Pretty Ugly Lies: a gripping and chilling domestic noir Read online

  “One day at a time, that’s all we can do, right?”

  June looked at me wearily. “One day is all it takes to snap, though.”

  How true it was. I wasn’t doing so well with it, either. A lot could happen in one day. A stress overload. A killer migraine. A harsh word that tears you apart. A death of a loved one. A life-destroying lie. An irresistible temptation. A sinking pit of depression you can’t climb out of. Any of those things could make a person snap. My own anxieties flittered through my head as I thought about Denny—what he was doing right now, who he was doing right now.

  And I realized I couldn’t give him one more day to break me more than I already was.

  Chapter 9

  June

  Life’s cruelty had no end. Its penchant for doling out anguish matchless.

  As I arrived home from the park, a slight tug of joy followed me inside. After promising not to wait so long before another get-together—an assurance I didn’t have much faith in due to busy work schedules and overbooked kid activities—Ellie had suggested coffee and a play date later this week to work more with Austin. After all these years I hadn’t truly seen just how good Ellie was with Austin; perhaps I hadn’t been paying attention. Sure, I noticed that he connected better with her than anyone else, but it was more than that. She had a calming influence on him that I had long ago lost. Maybe my patience had worn too thin, or maybe my maternal instincts were failing me. Whatever it was, I vowed to learn how to help my son.

  For the first time in weeks I felt a splinter of hope at a chance of normalcy for him—and for myself. In just a few minutes of talking with him, Ellie was able to get more out of him than I could in months. It was amazing—a little miracle that could reshape my son’s entire future. Our future. And I owed that miracle to my best friend.

  A baby step of growth now meant a leap of independence later. Maybe Austin could be “normal” after all—whatever “normal” was these days.

  But the euphoric bounce in my step came to a halt when I walked in the house to find Mike—who was supposed to be at work—sprawled out on the living room sofa watching television. His lithe body stretched from one armrest to the other, his feet propped up as he ran out of cushion. His blue eyes darted a glance at me, then returned to the screen.

  Avoidance.

  Something bad had happened.

  “Mike, what are you doing home?” I was afraid to ask. I didn’t want the answer that I knew was coming.

  “I don’t wanna talk about it,” he replied bluntly to the television. His unshaved jaw clenched, his blond whiskers catching the sunlight.

  As if I would ever accept that answer. Mike always liked to deal with things in his own time, he had once explained to me. Only, his “own time” was never. Run away, hide from problems, avoid. That was his tactic; that was his arsenal to handle problems when they came. Clearly it wasn’t effective. I wouldn’t accept it today.

  “I don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. I need to know. What happened?”

  I already knew. We’d been down this road too many times. I was in familiar territory, and they were frightening wastelands.

  “I got fired today. Happy?” His voice was edgy, and he rolled his eyes as if annoyed, but I knew it was embarrassment buried beneath the grit. No man looked forward to coming home to tell his family he was out of work … again.

  “Of course I’m not happy, Mike. Why? What did you do this time?”

  “Why you gotta assume I did something wrong?” I cringed as the words bounced off the walls.

  “Because you got fired. People don’t get fired for doing everything right.”

  “No, June, I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  As if that was enough explanation.

  “Then why?” I needed to know. I was tired of being lied to, of being treated like I didn’t deserve the truth. “Tell me why, dammit, or I’ll call your boss and ask myself!”

  Mike didn’t even flinch. Barely looking up from the television, he muttered, “I’ve been late getting back from lunch a few times. Apparently that’s a big deal to them so they fired me.”

  This couldn’t be happening. A layoff, I understood. Cutbacks happened. But getting fired because he couldn’t get his butt back to work on time after his lunch break? No, this couldn’t be the man I was stuck with for the rest of my life. A man who couldn’t even keep a job to save his family.

  “Mike, you have to go back and beg for your job back. We need it. We’ll lose the house, everything. Go back and talk to your boss. Please.”

  Only now did Mike bother to sit up and turn to face me. “There is no way in hell I’m begging for my job back. I have more pride than that.”

  “Put your pride aside for once in your life. Don’t you understand? We need your income. Mike, I’m pleading here. You need to get your job back.”

  He shook his head. “It’s too late. I’ve already had too many strikes against me. They made it clear I was done. It’s fine. I’ll find something else.”

  As if it was settled, he resumed watching his show, turning up the volume to drown out any argument I might have left in me. I wasn’t done, not by a long shot, so I talked louder.

  “Mike, sitting here doing nothing isn’t going to find you another job. We have bills already overdue. You have to get back out there, start looking for something else. As in today.”

  “Can’t you pick up more hours at work?” Of course that was his solution—for me to add more to my already-full day.

  “Temporarily I can, but if I’m going to work more, you’ve got to deal with the kids—starting now. I can pick up an extra shift today, but I have to get ready. So they’ll need lunch and Austin has to work on some speech exercises.”

  I stood there, my hands on my hips, watching Mike sit unfazed. I shifted between him and the television.

  “Mike?”

  “What?” Wide-eyed, he looked up at me as if surprised I was still in the room.

  “Did you hear me? I can take an extra shift, but you have to get the kids lunch and work with Austin on his speech.”

  “Right now?”

  Really? Was the exasperation in my voice not apparent enough to register with him? “Yes, now!”

  “Fine, fine. Don’t get all pissy. You’re being a nag.”

  A nag? Had he really just called me that? I wanted to remind him that he had just come home jobless, that he was watching television while I ran after the kids, that I was picking up another shift at work so that he could “figure things out,” that the burden seemed to always fall on me to pick up the pieces of our broken lives.

  But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to be more of a nag, according to him. Instead I stormed into the bedroom to change into my waitressing uniform, praying that the tips would be good enough to make up for Mike’s bad news. But God help the drunk men who pawed at me tonight, because I was in a fighting mood.

  Although I hadn’t caught up on laundry in over two weeks, luckily my black Jim’s Tavern T-shirt smelled clean enough to wear again. I dug through my closet for a clean pair of jeans and also found my knockoff Converse sneakers, hastily dressing before one of the kids spotted me, needing something that Mike was too lazy to deal with. As I scrambled to throw my black hair up in a frizzed ponytail, I spotted several new gray strands that I already knew I would successfully dye, only to have a new crop sprout. I was hopelessly aging beyond my years, thanks to the stress of my daily life.

  I called my boss to let him know I’d be in for an extra shift—we were always understaffed during the lunch hour—hoping he wouldn’t ask why. My deadbeat husband can’t keep a job to save his life, I didn’t want to say. My lazy spouse is a loser who can’t provide for the family he wanted. I bit the words back, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip. I was so angry, so frustrated, so exhausted at holding everything together by worn strings that would sever at any moment.

  My sanity had reached the edge of its threshold and was pouring all over the floor. I w
as losing it. I couldn’t stand the thought of another day of this existence. The voices of four children screaming in the background, slicing through my head; the stress of having to run lunch orders while my feet still ached from yesterday’s long shift; the empty bank account, thanks to Mike’s never-ending bar tab; the bills, bills, more bills that I couldn’t seem to pay down; the perpetual loop of chaos that I was stuck in. I wanted a moment of quiet, just a moment, and I couldn’t even have that.

  As I breezed past my oblivious husband lounging like it was a Sunday afternoon, like I hadn’t just asked him to take care of the kids, his eyes blurry from a nap, only one thought lingered.

  I wanted to wrap my fingers around his scrawny neck and choke every last word, every last excuse, every last bit of bad news out of him until it was just me, alone, taking back what little bit of life I had left.

  And then I cried all the way to work.

  Chapter 10

  Jo

  My bed was warm, but my body trembled with chills. The sun shone brightly, but my world felt dark. My eyelids fell heavily, but I couldn’t cross over into sleep. My stomach cramped with hunger, but I couldn’t force anything down. Worry was my only companion, keeping me dreadfully cold, awake, and famished.

  I didn’t care about me, though. I would die if it could save Amelia. Was Amelia being starved? Was she scared and shivering in some tormentor’s dank basement? Was she even still alive? These fears pulsed through my brain relentlessly as I wondered where my baby girl was, if I’d ever see her blond pigtails swinging as she chased her sister, if her giggles would ever warm my heart again, if I’d ever feel her stout little arms around my neck. She gave the best hugs.

  When I closed my eyes, I could almost feel her near me. In perfect crispness I remembered the night she was born. Barely six pounds, her tiny head full of blond curls, the pucker of her lips. Even after birthing two other babies it was as magical and perfect as if it was the first time. I wept with joy when I first laid eyes on her writhing pink body, her wails a melody that my heart harmonized with. She was so beautiful, so mine. I vowed then and there as I held her close that I would never let her go. From that moment until my dying breath I would protect her. Because that was always the plan—I would go first. A child should never die before the parent. It’s unnatural. It defies the circle of life.

  And yet here I was, facing that terrifying possibility of losing a child. Where had my promise gone? How could I protect her now?

  My perfect life had become a perfect hell.

  Tucked in the shadows of my bedroom, the unbearable hours ticked by, each silent minute shredding my heart muscles a little more. Every chirp of my cell phone, every beeping text jolted me like a defibrillator of hope that it was the police contacting me with good news. They’d found her alive, they were on their way home now, she had been untouched, unhurt, my baby girl was coming home. But no.

  A knock on my front door an hour ago sent me tumbling out of bed, stubbing my toe as I scrambled to answer. A Girl Scout making her rounds on Oleander Way cheerily smiled up at me offering her usual cookie variety, until her small voice and hopeful eyes sent me into a blubbering heap. I knew Amelia would never wear a Girl Scout uniform, she’d never sell cookies door to door. As I sobbed in front of these strangers, her mother had protectively stepped between us, like I was a nutcase to be feared. I ended up buying ten boxes of Thin Mints to make up for scaring the poor child.

  Hope was my focus. I couldn’t let the alternative seep in.

  Amelia would be all right. In my arms. Soon. She had to be.

  But no.

  This was not Fate’s choice.

  Fate wanted nothing but pain for me.

  A soft knock at the bedroom door broke into my empty world, but I didn’t bid the visitor to enter. I couldn’t speak—partly from the dryness of my throat that hurt from all the sobbing, partly from the lack of will to push words out.

  Grieving was exhausting.

  Despite my silence, the bedroom door swung open. I glanced up to see the cautious steps of Shayla Kensington—a true friend among sparse acquaintances, being the too-busy-to-socialize mom that I was. With soccer games and ballet classes and gymnastics and piano lessons, I barely had time to get my nails done, let alone befriend women who would backbite when given the chance. Some people collect friends, putting them on display as if it was a competition. Not me. All I needed was my family and Shayla.

  Despite her penchant for drama, Shay was the one person I could trust. Our shared secrets stayed secrets, not neighborhood scandals. I knew she was here to help, not gather news for the town gossips. As she approached, her eyes watered, her lips trembled; she wore her empathy like a shroud. Then she smiled weakly—she knew I wouldn’t want her pity.

  “Hey, sweetie,” she said. “How you holding up?”

  I didn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Instead I buried my face in my pillow. A muffled sob escaped my lips.

  A moment later the bedsprings sunk as she sat next to me, resting her hand on my shoulder, then rubbing circles along my back. I knew she meant to be soothing, but at that moment I wanted to shrug her damn circles off my skin and just be left alone.

  “Jay blames me. He thinks this is all my fault, that I let this happen. He hates me. Thinks I’m an unfit mother. Is he right?”

  I didn’t want her answer, because I already knew what she’d say. She’d tell me it wasn’t my fault, that I’m a wonderful mom, that I’d do anything for my kids, that Jay doesn’t really think that. All lies. I didn’t need lies right now. I needed the truth. And the truth was I had failed my daughter. I had failed my family. Broken it irreparably.

  “And before you answer, just tell me this: have you ever lost one of your kids?”

  Her sigh brushed my cheek.

  “Actually, yes.”

  “Yes?” I looked up at her, bewildered. She had my full attention now. “You never told me this. What happened?”

  “Tenica was a newborn, and I had promised Arion we’d go for a walk outside. Right before we were heading out the door, Tenica blew up her diaper. You know when it goes up the back and they need a whole wardrobe change. So while I’m cleaning her up and putting her in a new outfit, Arion decides to head out without me. I think he was almost seven at the time—definitely knew better. I’m finally ready and he’s not in the house. I look outside, he’s nowhere to be found. Panic sets in. I’m freaking out at this point. I run all over the yard, down the street, no sign of him. I’m positive someone has taken him. That he’s gone forever.”

  “It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” I vividly remembered the panic.

  “I ended up calling the cops, going from house to house trying to find him. It wasn’t until hours later that the cops showed up with Arion. Apparently he had made his way down to his classmate Drew’s house, about a mile or so away, and he was there playing video games. Drew’s parents didn’t even know he was there. That was the beginning of their friendship, so I guess something good came out of the gray hairs he gave me that day.”

  I wondered how long it would take for the cops to find Amelia … if at all. It had been too long already.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me about this?”

  “I was mortified, embarrassed. The last thing I want to tell my best friend is that I failed big-time as a parent. But in the end, I had to accept that shit happens. Arion was all right. I could beat myself up about it, or I could forgive my momentary lapse of trying to be in all places at once. Because ultimately, Jo, that’s what it was. I couldn’t be everywhere at once, and neither could you.”

  I wished it was the same thing, but it wasn’t. Arion wasn’t a helpless three-year-old girl. Arion wandered off on his own while my daughter was abducted. The cops found him within hours; Amelia was now two days gone.

  “It’s just not the same, Shay. Arion wandered off. Someone took my baby girl. And I let them.”

  “I know you’re suffering, but I want to help. What can I do, Jo? Please let me help you
.”

  Find my baby girl. That’s all I wanted, all I needed.

  I shifted to my side, cuddling up to her. My best friend since we were sixteen, Shayla and I had spent months sitting next to each other in history class all through tenth grade without exchanging more than a brief grin and hello. Until we both ended up at a No Doubt concert and I had gotten stranded by my date as he drunkenly decided to leave me for a bunch of party girls. Bumping into Shayla, she came to my rescue and I’d been under her wing ever since. From that day on, we spent high school hitting underage dance clubs, coffee shops, and malls together—growing up but not apart, thick as thieves. Over the years, somewhere along the line we had become like blood kin.

  And now she was here for me in my darkest hour, but I didn’t want her.

  I wanted to wallow … alone.

  “How can you help me, Shay?” I exhaled the words. “Unless you know where Amelia is, there’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.”

  “So you’re just going to stay in bed all day?”

  “What else can I do? The police don’t have any leads. I’m not a detective. I’m a negligent mother who lost her baby girl.”

  She huffed at me, shaking her head. “Stop it. This isn’t your fault.”

  “Oh really? She was abducted during my watch, Shay. Who the hell’s fault is it if not mine?”

  “You know I love you. So I’m saying this with love: shut the fuck up and get off your ass … with love.”

  She smiled, but today her brusque humor rolled off me. I turned back on my side away from her, curling into a ball.

  “C’mon,” she coaxed. “Blaming yourself isn’t going to find her. Do something productive. Get up, get dressed, and go look for her. I can stay here and watch the kids while you put up posters, or go back to the park and ask people if they saw anything, or whatever you can think of to find Amelia. Anything but lying here torturing yourself, Jo.”