The Truth About Faking

voice is quiet. He sounds like he’s crying.
    “I know,” Mom says. I hear bodies moving, and I imagine them embracing. This is not happening! Where’s Dad?
    It’s quiet a few seconds longer, then Ricky speaks.
    “Thanks for letting me come over,” he says. Sounds of movement again. “I felt like I had to talk in person.”
    “Don’t worry about it,” Mom says. “But you do need to go now. It’s late and Harley could be home any minute. She might not understand.”
    “How is it possible I got sent to this tiny town and found you?” His voice is warm.
    “Predestined?” Mom’s voice has a smile in it, and I feel sick.
    “More like my angel…”
    The office door starts to open, and I jump and scurry back, trying to make it look like I just closed the front door. But not before I see my mom shake her head and smile back at him.
    “Harley! You’re home,” she says. She sounds surprised, and I feel my eyes grow hot. “Ricky just stopped by to… discuss something.”
    I nod, but my heart is racing, and I can’t meet her eyes. His angel? What wouldn’t I understand? What were they doing in there while I was gone? While Mom was supposed to be home. Alone. Reading about magnets and menopause. Menopause! She could be his grandmother.
    “Hey, biker chick,” Ricky says.
    “Only my dad calls me that.” I won’t look at either of them.
    “I was just teasing.” Ricky says, and I glance up. His cheeks appear damp in the dim light, and as usual he’s wearing a tight polo. It stretches over his chest as he reaches to touch my mother’s arm.
    “I’d better go,” he says.
    “I’ll walk you out,” she replies.
    I don’t move as I watch them leave. In my mind I put together the timeline. Jason picked me up a little before seven, and the movie was two hours long. Did Ricky know I’d be gone? Was it just a coincidence? How long could he have been here? Maybe I got home just in time. Finally Mom returns.
    “How was the movie, honey?” Her voice sounds tired and she lifts her hand to rub her forehead.
    “Fine,” I say, watching at her.
    “That’s good.” Then she waves to the door. “Ricky just had… this thing. It was nothing really.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Yeah, just something he’s dealing with… but nothing for you to worry about.”
    I bite my lip and decide against asking if it was another suspicious mole. Instead, I internally freak out. What I saw was way too intimate to be nothing. My stomach feels both sick and crampy, and I wish she’d tell me more.
    She just smiles and walks over to me. “I don’t know about you, but I’m dead. I’m gonna hit the feathers.”
    She pecks my cheek, and I can’t help checking for any sign something might’ve happened. Her shirt tags are all in their proper places, her hair isn’t messy or swept into a high, damp ponytail. She isn’t singing anything off-key…
    “Where’s Dad?” I ask.
    “Hm?” Mom looks up and then glances at the clock. “Oh, wow. It’s after ten. He probably just got tied up at church or something. Don’t worry. He’ll be home soon.”
    “I wasn’t worried,” I say. At least not about Dad.
    “See you in the morning.”
    I stand motionless as she walks down the hallway to her room and closes the door. My stomach is still churning as I go to my room and lay across my bed. Then I get up and go back across the hall to the bathroom to wash my face. When I come out, I still don’t hear anything from her room, so I go back to mine and change clothes.
    I get under my covers and pick up a book, but I can’t read it. I lean back and close my eyes for a second. After a few minutes, I look around. It’s strange because I don’t remember how I got here, but I’m swimming in the creek. It’s dark, and I’m alone in the black waters. At least I thought I was alone. There’s a voice on the shore, a male voice. It sounds like Jason, but it’s too far away for me to tell. I start to swim toward it, but something grabs my legs and starts pulling me under. It’s scratchy like tree roots, and I struggle and kick. But it keeps grabbing me and pulling me down. My heart’s beating faster, and I can’t breathe. I try to cry out, to move my arms, but it’s too late. The dark water is pouring into my nose and down my throat. I’m drowning. I can’t lift my arms as I start to black out…
    I sit up fast. I’m in my bed, and it’s light outside. Sunday morning.

Six
     
     
    I can’t shake the dream as I prepare for