Page 47 of The Five Year Lie

“No,” I say immediately. “But I never understood him at all. Not for one minute. So why should that moment be any different?”

She shakes her head. We walk on. Buzz bounces around in the sand like a happy little bird, oblivious to our crazy conversation and to my mother’s unusual mood.

“Whatever happened, I’m sure it wasn’t your fault. It wasn’tanyone’sfault. He set impossibly high standards for everyone, and then lost his shit every time someone let him down. Maybe...” I take a deep breath. “Maybe Dad let himself down for once. And he couldn’t take it.”

My mother shakes her head. “I wasn’t always a good wife to him.”

“What?”I stop walking and stare at her. “If your therapist lets you say that—fire her. I’m not kidding.” The whole point of therapy is to help you separate other people’s poor behaviors from your own.

“I couldn’t give your father what he needed,” my mother says.

“Mom, nobody could.Jesus.” Now I want to shake her. “Is this about the wedding? Maybe you and Ray shouldn’t rush into planning the big day—if it’s going to make you second-guess yourself like this. I’m sure Ray didn’t mean to put you into a tailspin.”

“He didn’t,” she insists.

“Then who did?”

My mother seals her lips into a flat line, schools her features and lifts her chin.

And now we’re back on familiar ground. My mother spent herentire marriage pretending that everything was okay. I know this because I spent my entire teenage years doing the same.

Buzz calls to me, his voice high with excitement. “Mama! I found a dead crab! Look! I can see his guts.”

My mother makes a face. But I run over to admire the dead crab with Buzzy.

Crab guts are far less stressful to think about than my father. That’s for damn sure.

15

By Sunday night I’m so exhausted that I go to bed at nine o’clock and sleep like the dead.

When my alarm goes off on Monday morning, I hit the snooze button and spend my extra ten minutes just staring at Drew’s snapshot in its new place on my wall. I’ve hung it in a spot where the sunlight can’t fade it.

The only real home I ever had.Was that true? Or just another lie? Maybe he cut the picture out of a magazine. Maybe he was never a foster kid at all. Grifters are excellent liars, right?

Exactly one week ago I was still living comfortably inside the cozy little myth I’d told myself about Drew: Once upon a time I fell in love with a man. It was summertime, and he was kind to me when I needed someone to be. We had lobster rolls on the dock with the tourists, we sat under a big tree in the park and we went to outdoor concerts together. I loved him, but he couldn’t stay. And then he died before I could ever see him again.

That is more or less the exact speech I planned to give to Buzz someday. And maybe I still will. Any kid who grows up in Maine understands the concept of summer people. My myth about Drew cast him in the same light as a good beach day—they’re great while they last.

I finally get up and shower. I make Buzz a scrambled egg to go along with the frozen waffles he conned me into buying. And then we walk to the preschool hand in hand.

Once again, Buzz takes a few minutes to join the preschool melee. This time, the patient Miss Betty lures him in with a fresh pile of oversized blocks to play with.

On my way out of the building, Maddy stops me to remind me of the upcoming picnic, and of my watermelon obligation.

“I’ll remember,” I promise her.

“Don’t forget the knife!” she says with a catlike smile. “You can wrap the blade in—”

“—Cardboard,” I say. “Got it.”

I head for my favorite bakery and get into line. When I arrive at the front, I buy pastries and coffee for me and my uncle. And also Zain, so I’ll feel less guilty when I badger him again about Drew’s Social Security number.

Then I walk to the office. And my phone doesn’t ping with any strange texts from dead men.

At the office, I drop off my uncle’s breakfast at his desk. He’s on the phone, but he mouthsThank youand gives me a wink.

Then I drop another bakery bag on Zain’s desk. But Zain isn’t there.