Page 70 of The Five Year Lie

We retreat, with Zain chewing on his lip in a gesture that I now know means he’s annoyed with how that went.

I’m not, though, because my expectations were already low. I’ve had five years to get used to the idea that Drew will always be just out of reach. “Let’s find the pony ride,” I say. “We must be getting closer. I smell manure.”

And I’m not wrong. Buzz and I get in line, and after ten minutes or so, it’s his turn to amble around the ring on a small horse, with a woman in a milkmaid costume holding the lead.

He’s beaming, and I really want to pull out my damn phone right now for this photo. Is that really too much to ask?

When Buzz is finished, I realize I’ve lost track of Zain. And now it’s grown dark, so he isn’t as easy to spot in the crowd.

It takes me a couple minutes of looking over my shoulders to finally spot him. He’s standing at the edge of the crowd. And Bryan stands beside him, gesturing to Zain.

Who’s clenching his fists.

23

“What was that all about?” I ask as we make our way back to the car.

“Later,” he grumbles.

On the ride back into town, Zain sits in a silence that’s almost sullen.

Buzz is quiet, too, although it’s probably because he’s fallen asleep. I lift myself in my seat to try to glimpse him in the back, but I can’t see him.

Zain catches on and twists his body around to peek. “He’s out like a light. It’s so cute.”

As soon as I stop at a traffic light, I turn around to see. Sure enough, my little knight is slumped over in his car seat, his helmet askew, mouth open. But he’s still clutching his felt sword tightly.

“I love the way little kids can fall asleep anywhere,” Zain whispers. “So much trust.”

“Yeah,” I agree softly. “He knows he’ll wake up in his bed tomorrow. Where am I dropping you?”

“I can walk home from your place,” Zain says. “You need to get him into bed. Want a beer? I brought a few bottles of Corona, in a cooler.” He jerks his thumb toward his pack on the back seat. “That’s your favorite, right?”

Shit.Am I the only one who doesn’t think we’re on a date?

“Ariel,” he says in a low voice. “It’s just a friendly beer. Nothing more.”

“Sure.” Now I feel foolish. “Just let me get him upstairs first.”

Five minutes later I ease the car into our garage. It’s a tight fit, because this garage is a hundred years old, and my carriage house apartment takes up half the building.

“You need a hand?” Zain asks as I open Buzz’s door and unstrap him from the car seat.

“I’ve got a system,” I tell him. Although carrying a sleeping four-year-old gets a little more unwieldy with every inch he grows.

“At least let me unlock the door,” he says as I stagger out of the garage with Buzz in my arms. “Where are your keys?”

He unlocks my kitchen door and opens it. Then he steps inside and puts the keys on the counter, beside his padded cooler.

“I’ll be right down,” I promise.

When I return ten minutes later, Zain is sitting at my kitchen table drinking a Corona. Another one waits for me, uncapped in the cooler.

I extract a lime from my refrigerator and cut it into wedges, pushing one of them into my bottle and then offering Zain the dish. “Corona with lime was Drew’s bar order. He called it his summer drink. I don’t know what he drank any other time of year. I only knew him for one season.”

Zain takes a wedge and pushes it into his bottle. The beer fizzes as the lime falls in. “I bet Drew was a whiskey guy. Just have a feeling.”

I try to picture it, but he feels very far away tonight. And I realize I’ve been drinking Drew’s brand of beer for five years in a pathetic bid to hold on to him. “What did Bryan say to you?”