Page 118 of The Five Year Lie

Ray’s forehead furrows as he studies me. And I stare back at this man I’ve known all my life. He’s the gentle one. The guy who wants to tell stories, and jokes that take five minutes to set up.

Or am I wrong? Are Ray and I at war in a game of cat and mouse that I never signed up to play?

Did you break into my apartment to scare me?

“Close the door, would you?” he says, tossing a pen onto the desk.

I do it. And then I sit, hoping he’ll finally tell me something useful.

“We have to take this break-in seriously.”

“You think I’mnot?”

He gives me a stern look. “I tried to pull up your doorbell camera footage, only to discover that there is none.”

I blink. “You tried to look at it? But I canceled my account.”

And maybe I should have worried more about my own safety, but I’m still struck by his casual disregard for the company’s rules.Nobodyat Chime Co. is supposed to access private video without permission. Ray clearly doesn’t think this applies to him.

What other rules don’t apply to you?I want to shriek.And did you know that Bryan Zarkey was a drug dealer?

Did my father know?

There are too many variables now. And I can’t ask Ray about it. I don’t trust anyone in this building. Except maybe Zain.

Where is Zain?

“Why would youevercancel your account?” my uncle demands. “With that data, we could have this guy already.”

“Because I’m cheap, and I live for free on the nicest block in Portland? Buzz and I were the only people who ever appeared on camera. We don’t even get packages delivered at home. It was a waste of twenty bucks.”

“Jesus Christ!”His voice rises to a level that I didn’t even know Ray possessed. “And how are you feeling about that decision now? The twenty bucks would have caught this guy!”

My heart thumps against my ribs. And I’m so confused. Zain wondered if Ray was behind my break-in, but my uncle is as angry at me as I’ve ever seen him.

Although Dad would have called me astupid little twatby now. His anger was always tuned to thetotal annihilationsetting.

Ray is different, even in anger. And he actually sounds scared.

This moment of family drama is interrupted by a tap on the door. Hester pokes her beak-like nose into the room. “Your breakfast is here.” She gives me a dour look as she steps inside to put a paper bag from Bagel Tree on the desk. Then she retreats.

“Look,” Ray sighs, grabbing the bag. “I’m sorry I yelled. Want half a bagel? I’ll even make us coffee as a peace offering.”

“Sure. Thanks,” I say quietly. But now I’m staring at the Bagel Tree bag, because something bothers me about it.

Way back when Ray explained the mystery of all our five-year-old texts, he said his came from the Bagel Tree, which is right across the street from our office building. It sounded perfectly plausible at the time.

But now I realize that place didn’t open until after Buzz was born. Five years ago it was a convenience store. During my pregnancy, I was a regular customer of the slushies they served.

It wasn’t until later that the new place moved in, to the delight of our office staff, bringing wood-fired bagels and bagel sandwiches into the neighborhood.

Therewasno Bagel Tree five years ago. And I’m not even sure we were ordering food on apps back then.

“Ariel?” Ray asks, nudging a napkin with half a bagel toward me. “Want a cup of coffee?”

“Sure, thanks.” I lift my half of the bagel. Then I wait until he’s on his feet before I make another request. “Mind if I check the weather on your phone? Buzz wants me to take him to the beach this weekend.”

Ray pauses mid-stride. He looks down at the desk, where his phone is resting, idle.