“Is Lydia okay?”
“Yes.”
“Did she …?” He rubbed the side of his jaw with his hand. “Did she slip?”
“Slip?” Claire’s mind filled with an image of Lydia slipping and falling on the floor. And then she understood what Rick Butler really meant. “Yes,” she said, because Lydia would prefer this terrible lie over the truth. “She slipped. She drank some wine, and then she took some pills, and she wouldn’t stop.”
“Why?”
Claire had lived with Lydia’s addiction for six years before their break. “Does there have to be a reason?”
Rick looked devastated. He was an addict. He knew that addicts could always find a reason.
“I’m sorry.” Claire felt like an anvil was on her chest. What she was doing was awful, inexcusable. She could read the anger and disappointment and fear in every line of Rick’s face. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” His voice went up the way men’s voices sometimes squeaked when they were trying to hold back emotions. “Why do you—” He cleared his throat. “Why do you need a gun?”
Claire glanced around the back yard as if an easy explanation would present itself.
“You think she’s gonna come back here and try to hurt herself?”
The alarm in his tone was heartbreaking. His throat still worked as he tried to quell his emotions. There were tears in his eyes. He looked like such a kind, gentle man. He was exactly the kind of person she had always hoped that her sister would end up with.
And now Claire was breaking his heart.
Rick asked, “Where is she? I want to see her. Talk to her.”
“I’m going to check her into rehab. I’ll pay for it. The facility is in New Mexico.” Claire pressed together her lips. Why had she said New Mexico?
Rick asked, “Is she in your car?”
“The ambulance is taking her to the airport. I’ll meet her there.” Claire added, “Alone. She told me to tell you to keep Dee safe. She doesn’t want you to see her like this. You know how proud she is.”
He slowly nodded his head. “I can’t believe she lost her sobriety after so long.”
“I’m sorry.” Claire was out of words. Her brain was so overtaken by Paul’s lies that she was incapable of coming up with new ones on her own. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating. “I’m so sorry.”
Claire didn’t know what else to say. She headed toward the back yard. She counted her footsteps to fill her head with something other than guilt. Five paces. Ten paces.
Rick stopped her at twenty. “Wait a minute.”
Claire felt her shoulders hunch. She had never been good at hiding her guilt because with Paul around, she was always so easily forgiven.
“You can’t take the gun.”
Claire turned around. Rick was closing the gap between them. Her first thought was that she could not outrun him. Her second thought was that she couldn’t think of another lie.
She put the problem back on Rick. “Why not?”
“They’re not going to let you take it on the plane. You can’t just stash it in the car at the airport.” He held out his hand. “I’ll hold on to it.”
Claire forced herself to look him in the eye. He smelled of car exhaust. She could see hard muscles under the sleeves of his flannel shirt. Even with the ponytail, he was a man in every sense of the word. He’d been in prison. He looked like he could handle himself. Claire wanted to let him help her. Every problem in her life had always been fixed by someone else.
And look where that had gotten her.
“What’s really going on here?” Rick’s posture had changed. He was looking at her differently now. His arms were crossed. His distrust was evident. “Lydia warned me that you were a really good liar.”
“Yeah, well …” Claire let out a long sigh. “I usually am.”
“Is she safe?”
“I don’t know.” Claire tightened her grip on the gun. She had to get out of here. If she stood in front of this man for too long, she would ask him for help. She would let him take over. She would get him killed. “Take Dee away from here. Tonight. Don’t tell me where you’re going.”
“What?”
She could read shock in every line on his face. “Just take her somewhere safe.”
“You need to call the police.” His voice had gone up again, this time with fear. “If there’s something—”
“The police are involved. The FBI. I don’t know who else.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Fuck your sorry, lady. What