BooksBarbecue
Back One White Lie
Chapters (59)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

We stood, like statues, at the same place I’d paused to take in the colors, but now the sun was almost down, the hues hazy and fever-dreamy. There wouldn’t be light much longer. We had flashlights, and so did John. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling, deep in my bones, that something had gone wrong. That John was in danger, that this wasn’t going to work.

I heard a crackle up ahead, and my pulse quickened, but Vera didn’t pay it any attention. She lifted the phone to her ear. ‘Yes, hello, I think, Jesus, I think my husband –’ Her voice cracked, her words turning into a wail. ‘I think my husband just fell off a cliff. We’re on a hike. God, he was just ahead, and he, and he must have stopped to take a photo, and –’

She paused, her eyes pinpointing a break in the trees that led to the next thicket of woods, her breath heaving from our quick run down. ‘I don’t know the address,’ she said, voice strained. She was practically yelling now. ‘We were on Platte River Trail, the trailhead by the parking lot just off of –’ She looked at me.

‘Chapel Road.’

‘Chapel Road,’ she said, and I didn’t know if she’d truly forgotten or if it was all a part of her act. I briefly imagined her in athleisure, fresh from an afternoon run, standing in front of the mirror and practicing the 911 call like I used to practice the specials for the restaurant where I’d waited tables when I first moved to New York.

‘No, we’re not in the parking lot now … Please, I just … No, we can’t see him … Yes, yes, I’ll stay on. Hurry. Goddamn it, please hurry.’

Without getting off the phone, she gestured to me, and we continued down the path toward the parking lot, the trees enveloping us once again, darkening the ground around us. I fiddled in my backpack for my flashlight, already nervous about hiking in the oncoming dark, but my hands brushed against a bit of paper. Strange. I’d emptied the bag last night; there shouldn’t be anything inside but my flashlight and an extra layer. Carefully, I unfolded the scrap in my hands.

My breath caught as water drops from the canopy of trees made spots on the paper. It was his handwriting, chicken scratch that I’d seen on the whiteboard that hung on their fridge, not elegant and swirling like hers. His letters were fat, short, and instantly recognizable.

I’m sorry about the other night. Please don’t tell Vera. I’ll call you soon.