Chapter 19

What Lies Ahead

"Oh no," said Muffy.

It was Thursday afternoon. Francine watched as Muffy stared at the screen of her Infinity, her brows furrowed. The two girls were walking from the school exit to the nearby limo, headed to Francine's place for the afternoon.

"What's wrong?" Francine said casually. "Did John What's-His-Face split up with his actress-lady girlfriend?"

"It's Jude Pendleton. And as of lunchtime, he and Amelia were still together." Muffy sighed, but instead of being filled with airy girlishness, it sounded burdened. "Daddy just sent me a text. He wants me to go with him to an auction Saturday evening."

They came to a stop outside the limo door. Muffy held out her phone so that Francine could read the message:

Good afternoon, Muffin! Doing a favor for your mom. Come with me to Luddy's auction Saturday eve? Free surf and turf!

"Who's Luddy?"

"Ludmilla. Our next-door neighbor."

"Oh yeah, Wife Number Three. You told me about that a couple years back. She hosts auctions?"

"Sometimes. She's an art dealer. She and my mom are involved with a lot of the same charities. This one's an art auction for the Equestrian Society."

"That doesn't explain the 'oh no'," Francine said. "All that hoity-toity artsy stuff sounds right up your alley."

"It's not that. I already have plans with Chip on Saturday. He's taking the night off just so we can spend the day together, which means he'll have to take over someone else's shift later in the week. I'll have to turn Daddy down."

"Oh no."

"I know."

"Oh, I'm sure he'll understand if you explain it to him. Call him right now and let him down gently."

Muffy looked like she wanted say something, but she closed her mouth, looked down, and commenced to fidgeting with her phone.

"What is it?" said Francine.

"I just don't want Daddy to think I'm choosing Chip over him."

"He won't."

"But what if he does? What if I make him angry?"

"Have you ever?" Francine could see that Muffy had to think hard about this. "I'm going to take that as a 'no'. I think you'll be fine, but you could always cancel on Chip instead."

Muffy's eyes grew wide. "I can't do that. It's Chip."

"Well, you're going to have to suck it up, then. Call your dad now. Go on, get it over with. You'll feel better."

Muffy looked back at her skeptically before dialing her father. As she waited for him to pick up, Francine was distracted by someone yelling.

"FRANCINE, WAIT UP!"

She knew it was Arthur before she even turned around. Arthur sprinted up to the limo and motioned for her to join him off to the side. "Got a sec?"

She followed him a few paces away from Muffy who was now deep in conversation with her father over the phone, looking nervous.

"What's up?" Francine said.

"So…" Arthur hesitated, "Tomorrow's Friday."

Francine nodded. "Sharp," she teased. "Did you also learn to tie your shoes today?"

"Are we still on?"

"Pizza-Bowling? Sure."

"Cool. But I was wondering if it was okay if we…changed things up?"

"You want to change the name? It's about damn time. I vote we shorten it to Pie-Bowl."

"I was thinking it would be fun to see a movie after pizza instead. A PG-13 one, with punching and robots and stuff like that."

"That sounds good, except I doubt I could afford the movies right now," she said with a smile. "You see, this loser collected his gambling debt, and now I'm kind of strapped."

"Don't worry," he said. "I've got it. The bet wasn't even that big a deal to me anyway. Are you in?"

"Sure," she said. "Why not?"

"Awesome. See you later," Arthur said, and he was off.

"It's still not a date!" she called after him.

"Nope!" was his reply.

Francine saw that Muffy was now off the phone and leaning against the limo looking confused.

"Well?" Francine said once she had joined up with her again. "What did he say?"

"He said it was no problem."

"You don't look happy. Was that a 'no problem' with underlying anger?"

"No, no. He was…I don't know."

"Disappointed?"

"I…guess so. He said it wouldn't be as fun, going it alone, but he understood. He said he hoped I had a good time."

"There. See? He'll find someone to spend his time with, one of his bigwig acquaintances, or whatever."

"You don't…you don't think he was trying to guilt trip me?"

"Nah. Why? Do you feel guilty?"

The subject of guilt did not often come up while conversing with Muffy Crosswire, and yet Francine had heard her best friend mention it twice over the past few days.

Muffy shrugged. "I know I probably shouldn't. It's not like this is my fault. But I can't help it—I do, at least a little. I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with keeping so much from Mom and Daddy while Chip was away. Maybe guilt is like a default setting for me now when it comes to my brother."

But even as Muffy said this, Francine thought that she did not look sure. Francine herself was not certain whether it was guilt Muffy was experiencing or fear.

"I knew you were comfortable with doing things on a whim, Bo," he heard Bitzi say over the line. "I just never figured settling down would be one of them."

It was Friday night, and Bo had been checked into his hotel room for nearly an hour before deciding to call his ex and touch base with her on the Saturday plans. So far the conversation had been better than he had expected but not as good as he had hoped for. She had not been outright irritable with him, but a thin layer of frost had coated her every reply. Bo wondered how much of it still had to do with his impromptu trip to Elwood City earlier in the week. From the jump he had a feeling there was something on the tip of Bitzi's tongue, something she had been holding back. Then suddenly, as they were about to wrap things up, she had thrown it out there. Just like that.

Bo hesitated. He wanted to measure his reply, to sound calm, not defensive.

"I've been considering this for a couple months now. That's not exactly what I'd call on a whim, Bitz."

"You're right, it's not. I guess it just feels sudden to me. I mean, one would think that you would have mentioned it before now. But who could blame you. It's not like we've been talking a lot lately, or anything." She had dealt that last bit with dose of dull sarcasm.

"I know. I should've said something. I didn't want to until it was set in stone. And…I guess I might have been stalling a little, too. I wasn't sure what to say. Or how you'd feel about it."

Might as well tell the truth.

"You don't need my approval."

"But if it upsets you—"

"It doesn't. Really."

"Okay…but you just said—"

I know what I said, and it has nothing to do with me. Buster is thrilled that you're going to be here. It's practically all he's talked about this week. Are you sure you've thought this through?"

"What—do you think I'll pull up stakes and leave if I don't like it? Is that what you're concerned about?"

"The thought had crossed my mind. All that on-a-whim stuff, remember?"

"You sound like you think I'm still in my twenties. I have learned some lessons over the years, you know."

"Yes, I know. And I'm not trying to put you under fire here. I swear that's not what I'm doing. It's just—when I think of all the roll models who have come and gone over the years, I—"

"You don't have to worry about me disappearing. What do I have to do to prove that to you?"

"You don't have to prove anything to me. Just don't disappoint our son."

At this point Bo did not see a difference. Disappointing Buster was just as good as disappointing Bitzi, neither of which he intended to do. He knew there was nothing else he could say tonight that would ease her mind. He would have to prove it to her after all.

Challenge accepted, he thought.

Buster had spent the evening making sure that all of his homework was done, something he never did on Fridays. Even though he was no longer grounded, he had still opted to stay in. He wanted to have everything cleared from his mind so he could think solely about house hunting with his father the next day. He was even turning in earlier than he had in quite some time. He had reasoned that, if he went to sleep sooner, Saturday would come more quickly.

Before turning down his bed, or rather, pushing aside the lump of sheets and comforter that had been left unmade from the morning, he paused for the first time since the bunks had been removed in favor of his new twin bed. The bed was made of oak and was hardly remarkable, but the smallness of it really opened up the room and made it appear more spacious than it actually was. There were cons, of course. Now there was no second bunk under which he could hide stuff. Oh, well. He would just have to get creative if need be. And there would be no underneath side of the top bunk to stare at during the night while he lay on his back and thought about things. He found himself doing that more and more lately in light of all the revelations he had had over the past few weeks.

Life sure had taken some unexpected turns; he had learned a lot; and he was grateful that things had more or less worked out in the end.

Even though he had been upset with his parents for lying to him, the irony was not lost on Buster just how many lies he himself had told in pursuit of the truth. How many times had he and Fern lied to get what they wanted? He had lost count. And although he had eventually come clean to his parents and confessed to every dishonest act he had committed in the name of detective work, Buster had still erased Fern's involvement. He figured he could do her this solid after all she had done for him, especially after she had taken the bullet for him back at the Baxter cottage. No, he definitely did not want her to get into even more trouble with her mother.

It brought to mind what his father had told him on Monday: everybody lies. Some people did it for nefarious reasons, sure. But sometimes people lied to protect others, to spare them pain. Did that make it okay? Buster still was not sure. Maybe it just was what it was.

With everything Buster was able to clear from his mind to make room for his father's impending move back to Elwood City, there was still one matter that bothered him. He sat on the edge of his new bed and fumbled underneath it for his phone charger. Before plugging it in, he decided to check one last time, just in case.

will u please tell me whats wrong

He had sent that text over two hours ago. Still no reply. That did not surprise Buster, not anymore. The new message seemed doomed to linger in the text conversation with the other four he had sent to Fern this week, all begging her for answers, all ignored.

Now there was a mystery he did not think he would ever be able to solve. Fern was puzzling. She was brilliant in a lot of ways, but a lot of her ways were…mysterious. And she seemed fine with that. And it looked as though the inexplicable mood swings were part of the package. That was a shame. She was cool otherwise.

He scrolled up through their conversation, which was now considerably shorter after Buster had deleted most of the messages Sunday night. He paused on the last text she had sent him, one from Monday night.

Check your inbox when you have time.

Oh, right.

In the midst of everything that had happened this week, Buster had forgotten that Fern had sent him a copy of her book, the promised tragedy disguised as a mystery, or however she had described it. In a flash, he rose from his bed and booted up his computer. It had only been a few days, but it took him a couple of minutes to find Fern's email, which had become buried in a long list of comics and gaming newsletters as well as coupon codes for every restaurant in the city.

The subject of the email read: HERE IT IS.

Simple and to the point, yet bold. All caps, not Fern's usual style. She definitely had meant for him not to overlook it. He opened the message.

Like I said, it's pretty raw. I know, it's lengthy. You don't have to read the whole thing if you don't want to. If you hate it, please be kind about it is all I ask.

Thanks.

But would she want him to read it now? They were not exactly on good terms. Even if he read it, she might not want his input.

Buster thought of everything Fern had revealed to him about her work, how she had slaved away at it every moment she could and had taken inspiration from places like funeral homes just to get it finished. She could not put that much effort into something and not want somebody to read it.

A little peek won't hurt. Then I'm off to bed.

He waited for the attachment, named "TSK", to download. Upon opening the document, he saw at the bottom of the screen that the story was 353 pages long. The first one was a cover page, stark white with a few words typed squarely in the middle.

THE SECRET KEEPER

a novel by

Fern Walters

Buster scrolled down to the second page, and he began to read. A few paragraphs in, he was lost.

To be continued in another story…

End of Lies and the Lying Parents Who Tell Them.