Page 84 of The Lies We Play

“Was I?”

“Yes.”

A pause.

“Did you love me anyway?”

I can't answer.

Not because I don’t know.

Because the truth is too big for a phone line, too alive for the room I am sitting in. Too dangerous to hand to a man who is being watched and can't remember which parts of his life were stolen versus which parts he signed away under someone else’s story.

I close my eyes.

“Yeah,” I say. “I love you despite everything. Or because of everything, Hal.”

A small sound.

Then nothing.

“Hal?”

The line is still open.

“Hal, stay with me.”

Breath.

But fainter now.

“I’m tired,” he says.

“I know.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I know enough.”

He lets that stand.

“Can you stay awake?” I ask.

“Maybe.” He sighs. “I saw a picture of you with a woman. I couldn’t see her, but her tattoo—I have one on my wrist too.”

“We all do, Hal. The three of us. It’s a symbol—” I pause and swallow hard— “of us, our forever.”

He makes a sound but says nothing.

“Don’t force it. Listen to me. Do not call from this number again if you think they can see it. Do not tell anyone you called me. Do not write my name anywhere they can find it.”

“I will.”

“And Hal?”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, Everhart will contact you,” I say. “You hear me? This is important. He’ll tell you what to do—give you a phone we can use, tell you who to talk to, and who not to. We’ll do this slowly. At your pace. Your call. You tell me what you need, and I do it.”