Lies I Told(3)

He lowered his eyes back to the paper, and I looked around the room, surprised by the lack of moving boxes on the counters and floor.

“Wow . . . Mom must have really gone to town unpacking last night.”

“You know how she is,” Parker said, not looking up.

As if on cue, the sound of heels clicking on tile sounded from the hall. A couple of seconds later my mom walked into the room, trim and lithe in white slacks and a halter top that managed to look both classy and subtly sexy. It was one of her many gifts: the ability to fit into any town in a matter of hours. She nailed New York, donning designer clothes that cost a fortune but looked effortless. In DC she was all about crisp, menswear-inspired slacks and tailored button-downs that hugged her still-youthful body. And I would never forget Arizona, where she’d spent thousands of dollars on linen trousers, perfectly cut sleeveless dresses, and expensive golf ensembles. I’d laughed out loud the first time I’d seen her in one of the Phoenix getups. Golf skirts and polo shirts were the antithesis of the tight jeans and slinky tops she favored when we were between jobs.

Still, I envied her. It always took me a while to figure out the wardrobe code of a new high school, and I usually had to enlist the help of a new friend under the guise of a joint shopping spree to get it right. In the meantime I fell back on a style I thought of as “neutral trendy.” I never hit the sweet spot right away, but I managed to not be cast as a misfit, either. I cut a glance at Parker, looking just right for anywhere in fitted jeans and a tailored Euro tee. Guys had it so much easier.

“Good morning.” My mom’s green eyes were bright, her blond hair perfectly styled as she crossed the kitchen to the coffeepot. No one would have guessed she’d been up half the night unpacking.

“Morning, Mom.”

Maybe it was because I remembered so little about my biological parents, but from the start, having someone to call Mom and Dad had felt like a gift. Parker was different. He called our parents by their first names unless we were working. Sometimes it seemed like he did it on principle. Like he was trying to prove that while he lived and worked with them, they couldn’t make him love them. Deep down I thought he did, though. It was just hard for him to show it.

My mom poured coffee into two mugs and sat down at the table, pushing one toward me. Parker didn’t drink coffee.

“Everybody sleep okay?” Mom asked, taking a sip from her steaming cup.

I nodded and followed her lead, the coffee dark and bitter in my mouth, as a fresh round of noise started up outside.

I tipped my head at the window. “They’re already doing yard work?”

She nodded. “It was a little overgrown.”

I laughed. “We’ve only been here a day.”

“First impressions are important, Gracie. You know how it is.”

“I guess.” I tried not to sound like a brat, but the truth is, I was tired. We’d lived in three different states in the last year alone. I’d started sophomore year in Maryland and hadn’t even been able to finish it in Arizona. I was a good student, but I’d still have to retake some of the classes this year to get credit, something that was made harder by the fact that I’d missed the start of the school year in California. I was only sixteen, and I was house-lagged, worn out from all the packing and moving, the changing of hair colors and names, the running. It wasn’t the life I’d imagined the day my mom and dad adopted me out of the Illinois foster system.

My mom reached over and took my hand, her eyes full of concern. “I know it’s hard sometimes, honey,” she said gently. “But we’ll be able to take a break soon, maybe even go on that girls’ trip to Paris: shop, visit the Louvre, wear berets.”

I forced a smile. Ours wasn’t an easy life, but I loved my parents, and I knew they loved Parker and me.

She squeezed my hand. “You just have first-day jitters, Gracie. It’s natural, but everything will be okay, you’ll see.”

I nodded, turning toward my dad as he walked into the room.

“Morning.” He stalked across the kitchen, staring out the windows that overlooked the backyard. “What is that racket?”

“The landscapers.” My mom took a last drink of her coffee before walking to the sink and dumping the rest of it. “I told you they were coming, remember?”

My dad turned away from the window. “Tell me again why we need landscapers?”

“You have to spend money to make money,” the rest of us said in unison. Parker didn’t bother to look up from the newspaper.

It was true, but I knew my mom enjoyed it. In her eyes, buying clothes to fit the part or furnishing a new house every six months wasn’t work—it was a perk of life on the grift. My dad didn’t get it. For him, the con was all about the con. It was the challenge he loved. The danger.

He leaned against the counter, looking like a middle-aged but still good-looking actor, his dark hair dusted silver at the temples.

“What’s on tap for you today?” my mom asked him.

“I’m touring Allied Security,” he said. “I might buy a system for the house. I also need to check out the club and ask about membership. How about you?”

“I have a hair appointment in town. Figured I’d get the lay of the land.”

I wasn’t surprised by the vague dance of questions and answers. No one said anything specific about a job outside of the War Room. Ever. It was one of the rules.