We Told Six Lies Page 7

  The ropes started to give way.

  Thread by thread.

  Fiber by fiber.

  Her skin started to give way, too.

  Was that a sound? Her head shot up.

  No.

  She sawed faster, her breath firing in and out of her lungs.

  Molly froze.

  She definitely heard a sound that time.

  Someone was coming!

  She started to cry and sawed faster.

  Faster.

  Faster.

  The door opened.

  Molly looked up in time to see him barreling toward her.

  NOW

  I haven’t slept in two days.

  Not that I was sleeping much before, but ever since the reporter announced that Molly ran away, I can’t tear myself away from my phone. I scroll through pages and pages covering Molly’s disappearance and the letter, but the information is all the same, and the links are slow to load because my phone is crap. Briefly, I allow myself to think of all the things I could have bought if I’d kept my job at Steel. I had my eye on a new phone, for one, and on a necklace for Molly, and on a car because her mom’s wasn’t reliable.

  I’d allowed my mind to wander on slow days at the gym. Maybe I didn’t want to own an art gallery after all. I mean, what the hell did I know about crap like that? This, however, I knew.

  I knew persistence.

  So why couldn’t I become a shift manager like Chad, who was a complete tool? Why couldn’t I be like Pam, who opened a second location of Steel and ran it like it was her own place?

  I could have gotten an apartment with that kind of money.

  I could have had a life of opportunity like my brother does.

  Could have.

  It had been more important to help Molly. But now she’s free as a sparrow, and she flew far away from me with newfound wings. I know she misses me. She must. So I will find her and make her explain.

  Why, Molly?

  My brother comes into the room, takes one look at me, and stops. “Shit, man. Have you slept at all?”

  I shake my head.

  He sits down on the couch. “Talk to me.”

  I lower my phone. “I just can’t wrap my mind around why she left without saying goodbye. Her mom, I get. But we… I don’t know.”

  Holt leans back. “You feel like something happened to her?”

  I glance at him. “She mailed that note.”

  “Her mom said she mailed a note.”

  “You think something else is going on?”

  Holt gives me a sad smile. “No, but I think you do.”

  I hang my head. “It just doesn’t add up. Something is missing. I know it.”

  “Well, the cops have stopped looking for other causes. You know they have.”

  “It’s not like I want something bad to have happened,” I say.

  “But maybe you do, just a little bit. Because then you can play the part of the hero, versus the fool.”

  “Fuck you, man,” I say, but I’m not sure if he deserves that.

  Holt holds his hands open but doesn’t apologize.

  “Don’t you have class?” I snap.

  “It’s our first week back. There’s not much going on. Besides, I thought you might need me here.”

  “I don’t.”

  Holt starts to get up, but I reach out and grab his arm. It feels strange to touch him, and I find myself dropping my hand. “Sorry. I’m just…”

  “Look, I want Molly back in your life, too. You were better with her. I know everyone says you’ve got to be happy on your own, but you haven’t been good on your own in a long time. So, yeah, I think it’s cool that you found someone to lift you up. You needed it.”

  “So what do I do?” I ask.

  Holt shrugs. “Let’s find her.”

  I nod too quickly. “Yeah, okay.”

  “You have any ideas where she might be?”

  I think of the notebook in my room. “Yeah, I’ve got some ideas.” I hesitate, then add, “There’s this Nixon guy.”

  I think back to the number of times Nixon tried to join Molly and me on what should have been private dates. I recall the note from him I once found in her pocket, asking if she understood the homework, and could they work on it together if she did? I didn’t think much about it then.

  I do now.

  “He always had a thing for her,” I add.

  Holt grabs his jacket from the kitchen counter. “You think he took off with her?”

  “No.” I head toward my room, saying over my shoulder, “But maybe…I don’t know…”

  “Yeah,” Holt says as I jog to my bed and slip on my jacket.

  I come back out and try to read his face. I can’t tell if he’s doing this because he believes something bad might have happened to Molly, or if he just wants to help me let her go. Doesn’t matter. I’m happy for the company.

  We jump in Holt’s F-150 and drive to Nixon’s house, a place I’ve been only once. It takes me a while to find it, and twice I have to make Holt turn around. When I see the blue siding and black shutters, I tell Holt to pull over. We watch the house. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but it’s Saturday, so I know Nixon will be dragging his rear somewhere today. And when he does, maybe we’ll follow him. Or better yet, maybe I’ll slip into his room. Look for anything that tells me he knows where Molly is.

  Holt crosses an arm in front of his chest, stretching.

  “What, you been working out?” I ask.

  Holt makes a sound that tells me that’s the last thing he’d be doing. “Just slept wrong,” he says.

  We wait in silence for a few minutes before Holt says, as if the thought just popped into his head, “What happened the last time you saw Molly? Maybe it’d help if we went through that.”

  I glance at him. I can’t tell him that. It’ll come out wrong.

  “We just went out to eat,” I mutter instead.

  “Oh, yeah? Where?”

  “I don’t know. Lending’s Deli.”

  “Did she seem okay to you then?” he asks.

  “How do you mean?”

  He bobs his head side to side. “I don’t know. Did you guys get along or whatever?”

  “Did we fight? Is that what you’re asking?”

  “Nah. I’m just wondering—”

  “I know what you’re wondering. Leave it alone. You’re looking in the wrong place.”

  But my brother knows me better than I know myself, and if he’s wondering what exactly happened to Molly, and whether I had anything to do with it, then the situation can’t look good, despite the letter.

  He sighs. “Cobain, I’m your brother. If you can’t trust me, who can you trust?”

  “There’s nothing to say. She mailed a letter,” I remind him. “She’s probably in California by now. Or wherever.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “What did she mean by ‘My compass is broken’?”

  I press my lips together and pretend it’s not all I’ve thought about since I heard those words. Then, because I really don’t know, I shrug.

  Neither one of us says anything for a long time as we watch the house. Finally, I lean over and punch him in the shoulder, harder than I should. “I’ve got a little cash. Let’s grab something to eat. Want to hit Dino’s?”

  He raises his eyebrows. Lowers them. “I’d rather do drive-through. How about Micky D’s?”

  “Done.”

  Holt pulls onto the road and drives away, but not before I spot Nixon coming out of his house. He’s carrying a large duffel bag and glancing around as if he’s looking for someone. He doesn’t see Holt’s truck.

  But I see him.

  He throws the bag in the trunk of his car. Runs a hand through his hair like he’s nervous.

 
“What are you looking at?” Holt asks.

  “Nixon,” I say, craning my neck. “He just came out.”

  Holt hits the brakes. “Want me to go back?”

  “Nah,” I say. “Keep driving. This is a waste of time.”

  Maybe I say it just to see how Holt will respond. To see whether he really believed that anyone else might be responsible for Molly’s sudden departure. When he keeps driving, I decide I have my answer. I can trust my brother. He has my back in all things. But I realize something, then, that rattles me to my core.

  My brother doesn’t trust me.

  Which is why I don’t tell him that I’ll be returning to Nixon’s house alone.

  THEN

  I’d never been this nervous, this vulnerable.

  I’d walked past this gym a thousand times on my way to school, but never had I been this close, more hope in my chest than seemed possible.

  You reached over and squeezed my knee. “Why don’t we forget this? Let’s go to the mall and walk around. Make fun of small children and old people.”

  “You love small children and old people.”

  “So true. It’s everyone in the middle I don’t trust.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “I want to do this.”

  “As long as you’re doing it for yourself.”

  “It was my idea,” I said, looking at you.

  “Yeah, but—”

  I put a finger to your lips. You grabbed my hand and took my finger into your mouth, and I just about lost my shit right there in the parking lot. You must have known why I wanted that job. I wanted to take you out for a proper dinner. Wanted to buy you the velvet choker you saw at Sabrina. Wanted to buy a car of my own so I could stop begging my dad anytime I wanted to be alone with you.

  Today, you’d picked me up in your mom’s car. You let me drive, and I wanted to thank you for that. Wanted to, but didn’t.

  “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” I said.

  “I’ll be here.”

  You leaned over and kissed me. I had to pull away quickly so I didn’t march into the guy’s office with a hard-on.

  The gym was nicer than the pictures I’d seen online, with sparkling locker rooms, an indoor pool, a sauna, basketball courts, racquetball courts, a smoothie bar, and rows upon rows of glittering barbells.

  If the gym at my high school was kindergarten, then this was college. And I wanted in so badly my bones ached.

  “Cobain?” someone said.

  I glanced at the man behind the counter, and he held out his hand. “Chad.”

  “Yeah, I’m, uh…”

  “Here for an interview, right. Duane will watch the counter while we go in the back.”

  “The back” was a white room with a cluttered desk—brochures, photocopies of membership plans, scattered pens, and a laptop. Like a doctor’s office, it was impersonal, the overhead lights too bright. But that didn’t stop Chad from situating himself on the other side of the desk like he was sitting on a throne instead of a creaking chair.

  “So, tell me why I should hire you,” he said.

  And I froze. I fucking froze.

  Chad waited a few seconds, then said, “I’m just kidding, man. Relax. Though, I would have been impressed if you’d at least tried to answer the question. Would this be your first job?”

  “Yes. Yes, sir.”

  “So, no resume.”

  “Uh, no. Sorry.” I shift in my chair, my palms sweating.

  “Your application says you can work nights and weekends.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll have to sell memberships. That’s your main job here. Think you can do that?”

  “I think so.”

  Chad leans forward. “You think so, or you know so?”

  “I know so.”

  “You old enough to work?”

  “I’m eighteen.”

  “Good.”

  Chad looked to be only a few years older than me, but he was enjoying flaunting his seniority. I tried to think how Molly would handle this. She’d look for what this guy was most proud of, or most afraid of, and zone in on that.

  Chad was about to open his mouth to fire another question at me, but I cut him off.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Shoot.”

  “How, uh… How does someone like me get to your level? I mean, if I worked really hard here, is there a chance I could move up one day?”

  “You looking for a long-term opportunity?”

  “I just want to be in a respectable position one day. I know it’d probably take a really long time to get to where you are, but even if I could get close, you know?” I paused for authenticity, and also because I was sweating. I didn’t know. “Is that stupid, what I asked?”

  Chad smiled. “I like you. You’re ambitious, but not annoyingly so. Let’s see what you can do on the floor.”

  He rounded the desk, opened the door, and waved toward the counter. “I’ll have you watch Duane talk to a new member. We have someone coming in now. I always schedule interviews and new membership sign-ups together.”

  “That’s smart,” I said, with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.

  Chad gave an arrogant shrug.

  I watched Duane give his pitch to another dude. He talked about the plans, what they included, and how much sign-up fees were. He knew so much and rattled it off like it was nothing. I thought he had probably memorized a script, and I knew I could never do the same. I could hardly remember to bring my books home to do homework. And how, exactly, was I planning on going from someone who rarely spoke to anyone, to someone who made small talk with every person who walked through the door?

  It made me sick to think about it.

  The guy Duane was talking to chose a month-to-month plan, handed over his card, signed a digital form, and said he’d be back tomorrow.

  “All right,” Chad said. “So, we’ll probably have you come in again to try signing up members. If that goes well—”

  The door chimed, and you strolled in.

  “Hi,” Chad said, plastering on a false smile.

  “You have your key card?” Duane asked when you didn’t move.

  “No, I…uh,” you faltered.

  I’d never seen you stumble before. It was fucking adorable. Your eyes connected with mine, and I could tell you regretted coming in. You probably thought I needed saving. You were like that, Molly. You used your knowledge of people to get what you wanted, but you also used it to save people.

  Remember when you helped Rhana get out of detention?

  Remember when you talked down the mechanic working on Nixon’s car?

  Remember when you stopped to talk to that homeless dude? You asked him two questions and said something that made him smile in a way I bet he hadn’t in a long time. Then you gave him the cash you had in your purse. Cash you could have spent on wristbands at the fair, but you didn’t want to embarrass me by paying for them yourself.

  You were an enigma.

  “I’m just here to pick up my friend,” you finally managed.

  “You don’t work out?” I said, finding my voice. Because seeing you unsure summoned my courage.

  You shrugged one slender shoulder. Scrunched your nose. “Not really my thing.”

  “Well, we have a package that—” Duane started.

  “Why not?” I interrupted, not taking my eyes off you.

  “Why bother?” you answered. “What? Am I going to get ripped? I don’t have the body for it.”

  “It’s as much about the mind as it is the body.”

  Chad looked at me, and I could tell he thought I’d said the wrong thing.

  I didn’t care. I liked the way you smiled at me, so relieved I wasn’t mad at you for coming inside.

 
You folded your arms and smirked. “I’m in college. Hotel management. I don’t have time to get to the gym.”

  “Hotel management?” I asked, surprised, and also wondering if you were actually interested in that. “Bet that does take a lot of studying. I can see how you wouldn’t have time for running on a treadmill.” I walked toward you. Leaned across the counter on my forearms.

  “Right.” You lifted your chin, then your eyebrow, like you’d won, but I could tell you were also wondering if you’d worked me into a corner.

  “Except that cardiovascular exercise creates new brain cells, reduces stress, sharpens memory, and leads to higher productivity.” I wave all that away. “But you don’t need any of those things.”

  You laughed, and it shot a hole through my heart. I mean really, Molly, there I was, bleeding internally, and you were smiling and shaking your head.

  “All right, what do these things cost, then?” you asked.

  Duane started to step forward, but you held up your hand. “Just give me a sheet or something. I’ll look at it in the car.”

  Duane handed you a pamphlet, and you shoved it into your back pocket.

  “Can I call you to follow up?” I asked.

  You pursed your lips like you were debating this.

  “Just if we have any specials going on,” I added.

  “All right.” You nodded, and Duane asked you to fill something out.

  “I’m going to my car now,” you said, and pointed outside.

  “Thanks for coming in,” Chad said, too loudly.

  As soon as you swung through the door, Chad slapped me on the back, too hard.

  “Look at you, you little prodigy,” Chad said, and waggled his eyebrows at Duane. “If that girl signs up, she won’t work out past a week. Best kind of members. Only half our members come on a regular basis, and that’s the way we need it.”

  The phone rang as Chad talked, and Duane told him it was Rachel.

  “Be right back,” Chad said, and marched toward his office.

  Duane pulled out a bottle of orange liquid and sprayed down the counter. “Guess you’ll be working here. Kiss your social life goodbye. I always thought I’d meet so many chicks, but once you’re wearing this stupid-ass polo, they don’t even look at you.”

  I glanced out the door, trying to see where you went, wondering if you were in your car or standing just outside.