Listen for the Lie(47)

“Get up, Lucy. GET UP.” The memory of Mom yelling at me as I collapsed, fingers gripping the dirt, came roaring back. I try to push it away.

“This is not how innocent people act. You know that, right?” she said to me as we drove away, me sobbing in the passenger’s seat.

I hadn’t known that. How would an innocent person have acted? I’d always meant to ask.

“Lucy.” Ben’s concerned again.

“No, it didn’t work.”

He parks in the dirt on the side of the road. The buzz of crickets grows louder as I open my door.

He holds his digital recorder as we begin walking into the trees. They’re thick, providing ample shade, but it doesn’t help much. It’s after six, the sun still blazing, the air thick with humidity. Sweat is already rolling down my back, and we’ve been out of the car all of two minutes.

I thought the microphone would bother me more. I thought that visiting the scene of the crime after all these years would bother me less. Everything is still upside down, and I feel off-balance. I wish I’d said no to this. No, Ben, interview me indoors, in air-conditioning, like a normal fucking person.

We’re following a thin dirt path, and I focus on it. Try to breathe.

“The police had this area roped off for what, a week?” Ben asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“And how long after that did you come out here?”

“I don’t remember exactly. A couple days, maybe.”

“What was that like for you? To visit the scene again, I mean.”

I bite back my first response—It was a fucking party, Ben, what do you think? I’m Podcast Lucy right now. Innocent people don’t make sarcastic comments.

“Innocent people don’t plot to kill their husbands.” That wasn’t Savvy. She never said that. But I hear the words in her voice anyway.

“It was rough,” I say.

He nods and is quiet for several moments.

“What about before? You’re a runner, right? Did you ever come out here for a run? That trail is nearby.”

I don’t know how he knows that I’m a runner, but it’s entirely possible that Ben knows more about me than I know about myself at this point.

“I didn’t start running until a few years ago. And I hate running outside, so, no. I’d never come out here for a run. Especially not in this heat.” A bug dive-bombs my face, and I barely stop myself from screaming a curse. I flap my hand in front of my face a little too vigorously. I look as crazy as I feel.

“But you knew about the trail, right?”

“Yeah, of course. It’s not a big town, and the sign for the trail is right off the road. I passed it a million times.”

We’re still walking, and I realize I don’t know exactly where Savvy’s body was found. Everything looks the same out here. Just a dirt path looping through identical trees.

Would an innocent person have remembered? Maybe an innocent person would have come out here every day, desperately searching for the memory. I visited twice and dissolved into hysterics both times.

I can actually sort of see Mom’s point, now that I think about it.

I catch Ben staring again, eyebrows drawn together. He must know where Savvy’s body was found. He would have planned all this out beforehand—the route, the questions. Maybe he even practiced that concerned look he keeps giving me.

He points. “It’s right up here.”

I wonder whether he read the expression on my face. The thought makes me uncomfortable. I turn away from him.

My heart is thumping too loud in my ears and sweat is pouring down my back. It’s not even that hot today, by Texas standards. I feel a little dizzy.

I spot flowers in a small pink vase in front of a tree and I stop. Yellow roses. Savvy’s favorite.

“Her mom comes out here regularly,” Ben explains, noticing my gaze. I nod mutely.

There’s no evidence of where Savvy was found, of course—it’s been too long—but I remember now. The police showed me photos of the body, half-covered in dirt, her dress ripped in several places.

I stared at the torn strap of her dress, hanging on by a thread. I knew how that happened. I knew, but I couldn’t remember.

Or I just wanted to remember so badly that I tried to create a memory. Hard to say now.

“Are you okay?” Ben asks.

“Yeah.”

“Does being out here make you feel any particular way?”

I stare at him. Marvel at the stupid question.

“You’ve seemed out of sorts since we got out of the car. Is it hard for you to be out here, at the spot where she died?”

“Of—of course it’s hard.” I take a breath, but it doesn’t help.

Savvy appears behind him. She’s in a short black dress that she wore often—cotton, casual, clinging to her body in a way that made everyone take a second glance. She grins as she mimes strangling him. I blink and she’s gone.

I need to get out of here. My mind is swimming, and I can’t be Podcast Lucy when I can’t think straight. I might say something awful or dumb or—

This is not how innocent people act.

“Can you talk about why it’s so upsetting for you to be out here? Is it just because it’s the spot where Savvy died, or does it bring up other memories as well?”