Faking Perfect Read online

  I’d also never feared losing Teresa. Even after a week of stubborn silence on my part, she’d welcomed me back with open arms—literally—when I arrived at her house yesterday afternoon. She had my forgiveness immediately, especially after I found out she’d called Josie back during the week to gather more intel on my father. Just in case I ever wanted to know more, she’d said.

  I’d been surprised to discover that I did want to know more. Curiosity chipped away at my denial, making way for a torrent of questions. Most had to do with my mysterious half-siblings, whose existence fascinated me. After gobbling down burgers, Teresa and I had sat alone together on the back deck while she told me what she knew about them. My mind drifted back to our conversation.

  “Josie wasn’t sure about their names,” Teresa said. “But she said they were young, preteen age. A girl and a boy. She also mentioned that the girl looked just like the mother.”

  The mother. My stepmother. “What’s she like? His . . . wife.”

  “Josie said she seems friendly. Her name is Renee. She works at the backhoe company, too, doing the books.”

  “And my father’s father . . . my, um, grandfather.” It felt weird, assigning these familiar titles to people I didn’t know at all. “You said he died. How . . . ?”

  “A heart attack. It was really bad.”

  “And his wife? My grandmother?”

  Teresa reached down to stroke Gus, who’d stretched out in the sun beside her patio chair. “She died years ago. Breast cancer.”

  I thought of the quilt she’d made for me, its colorful squares of fabric so carefully sewn together. The quilt’s presence in my room now suggested that I must have been attached to it even at age four, when my mother or I packed it away in a suitcase and carried it three thousand miles from Alton to Oakfield.

  I waited until Teresa stopped petting Gus and then looked her square in the eye. “Do you think my mother knows any of this?”

  She blinked a few times, but held my gaze. “I don’t know, sweetie. Maybe. Josie hasn’t spoken to her, but I’m sure there are people in Alton who do.”

  “Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

  “For the same reason I didn’t, I imagine. She wants to protect you and she thinks you’re probably better off not knowing him. He was such a mess back then, Lexi. The drugs . . . “ She trailed off, shaking her head. “But hey, maybe he’s a different man now. People change. ”

  That, I doubted. If he’d changed, become a better man, why hadn’t he contacted me even once in thirteen years? Why didn’t he want me back in his life, now that he’d presumably gotten his shit together? Was it because he had a new family now, one that wouldn’t up and leave him one day, so he’d decided to just cut his losses and forget me? It was what I believed, but all I said to Teresa was, “Yeah. Sometimes. ”

  As I sat in Ms. Hollis’s room picking the mushy toppings off my lunch, I felt my friends watching me, waiting for me to open myself up and give them a glimpse inside. Instead, I gave them my stock response to pretty much any inquiry on my life or current mindset. “Everything’s fine.”

  If only.

  The warm weather continued for the rest of the week. On Thursday evening, I went to Grace’s. We were going to the playground while her parents labored over their taxes at the kitchen table.

  “Mommy and Daddy have to finish the taxis before the deadwine,” Grace informed me when I dropped by to pick her up.

  “You’re a godsend, Lexi,” Rachel said, securing a pint-size Barbie backpack on Grace’s shoulders. “If you can keep her out for about an hour, that would be great.”

  “No problem.”

  The park and playground were a ten minute walk away. The whole way there, Grace prattled on about what she wanted to do first when we got there. By the time we arrived, she’d settled on swings first, then slide, then “rock climbing,” which was just a six-foot-tall, plastic structure with footholds.

  “Push me, Wexi,” Grace said, running ahead to the swings. I quickened my pace and followed her.

  Only a handful of people were there, two parents sitting on a bench and three little kids racing each other down the biggest slide. When I reached Grace, she handed me her backpack and scrambled into one of the saucer-shaped swings, the kind you can lie down on if you’re small enough. Grace leaned back, her sneakered feet hanging off one end, and ordered me again to push her, adding, “Pwease.”

  I pushed her, slow at first and then high enough to make her grab onto the edges of the swing and shriek. “Higher!” she shouted. Little adrenaline junkie.

  “It doesn’t go any higher, Gracie.”

  After a few minutes of this, she got bored and bolted over to the slides. The family was packing up to leave, the mom securing the smallest kid in a stroller and the dad seizing the hand of the slightly bigger kid, who was wailing. I sat down on the bench they’d just vacated and pulled out my cell phone, scanning it quickly for messages. None. Ten days. It had been ten days since Tyler last climbed through my window. Sure, I’d told him a million times in the past seven months that we should stop seeing each other, but I was obviously bluffing. He’d never taken the suggestion to heart before. We rarely went this long without having sex and it was starting to really get to me. Why wasn’t he answering my texts and calls? How mad was he, exactly? Mad enough to get back at me somehow? His silence made me nervous.

  “Wexi!” Grace called from the top of the twisty slide. “Watch me!”

  I stuffed my phone into my pocket and watched her spiral down the slide and pop out the other end, landing on her butt in the gravel. “You okay?”

  “Yep.” She got to her feet, brushed off the back of her pants, and headed for the ladder again. Not much discouraged Grace.

  Forty-five minutes later, after she’d gone on every piece of equipment at least five times, had a drink of water and a pack of Goldfish, and chased a squirrel through the trees near the soccer field, I figured it was safe to head back. When I called to Grace that we needed to leave, her lip quivered for a second and then she shuffled, ever so slowly, over to me. I took her hand and we trekked up the grassy incline to the sidewalk. Disappointment swiftly forgotten, she started belting out the chorus of what sounded like a Disney movie song.

  When we rounded the corner onto Sprucewood Drive, Grace suddenly stopped singing. “Who’s that man?”

  Instinctively, I pulled her closer to my side, peering across the street and then behind us. “What man?”

  She pointed straight ahead. “That one, at the store.”

  I looked in the direction of the convenience store a few yards ahead of us and saw Tyler out front in the tiny parking lot, standing beside his car. His right hand rested on the driver’s side door handle while his left clutched an unopened pack of cigarettes. He was looking right at us. Even from several feet away, I could see surprise with a hint of panic flash across his face. My first thought was When did he get his car back and how? Followed quickly by Oh God, we have to walk past him to get home. Hopefully he wouldn’t get into his car, shift into reverse, and run me over. Grace would be traumatized for life.

  “That’s not a man,” I told her as we continued walking. “It’s a boy.”

  Grace studied him as he let go of the door handle and just stood there, nervously glancing around as if he was contemplating running. “He’s big and tall like a man,” she said, kicking a rock with the toe of her sneaker. “And he has whiskers on his face wike my daddy.”

  We slowed down as we approached him. When we were almost at the parking lot, Tyler quit fidgeting like a criminal who’d just robbed the place, eager to make a clean getaway, and sort of slumped against the door of his black Impala. My mouth watered at the sight of him, though I wasn’t sure if it was because he was hot and I wanted him or because he was holding a brand new, tantalizing pack of smokes. Probably both.

  Grace and I detoured into the parking lot and stopped about a foot away from the Impala’s dented back bumper.

  “Hi,” I sa
id, taking comfort from Grace’s grimy hand in mine. He’d probably refrain from acting like a jackass in front of a small child. “You got your car back early.”

  “Yep,” Tyler replied, sliding the cigarettes into his back pocket. The unseasonably warm air always turned chilly in the evenings, reminding us it was still only April, but he was dressed in a thin T-shirt and jeans. The skin on his arms, I noticed, had sprouted goose bumps. “I’m very persuasive.”

  “Yes, I’m aware.”

  Grace, never one to be shy, gazed up at him. “What’s your name?”

  “Tyler. What’s yours?”

  “Gwace Madison Cwarke.”

  His mouth twitched when he heard her pronunciation. I’d mentioned Grace to him once or twice, the way she spoke and the cute things she said, but he tended to zone out during casual conversation. Especially when he was high. “Nice to meet you, Grace Madison Clarke. How’s it going?”

  “We went to the park because my mommy and daddy are busy doing taxis.”

  “Oh.” His gaze flicked to me for a moment. “Cool.”

  “Did you buy some candy in the store?”

  He laughed. “Kind of.”

  Grace tugged on my hand. “Can we go in and buy some candy, too, Wexi?”

  “Um, not right now,” I replied, which unleashed a series of whiny pweases.

  “Grace,” I said, giving her a stern look. “I didn’t bring any money with me. We’ll get a treat next time, I promise.”

  “But I want a wing pop,” she insisted.

  Tyler dug in his front pocket, brought out a tattered five dollar bill, and held it out to me. “Here.”

  I shook my head, refusing to take it, so he bypassed me and handed it to Grace. Her face lit up.

  Perfect. I was sure Grace’s parents would be thrilled to know that I bought their three-year-old a ring pop with drug money. “Thanks,” I said, feigning politeness for Grace’s sake. “You shouldn’t have.”

  He smirked at me, which set off a warm, unsettled feeling in my stomach. “The poor kid just wants a ring pop.” He leaned in close, his minty breath tickling the side of my face. “Unlike you, Lexi, I’m not made of stone.”

  The warmth instantly dispersed as if my body was a furnace and he knew just the right buttons to press to control the temperature.

  When he pulled away, I caught his steely gaze and held it. “Are you going to tell?” I asked under my breath.

  A look of disdain flitted across his face and I knew he got what I meant. He knew all about my crippling fear of being exposed for who I really was. “And ruin your spotless reputation?” He gave an exaggerated shudder. “God forbid.”

  We glared at each other for a few seconds before I broke the gaze and turned away. “Come on, Gracie,” I said, leading her toward the entrance of the store. “Let’s go get some candy.”

  “Yay!” She jumped up and down, her Barbie bag thumping against her back. “Can I get M&M’s and a wing pop?”

  “Sure.”

  I looked back at Tyler, watching as he climbed into his car and slammed the door, clearly finished with me. A few seconds later his engine roared to life, along with the top-of-the-line stereo he likely stole out of someone else’s car. The pounding bass shook every window in the vicinity and scared the hell out of an elderly lady walking her Shih Tzu on the sidewalk behind him. He waited for her to pass and then, barely looking, he backed out of the parking lot and peeled down the street like the cops were chasing him. If he kept driving like that, they would be very soon.

  “Is that boy your boyfwiend?” Grace asked, giggling.

  My gaze followed the car until it disappeared around the corner. Then I turned back to her, shifting my focus to her sweet, innocent face. “No. Definitely not.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Latte Guy liked to talk about himself. I realized this around ten minutes into our “getting to know each other” dinner. Before my linguine carbonara was even half gone, I knew all about his job (marketing manager for an IT company), his travels (he’d been all over the world for work and pleasure, and spoke three different languages), and his political views (like I cared). Why a young, successful, cultured man like this would be interested in a thirty-nine-year-old massage therapist with a teenage daughter was a total mystery to me.

  Instead of letting my mother go to the trouble of cooking a meal at our house, Jesse had insisted on taking us out to dinner. His treat. He chose a casual Italian restaurant in the city, a place neither of us had ever tried. He’d had to call a few days ahead for Sunday evening reservations, and once we got our dishes I knew why. The food was authentic and amazing.

  During dessert—an amaretto tiramisu that made my knees buckle—he finally moved off the topic of himself and turned his attention to me. His gray eyes rested on my face so intently, I wondered if I had food on my chin. “So, what’s Lexi short for? Alexis? Alexandra?”

  I took a sip of my coffee, which was so rich and delicious I didn’t care that it would keep me up all night. “It’s just Lexi. Not short for anything.”

  He looked over at my mother, the brain child behind my name.

  She shrugged. “I thought it was cute,” she explained.

  “It is cute,” he agreed, his eyes once again fastened on me. He smiled, revealing teeth even whiter than Mom’s. “It suits her.”

  I answered his smile with a weak one of my own and glanced at Mom, who stared into her cup like she was wishing it contained wine instead of coffee. Earlier, during the main course, she’d looked happier and prettier than I’d ever remembered seeing her. She’d hung on Jesse’s every word, glowed under his attention, touched his arm whenever they spoke. But as she picked at her dessert, she looked older, defeated, the light from the centerpiece candle accentuating every blemish and line on her skin.

  I knew I’d pay, eventually, for Jesse’s compliment, even if it had been innocent. She always blamed me whenever her boyfriends were overly nice to me or looked at me too long, which started happening around the time I turned fourteen and developed breasts a full cup size bigger than hers. Like it was my fault some of the guys she dated were disgusting pervs.

  Our waitress appeared then, carafe in hand. “More coffee?” she asked, shattering the awkward silence that had descended upon our table.

  Jesse glanced at Mom, who was studying the young, curvaceous waitress with an expression bordering on hostile. “No, thank you,” she said tersely.

  I declined too, and Jesse fixed his confident grin on our pretty server and requested the check. As she walked away, he didn’t even attempt to hide the fact that he was ogling her ass.

  Right about then I decided that, restaurant tastes aside, the guy was a total dick.

  When the check arrived, he paid for it on his Visa and we got up to leave. Mom’s mood seemed to improve when he helped her on with her coat, brushing her hair aside as he settled it across her shoulders. I stuffed my arms into my own jacket as fast as I could and walked ahead to the exit.

  Outside on the sidewalk, I dutifully thanked him for dinner.

  “You’re very welcome, Lexi,” he said, squeezing my hand and holding it a beat too long. “I enjoyed getting to know you.”

  “Same here,” I replied, even though he hadn’t asked me anything beyond my age, grade, and the query about my name. But I was just as adept as he was at faking sincerity. It took one to know one.

  “I’ll be back late. Don’t wait up,” my mother told me as she and Jesse headed in the direction of his Lexus, parked half a block away.

  I almost laughed. Never, in our entire history as mother and daughter, had we waited up for each other. Bullshit was going around like a virus tonight.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go to the movie with us, Lexi?” Jesse called over his shoulder as Mom tugged him away.

  I didn’t even have to look at her to know she was frowning, silently imploring me to say no. She was like a teenage girl, begging her mom for some unsupervised time alone with her boyfriend.
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  “I can’t.” I backed away, eager to get into our little red Ford—which I’d driven—and head home to a blissfully empty house. “I have to study. Math test tomorrow.”

  They waved and continued on their way. I went in the opposite direction, making eye contact with no one as I wove through the confusing city streets to my car. Just as I pulled onto the street, my hands already sweating at the thought of navigating through the congested traffic, my cell phone beeped with a new text. In Oakfield, I would have reached over, dug the phone out of my purse, and read the text while driving, but doing the same thing in the city would have been suicide. Whoever it was would have to wait.

  Fifteen death-defying minutes later, I was safely on the highway, zooming toward Oakfield with the radio on low. My phone beeped again, testing my patience, as I turned onto the exit for home. Temporarily disregarding the horror stories I’d heard in driver’s ed about texting and driving, I slid the phone out of my purse while paused at a red light and checked the texts. My pulse quickened when I saw they were from Tyler.

  can i come over later?

  need help with math

  Math? After ignoring me for almost two weeks, he needed my help with math? What the hell? I was about to tap out a response when the person in the car behind me honked the horn, alerting me that the light was now green. I stuck my phone in the center console and left it there until I reached my house. In the driveway, I killed the engine and picked up the phone again, all ready to tell him where he could stick his math book. Instead, my thumb formed the words Come over now. My mom’s not home so knock on basement door.

  Weak. I was so goddamn weak.

  Inside, I brushed and rinsed away my garlic breath and then puttered around my room, changing Trevor’s water and stuffing dirty clothes in the hamper. I didn’t bother making my bed.

  After twenty minutes, I heard a faint tapping at the basement door. I let Tyler in and pushed the door closed behind him, wincing at the loud bang it made. This door was the reason why he used my window whenever my mother was home; it shook the entire house when it shut.