Page 26 of The Five Year Lie

“You like the Greek wrap, right?” Zain prompts.

“Um, yes?” Although I don’t know how he knows that.

“Two Greek wraps, please. And the lady needs a few more things.”

I stumble through my bakery order and then follow Zain back to work. Even with two reams of paper and a deli bag, he holds the door open for me. “Ladies first.”

“Thank you,” I say, looking him directly in the eye. “I owe you.”

“No problem. Besides, you just bought lunch.”

I muddle through the next couple of hours somehow. By four o’clock, the presentations are printed and collated, and there are cookies and coffee at the ready in the conference room.

“Thanks, Ariel,” my uncle says before he goes into the meeting. “You’re a lifesaver.”

I’m not, and it’s weird to be praised for the same half-assed work that my father used to berate me for. But I’ve got bigger problems right now.

The moment the conference room door closes on my uncle, I’m back at my desk, tossing my belongings into my bag. “I’m out of here. Thanks again for all your help today,” I tell Zain.

“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he mumbles.

I don’t know whether I’m more afraid that he’s right, or that he’s wrong.

Either way, I leave the building. Walking slowly up CongressStreet, I pull out my phone and call theFayetteville Daily News, asking for the obituary editor.

The woman who answers has a pleasant Southern drawl. But she isn’t helpful when I ask her who placed Drew’s obituary.

“Apologies, ma’am. I’m sorry for your loss, but I cannot divulge any information about the deceased’s loved ones. If you feel we’ve made an error in the obituary, you can write us a letter and we’ll consider a retraction.”

“I just want to thank them,” I try.

“Ma’am, I’m truly sorry.”

So that was pointless. My next call is to the cemetery in North Carolina. I get their answering machine, and I leave a message asking for help locating Drew’s grave.

Then I buy a piece of salmon to roast for dinner and pick up Buzz from his Grandma’s backyard, where he’s whistling on the swing set that Ray installed for him last summer.

The tune cuts off mid-whistle when he sees me.

“Mama!” he shrieks, leaping off the swing. “Did you know that dinosaurs had feathers? Just like a bird. And nobody knows what color. They didn’t have green scales like a lizard. Some books are wrong.”

Before I can get a word in, he’s done a complete circle around my body and then he asks me if he can have a Popsicle. “I’m going to turn my tongue purple and then take a picture with your phone.”

“It’s good to have goals,” I say, waving hello to my mother in the kitchen window. “You can have it after dinner, though. I’m making fish with rice and corn.”

“Can I put the rice in the rice cooker?” He gallops toward our door.

“Absolutely.”

I follow him inside. The minute I close the door, he starts whistling again. He presses the button that pops the top of the rice cooker up, and when it makes a playful series of beeps, he laughs.

This is what you missed out on, Drew. Or whatever your name was.

Whatever you were up to, I hope it was worth it.

By eight thirty, I’m slumped into the corner of my tiny sofa, clutching a wineglass.

I have no idea what’s the proper response to finding out that you fell in love with some kind of con man. So I’ve defaulted to staring at the TV and drinking wine.