Taking a deep breath, I say, “Yes. Lie to them—the townspeople, I mean. Tell them it’s all okay. Tell them he’s coming back. Claim that you know why he left and it’s not a big deal and it will just take time and people need to be patient.”
Claire points at me. “See. You’re clever.” She smiles proprietarily at Peter, as if she discovered me, which in a way she did.
Victoria frowns. “I can’t lie about something that important.”
“Even to save lives?” I ask. “Even to save him?” I point at Sean.
Victoria opens her mouth and shuts it.
I lean forward eagerly, enamored with my shiny new idea. “They’ll listen to you! To both of you! We need a lie. A plausible lie.”
Sean is nodding. He’s with me, I can tell.
“Tell them the Missing Man had to...I don’t know...”
“Visit someone,” Peter volunteers. “Someone he suddenly remembered, thanks to Little Red here. He’s helping that person and it’s delayed his return. But he has every intention of coming back when he’s done.”
“Yes!” I pound the table. “He’s taking some personal time. How often does he have a vacation? He’s using the vacation time that he’s accumulated over...”
“Centuries,” Peter puts in.
I pause and look at Peter. “How old are you?” It’s not a question I’ve ever asked him before. Some moments he seems eternally young, as if he’s tapped directly into an innocence more childlike than even Claire, and other times he seems as timeless as an ancient wizard, or a shaman who has seen things beyond this world.
“Never ask a gentleman his age.”
Not for the first time, I wonder what he is, where he came from, what his story is. But I can’t ask in front of them, and I know he won’t answer. All these weeks together, and he’s told me so little about himself. It should bother me more than it does. But he’s here with me now, supporting my plan, and that matters more. “Lie to people. Tell them...tell them I reminded him of the daughter that he abandoned, and he went to make sure she’s okay. But she isn’t okay, and now he’s helping her.” I like that lie. It would have been nice if it had happened to me. “I bet they’ll even want to believe it.” I was very good at lying to myself. I bet the townspeople would be good at it, too, especially if Victoria and Sean were to give them the appropriate nudge.
Sean is nodding. Victoria is at least listening.
“Lie to them,” I say. “Lie like your lives depend on it. Because I think they do.”
* * *
It’s almost sunset by the time we’ve finished laying out the details of the lie. Claire wanted to add a bit about winged ponies, which we rejected, and Peter embellished with his own details, most of which we rejected, too. At the end of several hours of debate, the basics remained the same as my original idea: I’d reminded the Missing Man of his daughter, and he’d gone to check on her. He’d return as soon as his personal business was complete. We also settled on a simple reason for why Sean and Victoria would have this information: the Missing Man had contacted the Finder, and the Finder had told Sean. Given Sean’s well-known hatred of the Finder (there was an incident with a kitchen knife, Claire whispered to me), this would be considered an objective report. Besides, no one ever doubted Sean. The man who could concoct heavenly meatloaf out of half-eaten old cheeseburgers was never doubted.
As the sun dips lower toward the ocean desert and the haze of dust, Victoria rises and says, “We should be going. It’s late, and we have lies to spread.”
Sean shakes our hands and thanks us for our hospitality.
I should offer to let them stay. It’s the polite response. I war with myself for a moment. My mother would have offered already, given up her bed and borrowed the neighbor’s cat so they could have something to cuddle. Bracing myself, I say, “You can use my room. It’s a queen-size bed. I’ll bunk with Claire.” I don’t mention Peter’s fondness for the closet. I hope he’ll follow me to Claire’s closet, rather than stay with them. We’ll have to clear out a few stuffed animals before he’ll fit, unless he likes fur-and-fluff pillows. I don’t relish explaining why he prefers closets, especially since he’s never given me a decent answer. It may be similar to why Claire likes to eat hidden in corners, though I have at least managed to coax her to the table. Everyone here is damaged in some way.
“Thanks for the offer, but we’ll be fine.” Victoria leads Sean toward the door.
I’m relieved. I don’t try to convince them to stay.
Her gaze fixes on the coatrack. “Where’s my gun?”
With a nod from me, Claire scampers away and then returns with it. She solemnly hands it to Victoria. Victoria raises her eyebrows at me but says nothing. I don’t bother with an explanation or apology. Instead, I come out with them as far as the porch and wave as they leave. Softly, Peter says to me, “Do you trust them?”
“Sure. No. You?”
“I’ll follow them,” Claire whispers. It’s a stage whisper, and it carries across the yard. But Victoria and Sean don’t slow, and I don’t know if they heard or not.
“You don’t need to...” I begin.
Claire slips away. She darts into the shadows and circles around the junk pile. I swear under my breath. Peter seems amused. “Girl is part eel,” I say, trying not to let the worry that claws my stomach creep into my voice.
“She’ll be fine,” Peter says. “She’ll spend the night in town and be back in the morning.”
