Page 8 of Cup of Lies

The pain and terror in her voice gut me. “We can take a vacation. If you don’t want to go to Oklahoma, we can go someplace else.”

She nods emphatically. “Yes. I’ll go anywhere. I just need to get out of here. Can we go now?”

I almost agree that we can, also eager to get out of this constricting house, but if we leave in a rush, it’ll be suspicious.

“Soon,” I assure her with a smile. “That’ll give you time to order some new clothes or a swimsuit or whatever it is girls like to buy before a family vacation.”

The iPad times out and the screen goes black. When I tap it, the screensaver pops up. It’s clearly more of Calista’s artwork. There’s a girl with her arms crossed over her chest, small but fierce, wearing the same black, blunt-cut, chin-length bob with bangs standing on a giant graffiti wall. There’s lots to look at on the wall, but the words that stand out the most in red send a chill down my spine.

I AM LULU

She snatches the iPad out of my grip and hugs it to her chest. Defiance shines in her dark eyes as if she wants me to fight her for it. Fortunately, I know how and when to choose my battles. Her art is important to her, and clearly, private.

But what does it mean?

I want to ask her but bite my tongue.

Is it some alter ego? A tough, brave version of herself?

How can she be so afraid in one moment but seem so fierce in the next?

“I’ll keep you posted,” I say as I stand. “Want to play a game of dominoes later?”

She relaxes and nods. “I’ll beat you again.”

“You can try.”

With those words, I leave my little sister to her art. It’s apparently therapeutic for her. I bypass my office, which I hate these days, and head for my room to get out of these stuffy dress clothes. When I enter my closet, I get a faint whiff of perfume.

Red dress.

Sex against a sleek luxury car.

Fingers in my hair and heels digging into my ass.

I can’t remember the last woman I slept with. I’m not exactly the kind of man who likes to date. It’s complicated and time-consuming. But clearly, I dated someone and it’s still something I think about.

If she meant anything to you, though, you’d remember.

I like the idea of the pretty blonde with the sad eyes from the iPad being that woman. It makes me wonder if I could make her smile. If I could kiss her in all the right places to make her moan.

Who are you, love?

What is your name?

My phone buzzes with an incoming message. The screensaver on my phone is a picture of me and Calista sitting in the game room playing our dominoes game. I remember Theo took the picture, catching us off guard. We’d turned to look at the camera wearing the same dumfounded expression.

But that’s where the similarities end.

Both our parents had dark brown hair and tanned complexions. I have Dad’s same strong nose and Mom’s lips.

Calista with her black hair and nearly black eyes looks like…well, no one I know. Certainly not like me.

Whenever I ponder shit like this, I unravel. I feel fucking insane. There’s no one I can talk about it with either. Dad would probably put me through the CUP program if he thought I was defective. I imagine Theo would go straight to Dad with my secrets. And I’m too busy trying to protect Calista to confide my crazy in her.

Pushing away those stressful thoughts, I pop open my phone to look at the message she sent me. The picture of the woman, through a teenage artist’s rendition, is striking.

There’s something about the mysterious blonde.

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