The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Forty-Six
Celeste
Frankie takes the girls inside for some fruit and a drink, but I wait for Saylor. Even the girls heard her raised voice and had become more interested in the confrontation between Saylor and Ruston, so Frankie and I exchanged knowing looks and she’d offered to take them inside.
I said I’ll be in shortly but I want to make sure Saylor’s okay. She doesn’t look it as she drags her feet, crossing the park at a snail’s pace. When she nears, I raise my hand in greeting, giving her the option to ignore me or come talk. Thankfully, she chooses the latter.
I’m shocked to see tears in her eyes as she nears me. It could be hormonal, a pregnant woman upset by a simple tiff, but from that argument I just witnessed I think it’s more. I’d have to care about someone to cry if they offended me, and the depth of feeling required means there’s something going on between these two as I’ve previously suspected.
She stops in front of me, her fingers curled into her palms, her arms rigid, like she’s trying to stay in control. “Did you hear all that?”
I pat the bench beside me and she lowers herself wearily, like she’s nine months pregnant rather than five and a half. “No, but your raised voice did carry.”
She winces. “Sorry about that. Everyone tells me I have a loud voice and when I get annoyed it’s even louder.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a world of untold pain behind that one syllable and I wait, giving her time to speak if she wants to.
“Have you ever done anything on the spur of the moment that you later realize is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done?” She’s asking the right person.
I’m filled with regrets for all the times I’ve let my impulsiveness get the better of me. “Of course. None of us are infallible.”
“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” she asks and I feel like she’s testing me; if I give her some semblance of truth she’ll open up to me. Not that I want to be this woman’s confidante, but I’m concerned for her wellbeing. That baby she’s carrying needs a relaxed mother and doesn’t deserve to be flooded with cortisol; she needs to get her stress hormone levels under control.
“I’ve lied to someone close to me,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper, regret choking me. “And not just small lies, a whopping great one that would tear his world apart if he knew.”
“His world? Are you talking about your ex?” Her question startles me and I shake my head, but my nonverbal denial isn’t enough as her eyes widen. “Is he not the father of Violette?”
“We’re talking about you, not me,” I say, needing a change of subject, pronto. I can’t have anyone delving into my past and the subject of Violette’s paternity.
“I’m in over my head,” she mutters, paling a little, worry pinching her mouth. “I thought I had everything figured out when I moved here.” Her shoulders sag with the burden she’s carrying. “Turns out, not so much.”
“You know Ruston from before, don’t you?” I wonder whether she’ll be honest this time.
She slides a protective arm across her belly, as if to stave off whatever misfortune is heading her baby’s way. “Is it that obvious?”
“Well, newly acquainted neighbors don’t get into heated spats, unless it’s over dog poo on their lawn or unrelenting loud music until three a.m. every night.”
She sighs and a lone tear trickles from the corner of her eye. “Lloyd doesn’t know and I prefer he doesn’t. He’s already got it in his head I have a thing for Ruston.”
“Do you?”
“Not really. We share a past, that’s all…” She presses the pads of her fingers to her eyes and again I wait to see if she’ll reveal anything more. “He’s not being cooperative when I need him to be and it’s threatening everything.”
She’s talking in riddles and I start jumping to wild conclusions, like maybe he’s the father of her unborn child…
“Sounds like you have a plan.” I hope she knows what she’s doing.
“I do. But what’s that old saying about the best laid plans going astray?” She presses her other hand to her chest. “That’s what I feel is happening here.”
“At the risk of sounding like a nag, and as someone who has no right to, all this stress isn’t good for your baby and he should be your priority now.” I’d love to know what her secret is, what she’s trying to do and how Ruston is getting in the way, but I doubt she’ll divulge the details.
She stiffens even though I haven’t asked for more information. Her shoulders pull back and some of the color returns to her face, a faint crimson staining her cheeks. “You’re absolutely spot on.” She looks me straight in the eye. “You have no right and I’d appreciate if you mind your own business.”
I bark out a laugh. “Saylor, you came up to me. I’m just lending you a friendly ear if you want to offload.” I hold up my hands like I have nothing to hide. “No judgment here at all.”
She grimaces. “I know. Sorry, I’m just feeling like I’m sinking, a mix of hormones and bad judgment. I’ll be fine.”
She stands and I do too, offering one last word of advice. “It gets easier, you know.”
“What does?”
“Watching someone you care about not returning your affection.”
The color in her cheeks deepens and I wonder if I’m right, that her baby’s paternity is in question, that Ruston is the father of her child and she’s desperate to make sure her husband doesn’t find out.
“Thanks, Celeste.” She touches my hand then she’s gone, heading toward her house with stronger strides than before.
I hope I helped. But I know problems like that aren’t easily dealt with.