Tell Me No Lies. Kathryn Shay
got cloudy and he didn’t remember things right. Especially when his cold was acting up. But alcohol always let him see things clearer.
Inside it was cool and a chill ran through Frankie. He sneezed several times. Setting his duffel bag on a stool, he drew out the black sweater Trixie had sent him for his birthday one year and shrugged into it.
He took a seat at the bar.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
“Whiskey. A double.”
The man filled a glass and slid it to him. He knocked the liquor back in one swallow and ordered a second. Warmer and happier, he studied the bar. Not many patrons, as it was almost the dinner hour. Most of the working stiffs in this town were probably hurrying home for boring dinners with their over-weight wives and whiny kids. At one time, Frankie had thought he wanted all that. But years of shuffling from foster home to foster home had cured him of the dream. Family members did despicable things to each other.
The man on the stool next to him stood, threw some money on the bar and called goodbye to the bartender. He’d left behind a newspaper. The Orchard Place Globe was a hefty size for a small town. He skimmed the front page’s national news, read about the most recent hurricane in Florida and another attack in Iraq. What a crummy world. Nowhere was safe anymore. Chaplain Cook told them once that a lot of guys got out of prison and went right back in because they couldn’t deal with the real world. Not him, though. When he had Trixie again, he’d be fine.
He flipped through to the local news. Maybe there’d be something in there about Janey’s husband, the famous doctor.
Frankie read the front page. The feature article was on a guy…holy hell. The world spun out of focus for a minute, and drums began to beat in his head. He clutched the paper so hard his fists hurt. He heard himself moan, as if from a distance.
“You all right, buddy?” the bartender asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
It was Trixie. His Trixie. Only she wasn’t alone. She was with two little girls. Behind them, a man stood—tall, imposing, confident. His hand rested possessively on Trixie’s shoulder. Frankie had to gulp in air. His gaze dropped to the caption.
“Orchard Place’s D.A. honored as 2006 Citizen of the Year. Shown here with wife, Tessa, and two daughters, Molly and Sara. Dinner to be held…”
The print blurred and pain shot to his temples. Tessa? There was that name again. This was his Trixie. She was married? There had to be some mistake. He pulled the picture he’d downloaded from Brad Christopher’s Web site out of his wallet.
The two photos matched.
“I don’t understand,” he murmured.
“What?” the bartender asked.
He shoved his picture out of sight and held up the newspaper. “Who are these people?”
“The Logan family. Pillars of the community. The guy’s the town’s D.A. and even my ex likes the wife, and she hates most people.”
“Her name’s Trixie, right?”
“No, Tessa, like it says there. Tessa Logan.”
Tessa Logan. This was the love of his life, whose letters had kept him going all these years. How could she be married to somebody else? What the hell was going on here?
He stumbled out of the bar. There had to be a mistake.
“ALL RIGHT, who’d like to start?” Tessa smiled at the four who were part of the Sassy Girls Book Club. She’d let them pick the name of their group but had taken it upon herself to choose the books. The one for today was from the adolescent literature genre she’d been steering them to since Nick had asked her to be library liaison and, she suspected, a positive role model for these girls. That made her shake her head, but she did want to help, so she forged ahead, squelching her insecurity.
She made eye contact with each teen: Beth, Chelsea, Dawn and Jill. When no one answered her question, she asked, “Did you read the book?”
One by one, they nodded.
At last, Beth spoke up. “I thought it was sad. That girl had everything going for her and still she committed suicide.”
Tessa knew a bit about their lives from offhanded statements they’d made. Beth came from a large family on welfare.
Out of the corner of her eye, Tessa saw someone enter the library. She and the girls were sitting in a glassed-in meeting room in the front of the building. Tessa hoped Annie, the night librarian, would take care of the late-afternoon patrons.
She brought her attention back to the teens. “Does everybody think Mina had everything?”
“I don’t.” This from Dawn, whose parents had gone through a difficult divorce, which led to her rebellious behavior at school. “She had material things—clothes, a car, a big house—but she was lonely.”
“I wouldn’t change places with her.” Jill’s husky voice belied her delicate appearance. She was adopted and wanted to search for her birth parents, but her adoptive parents objected. She acted out at school.
Tessa glanced to her left. She’d been waiting for Chelsea’s opinion of the main character because Tessa had chosen the book partly because of her. She sensed the girl was not only pregnant but desperate. “Chels, what do you think?”
“I think her boyfriend was a bastard. And her father wasn’t much better.” With a disgusted look on her face, she added, “All men are pigs, as far as I’m concerned.”
From there the girls talked about fathers—what made a good one, a bad one, was a bad one better than none at all? They all spoke in general terms.
Then Chelsea turned to her. The teen’s blue eyes were intense. “What about your father, Mrs. L? What was he like? Cool? He had to be because you’re so together.”
For a moment, Tessa panicked. She never talked about her family, or lack of it. “I, um…” Four faces focused on her. It was then she realized this was some kind of test of trust.
Damned if she was going to fail. “I never knew my father. He took off when I was born.”
The girls were shocked.
Chelsea frowned. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”
Because I’ve spent my whole life covering things like that up. The burden of keeping that secret was heavy, and Tessa felt like a phony.
“I guess you can come from a dysfunctional family and still be a happy adult,” she told them.
“Was yours?” Dawn asked. “Dysfunctional?”
“Yes.” She kept her voice calm. “Maybe you’d like to share some of your background with me?”
The girls relayed much of what Tessa already knew about them. Poverty, depression, frustration and loneliness combined to send them into a downward spiral.
Chelsea, however, refused to share. “Can we talk about the book?”
By the time the girls left, Tessa felt like she had accomplished something important. The bond they’d been forming all year had strengthened, and they seemed to take comfort in it. Hard as it was, she was right to share her story.
Could she have some impact on the boys? She hadn’t followed up on Nick’s request a few weeks ago. How long was she going to let Frankie affect her life? She’d call Nick tomorrow to talk about a group for the guys.
After locking up the meeting room, Tessa headed down the long corridor to the office. The library had been built in the early 1900s, and, though she loved its quaint atmosphere, the corridors tended to get dark as the day wore on. She thought she saw something in the shadows. “Who’s there?” she asked, her heart pounding.
No answer.
Of course there was no answer.