Genuine Lies

one. He heard the simplicity in Paul’s answer, understood it. And, looking into the man’s eyes, trusted it. His nerves settled, and he smiled. “I won’t always be short.”
    “No.” Paul’s voice roughened even as he answered the smile. “But you’ll always be ugly.”
    “And I’ll always beat you at basketball.”
    “I’m going to prove you wrong there, a little later. Now, I think something’s upset your mom. I’d like to talk to her.”
    “By yourself.”
    “Yeah. Maybe you could go over to the main house and charm some cookies out of Travers. Again.”
    Faint, embarrassed color stained Brandon’s cheek. “She wasn’t supposed to tell.”
    “She wasn’t supposed to tell your mom,” Paul said. “People tell me everything. And the thing is, Travers used to sneak me cookies too.”
    “Yeah?”
    “Yeah.” He rose then. “Give me about a half hour, okay?”
    “Okay.” He started off, then turned at the edge of the garden. A young boy with dirt on his face and scabs on his knees and the disconcertingly wise eyes of childhood. “Paul? I’m glad she didn’t hang around with guys and stuff before now.”
    As compliments went, Paul couldn’t remember better. “Me too. Now, beat it.”
    He listened to Brandon’s quick, appreciative laughter, then turned toward the guest house.
    Julia was in the kitchen, slowly, mechanically squeezing lemons. She’d slipped out of her suit jacket, stepped out of her shoes. The sapphire-colored shell she wore made her shoulders look very white, very soft, very fragile.
    “I’m nearly finished,” she said.
    Her voice was steady, but he heard the underlying nerves.Saying nothing, he pulled her over to the sink to rinse her hands under cool water. “What’re you doing?”
    He dried her hands himself with a dishtowel before he switched off the radio. “I’m going to finish it. Sit down, take a couple of deep breaths, and tell me what happened.”
    “I don’t need to sit.” But she did lean against the counter. “Brandon? Where’s Brandon?”
    “Knowing you, I thought you’d hesitate to let it loose in front of him. He’s over at the main house for a while.”
    Apparently Paul Winthrop knew her much too well, much too quickly. “So Travers can sneak him cookies.”
    Paul glanced up as he added sugar. “What, have you got a hidden camera?”
    “No, just a mother’s primitive sensory skills. I can smell cookie breath at twenty paces.” She managed a weak smile and finally did sit.
    He pulled a wooden spoon from the rack and stirred. When he was satisfied, he filled a glass with ice and poured the tart drink over the cubes so that they crackled. “Was it the interview with Kenneth that upset you?”
    “No.” She took the first sip. “How did you know I was seeing Kenneth this afternoon?”
    “CeeCee. When I came by to relieve her.”
    “Oh.” She looked around blankly, just realizing CeeCee wasn’t there. “You sent her home.”
    “I wanted to spend some time with Brandon. Okay?”
    Struggling for calm, she sipped again. She hadn’t meant to question him so sharply. “I’m sorry. My mind keeps going off on tangents. Of course it’s okay. Brandon looked as if he was enjoying himself. I’m not much competition on the basketball court, and—”
    “Julia, tell me what happened.”
    With a jerky nod she set the glass aside, then linked her hands on her lap. “It wasn’t the interview. In fact, that went very well.” Had she put the tape in the safe? Unconsciously she unlinked her fingers to rub them against her eyes. Everything seemed so fuzzy, from the time she had clasped herhands over her head. She started to get up, to go to him, but her legs wouldn’t allow it. Funny that her knees would go weak now, when everything was all right again. The kitchen smelled of lemons, her son was sneaking cookies, and the faintest of breezes was nudging a tinkle out of the wind chimes. Everything was all right again.
    She started when Paul scraped back his chair and went to the refrigerator. He yanked out a beer, twisted the top, and drank deep.
    “I’m not thinking straight,” she said. “Maybe if I start at the beginning.”
    “Fine.” He sat across the table from her, ordering himself to be patient. “Why don’t you do that?”
    “We were flying back from Sausalito,” she began slowly. “I was thinking that I’d finished nearly all of the hard research, and that in a few weeks we’d be going home. Then I was thinking about