Everyone Here Is Lying(65)

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? ? ?

Marion leans against the kitchen counter, clutching its edges, for a long time. The situation had gotten out of control. They’d been shouting. She tries to recall exactly what was said, but now it’s all a jumble in her head. Could Avery have heard it all?

She must go down and face the girl—her questions, her demands, her cold intelligence. She knows that the longer she waits to go downstairs, the angrier and more impatient Avery will get. But she must think. She opens the fridge and takes out an opened bottle of white wine. She pours herself a glass and drinks, finishing it quickly.

She has to face Avery. The more she delays, the harder it will be.



* * *



? ? ?

Avery hears the kitchen door at the top of the stairs opening. She’s left her bedroom door open, waiting. She’s in a nasty mood. It’s taken her long enough, Avery thinks. She was probably figuring out what to say. Avery’s sitting on the bed. It’s almost time for the eleven o’clock news.

Marion comes into the bedroom and faces her, her arms folded across her chest. “Your mother was here,” she says.

She’s trying to act normal, but she’s not fooling Avery. “I know,” Avery says carelessly. “What did she want?”

Marion seems to relax a little. She sits down on the bed. “She was going up and down the street, trying to find out who called in the tip about Ryan Blanchard. The police won’t tell her who it is.”

Avery stares at her. “I heard shouting.”

Marion nods. “Your mother was very upset, ranting about the police not doing their jobs. She’s out of her mind with worry.”

Avery flicks her eyes to the television set. “The news will be on in a minute.” She picks up the remote and turns on the TV but mutes it until the program starts. “I was thinking of leaving tonight,” she says. But Avery wants to punish Marion. She says, “Until I heard you say that you’re the one who called about Ryan Blanchard.” She turns to face Marion now. “You think I didn’t hear all that? You think I stayed in my room like a good little girl?” She sneers at her, feeling angry and superior. “I was right behind the kitchen door, and I heard everything.” She leans in close to Marion’s face and hisses it again. “Everything.” She pulls back. “Why would you do that, Marion?” When Marion doesn’t answer, she shouts, “Why would you do that?” And she turns and grabs the small lamp off the bedside table beside her and throws it against the wall, where it shatters violently, narrowly missing the television. But Marion remains maddeningly calm.

She says, after a long pause, “I wanted to get back at his mother.”

“Why?” Avery demands.

“I hate her,” Marion says. “She’s a volunteer at the hospital and acts like she’s better than everyone else. She’s not even a nurse. But she’s got all the doctors wrapped around her little finger.”

“Why?” Avery wants to know how this woman gets people to do whatever she wants.

“Because she’s beautiful. That’s the only reason.”

“My father too?” she asks.

“Your father especially,” Marion says bitterly.

She’s jealous, Avery realizes. That’s why she did it. Avery can understand that, but she doesn’t like that Marion interfered with her plans. “Is she having sex with my father?” she asks. Marion looks at her as if surprised that a nine-year-old would say such a thing. She might be only nine, but she knows things. She knows what adults do.

“Yes.”

“How do you know?” Avery demands.

“I saw them together, at the hospital. They didn’t know I was there.”

Avery digests this information. Finally, she says, “You’re going to take it back.”

“What?”

“You’re going to go to the police and say you made it up, about seeing me get into Ryan’s car.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you will.”





Forty-three


Marion stares back at the girl on the bed, the one who thinks she’s pulling all the strings.

“I can’t,” Marion repeats.

“You have to,” Avery says, “or I think we’ll need a change of plan.” Avery looks at her angrily. “You said you’d help me, Marion. But that isn’t what you’ve done, is it? You’ve used me. So you tell the police that you lied about Ryan, or I’ll tell them where I’ve really been all this time.”

Marion looks at her, amazed that this nine-year-old thinks she’s really that stupid. Stupid enough to put herself in the hands of a selfish, vindictive child.

Avery looks away, unmutes the television set. The news is starting. “Oh, and I’ll be watching for it on the news, so I know you actually did it. Because I can’t trust you anymore, can I?” She turns and gives her a cold look.

“Fine,” Marion says at last. She gets up and says, “I just wanted to see her suffer, the way you wanted to see your father suffer.” But Avery has turned her attention to the television and won’t look at her. Marion doesn’t stay to listen to the newscast. She leaves the room and goes back upstairs, locking the door silently behind her.