Listen for the Lie(44)
She opens the glass bottle of mineral water and hands it to me. “I’m really glad you came.”
“Well, I’m not exactly flush with invitations, if you want to know the truth.”
Emmett leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “Are people nicer than when you left?”
“Maybe. Less hostile, at least.”
He half smiles. “Folks have had some time to think about it.”
“And what conclusion have they come to?”
Emmett and Nina exchange a look, and I know exactly what conclusion people have come to. The same one they always come to.
“I think some people are realizing they were quick to judge,” Nina says. “The DA would have tried you if they had enough evidence.”
I suppress a smile by taking a drink of my water. Nina says it like she’s trying to convince herself. She’s been lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling, coming up with logical excuses why I might not have done it.
“We always had our doubts,” Emmett says quietly.
“I appreciate that.”
They’re both quiet for a moment, exchanging another look I can’t quite pin down. Nina grabs a towel from the counter and twists it nervously in her hands.
“I still don’t remember anything, if that’s what you wanted to ask,” I offer helpfully.
Nina twists the towel so hard I think she’s going to rip it in half, and then turns away to open the oven a crack. “Hope you like lasagna!”
And then Savvy’s standing next to Nina, grinning with her smudged eyeliner, dark blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun.
I freeze. She’s a horrible, perfect hallucination. Everything I’ve been shoving into the deep recesses of my mind for five years come back to life to haunt me.
I want to force her out again. She shouldn’t be whispering to me, and she sure as shit shouldn’t be standing here with that familiar smirk on her face. Nothing good will come of it.
Of course, desperately pushing her away for five years hasn’t gotten me anywhere at all. My first therapist, the one I saw right after moving to Los Angeles, would barely be holding back an “I told you so” if she were here. She told me that ignoring Savvy’s voice wasn’t the solution. “She’ll come back,” she’d said. “You can’t ignore the past forever.”
The therapist was right, I was wrong. What else is new.
“Lucy doesn’t like lasagna,” Savvy offers helpfully. “This woman continues to be the fucking worst, Luce. No surprise there.”
I wince. Emmett looks concerned again.
Savvy saunters over to him. “He’s still super hot, though.”
“You okay?” Emmett asks quietly.
Next to him, Savvy sticks her tongue in her cheek like she’s giving him a blow job. She doesn’t look the way people always describe her now. They talk about her on the podcast like she was an angelic blond angel. Gliding through life with a halo shimmering around her head.
The Savvy in front of me is the real version. Highlights grown out, makeup half-assed, frayed red bra strap sticking out from her tank top.
I clear my throat and force a smile at Emmett. “Yeah. Fine. Great.”
I am not okay. Letting myself think about Savvy again has brought her back to life, and I don’t think she’s going to leave until I figure out what happened to her. I will be haunted by my friend and her murderous musings for the rest of my life unless I get my shit together.
Savvy lets out a long, disappointed sigh. “Are we going to kill a dude or what?”
“Why don’t you sit down?” Emmett gestures to the table.
“Yes, please sit!” Nina says. “Dinner is almost ready.”
I force a smile as I slide into a chair, and brace myself as the memory of that day with Savvy forms again, as clear as ever.
LUCY
FIVE YEARS AGO
“Yeah, sure, let’s kill my husband,” I said with a laugh. “How should we do it? Knife him while he’s sleeping? Push him into traffic? Wait, I know. Poison in the liquor bottle. Matt sucks down those drinks so fast he’ll be dead before he realizes the taste is off.”
I laughed again, but Savvy didn’t. She cocked an eyebrow. My smile slowly faded.
“Savvy.” I shifted on the barstool as I realized that I was the only person kidding around. “I can’t kill him. I can’t kill anyone.”
“Why not? He deserves it.”
I opened my mouth to argue.
“Don’t you dare say he doesn’t.” She wrapped a warm hand around my arm. “I’ve seen bruises on you so many times, and I know you’re not even telling me the worst of it.”
I wasn’t. The worst of it was too much to recount. It wasn’t even that it was humiliating, I just couldn’t bring myself to put together words to explain how he’d choked me until I blacked out. Or when “things had gotten out of control” (as he always liked to put it) and he’d dragged me by my hair from the kitchen to the living room and then slammed my head repeatedly into the hardwood floors until I saw stars.
“He deserves it,” I confirmed quietly. “But even if I wanted to kill him—”
“We,” Savvy interrupted. “Even if we wanted to kill him. I wouldn’t make you do it alone.”