breakfast but somehow, our discussion never made it past Brian.  Maybe it was better that I kept it to myself until I knew exactly how I felt.

“Ms. Embry, Mr. Anderson will see you now.”  The cheery voice broke into my thoughts.   

I offered a polite ‘thank you,’ and followed her down the long hall, using the thirty-foot walk to contemplate which strategy I would use in getting him to agree to the loan—on my terms.

As she opened the door to his office, a portly, middle-aged man with a baby face and friendly eyes looked up from behind a large, oval desk.

“Ms. Embry, please come in.”

I made my way to the overstuffed chair sitting in front of his desk as he came from the other side, offering his hand and a warm smile.

“Well, Ms. Embry, it’s nice to finally meet you in person.  Please, have a seat.”

I shook his extended hand, and replied, “It’s nice to meet you too, and you can call me Meg.”

He seemed to be studying me, when all of a sudden, he blurted, “You wouldn’t happen to know Donny…”  He cut himself off, lifting a hand to his forehead.  “I’m sorry, the late Donny Embry?”

Surprised to hear that name after so many years, I said, “Yes, he was my…”  I hesitated.  “He was my father.”

My obvious hesitation to such a simple question caused a crease in his brow, but he didn’t question me further.

He continued, “We were friends; I went to school with him and your mother.  I was devastated when I heard about the accident.  They were great people.”

“I’m sorry, I was very young and remember little, but yes, it was all so tragic.”

His eyes filled with compassion.

“No, I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have asked, but hearing that last name again brought back some very fond memories of your father.  We had some great times together.”  Breathing deeply and trying to sound more professional, he said, “Okay, how about we get back to the reason you’re here.  Fill me in, what is it exactly you’re looking to do?”

“Well, I’m looking to buy a building and I was hoping to get financing here.  In the past ten years I’ve done all my banking here and would like to go through this bank to buy the building.”  I let out a sigh, hoping I sounded professional.

“I’m sorry; I should have been more specific.  I do remember our phone conversations.  What I should have asked is how did you make out with what we discussed?  Did you ask Brian about co-signing on the loan or maybe you have something you can put up as collateral?”

The conversation was already taking the same direction of circles we went through over the phone.

“I don’t have anything I can use as collateral, and I really don’t want to go to Brian with this.”

Leaning forward in his chair and rubbing his chin, he said, “You don’t want to go to Brian?  If you don’t mind my asking, Meg, is it because you don’t know how to broach the subject with him or is it that you think his response will be negative?”

Bearing my soul to a total stranger was the last thing I planned on doing when I arrived here.  This man and Brian were friends from the club, how could I tell him my reasons for not wanting to involve Brian without sounding as if I were putting him down or complaining?  I had another idea and could only hope he would at least hear me out.

“Well, you know how busy Brian is.  It’s not that I can’t talk to him, it’s just that… well, to tell you the truth, it would mean more to me if I could do this on my own.” 

I swallowed hard in preparation for what I was about to say.

“Mr. Anderson, isn’t it true that if I had enough collateral, you wouldn’t require a co-signer?”

“Yes, but I thought you said that wasn’t possible.”

“It isn’t exactly, but I may have something just as good.”  I waited for him to show any signs of negativity, but instead he seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say.  I continued, before he could change his mind.  “I was wondering if I could use my business to back me.  I’d bring in my books and tax returns and I’d even be willing to put contracts into effect with my bigger accounts.  Do you think that might eliminate the need for a co-signer?”

Leaning back in his chair, his smile grew broad. 

“That explains it—you want a business loan.” 

Thoroughly confused, I sat quietly as he rose from his chair and began to pace back and forth behind his desk.

“Meg, when you applied for the loan, you applied for a personal loan to buy a vacant building.  When I reviewed your application, I wasn’t aware you even had a business—thus requiring collateral or a co-signer.”

Embarrassed, I spoke softly.  “I’m a little inexperienced when it comes to large scale financial matters.  I told the girl who helped me fill out the application it was personal because I
didn’t
want Brian—or anyone—involved.”

Returning to his desk, he sat in his chair and began scribbling on the legal pad in front of him.

“I was under the wrong impression, but now that I know what it is you’re looking for, we may be able to work something out here.”  Lifting his head from his notes, he offered a smile and continued, “Bring in what you have... tax returns, books and so forth.  If everything is in order and I can balance that and the value of the property against what you want to borrow… contracts on your accounts won’t be necessary.  What is it exactly you do?  I’m assuming the building is going to house your business?”