Page 9 of The Lie

“When Miranda was born, it was the happiest day of my life. She was so perfect. Such a good baby. She barely cried, always smiled, and as she grew, she became the sweetest little girl. Poppy reminds me so much of that version of her. Kind, polite, clever ... the sort of child every parent dreams of. Straight A’s all through school. Never got into trouble. Never gave us a reason to worry. She started working part-time at fourteen and would try to give us all the money she’d earned to help out.”

“That’s sweet.”

“My husband and I weren’t well off by any means, but there was no way we could take that money from her.”

A sad smile flickers across her face before it disappears.

“A few months after her sixteenth birthday, she met a boy and everything changed. She dropped out of school, cut ties with her friends, turned her beautiful, long blonde hair into dreadlocks, got her nose and eyebrow pierced, and decided Miranda wasn’t who she was anymore. Gone were the pretty dresses. They were replaced with shapeless layers of tie-dye and patchwork. She covered herself with crystals and chose to walk around barefoot whenever she could. Much to her father’s horror, she started calling herself River Sage and demanded we do the same. Claimed it was her spiritual name and that Miranda belonged to the person she’d left behind.”

I sit up straighter in my seat and run my flattened palms down the front of my trousers.

“At first, I thought it was just a phase she’d grow out of. Before she dropped out of school, she’d planned to go to university. She wanted to become an archaeologist.” She lets out a sad laugh. “Instead, things only got worse. She started disappearing for days at a time. The first time it happened, her father and I drove around all night looking for her. We even filed a missing person’s report the next day. The fear we went through was indescribable.”

“I can imagine.”

“I even searched her room, desperate for some clue about where she might be, and found a bag of marijuana in the process.”

“Oh no.”

“She came home a few days later as though nothing had happened. The only explanation she gave was, ‘I was with friends’. She waltzed through the front door like she hadn’t given her father and me the fright of our lives. Things spiralled after that. She was still a minor, but there was very little we could do. If we grounded her, she’d climb out the bedroom window.”

“I can imagine that was tough.”

“You have no idea.” She shakes her head. “A few months before her seventeenth birthday, she found out she was pregnant. I never knew who Poppy’s father was. To be honest, I don’t think Miranda knew either. She said her and her friends—and I say that term loosely—were into free love, whatever that means.”

“How sad. Where is she now?”

“Living in some hippie commune in the Blue Mountains, I think. Well, she was the last I heard.” Her gaze drops to her hands. “We’ve had no contact with her since she walked away. Her choice, not ours.” She swallows. “As much as it broke my heart, I’m grateful she left Poppy with us. I’d hate to think what would’ve become of that little girl if she’d been dragged from commune to commune.”

“I’m glad your granddaughter had a loving place to land with you and your husband.”

“Poppy has such a sweet heart, just like her mother once did. For years, I worried history would repeat itself, but that girl has never given me a reason to doubt her. She’s a hard worker. Her head is screwed on right. She knows exactly what she wants out of life, and she isn’t afraid to chase after it … she’s the light in my life.”

“She’s great,” I agree, keeping up the farce.

“Poppy tells me you’re a plumber,” she says, catching me off guard.

A fucking plumber?

I arch an eyebrow before I can stop myself, but somehow manage to quickly smooth my expression before she notices. Every part of me wants to come clean and tell this sweet old lady the truth, but no good would come of it.

“Yes,” I lie, and the more I get to know this woman, the harder it becomes to deceive her.

A knowing smile tugs at her lips. “Did you think I’d look down on you for that? Because I wouldn’t. It’s good, honest work. My husband was a carpenter. He worked hard every day of his life. Sure, we struggled at times, especially when I had to give up my part-time job to care for Poppy, but we always managed.”

“Why would you think I’d be embarrassed by what I do for a living?” I ask.

“The suits,” she answers, pointing at my clothes. “As dapper as you look in them, Riley, there’s no need to dress up when you visit. The man on the inside is what matters to me the most.”

I nod my head. “Right.”

“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Thirty-four.”

“Nine years older than Poppy.”

“Yes,” I say, doing a quick calculation in my head.