C.E. Murphy - Truthseeker

“I thought he was a liar at first sight,” Lara reminded her, and gratefully accepted a plate of melting ice-cream cake from Sharon. The cold made her headache recede a little, exhaustion following in its path. Her head lolled before she finished the slice, and Kelly rescued the plate as it slid toward the floor.

“Okay,” Rachel said firmly. “Dickon, would you mind driving Lara home? She obviously needs rest, and we still have work to do here.”

“Dickon?” Kelly objected. “Lara came with me!”

“I know, but I’ve known you for three years and Dickon for six hours, so you’re the one I’m going to make stay and help us scrub the house. If that’s okay, Dickon?”

“Take a pretty girl home or spend the rest of the night up to my elbows in soapy water. Hm. Hard choice. Wait, no it isn’t.” Dickon offered Lara a hand. “Let’s go before they change their minds. Your steed awaits.”

“Steed?”

“I drive a Bronco.”

“How environmentally irresponsible of you.” Lara clapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Dickon laughed. “Call ’em like you see ’em, don’t you? G’night, ladies. I’ll give you a call soon, huh, Kelly?”

Kelly dimpled. “Yeah, okay. Drive safe, Lara’s my best friend.” She hugged them both, and Lara, before she was sent out the door, mumbled apologies for not helping clean.

“You get migraines often?” Dickon asked sympathetically as they left. “My sister gets them sometimes. Usually after too much dark chocolate or red wine.”

“No, not often. I think mine are stress-related.”

“David stressed you out, huh? He does that to people, but usually only the ones who listen to his weather forecasts.” Dickon winked and helped Lara into his truck, then put her address into a sat-nav device so she could close her eyes against the streetlights and not worry about giving directions. “So is Kelly seeing anybody?”

Lara chuckled. “Yeah, I think so. Big guy. Works for the news station. Only I don’t know if he knows it yet.”

“Oh. Oh! Hey, cool. What’s she in to?”

“Kelly’s the adventure-vacation type. The bigger the experience, the better.” Lara peeled one eye open, glanced at Dickon, and bit her tongue on a wisecrack. He saw the whole byplay and laughed aloud, filling the cab with sound.

“Good thing for me I’m big, then, eh? And you look so sweet and innocent, Miz Jansen. So maybe not so much flowers as, I donno, a bouquet of ice picks and crampons, to impress her?”

“Flowers probably wouldn’t go amiss.” Lara closed her eyes again, smiling. “Thanks for driving me home.”

“No problem. Can I ask something?”

Lara, under her breath, said, “Can is a question of ability,” and more clearly said, “Go ahead.”

“David didn’t leave to get you migraine medicine, did he? He sounded surprised when I said Sharon had some.”

“I never said he did.”

“Yeah, you—” Silence broke for a moment before Dickon cursed in surprise. “You didn’t. Kelly did. So what happened? I thought you two were kind of getting along. Although with David I don’t know, it’s hard to tell about him and women.”

An unexpected pang caught Lara in the chest. “Why? Does he have a lot of girlfriends?”

“No, he’s never got any, he’s just unfailingly polite and charming to every woman he meets. Between that and the way he dresses and, well, you should see him jumping over puddles. He looks like a goddamned fairy, and I mean like the winged kind you see on little girls’ notebooks, not gay. Just kind of goes up and leaping like gravity doesn’t mean much. So maybe he is, I can’t tell.”

“Is?” Lara asked, bemused. “Is gay, or is a fairy?”

“Either, take your pick.” Dickon grinned. “Nah, he’s not gay. We’ve been working together for five years, and he doesn’t keep that much under his hat. I think I’d know.”

“Well, then.” Lara tipped her head against the window, watching through half-lidded eyes as streetlights and other cars whisked by. “He must be a fairy. Does he have any family?”

“He mentions a brother sometimes. I’ve never met him. I get the idea they don’t see each other a lot, maybe because they’re on opposite sides of the ocean. David came over here years ago, s’why you only hear the accent if he really turns it on.” Dickon pulled onto Lara’s street and squinted through the windshield at the apartment buildings rising up around them. “So how come he left early?”

“It’s the last building before the corner. He made a shocking proposal,” Lara added after a moment. “And then he left so I could think about it.”

“No shit?” Dickon pulled up in front of Lara’s building and rolled his window down as she climbed out of the truck. “What’d he do, ask you to run away with him?”

“Something like that.”

Dickon whistled. “I didn’t know he had it in him. So what do you think? Gonna run away with him and leave us all in the dust?”

Lara shook her head, waving as he pulled away again. “Truth is, I haven’t decided yet.”

The night passed in restless sleep, disturbed by Dafydd’s anxious request. She woke early, unrested, to watch the sunrise, and answered an early-morning call with the feeling that she’d expected it; that she’d gotten up early so she might be awake when it came.

But it wasn’t Dafydd ap Caerwyn who called, but rather a friend from one of the meetings, apologetic and hopeful all at once: “Hi, Lara, it’s Ruth. I’m supposed to lead the meeting at Our Lady of Victories this morning, but both my kids woke up covered with chicken pox and their dad’s never had it so he’s been quarantined, and I know it’s Sunday, but I was wondering—”

“I’m not a recovering addict, Ruth,” Lara reminded her gently. “I shouldn’t be leading meetings.”

“I know, I know, but they like you, and most of it’s about listening anyway, and Becky can’t do it because she’s got family in town over the weekend, and, well, please? They won’t mind, not just this once.”

“You called because you knew I’d say yes,” Lara said with teasing rancor. “The meeting’s at … nine?”

“You are an angel of goodness. It’s at nine thirty, and the pastor usually unlocks the parish center doors for me at nine so I can get things set up. Is that okay?”

“It’s fine. I’ll be there. I hope the kids feel better soon.” Lara hung up thinking the meeting was more blessing than bother. It would give her something besides Dafydd to think about for a few hours, and listening to other people work through their problems often gave her insight into her own. She suspected that was part of the reason people became psychologists, though Dafydd had detailed the reasons for her own degree accurately. Practicing psychology had never been her plan. She’d only wanted a better foundation for understanding those who were fundamentally unlike her.

Which, she admitted wryly, was very nearly everyone. Glad for the distraction, she got dressed and caught a bus to the church. It wasn’t one of the usual locations she visited; after the first few months she had realized her regular presence stifled meeting participants. The occasional prod toward greater truthfulness was easier to handle than a constant edgy fear that basic honesty wasn’t enough. A little of Lara went a long way; it was something she’d learned early and still worried about. Kelly and a few others had adapted to, or didn’t care about, her pedantry, but in a delicate social situation like the meetings, it was better for Lara to be a periodic visitor rather than a regular. There were innumerable groups around Boston, and she’d made casual acquaintance with many of them. Ruth’s group was one of her less-regular stops, but she knew enough of them to be comfortable stepping in at Ruth’s request.