If I Lie
Page 19
“I can do it!” he said sharply, hitting the brake.
I knocked his hand away. Having dealt with macho men my entire life, I knew all about hurt pride. “And drop your camera? I just found a reason to like you. Don’t take it away so soon.”
He huffed a breath that sounded like a half-chuckle. “You’re kind of a brat, aren’t you?”
I found myself surprised to be smiling on what felt like the worst day of my life, and all because of this grouchy old man. Maybe my punishment wouldn’t be so bad.
“What the hell is your name, girl? It’s rude not to introduce yourself.”
“Oh, like you know all about having manners.” Another huff and I grinned at the back of his gray head. I stopped at the entrance to the elevator and walked around the chair to face him. “I’m Sophie Quinn.”
We shook hands.
“Sophie, I think you and I will do just fine.”
Nobody called me Sophie. Not since my mom had left. But I didn’t correct him.
“If you hit on me, I’m out of here,” I said, my hand still in his. “That’s just creepy.”
“Oh, please. You’re barely out of diapers.” George loosened his grip and rolled his chair onto the elevator. He called over his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, brat.”
“Thanks for the lesson,” I yelled.
He waved a hand over his shoulder and disappeared when the elevator doors closed.
* * *
“Hey, George?”
“Hmm,” he answers absently. He is still poring through Don’s photos.
“I have to go. It’s almost dinnertime.”
“ ’Kay. Night, Soph.” He looks up when I am shoving my arms into my jacket sleeves, his gray eyes sharp. “I know the snow is gone, but the roads are still icy. You drive carefully, you hear me?”
It feels so nice so have someone worry about me. Before he can react, I drop a kiss on his forehead. “I promise. See you soon.”
“Not if I see you first, brat.”
Laughing, I walk out of the room, leaving behind the candy and the Cubans.
I bypass the stairs and regret it when I enter an elevator going up. A doctor exits onto the third floor. I impatiently hit the button for the lobby. The elevator doors are closing when a nurse rolls a sleeping man on a gurney down the hall, and I recognize him.
Corporal Edward Topper. Uncle Eddy.
Chapter Ten
The mirrored elevator door reflects my shocked face back at me.
Mouth open, eyebrows raised, glazed eyes wide.
I am frozen until the doors open on the first floor and a doctor gets on the elevator. He pauses for a moment when I stand there, unmoving, his expression wavering between concern and irritation, like he thinks I’m going to break down in the elevator. That finally gets my feet moving. I make it as far as the straight-backed chairs in the lobby before I collapse, dropping my bag at my feet.
Uncle Eddy.
How long has it been? Five years? No, six. Six years since he drove away with my mother in the passenger seat of his cherry Buick. Six years of wishing and wondering, my thoughts wandering from Maybe they can’t call because they moved to some remote town in Africa to become missionaries to Are they dead, their bones rotting in some lost graveyard like Josephine, Thomas, and Susie? Six years of junior high, high school, best friends, lost friends, and my missing boyfriend. Six years of living with my father and his rules and his expectations and his Dinner at 1800, you do what I say, you’re Quinn now not Sophie. Six long years and he shows up out of the blue in the VA Hospital down the road from my house.
Uncle Eddy.
A red filter colors my vision.
I hate him. I want to rip his eyes out of his head and shove them down his throat. I want to roll him out of the hospital, push him off that gurney, and leave him to die in the freezing cold.
I bite my lip until it bleeds, and the iron tastes like molten rage. He stole my mother. I needed her more than he ever could, and he took her.
And as I sit there in that stupid, uncomfortable lobby chair, the elevator doors open again and my mother exits. She appears, strolling toward me like she’d never left. My mind clicks into a fast shutter speed, snapping continuous frames of her.
Her black hair is longer and pulled back. Elegant. Her lips are no longer berry-stained, but she is Elizabeth Taylor. Except she is no longer the Elizabeth Taylor of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. She is older, I realize. Thirty-eight on her most recent birthday.
Her walk is different too. She no longer glides, her hips swaying in a sensual figure eight. Gravity has caught up and tugged her to the ground. Even her eyes pull down at the corners as she glances toward me with a hint of a frown.
Uncle Eddy must have seen me in the hospital at some point. He’s told her I’m here, and she’s come to the lobby in search of me. She draws closer and I am shaking, my heart banging against my ribs like it could leap out at her if only my body would let it.
Ten feet, eight feet, six feet.
She almost reaches me, and my stomach clenches in anticipation of a hug, a confrontation, an I’m so sorry I left you, baby. I don’t know if I should hug her or hate her. Hug. Hate. Hug. Hate.
Hug. I flow to my feet. My mouth opens—
And she walks past me.
Her expression does not change, and her step never falters. I stare at the back of her head until she disappears through one of the exits, tugging her black trench coat close to her body.
She saw me. My mother saw me and walked away like I was nothing.
I knocked his hand away. Having dealt with macho men my entire life, I knew all about hurt pride. “And drop your camera? I just found a reason to like you. Don’t take it away so soon.”
He huffed a breath that sounded like a half-chuckle. “You’re kind of a brat, aren’t you?”
I found myself surprised to be smiling on what felt like the worst day of my life, and all because of this grouchy old man. Maybe my punishment wouldn’t be so bad.
“What the hell is your name, girl? It’s rude not to introduce yourself.”
“Oh, like you know all about having manners.” Another huff and I grinned at the back of his gray head. I stopped at the entrance to the elevator and walked around the chair to face him. “I’m Sophie Quinn.”
We shook hands.
“Sophie, I think you and I will do just fine.”
Nobody called me Sophie. Not since my mom had left. But I didn’t correct him.
“If you hit on me, I’m out of here,” I said, my hand still in his. “That’s just creepy.”
“Oh, please. You’re barely out of diapers.” George loosened his grip and rolled his chair onto the elevator. He called over his shoulder, “Nice to meet you, brat.”
“Thanks for the lesson,” I yelled.
He waved a hand over his shoulder and disappeared when the elevator doors closed.
* * *
“Hey, George?”
“Hmm,” he answers absently. He is still poring through Don’s photos.
“I have to go. It’s almost dinnertime.”
“ ’Kay. Night, Soph.” He looks up when I am shoving my arms into my jacket sleeves, his gray eyes sharp. “I know the snow is gone, but the roads are still icy. You drive carefully, you hear me?”
It feels so nice so have someone worry about me. Before he can react, I drop a kiss on his forehead. “I promise. See you soon.”
“Not if I see you first, brat.”
Laughing, I walk out of the room, leaving behind the candy and the Cubans.
I bypass the stairs and regret it when I enter an elevator going up. A doctor exits onto the third floor. I impatiently hit the button for the lobby. The elevator doors are closing when a nurse rolls a sleeping man on a gurney down the hall, and I recognize him.
Corporal Edward Topper. Uncle Eddy.
Chapter Ten
The mirrored elevator door reflects my shocked face back at me.
Mouth open, eyebrows raised, glazed eyes wide.
I am frozen until the doors open on the first floor and a doctor gets on the elevator. He pauses for a moment when I stand there, unmoving, his expression wavering between concern and irritation, like he thinks I’m going to break down in the elevator. That finally gets my feet moving. I make it as far as the straight-backed chairs in the lobby before I collapse, dropping my bag at my feet.
Uncle Eddy.
How long has it been? Five years? No, six. Six years since he drove away with my mother in the passenger seat of his cherry Buick. Six years of wishing and wondering, my thoughts wandering from Maybe they can’t call because they moved to some remote town in Africa to become missionaries to Are they dead, their bones rotting in some lost graveyard like Josephine, Thomas, and Susie? Six years of junior high, high school, best friends, lost friends, and my missing boyfriend. Six years of living with my father and his rules and his expectations and his Dinner at 1800, you do what I say, you’re Quinn now not Sophie. Six long years and he shows up out of the blue in the VA Hospital down the road from my house.
Uncle Eddy.
A red filter colors my vision.
I hate him. I want to rip his eyes out of his head and shove them down his throat. I want to roll him out of the hospital, push him off that gurney, and leave him to die in the freezing cold.
I bite my lip until it bleeds, and the iron tastes like molten rage. He stole my mother. I needed her more than he ever could, and he took her.
And as I sit there in that stupid, uncomfortable lobby chair, the elevator doors open again and my mother exits. She appears, strolling toward me like she’d never left. My mind clicks into a fast shutter speed, snapping continuous frames of her.
Her black hair is longer and pulled back. Elegant. Her lips are no longer berry-stained, but she is Elizabeth Taylor. Except she is no longer the Elizabeth Taylor of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. She is older, I realize. Thirty-eight on her most recent birthday.
Her walk is different too. She no longer glides, her hips swaying in a sensual figure eight. Gravity has caught up and tugged her to the ground. Even her eyes pull down at the corners as she glances toward me with a hint of a frown.
Uncle Eddy must have seen me in the hospital at some point. He’s told her I’m here, and she’s come to the lobby in search of me. She draws closer and I am shaking, my heart banging against my ribs like it could leap out at her if only my body would let it.
Ten feet, eight feet, six feet.
She almost reaches me, and my stomach clenches in anticipation of a hug, a confrontation, an I’m so sorry I left you, baby. I don’t know if I should hug her or hate her. Hug. Hate. Hug. Hate.
Hug. I flow to my feet. My mouth opens—
And she walks past me.
Her expression does not change, and her step never falters. I stare at the back of her head until she disappears through one of the exits, tugging her black trench coat close to her body.
She saw me. My mother saw me and walked away like I was nothing.
