Page 10 of The Five Year Lie

I was ready with my lie because I was so ashamed of getting pregnant by a man who was no longer taking my calls. “It was some tourist I met on Memorial Day weekend. I don’t even know his last name.”

“Did you get a phone number?”

I shook my head. Looking distraught had been easy, because I was.

And here I am again, doing another rotation through my personal pain cycle. Loving Drew, and then losing him again in the space of a morning. And for what?

When I finally get back onto my bike, I feel emotionally drained. Although nothing has changed. My life is the same as it was when I got up today.

Except for one inexplicable text.

Someonehas to have sent it. But I can’t think of who, let alone why. And I already know I’m going to drive myself half-crazy trying.

I don’t even bother going back to work. I ride over to the glass studio instead and lock my bike to the old hitching post outside the storefront.

Larri is the manager of the studio, as well as my friend and mentor. When I walk in, she looks up in surprise from the glass she’s rolling on the marver.

Even so, I don’t explain why I’m early. “Need an extra pair of hands? I have a couple hours.”

She blinks behind her protective goggles. “Yeah. Sure. Suit up. And change the music. This song is shit.”

Ten minutes later we’ve found our groove together. Each time I step on the floor pedal, opening the pneumatic door to the furnace,I feel calmer. The blast of heat from the 2,000-degree chamber is the closest I get these days to a lover’s embrace.

Collecting a few ounces of molten glass on the end of my pipe, I pass it to the end of Larri’s. While she spins the piece, I reach up and snip off the glass at a place she indicates with barely a grunt. After seven years of working together, we’re like dance partners who already know each other’s rhythms.

Right after college, I’d joined the studio as her apprentice. She’s barely older than me, but she’s had twice as much studio time, and some of her work still makes my jaw drop.

Today she looks grumpy, though. But don’t we all.

“Something bothering you? Or are you just working on your hot-and-broody vibe?”

Larri can’t even manage a smile. “Had theworstfight with Tara this morning. Can’t decide if I’m the asshole or not.”

“What happened?”

She purses her lips. “We were at the coffee shop together, and I saw her phone light up with a doorbell alert. So I picked it up to see who was at our place.”

I’m deeply familiar with those snapshots. They are my family’s contribution to the way doorbell cameras work. “Okay, so?”

“The photo was her dealer.”

I suck in a breath. “Ohshit.”

“Yeah.”

We work in silence for a moment while I take that in. Larri and Tara have been on-again, off-again since high school, I think. But Tara is a recovering addict, so they’ve been through hell together. “What did he want? Does Tara know?”

“She,” Larri corrects. “A chick can be a drug dealer, too, you sexist bitch.”

I snort.

“Tara claims she hasn’t seen her in years and has no idea why she’d knock on our door.”

“But you don’t believe her.”

Larri scowls. “I don’t know what to think. Sheswearsit was out of the blue. She handed me her phone to read through her messages, and I had to scroll through literally years of her texts to find the name. So itlookslike they haven’t been talking at all. Unless...”

Goose bumps rise up on my arms. “Unless what?”