ASIFONCUE, SUSAN CALLED SECONDS LATER, JUST AS I WAS getting into the shower. “I gotta be quick,” she blurted. “We’re late for piano lessons. Here’s the deal: Leslie and I made preliminary plans for organizing the moms. We all have crazy schedules, so we’re meeting Thursday during gym. Leslie is bringing about fifty whistles to distribute to nannies. Heather’s got colored string—we’re going to make necklaces to hang the whistles on. We’ve got oodles of ideas. Anyhow, you know the routine: I call you; you call Karen; she calls Gretchen, and so on down the phone chain just like for snow days.” “Great. You did good.”
Her breathing slowed. “Okay. What’s wrong?”
Dammit, I couldn’t hide anything from her.
“Zoe, I don’t have time to pull it out of you. What happened?”
“It’s not important. The whistle necklaces are a great idea.”
“I’ll worry until I know.”
“It’s no big deal. Just that Stiles came over last night.”
“About the case?”
“No. It was a social call.”
“Really?” She was quiet for a minute, chewing on that. I could hear her mind whirring. “And?”
Good question, I thought. “And it got complicated. It went south.”
“So fast? What the hell happened?”
“We don’t share priorities. We have different values—” “Zoe, what are you talking about? What does that mean? Who gives a damn about sharing values? Tim and I’ve been married seventeen years, and I don’t have a clue what he ‘values.’ Hell, we don’t agree on anything. We cancel out each other’s votes every election.” I didn’t say anything.
“Why not give it some time? Leave the door open for a while?”
My sheets were still rumpled. My face was sore from whisker burn. “I don’t think so, no. Look, he lied about finding the bag of body parts. He denied to my face that it even exists. And he lied to you about the finger. Susan, the man lies.”
“So? He might have reasons.”
“You’re saying that lying’s okay if you have reasons?”
“I didn’t say lying was okay. It probably isn’t. But I don’t see what the big deal is. People lie. We all do. Haven’t you ever lied? Told someone you loved her runny souffle? Swore you had a great time at a dull party? Faked an orgasm?”
“That’s not the same—”
“Look, we can debate this all day, but the girls are waiting in the car. Remember, Zoe, the truth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. We all need a good lie now and then.”
“So. Do you lie?”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Okay. Do you lie to me?”
“I might bend the truth now and then. Depends on about what or why.” “Ouch.”
“See? The truth hurts. I should have lied and said, ‘No, I never lie to you.’ You’d have felt better.”
“Okay. I see your point. You’re right. I’ll give him another chance.”
“You’re lying, aren’t you?” “So what? You’ll feel better.”
“Okay. Look, I know you’re pissed at him. I was pissed off when he pretended there was no finger. But remember, Stiles is working a sensitive case. He’s not at liberty to reveal what he knows. It’s not fair to ask him to.”
Maybe she was right, but I didn’t think so. I couldn’t trust Nick professionally or personally. And if I were going to let a man get close to me, I had to trust him to tell me the truth, even if it was that my souffle was runny, that my party was a bore, or that a bagful of body parts had been found a block from my front door.