Our Wicked Lies Gledé Kabongo (summer reading list .txt) 📖

her, got right up in her face. She kept backing up, as though she wanted to get away from me. I kept begging her to take it all back. She refused.

Then it happened, as if in slow motion but it only took seconds. I pushed her. She was wearing one of those five-inch stiletto-heel sandals she likes, you know, the ones with the ankle straps and open toe. She was drunk and couldn’t balance herself in time. She fell backward, landing with a thud on the marble floor.

I heard the crack of bone on stone. I stood there paralyzed with shock even as my whole body shivered.

I opened my eyes as I heard a loud gasp.

Marston was sitting with her hand clasped over her mouth.

Mom jerked upright.

Dad’s stiff body was glued to the sofa. He looked like he’d been frozen in time.

My family stared at me in stone-faced silence.

I hid my face in my hands in shame. I felt like my chest had split wide open. I hadn’t meant for any of it to happen. But a woman was dead, and she was never coming back, all because of me.

Mom reached for my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. I could tell she didn’t have the strength to speak just yet, but I could feel the love she couldn’t express in words.

Marston leaned over, clutching her mid-section as if she was about to throw up. “What happened next?”

Through hiccups and tears, I got the rest of the story out. “I went over to see if she was okay. She wasn’t moving, but she tried to talk. I told her I would call for help; she just needed to hold on. But I couldn’t. I didn’t have my phone with me.

“Then I heard someone coming down the stairs. I panicked and left the way I came in. I ran all the way back to school. She was alive when I left. I swear.”

Dad suddenly snapped to attention like a robot coming to life. “Did anybody see you on the way back to school? Did anyone ask where you’d been?”

“No.”

“Good.”

I wiped my face with my hands and looked at both of my parents, desperate for answers.

Mom finally spoke, her expression grave. “Never repeat what you just told us to another living soul. Ever. Do you understand? We’ll find a way to help you deal with the trauma, but no one can ever know.”

I nodded.

“Katalina died tragically,” Dad said. “Her blood alcohol level was four times the legal limit. She lost her balance and fell. The fall proved fatal. The Weston police thoroughly investigated the case. Those are their official findings. Case closed.” He shot each of us one of his stern, lawyerly looks.

His eyes zeroed in on me, and his voice cracked as he spoke. “I’m so sorry, Lily. I never intended for any of this to happen to our family. You should never have been placed in the position that you felt you had to go out and fight for your mother, your family. I hope that you will find it in your heart to forgive me, one day.”

Before I could respond, he added, “This is our last stance as a family unit, so before we go our separate ways, I need us all to make a solemn promise to be forever silent on the truth surrounding the death of Katalina Torres DeLuca.”

We all nodded in solidarity.

EPILOGUE

Seven Years Later

Over four-hundred guests gathered in the opulent grand ballroom of the Plaza Hotel in New York City for the reception. As mother of the bride, Alicia had a front row seat to the festivities. She smiled, laughed, and joked effortlessly, as she made her way to the family seating. She radiated joy from the inside out, and others noticed as she received many admiring glances and well wishes from everyone she passed.

It wasn’t because at almost fifty years old she looked incredible in a sapphire-blue evening gown with a belted waist and halter design, a bold choice for her. Nor was it her position as executive director of a well-known non-profit organization. Or that her girls were now happy, thriving adults.

The answer was much simpler. She, Alicia Gray—mother, ex-wife, executive, survivor, soon-to-be grandmother—was finally at peace.

Eliot had spared no expense for his daughter’s wedding to Peter Marks, her literary agent. The success of Marston’s psychological thriller, The Accidental Liars, the novel she started writing before everything fell apart seven years ago, was published after she graduated from Hamilton College. It had become a global phenomenon, selling over fifteen million copies, and had dominated every bestseller list. Film rights were snapped up right away with the film company commissioning her to write the screenplay.

Lily approached, looking lovely in a lavender Maid of Honor gown and flowers in her hair. The wedding planner had practically imported an entire island’s worth of flowers for the ceremony and reception.

“What’s going on with you and Dad?” Lily asked, sidling up next to her mother.

“What do you mean?”

“Marston and I caught you two flirting. Dad was all over you. You giggled like a teenager and laughed at his lame jokes.”

“Both you and your sister have wild imaginations. Your father and I were being friendly, not flirting. We’re in a good place now, after the pain and sorrow of the past. Today is a big day for us. We’re gaining a son-in-law and soon a grandbaby.”

“Sure, Mom. Whatever you say. That’s why Dad was practically drooling when you walked into the church for the ceremony, and why you both showed up without dates. Does he know Marston is pregnant?”

“I haven’t told him, yet. I think it’s best if he hears it from her.”

After the demise of their marriage and their life together, she and Eliot didn’t speak for years. It was too painful. He’d moved to DC to work as a lobbyist, then eventually returned to his hometown of Atlanta to take over the sports agency his father had founded. He now represented