Bound by Lies Read online

  I nod as I see, clear as day, Sam swinging from the tire. He’s leaning back, his brown hair blowing in the breeze. A giant smile on his face and laughter rolling off his tongue.

  “So many memories,” I say, squeezing my aunt’s hand.

  “So many,” she repeats. “I’m going to go inside. Take your time out here.”

  She lets go of my arm, and I sit down in the patio chair to ponder. The memories are so fresh, so front of mind as they take me back to the happiest days of my life. But when I open my eyes, I’m reminded of my reality, and the good memories suddenly vanish.

  Heaving a sigh, I push myself up from the chair and head back inside. My aunt is on the couch waiting for me, but it’s Emilia’s leather bound notebook on the coffee table that catches my attention.

  “That’s Emilia’s,” I mumble, lifting it from the table. It’s sitting on top of a thin Apple laptop computer. I flip the cover open and find pictures with notes and lists tucked under the front cover. I’m curious but immediately feel guilty for looking through her personal belongings.

  “She never came back here,” my aunt says quietly. “Her father told us she left with only what she had at his house.”

  “Which had to be nothing,” I mumble. “She came here with nothing and left with nothing. At least nothing of importance. This was all she cared about.” I hold up the leather notebook.

  “Take it with you,” my aunt says. “If it’s important to her, Sam would want her to have it. And that computer.” She points to the laptop. “That isn’t Sam’s. I bet it’s hers. Take it.”

  “I’m going to look and see if there is anything else she left.” I head down the hallway, peering into the bedroom that Sam and I shared as kids. Our room, which used to hold bunk beds and a large chest, now looks to be storage for Sam’s odds and ends. Even the closet has been reconfigured and built into a bookshelf.

  The small hallway bathroom has also been completely updated. New fixtures, tiles, and paint have transformed the small space.

  The closed door at the end of the hall holds my biggest nightmare—the master bedroom and the attached bathroom where I found my mother riddled with bullets. My stomach turns with each step as I draw nearer. At the door, my hand stills on the knob, and I close my eyes. Sweat beads along my hairline, bile rising into my throat. I close my eyes and will myself to turn the doorknob.

  With a deep breath, I turn the handle and push the door open, then I exhale loudly as I see how different the room is. Sam has changed everything.

  Everything.

  I thought I’d be upset if this room changed drastically, but I’m relieved. The bathroom off the bedroom has been extended and remodeled and a new tub was installed along a different wall. This is the only room in the house that has truly changed, so much that it feels like a different space altogether.

  Across the room, on top of the chest of drawers, sits the same picture I had in my room at the condo. The one Emilia confronted me with. I cross the room and pick it up. Happiness. Everything in this photo was my happiness. Was.

  With a sense of loss, I refocus and place the picture back and scan the room, looking for any of Emilia’s belongings. A stack of clothes is sitting on a chair, and her bag is on the floor next to it. I shove the clothes into the bag and carry it to the living room.

  “You okay?” my aunt asks as she shuffles from foot to foot nervously.

  “Yeah. I am now.”

  “He did good,” she says with a smile and a gleam of pride.

  “He did. I was so nervous to come back here,” I admit.

  “You needed to. I think we’re all still searching for closure. Emma’s death ripped this family apart, and we’ve never been the same. Your uncle helped Sam with the remodel, but he still has a hard time coming over here.”

  “Where is he?”

  “On the front porch.” Her eyes are tender. “It’s where he usually ends up if we’re here too long.”

  “I’m going to go talk to him.”

  “I think that’s a good idea. I’m going to make a quick phone call and then lock up. I’ll meet you out front in just a bit.”

  I find my uncle on the porch swing, deep in thought, his legs dangling. “Tio,” I say quietly, not wanting to startle him.

  He turns his head, his face somber and eyes misty. “Mijo.”

  “You did good. The house is…” I don’t know what word I want to say. Perfect is wrong, because it’s not perfect—my mom isn’t there. Nice seems insincere.

  “Just a house,” he supplies quietly. “It used to be a home, but that died when Emma died. Alejandro, I owe you an apology. I was so angry at Antonio, and that anger boiled over and became directed at you as well. You were just a little boy when all of this happened. I know none of this was your fault. I should’ve fought harder for you. I should’ve done anything to get you away from that monster.”

  I feel his sincerity, his pain, and his regret. But I don’t blame him. “I think we all have regrets,” I say as I take a seat next to him on the porch swing. “I don’t want any more regrets.”

  “I don’t either.” He puts his arm around my shoulder. “I’ve missed you, mijo. And I know you need to get to Emilia, but I’d like to spend some time with you too.”

  Butterflies fill my stomach and a smile pulls at my lips. This is what hope feels like—and goddamn, I’ve missed it.

  AS THE CAR crawls along the old pebbled street, my fingers grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles are white. “Forty-seven-fifteen,” I mumble as my eyes scan the house for the address. After a few seconds, I spot the numbers under the carriage light of the attached garage.

  This is it.

  Feeling nervous, I pull into the short driveway.

  A minute later, a small pickup truck pulls up behind me, and my heart races as an older gentleman hops down and hobbles over to my car. “Ms. Adams?” he asks with a smile. My nerves begin to settle when I see his friendly smile.

  “Yes,” I nod at him.

  “I’m William Anders. Ready to see the house?”

  “I am.” I step out into the foggy air. It’s overcast here, and the air hangs heavy with the moisture of impending rain.

  William slides a key into the deadbolt, pushing the door open. The ad I found online said the cottage had been recently built. Everything looks new and untouched.

  “I haven’t had a chance to furnish it yet,” he says as he walks toward the kitchen. “My wife wanted to pick out all the furnishings, but she’s recently become ill.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I tell him as we walk into the kitchen. I listen to him as I walk around the empty, open space. This place would be perfect for the baby and me. “I love it,” I say softly as I run my finger along the wooden window frame.

  He gives me a lopsided smile. “Sweetheart, you haven’t even seen the best part. Come here.”

  I follow him through the living room and into the dining area just off the kitchen. Suddenly, my eyes go wide. In front of me is a pair of sliding glass doors that open to a wood patio. Beyond that is the Pacific Ocean.

  This can’t be real, I think as the waves crash against the sandy shore and tall grass that is whipping in the wind. “It’s beautiful,” I whisper because I’m in total awe. This place is everything I’ve ever dreamed of—peaceful and quiet, and the ocean. I’ve never seen the ocean.

  “Wait until it’s sunny.” His eyes look wistful. “It’s heaven here, Ms. Adams. You’ll never want to leave.”

  “I don’t plan to,” I say under my breath.

  He waves me over. “Come on; let me show you the bedrooms and you’ve about seen it all.”

  Reluctantly, I leave the breathtaking view and follow him back into the house.

  “You said you wanted two bedrooms, so here is the guest room.”

  I’m pleasantly surprised to see the walls in this room are a pale yellow, almost cream color. This would be perfect for the nursery. It’s a decent size with a closet and window that looks
out onto the beach. My baby will get to see the ocean every day. That thought brings me so much contentment, I feel a smile taking over my face.

  “And here is the master. This room is the largest in the house. My wife wants to move here someday, and she went crazy when we designed it.”

  The room is huge. One wall is almost entirely a giant bay window with a sitting area built into it. Bookshelves line both sides of the window and over the top. It’s like I’m in a magazine. There’s so much space in here, I don’t even know what I’d fill it with.

  “The master bath is over here.” He points to the door connected to the bedroom. “And the walk-in closet is on the other side of the bath. There’s an oversize Jacuzzi tub,” he adds with a grin.

  Without needing to see more, I blurt out, “I’d like to rent the place. For at least a year, maybe longer. Are you willing to do that?”

  His eyes bulge, and he starts stammering.

  “I’m pregnant and moving right after the baby is born is of no interest to me.”

  He looks me up and down like he doesn’t believe I’m pregnant. I understand. I don’t look like it, not yet.

  “This is exactly what I need,” I tell him, hoping I’ll convince him.

  He blinks a few times. “I guess I could write a long-term lease. Usually people just want to vacation here, spend a couple weeks…”

  “I’d like to stay for a year,” I reiterate, “maybe longer.”

  He still seems hesitant. “Ms. Adams—”

  “Mr. Anders, please. I won’t even ask you to furnish it. In fact, I’d really like to pick out my own belongings.”

  As if he finally believes me, he grins wide. “I feel like this is too good to be true.”

  “It’s not,” I assure him.

  He claps his hands together excitedly. “Well, let me get a contract put together. You can’t stay here tonight.” He glances around at the bare floors. “There’s a little hotel in town, though, or you can drive to Portland or Salem. That’s probably where you’ll want to shop anyway,” he says, rubbing his head.

  “I’ll probably stay in town tonight. I want to check it out,” I tell him. “And then head into Portland tomorrow to order some furniture. Can we meet back here tomorrow evening around five to sign the lease?”

  “That works for me.” He nods, looking pleased, and we walk back to the living room. The hallway reminds me of the hall at my father’s house, and I can’t wait to fill my walls with pictures.

  “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go sit on the patio for a little bit before I head into town,” I tell him.

  “You bet. You can get back to the front from the side of the house. Just walk around.”

  I step out onto the back patio, and he closes the door, locking it behind me. There are three steps that lead down to the sandy beach, and I sit on the top one, enjoying the breeze and the view. The wind has picked up, and I can smell the sea salt in the air. I rub my arms to keep the chill at bay as I watch the waves come in one after the other, folding onto the shore.

  Starting to feel giddy, I unlace my tennis shoes and kick them off. I still can’t believe I’m here. It feels like a dream. But when my toes hit the soft sand, it starts to all sink in. The sand is coarse and reminds me of the sand at the beach back home in Illinois.

  I look up and down the beach in both directions. Not a soul to be seen. Small, older houses are scattered every few hundred yards up and down the coastline, close enough to be called neighbors, but far enough apart for privacy. This is my heaven.

  I tiptoe closer to the water and, when a wave thunders up the shore and hits my toes, I gasp, catching my breath. It’s cold—but it’s the ocean. I take a few steps further until another wave encases both of my feet, and I can’t help but smile. I bend down and run my fingers through the cold water before standing up again. Tipping my face to the sky, I close my eyes and take in the smells and sounds. This is what I always dreamed of. And even though Alex set me free—it is because of him that I’m here.

  I’M THANKFUL FOR all the clothes Gretchen purchased for me, especially for this jacket and pair of fleece lounge pants keeping me warm in this rain. After settling into the cutest little boutique hotel, I walk down to the local drug store for an umbrella and some snacks.

  I’m the only one around it seems in this cute downtown area. The adorable street boasts a drug store, a small grocery market, a bakery, and a small flower shop all nestled between offices and other small businesses. I pause outside a vacant brick building, right between the flower shop and a small bookstore. A ‘For Rent’ sign is hanging in the large glass window, calling to me like a beacon.

  Peering through the glass, my mind immediately goes to work. I scribble down the phone number on the sign, then shove the paper in my purse and rush back to the hotel, just as the rain begins coming down harder.

  Later, I sit in the bathtub, soaking in bubbles as I make plans. Finally, I feel like my life might be slowly coming together.

  A KNOCK AT the door pulls me away from the spiral bound notebook in my lap. For the last hour, I’ve been frantically jotting down notes, questions, and plans.

  “Room service,” the voice calls. I check carefully, paranoia still front of mind. When I see the waiter all in uniform, I let him in. He sets my breakfast tray on the desk, and I lock up behind him. While I sip on my cappuccino and eat my bowl of oatmeal, I look at the grey skies outside and make my to-do list.

  Ninety minutes later, I’m pulling into a shopping center in Portland. The next four hours are spent picking out furniture for the bedroom, living room, and kitchen. I also fill my car with kitchen essentials and linens. My last stop is the cellphone store, where I pick up a new phone—not that I have anyone to call, but more for emergency purposes.

  The drive back to the beach is quiet and, while I’m still not comfortable driving, I manage just fine. I’m ten minutes early to meet Mr. Anders at the house, and I sit on the front steps, waiting for him. I love the air here. It feels cleaner here. My head feels lighter. Every bone in my body is telling me this is where I belong.

  Mr. Anders gladly accepts my check for eighteen months’ rent up front and, with a signature, the house is mine. He even helps me unload my car full of small appliances and household supplies that I bought.

  I make a quick call to schedule delivery of the furniture, then I go over my notes in my notebook, crossing off items that I managed to get done today. Tomorrow, I’ll tackle the remainder. It feels good to piece my life together, and a sense of confidence takes over, knowing that I’m doing this on my own.

  My fingers wrap around the keys in my palm. I can’t believe it—my first house. Well, it’s not officially mine, but having a safe, clean, beautiful home on the beach is nothing short of a dream come true for me, and I can’t help the swell of pride that fills me.

  With no furniture, though, I can’t stay here tonight, so I head back to the hotel for the night. After my exhausting day, I’m asleep before my head even touches the pillow.

  The next morning, I wake up and sit in bed for a while. I have to make a call, and I’m nervous. I dial the numbers and my heart races, wondering if he’ll answer.

  “Hello.” His voice is hoarse when he answers.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Emilia, hi!” He clears his throat. “Thank you for calling.” I can hear the relief in his voice and I can’t help but smile, my nerves suddenly calm.

  “How are you?” I ask him as I pull myself from the comfort of the bed and saunter over to the desk. I flip through the room service menu as my dad fills me in on what he’s been doing.

  “Sam’s awake,” he says.

  I freeze. “What?”

  “They slowly withdrew the heavy pain meds the day after you left. I heard yesterday he was almost sitting up. Of course he’s in a lot of pain and not ready to leave the hospital, but it’s progress.”

  I’m in awe. And so happy. “I didn’t think it would happen that fast.”

  “I di
dn’t either,” he says happily. “But from what I understand, it appears he’ll make a full recovery. I’m sure he’ll never be one hundred percent, but he’s alive. That’s what’s important.”

  “It is,” I say with a smile on my face.

  “Thank you for calling,” he says tenderly. “I’m so relieved to know you’re safe.”

  “I am.” For now. Hopefully forever.

  “Are you happy?”

  “I will be. I’m not there yet, but close.”

  “Good.” He sounds pleased, and it’s nice to know he cares. “The number you called from shows up on my phone. You need to get that blocked. Get a private number. And do not leave a personalized voicemail, or let anyone know this is your number, okay? If the phone company gives you any trouble, let me know. I know a few guys who can make a call for you.” He laughs into the phone. It’s so good to hear him laugh.

  “All right, Dad. I gotta go. I just wanted to call and check in.”

  “Call me again soon?”

  “I will.”

  We end the call, and I have to sit down, Sam heavy on my mind. I’m so happy he’s awake, but I’m sad that I didn’t get to talk to him before I left. I order room service and take a long, hot shower in the meantime. As I eat breakfast, I page through my to-do list and begin making some calls. I have an appointment with a real estate agent to see the space on Main Street at noon. I take my time getting ready, actually styling my hair into long, loose waves, and putting on make-up.

  When I arrive, I take my time perusing the street, weaving through the clusters of people gathered in small groups. There are bistro tables outside a small deli, families eating and laughing together. It makes me smile.

  I stop at the flower store where a large flower stand is stationed on the sidewalk in front of the store. Large bouquets sit in buckets of water. Roses, carnations, and mixed bouquets so fragrant pull me over to take a closer look. I pull a huge bouquet of lavender roses mixed with lilacs. The smell makes me smile, reminding me of home. One of the only nice things about our trailer was the enormous lilac bush behind it. I’d cut the flowers and place them in an empty mason jar in the center of the small table in our trailer. Mom would sit and smell them for hours—always commenting on how perfect their smell was. Pleasant and light, not overwhelming. They remind me of her.