Page 62 of The Next Lie

My heart kicks once.

“You know more than you’re saying.”

“Yes.”

At least he does not insult me by denying it.

I close my eyes. “Cal.”

“I am trying to keep you alive.”

“God bless America, I am so tired of that sentence.”

“I don’t care.”

That is the problem. Cal’s love has never been soft. It has always been steady, functional, occasionally bossy, and heavily armed. He would lie if the lie kept me breathing. He would take a bullet and call it Tuesday. He would break every trust between us and still believe the math came out right if I lived.

Maybe that is love. Maybe that is the thing that’s going to ruin us.

“I’m coming to New Orleans,” he says. “I’ll straighten this mess out.”

“No. I don’t want you here.”

“You are not in a position to veto me.”

“Oh, I am absolutely in a position to veto you.” My voice steadies, which surprises both of us. “This is my problem.”

“It’s not your problem, Reva. That’s just it.”

“Isn’t it?” I ask. I stare out over the marsh. “I think I woke the gators in the bayou, Cal. Everything was probably sleeping ‘til I did.”

Silence.

“I am the one who came here,” I continue. “I am the one Delia saw. I am the one Deacon has been circling. I am the one they tried to erase, hide, collect, whatever word of the day we’re using. You had fifteen years to decide what truth I could handle. You don’t get to fly down here now and take the wheel because I finally started driving.”

Cal breathes through his nose.

I can picture him exactly. Sitting on the edge of his bed, one hand over his eyes, old scars pulling when his jaw tightens. He probably has a gun within reach. He always does.

“You sound like your momma,” he says quietly.

For a moment, I forget how to breathe. Cal goes still on the other end.

Too still.

My fingers tighten on the phone.

“What?”

“I just said you sound like her.”

No. That is not what he said. Not exactly.

Something about the way his voice softened around the word momma made the air shift, but when I reach for it, it slips away.

I don’t know if it’s because I’m tired, or maybe I’m just not ready for whatever he’s holding back. All I know is that he’s holding something back. Cal is better at almost-truths than anyone I have ever known.

“I have to go,” I say.