One Last Lie (29 page)

June shivered as the warmth of her own tears ran down her neck. She turned her head slowly toward the kitchen, scared of what she might see. The floor was spotless. Someone must’ve been called to clean up. She wiped the tears on her shirt and turned back to Angela.

“Where’s Tommy now?”

“The cops took him away. They’re going to put him away forever, that’s for sure.” She let out a huge sigh. “And just my luck, I’m the number one witness.”

June rubbed the pads of her fingers across her face, trying to erase the mascara staining her face. She swallowed hard and pushed down the lump in her throat.

“And what about Jonathan?”

Angela fell back into the sofa cushion, letting her bare feet dangle a few inches above the floor. Her face was blank, empty, as though someone had vacuumed her emotions away.

“He blames me,” she said.

June reached for her hand. “Oh, Angie, that’s not true. Why would you say something like that?”

Angela gave a sarcastic chuckle. “Because he said so, right to my face. He came here after it happened and the cops let him in. ‘This is
your
fault!’ Those were his exact words.”

“Angie, he was probably in shock. I’m sure he was saying things he didn’t mean.”

“Bullshit, June. Jonathan never really liked me. He was nice to me just to make Philip happy. And now, with Philip gone, he’s going to treat me like shit, just like he always wanted to.”

June forced herself to stand, then walked to the bay window and looked out. The porch light threw a hazy shadow across the front lawn and into the street where Officer Reilly leaned against his patrol car smoking a cigarette. She swiveled around on the ball of her foot and faced Angela.

“You need to give Jonathan some time, Angela. I’m sure he likes you. I mean, he gave you his sperm for God’s sake. You’re having his child! I doubt he would’ve done all of that just to make Philip happy. I think he’s a little smarter than that.”

Angela rubbed her swollen belly. “Screw Jonathan. He’s the least of my problems right now. I just need to make sure the cops understand I had nothing to do with this. They need to know that Tommy’s psychotic and I had absolutely nothing to do with Philip’s death.”

“Is that true?” The words escaped June’s mouth before she had the chance to hold them back.

Angela’s face looked ready to explode. Her eyes bulged and her cheeks puffed up like a blowfish.

“You
bitch
!” She stifled her yell, keeping an eye on the front door. She grabbed the thick glass vase sitting on table and raised it over her head. “If that cop wasn’t out there I’d throw this at your head! How could you ask me that?”

June couldn’t breathe. The house was incredibly warm, the heat getting more oppressive by the second. She unlatched the casement window on each side of the bay window and cranked them open. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine her lungs filling with oxygen. She felt herself start to settle down until she was startled by a sound coming from the porch steps. When she opened her eyes, she saw Officer Reilly sitting on the top step looking back at her.

“Everything okay?” he asked, taking off his cap to wipe his forehead.

“Yes, fine. Everything’s fine,” she answered.

She backed up from the window and would’ve fallen over the coffee table if Angela hadn’t yelled her name. When she turned around, the vase was back on the table and Angela once again lay on the sofa. Her inflamed expression had disappeared and her voice was once again trembling and mournful.

“I loved him, you know,” Angela said, her gaze moving between June and the window. “I wanted us to be a family. Just the three of us.” She rolled her eyes. “And Jonathan, of course. I swear, I would never do anything to hurt him. And I did everything I could to stop Tommy from doing what he did.”

June half believed her. She was so tired and confounded by the evening’s events, she couldn’t find the strength to attempt making sense of anything. Images of the evening at Philip and Jonathan’s home rolled through her mind like a slideshow — how politely they treated her; the subtle looks of understanding they’d give one another throughout the night; their compassion toward Angela, trying to make her feel comfortable. Her heart hurt, imagining what Jonathan was going through.

“There’s no need to convince me, Angie. It’s the police you’ll have to convince tomorrow. Let’s get you to bed so you can rest.” She leaned over, grabbed Angela’s hand, and pulled. When Angela was finally sitting up straight, she tried to release the hand, but Angela held on.

“Yes, June. I
do
need to convince you. I want you to know how I felt about Philip. How much I loved him and cared about him. It means a lot that you believe me.”

June sighed and looked at Angela’s face. So pitiful, like a pit bull after attacking and ravaging all its friends, now trying to hang on to the lone survivor. “Yes, I believe you, Angie. I really do. Now let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m glad, especially because you’re my baby’s godmother. Philip was happy about that, you know? He really liked you. And I know you liked him, right?”

“Of course I did, Angela. He and Jonathan were two of the nicest men I ever met. I’m heartbroken, for both of them. I liked Philip very much.”

Angela smiled, tightened her grip around June’s hand, and raised herself about a foot off the sofa. “I’m glad. And that’s why I knew you’d be happy when I told you I’m naming the baby Philip.”

June let go of Angela’s hand and watched her fall backward.

“What did Jonathan say about that?”

Angela scooted up to the edge of the cushion and held her hand out for June to take.

“I don’t care what he has to say. Now please help me up.”

*

June shook her head, cursing herself for reliving that awful night. She and Angela promised themselves not to dwell on Philip’s death — and more importantly, they made a vow to never bring it up in front of the baby. It only produced negative vibes, Angela said, and she didn’t want any negativity around him. She told June that when he was ready, she’d tell him about Philip and what Tommy had done. But for now they would to pretend as though nothing had happened.

She tossed the dirty diaper into the pail and nested the baby’s head beneath her chin. The sound of heavy footsteps from the hallway made her turn around in time to see Angela stop and lean against the wall. Grasping papers in one hand and wiping beads of sweat from her forehead with the other, she tried to catch her breath.

Who was this woman? How did the once beautiful, vivacious vixen who used to run up the stairs to her apartment like a teenager, turn into this heap of blubbery flesh stuffed into a tent dress?

June felt sorry for Angela. Like a pauper who’d won the lottery and lived the high life until the money ran out, Angela made herself skinny and played her beauty and sensuality to the hilt until she got herself pregnant and ate her way back into obesity. A sad situation and no matter how often she wanted to, June never rubbed Angela’s face in it.

She often felt an odd sense of delight from Angela’s weight gain, a pleasure in knowing they were now on a level playing field. Angela’s obesity lowered her status to match June’s, and that meant she no longer had to knuckle under to Angela’s disrespect. Especially since June had been drug-free for the past six months. The withdrawal process was as painful as it was eye opening, showing her she had the strength to do whatever she put her mind to.

When she announced she was drug-free, Angela gave and expressed her congratulations, almost like an automaton. But June didn’t buy it. There was hollowness in her tone, something that told June her best friend was a little distressed by no longer having anything to hold over her head. June ignored her reaction — she was going to be Little Philip’s godmother, and that easily crushed any anger she felt toward Angela’s resentment.

“This is it,” Angela said, clomping toward the kitchen and waving the documents. “Once I sign these, I’ll never have to deal with Jonathan Beckett again. Except to cash his checks, of course.”

She pulled a dining room chair away from the table and carefully lowered herself onto it. June watched its legs wobble and she tensed up with every creak from the wood. When Angela finally got comfortable, June walked to the table with the baby.

“What do you mean you’ll never have to deal with Jonathan again? What about visitation, holidays, and birthdays?”

Angela snorted. “June, tell me. Are you so involved with that Mexican cop boyfriend of yours that you’ve lost your ability to think? Have you not noticed there’s been no sign of Jonathan since Little Philip was born? It’s been four months, for God’s sake. Do you
ever
think past your nose?”

June moved the baby to her other arm and let his face fall onto the burp cloth covering her shoulder. “No need to get testy, Angela. First of all, Office Juarez is not Mexican. His family is from Puerto Rico. And… if you remember correctly, every time I asked you why Jonathan hasn’t come around, you just shrug your shoulders. Now you’re flapping these papers around and not telling me what they say. How am I to know
what
to think?”

Angela threw the pile of papers onto the dining room table and leaned back in the chair. “June, if you ever want to get this guy in the sack, you might want to stop calling him Officer Juarez.” She laughed at her wit, picked up the papers, and fanned herself with them. “The long and short of it is that Jonathan wants nothing to do with me or Little Philip. He’ll pay hefty support payments every month until Philip turns eighteen. He even kicked in another fifteen hundred a month if we moved out of Connecticut and promised never to return. Hence, we’re moving back to the city.”

A pang of sorrow punched June in the stomach. She caressed the baby’s head, trying to cover his ears as though he could understand what Angela was saying.

“I don’t believe it. He wants
nothing
to do with Little Philip? It’s his son, Angela. I just can’t imagine him not wanting to be part of his life. And to have you both move away?” She patted the back of Philip’s head. “It’s just unthinkable.”

Although June spoke the words, she didn’t mean them. In the back of her mind she sympathized with Jonathan. Angela and Little Philip would only be tragic reminders of the lover he’d lost and the life he’d never reclaim. She yearned to speak with Jonathan; to tell him how horribly she felt, how she would watch over his son and make sure he was always taken care of. But she knew he wouldn’t want to see her.

“Yeah, unthinkable,” Angela mumbled, still fanning herself with the documents. “What’s
really
unthinkable is that I’m going to have to keep coming back here for Tommy’s trial. I don’t understand it. He confessed and my account supports his confession. Why the hell do they need to have a trial? It’s a waste of time and money for everyone.”

“It’s the American way.” June placed Little Philip in his stroller. He grabbed the rattle hanging from the crossbar and surprised her by examining it rather than shaking it. She smiled at his inquisitiveness. “Have you visited Tommy?” She could barely say his name without gagging.

“No. And I will never visit, no matter how many phone calls or letters I get from him. Seeing him in court is going to be bad enough. After the trial’s over, I never want to see him again. He ruined my life.”

June walked behind Angela so she couldn’t see her face. “He ruined more than just your life, Angela.”

Angela’s cell phone rang and June let go a sigh of relief.

As Angela reached into the pocket of her housedress to answer the phone, she turned around and glared at June with eyes that shot invisible flames. She looked at the phone number on the caller ID.

“Shit, I have to take this.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand and used her head to gesture toward the bedroom in back. “Can you give me some privacy, June?”

“Sure.” June sauntered down the hallway, but stopped before she reached the bedroom and stood completely still, trying not to make a sound. She extended her neck forward in an effort to hear Angela’s voice.

“I can’t talk now,” Angela said in a stage whisper. “I have to call you from the road.” After about a minute of silence, she spoke again. “I have the papers right here. You’ll get it every month.” More silence. “Enough, Dee. I said I’ll call you from the car. I’m in the middle of moving, for Jesus’s sake. I have to go.”

June waited, unmoving, for what seemed like an hour. Who was Dee? She’d never heard Angela mention that name. . She kicked it around in her head trying to find some recognition. Nothing. She started to inch back into the living room.

“Are you off the phone? Can I come in now?”

“Yeah, I’m done.”

“Who was that?” June asked, trying to seem as disinterested as possible as she shook the rattle in front of Little Philip.

“A pain in the ass is who it was.” Angela put both palms flat on the table and pushed to lift herself up. “And where the hell are the movers? They said they’d be here by now.”

At that moment, the beeping from a truck backing up into the driveway stopped Angela mid-sentence. June ran to window and pulled aside the curtain.

“They’re here!” She looked at Angela and then to Little Philip who smiled and blinked his long lashes over perfectly round, chocolate-colored eyes. “They’re coming to take us away!” she said to him a playful voice.

She looked around the room, her gaze stopping when she reached the kitchen floor.
They’re coming to take us away.
Was leaving Connecticut a good thing for Little Philip? Only time would tell. In the meantime, she’d finish packing boxes and help load the truck that would take him away from a house filled with sadness, a sordid past he never chose to be a part of, and a father he’d probably never know.

22

“Hello, Jonathan.” The woman moved toward the bed.