Diane Chamberlain - The Lies We Told

“What was his motive?”

“He was a disgruntled student of my father’s.” How often I’d heard those words, disgruntled student. I could rarely hear one without adding the other in my mind. “My father taught philosophy at American University.” I wrinkled my nose. “Can we not talk about this anymore?”

“We’re done.” He nodded. “I just want you to know

I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“And you’re sweet to want to do the full-disclosure thing.” He smiled again, and this time I returned it. “Makes me fall even harder for you, Dr. Ward.”

“I’m … a little overwhelmed by tonight,” I admitted. “Of how fast this seems to be going. People turn out not to be who you think they are at first.”

“Very true,” he said. “So we could avoid any pain down the road and not see each other again. Or we can take the risk and go with how really, really good this feels.”

I wasn’t much of a risk taker. I wished I could talk to Rebecca. I had other friends I could call for advice and commiseration, but it was Rebecca who had my heart, and Rebecca was in China, where her cell phone didn’t work. I would, for a change, have to be my own counsel.

“Let’s go for it,” I said, and I lifted my glass of lemonade for a toast.

“WHAT’S WRONG?” BRENT FROWNED AS REBECCA WALKED into his hotel room.

“Maya lost another baby.” She flopped onto the edge of his bed. She could usually shrug off bad news. Compartmentalize it and move on. She had to be able to do that in order to work for DIDA and maintain her sanity. But for some reason, this latest miscarriage was really getting to her.

“She was pregnant again?” Brent sat down next to her. “Did you know?”

“I knew, but no one else did. They were afraid to tell anyone after the last miscarriage. She made it sixteen weeks this time.”

“Man, that sucks.” Brent nuzzled her neck. “Let me make you feel better.”

She jerked her head away. “I can’t shift gears that fast, Brent,” she said. “All I can think about is Maya and Adam. I feel like a crappy sister. Like maybe I should go home and be with her.”

“Do I need to remind you you’re the speaker at lunch tomorrow? And the presenter at the … that afternoon seminar, whatever it is?”

“I know.”

“It’s not like someone died,” he said.

She looked at him sharply. “It’s exactly like someone died.”

The night table lamp picked up two sharp lines between his eyebrows. “How can you be pro choice and say that?” he asked.

“Oh, stop it. This is different. This was a sixteen-week-old much wanted baby with a perfectly healthy mother. It’s a death to Maya and Adam.”

“And apparently to you, too.”

“Because of how it hurts Maya.” Even as she said the words, she knew it was more than that. She’d wanted that niece or nephew. She wanted to be the cool aunt who’d bring gifts from all over the world. The aunt her niece or nephew could confide in, knowing nothing would ever make her blush. She’d wanted to hold Maya’s baby in her arms.

Brent sighed and got to his feet, slipping his hands into his pockets. He looked through the sliding glass doors to the small balcony and the view of San Diego harbor. “You infantilize Maya,” he said.

She could see his reflection in the sliding glass door. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you still think of her as your baby sister who needs your protection. She’s a grown woman.” He turned to face her, the lines still carved into the skin between his eyebrows. “She’s a physician, for Christ’s sake.”

“Don’t you ever feel protective of Brian or Kristin?” she asked. Brent was the oldest of three.

He laughed. “Hell, no. They were a pain in the ass when we were growing up and they’re still a pain in the ass now.”

“But you love them.”

“Of course. I just don’t dwell on them. They’re adults who can stand on their own two feet.”

She wished she could feel as relaxed about Maya as Brent did about his siblings, but Maya was needy and it was Rebecca’s fault. As simple as that.

“If I marry you,” Brent said, “I’m marrying Maya,

too.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

“ You’re the one who’s being dramatic.” Brent walked over to the mini-refrigerator, opened the door and pulled out a beer. “Want one?” he asked.

“Uh-uh.”

Brent uncapped the beer. “You want to go over your speech for tomorrow?”

She ran her hand over the fern pattern on the bedspread, smoothing the already smooth fabric. “I could do it in my sleep.”

“All right.” He took a swallow from the bottle. “I get that you’re annoyed with me. Let’s just forget about sex tonight and chill. Watch TV. Maybe a movie.”

She was too antsy to watch a movie. She thought of going for a run instead, but it was getting late and she didn’t feel like changing into her running clothes. She let out a sigh as she kicked off her shoes and drew her feet onto the bed. “Okay,” she said.

She let him pick the movie—a Denzel Washington flick—and they leaned back against the headboard of the bed, at least two feet of king-size green-and-white bedspread between them. She couldn’t concentrate. She thought of Maya giving Adam the news. Crushing him with it. Had she told him over the phone? Waited till he came home? She tipped her head back, resting it against the headboard, and stared at the dim ceiling. Brent had to know she was still upset, but he was fed up with her and she didn’t really blame him.

She didn’t know what she wanted from him tonight. It wasn’t that she needed to talk more about Maya and Adam and their lost child. Their lost hope. She just wanted him to comfort her. He wasn’t that kind of man, though. One of the things he always said he liked about her was that she never let things get to her.

What if she married Brent and something terrible happened? What if Maya died? No. She couldn’t go there. What if Dorothea died? Would he tell her to keep her chin up? Change the subject? Drink a beer? Turn on a damn movie? Could the two of them ever run DIDA together without screwing it up because of their bickering? She let out her breath in frustration.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

“You just huffed.”

“Oh. Nothing.” She couldn’t talk to him about it. He wouldn’t understand. Besides, he’d already returned his attention to the movie.

She glanced at the clock on the night table. Ten-thirty. One-thirty in Raleigh. She hoped Maya was able to sleep. She pictured her wrapped in Adam’s arms. Now there was a guy who knew how to comfort someone! Thank God he hadn’t decided to come to the conference. He was now a DIDA volunteer as well, although he hadn’t yet been called to a disaster site. She and Brent had talked him into signing up the year before. He hadn’t needed much persuading in spite of the fact that Maya’d been unhappy with his decision. She was worried enough when Rebecca was in the field; she didn’t want to have to worry about Adam as well.

“Every time the phone rings,” Maya had once told her, “I’m afraid it’s going to be Dorothea telling me you were killed by a gang of thugs or an earthquake aftershock or a disease from drinking filthy water.” Maya’s worry about her was irrational, but not totally over the top. Rebecca had been shot at once in Africa, although she’d never told Maya about that, and she’d had more than a few run-ins with parasites.

Two years ago, she fell down the stairs at Dorothea’s and broke her arm. Maya met her in the E. R., and Rebecca was able to make her point: “I’ve never once been injured on a DIDA mission,” she’d said, fighting the pain as the E. R. doc splinted her arm. “It’s home that’s dangerous.”