Lily White Lies (8 page)

I shrugged.  “Thank you.” 

Normally, I would have been impressed, even touched by his sudden desire to please me.  Did this dinner represent a new understanding in our relationship?  Had he realized that we were equals and that I was capable of making my own decisions?  Somehow, I knew getting the answers to my questions would take nothing short of a lengthy discussion and I wasn’t sure I was up for that tonight.

“Meg, we really need to talk.”  Smacking the dishtowel across his leg, he said, “Actually, I really need to talk.  Please, sit and hear me out.”

I granted his request, keeping my internal objections quieted.

“Babe, I know things have been strained between us lately and I know that the blame is mostly mine.  You’ve been under a lot of pressure and I haven’t been doing a whole lot to help you out.”  Nodding, he added, “I’m sorry for that.”

In a meager attempt to put an end to the beginning of a serious conversation, I said, “We don’t have to get into this now.”

Brian stood and began to pace aimlessly around the small kitchen. 

“Yes, we do.  This morning when you said you didn’t want to marry me… well.”  He hesitated.  “At first I was put out—insulted that you would or could walk away from me.”  Squatting in front of me, he took my hands in his.  “Then I realized that you didn’t mean it, that they were just empty words brought on by all the pressure you’ve been under lately and…”

I interrupted.  “I never said I didn’t want to marry you—exactly.”

“No, not in the exact words, but close enough to cause me to step back and take a better look.  Listen Babe, this marriage thing is going to be new for both of us; maybe I’m just going to need a little more time to get used to my role as a husband.” 

With a pat on the hand and an abrupt end to the conversation, he stood, walked over to the oven and opened the door to check on his attempt at dinner.

I nodded, but offered no verbal reply to what he had said.  Instead, after a few minutes of silence, I chose to steer the conversation to a safe subject.

“So, do you know where your party’s going to be yet?”

He appeared equally relieved at the change in topic. 

“At the Blue Taboo.  How about yours?”

I shrugged.  “I don’t really know anything about it yet… oh, other than it’s outside.”

“Outside?  That’s taking one hell of a chance this time of year.”  Offering a gloating chuckle, he added, “Those male strippers are likely to freeze their sacks off.”

“There won’t be any male strippers.”  Thinking about the little bit the girls had told me, I added, “Cory said it’ll be one for the bachelorette party hall-of-fame, so I can only imagine what she has planned.”

If only for a split second, I caught the glare in his eyes and the look of disapproval on his face.  Obviously thinking better of his customary verbal attack on Cory, he forced a smile and said, “Well, whatever, I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

When he turned toward me, I laughed silently.  Carefully juggling a pan of steaming lasagna between potholders, he was completely out of his element with a stained apron around his waist and sauce down the front of his shirt. This was Brian, as I’d never seen him before.  He was trying to be apologetic and amiable and as I watched him tread on unfamiliar territory; I couldn’t help but see it as a calculated move to attain the result he was after.   

A part of me loved Brian and wanted to be his wife, but a slow-growing albeit larger part of me wanted to distance myself from the thought of it.  In addition, my confusion didn’t end there.  The insecurities that had plagued me most of my life kept telling me I was the one in the wrong.  They told me that he was just trying to take care of me the best he knew how and I was playing the part of the spoiled brat.

How could I blame him for everything that was wrong between us?  He was making an honest attempt to smooth the edges of our relationship tonight and I was secretly wishing for the evening to be over.  I hadn’t uttered a word about my aunt or grandfather.  The man I was supposed to love and marry, the man I would share the rest of my life with, but I didn’t feel comfortable sharing my family secrets with him.  Was I being
that
incredibly selfish or was my decision to keep my personal business from him a not-so-subtle indication of the direction we were headed? 

As I trudged my way to the bathroom to wash up, I decided that if I did nothing else this weekend, I would come to a decision on where my relationship with Brian stood.

~ ~ ~

With a playful lift in her voice, Cory snickered, “Someone looks like they went partying last night—you look like hell, girl.” 

As I took my seat at the table, I pushed my hair back and shook my head.  “Yesterday was anything but a party.”

“You do look like you’ve been through the grinder, Meg.  Is everything alright?”  Charlotte’s voice was heavy with concern.

“You have no idea.”  Scanning the café for a waiter, I began, “We started the day off with an argument.”  Motioning toward Charlotte, I said, “You knew that.  Then there was a meeting at the bank, a mishap at work, an emotional visit with my aunt—who incidentally, is really my mother—and then my grandfather casually informed me that he is indeed the cold-blooded killer everyone says he is.”  In an attempt to wipe the look of shock from their faces, I casually added, “But all of that did buy me a nice lasagna dinner.”

They looked at each other, then back to me, never saying a word.  I knew they couldn’t figure out whether I was trying to be funny or whether I was mocking an unpleasant truth.

“I’m dead serious, yesterday had to be the busiest—and strangest—day of my life.”

Cory whispered, “Your aunt is your mother?”

I nodded solemnly.

“Your grandfather admitted to killing that guy—on purpose?”  Charlotte asked.

I nodded again.  I knew they’d have a million questions and I thought answering them might help me to organize the thoughts that were playing tag in my head.

“Meg?”  Cory tried to keep her tone serious, but her eyes were already dancing with the good-humored charm people found endearing.  Welcoming her question with my eyes, she let out something similar to a muffled laugh.

“If your aunt is really your mother… well… are you originally from one of those states where… you know, where everyone is like…”  Holding her stomach, she stammered out her words.  “Where your cousin is your grandfather and you somehow become your own sister?”

“Cory!”  Annoyance danced in Charlotte’s eyes.

I burst out in laughter loud enough to draw the attention of nearby tables.  I could have taken her remarks as insensitive but I needed to laugh.  I craved something that could put my problems into perspective and—if only for lack of a better remedy—humor came the closest to making me feel sane.

Between fits of laughter, Cory said, “You’ve got to admit, it sounds a lot like a Springer show in the making.”

Reaching across the table to give her hand a squeeze, I said, “Charlotte, its okay.”

As our waiter stopped in front of our table, I looked past him and happened to catch a glimpse of the waiter from last weekend on the other side of the patio.  I quickly looked away, not wanting the girls to know he was there.  Today, I needed their attention; I needed the conversation to be about me, not some good-looking waiter who would undoubtedly take control of their interest once spotted.

We placed our order and immediately, the girls began to fire questions at me almost faster than I could answer them.

“How did you find out about your aunt?”  Cory had gotten over the initial humor of the situation, sincerity now commanding her tone.

“Gram.”

“The other night?”

I nodded. 

“No wonder you were so quiet on the way home, I thought you were drunk.”

As I turned my napkin into confetti, I looked up from the task, and said, “Not drunk enough I guess.  If I didn’t remember Gram telling me, I wouldn’t have done what I did yesterday.”

Charlotte’s brow furrowed.  “What did you do?”

I shook my head in disgust.  I knew what their reaction to my answer would be.  “I went to Cherry Hall to talk to her.”

Charlotte blurted, “You told your mother you knew?”

“I told my aunt I knew.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table.  Our waiter brought our drinks, and still no one had spoken a word.

After another moment of silence, I said, “She may be my mother, but I guess it hasn’t sunk in yet.  Maybe because she doesn’t understand, it seems less real.  And then there’s the fact…”

Just the thought of what happened to her was so painful; I didn’t know how I’d handle talking about it openly.

The girls expressed curiosity in what I had to say, but sat silently, waiting for me to organize my thoughts.

I wished I could blend into the buzz that surrounded us.  The sounds of passing cars, easy conversations and flatware hitting softly on gold-banded plates were trying to lull me into a world of complete detachment from reality. 

After one, burdened breath, I continued what I had been saying.

“Gram told me that when Aunt Karen was just thirteen, she was raped.”

“
Oh my God.
”  Cory’s words were barely audible through the hand that covered her mouth.

Sensibility taking control, Charlotte asked, “How did they know?  I mean, was she able to tell them somehow… were there visible signs...”  With apologetic eyes, she added, “I’m sorry, Meg… kick me, you know how I get...”

To put an end to her unnecessary apology, I interrupted, “Gram said she wasn’t always the way she is now.  But even if she couldn’t tell them what happened at the time…”  Tossing what was left of my tattered napkin to the table, I finished, “My birth would have been a dead-giveaway.”

Charlotte’s mouth hung open in an impolite fashion and her eyes grew wide.

“Oh shit, Meg.  How stupid am I?  It didn’t occur to me that...”

I hushed the rest of her sentence with a wave of my hand.

Cory asked, “Do they know who did it?”

I shook my head.

“Well, that would bother me more than the fact that I was the result of a heinous crime.”

Charlotte shrugged off her statement as superfluous, but I found myself curious as to her thinking.

“Why’s that?”

“Meg, think about it!  For all you know, Brian could be your half brother.”

I felt the color drain from my face as one, clammy hand clasped the front of my blouse.  Cory’s last words came with more of a wallop than Gram’s original admission or anything that followed.  I believe it was at that very moment when shock gave way to the horrifying truth.  I had absolutely no idea who I was.

“Meg,” once Charlotte had my attention, she continued, “you know, we could go to Willoughby with you.”

I sat up straight, pushed my hair back and took a deep breath.  Inside, I was falling apart, but I did my best to put forth a strong front.

“You guys are the best, but I’ll be alright.”

The wrought iron chairs were heavy and difficult to slide across the rough stone patio.  Struggling to slide my chair far enough from the table to stand, I barely noticed that the girls hadn’t heard what I said, their attention directed on something behind me.

“Here, let me help you with that.”

Startled, I turned to find the muscle-bound waiter from the previous week towering over me, holding the back of my chair.

After an embarrassing silence, I managed to stand and say, “Uh… yes… thank you.”

In his masculine voice, he replied, “Uh… okay… you’re welcome.”  

Prepared to be upset with myself for my repeated lack of communication skills in his presence, instead, I suddenly found myself hurt and angry, offended by his words.

Before I could unleash a dose of sharp tongue and clever wit on him, he glanced at each of us, his eyes resting on me, and said, “Have a good day, ladies,” turned, and walked away.  As suddenly as he had appeared, he had disappeared, leaving me to stew.

I turned toward the girls, anger lacing my words. 

“How do you like the nerve of him?  He pretends to be helpful and friendly and then he turns around and makes a fool of me.”

Obviously confused, they looked at each other and back to me, their brows creased.

Cory said, “Meg, what are you talking about?  He totally likes you!”

Charlotte added, “I think he was just trying to put you at ease,” giving Cory a mischievous smile, she added, “after you tripped over your tongue in front of him.”

I was prepared to be angry at them for getting their laugh at my expense, but as usual, my attempt was futile.  I knew they weren’t laughing at me, but with me, and I never could refuse a good laugh with anyone.

Once she had stopped laughing enough to speak, Charlotte said, “That’s what you need, Meg.  Take someone like him and go have yourself a nice, romantic weekend.  You’d be surprised how much differently you’d see things when you got back.”

“Yeah?  And what do I do about Brian, invite him along or leave him home and take pictures to share with him later?”