Ben doesn’t take me back to the hotel.
I don’t realize where we are until he turns onto the road, and I can see the tiny house up ahead. Grandma steps out as he slows to a stop, hands on her hips.
“What are we doing here?” I ask.
He unbuckles his seat belt. “I didn’t want to just leave you alone after that, and your parents are assholes.”
“Wow, tell me how you really feel, Ben.”
He gives me a look like “you know it’s true,” and I almost laugh. I hate how delighted I am that he thinks my parents are assholes.
I need a drink. At least we’ve come to the right place for that.
“I texted Beverly and she said to come over.” He steps out of the car.
I follow him, wondering how often he’s texting my grandma, and how many times he’s been out here. He knows my parents are assholes, and he’s chummy with my grandma. He already knows so much more than I ever wanted him to.
“Murdering your husband can be our secret,” Savvy whispers. “But then you’re stuck with me for life. There’s no dumping a friend once you’ve committed a felony together.”
Grandma waggles a finger at Ben. “I told you.” He lifts both hands in surrender. “I know.”
I trudge toward her. My legs are heavy. “What’d you tell him?”
“That you’re not as tough as you act.” Her dress today is white with yellow daisies, and there’s a small reddish-brown stain on one boob that is probably red wine, but my first thought is blood. Savvy giggles in my head.
“Hey.” I mean to sound insulted, but it comes out tired.
“Did you eat anything besides sugar today?” Grandma asks, like I’m still ten years old.
I consider. “Not really.”
“Come on. What do you like on your pizza, Ben?”
 |
An hour later, when I’m full of sausage and mushroom pizza, the world feels steady again. Grandma made me a vodka tonic, and I think the pleasant buzz is the only thing keeping me from feeling the full embarrassment of fainting on Ben earlier.
We’re sitting on her porch in creaky plastic chairs, a fan blowing hot air around us as the sun sets. Grandma emerges from the house with two drinks. She hands one to Ben.
“You getting any writing done in between all this?” She sits down, propping her feet up on the grungy wicker ottoman as she sips her drink.
“Not really. I haven’t felt much like writing happy people in love.”
“But you’re so good at it!” She reaches over and whacks Ben’s shoulder. “Isn’t she?”
“You are.” He glances at me with a half-smile. He’s on his second drink (and Grandma pours them strong), legs stretched out in front of him, fancy microphone forgotten in the car. He looks more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him, and I wonder again how many times he’s been here.
“I acted dumb when he asked me about your books, by the way,” Grandma says. “But he told me you guys talked about it.”
“I know.” I sigh. “It’s only a matter of time before it comes out.” “Ben said he’s not telling people!”
“I’m not,” he says quickly.
“Yeah, but if he can figure it out, other people can too. And now everyone is thinking about me again.” I cast an annoyed look in Ben’s direction, which he ignores.
“Maybe not.” She pauses. “I hope people really are having sex like that in their twenties the way they are in your books.”
Ben laughs mid-sip, and then presses the back of his hand to his mouth as he coughs.
“We were all so repressed in our twenties,” Grandma continues. “Just focused on marrying the first jerk who asked.”
“Was Grandpa the first jerk who asked?” “Yes.”
“Ah.” I barely remember the man—he died when I was a kid—but I’d guessed from the way she never spoke about him that he wasn’t particularly missed.
“The world seemed so dangerous for women back then,” she says.
“We’re sitting here with a man who investigates women’s murders, so I wouldn’t say it’s safe now.”
“Oh sure.” Grandma waves dismissively. “But you know what I mean. I never could have left my husband and moved to Los Angeles by myself, like you did. I was supposed to get married and stay married, so my husband could protect me. I needed to be transferred straight from father to husband, or something terrible might happen to me.”
She takes a long sip of her drink. “My life vastly improved once both those men were gone. Men don’t protect us, not really. They only protect themselves, or each other. The only thing men ever protected me from was happiness.”
“Oh shit,” Ben murmurs under his breath.
“A little too much honesty there for you, Ben?” I ask.
“I would expect nothing less from you, Beverly.” He smiles at Grandma with genuine affection.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to call you one of the good ones, but you’re not half bad,” Grandma says.
Ben bursts out laughing, the sound echoing off the quiet porch. “I will take that compliment, thank you.”
I lean my head back with a sigh. She’s right. She’s always right. She was right about me coming back, about her party, about Ben. I’ve been angry with Ben for dredging up the past, but it needed to be dredged up.
No one protected Savvy back then. The very least I can do is find answers for her now.
“You’re not half bad,” I repeat softly. One side of Ben’s mouth turns up, and when our eyes meet, I have to look away.
Grandma squints, and I follow her gaze to a gray-haired man walking down the road in our direction, swinging a cane like some kind of dapper gentleman from the 1920s. “Oh, hold on.” She gets up and struts toward him, glass in hand.
I watch her greet the man with a kiss. The vodka buzz is intensifying, and I actually feel a little jealous. I’m reminded again of how long it’s been since I had good sex.
“That’s a different man than the one who came by when I interviewed her,” Ben says with a soft laugh. He pauses for a moment. “Do you agree with her about Matt?”
I look at him in surprise. “What about Matt?” “Have you finished episode five?”
“No, I only got about halfway before I had to meet you.”
“Oh.” He’s watching Grandma and her suitor. She laughs at something he says. “You should finish episode five.”
“Why? What’d she say?”
He takes a long sip of his drink. “She thinks Matt killed her.”
Listen for the Lie Podcast with Ben Owens
EPISODE 5—“A MYSTERY WOMAN”
If I’m being honest, Beverly Moore is the reason you’re listening to season two of this podcast.
I reached out to her last year. I didn’t even expect a reply to my email, but she called me up within hours of receiving it. Told me she’d be happy to talk to me about Lucy.
Ben: Mrs. Moore, I really appreciate you sitting down with me today.
Beverly: Oh, hon, you can call me Beverly.
Ben: Okay. Beverly. Can you tell me about your granddaughter? What was Lucy like when she was younger?
Beverly: She was a real no-nonsense girl. Just didn’t have time for any shit, you know? I’ve always admired that about her. I was so concerned with whether or not everyone liked me at that age.
And people hate that quality in a young woman, don’t they? They don’t know what
to do with a girl who isn’t looking for their approval. They feel like they have to bring her down a peg.
Ben: You knew Savannah, didn’t you?
Beverly: Of course. Lovely girl, and I’m not just saying that because she’s dead. Some young people, they don’t want to talk to us old folks, but Savvy was a real sweetheart to everyone. I used to help out at the bakery, and she’d come in a few times a week. She’d often stay and chat for a while.
Ben: Tell me about how you met Matt.
Beverly: Lucy brought him home … I guess it was the summer before her senior year of college. They’d already been dating for a bit.
Ben: What did you think?
Beverly: Well, I could tell that Lucy was madly in love. And I wanted to like him, for her sake, but … I didn’t really. He was so charming, in that way that’s always felt suspicious to me.
Ben: Can you elaborate on that?
Beverly: Some men, they’ve got to put on a show when they’re around women. It’s like they don’t actually know how to talk to us, so they choose over-the-top chivalry. “If I pull out her chair and make a big show of talking about how moms are heroes and women are actually the strong ones, they won’t notice that I don’t have any interest in listening to a single word that comes out of their mouths.”
Matt was like that.
Ben: Did you tell Lucy your concerns?
Beverly: Not at that time, no. She was twenty years old. No one wants their grandma weighing in on their boyfriend at that age. At any age, honestly. So, I kept my mouth shut until they got engaged.
Ben: You said something then?
Beverly: I did. Lucy called me all excited, telling me Matt proposed, and I said, “Honey, why don’t you wait a bit? You’re so young. Go to Europe. Buy an old van and travel the country. Don’t get married. You have your whole life to be married.”
She didn’t like that, of course. And when she asked if I didn’t like Matt, I told her,
no, I didn’t. I said that I got a bad feeling from him, and that if he really loved her, he would understand that she wanted to wait a few years to get married. What kind of twenty-two-year-old boy wants to get married these days anyway? We’re not Mormons, for Christ’s sake.
Ben: What was her response?
Beverly: She was polite, but it was obvious that she wasn’t going to take my advice. I can’t blame her. I was the same way when I was her age. Stars in my eyes. Thinking about my pretty white dress and the chubby little babies who would look up at me adoringly.
In the end, life is just sweatpants and children who resent you and all your choices.
But no one wants to hear that.
Ben: What about after they got married? Did you warm to Matt?
Beverly: Goodness no. I hated him even more, and I don’t care who knows it.
The act started to fade a bit, and I’d catch him sniping at Lucy. I’d see him roll his eyes at something she said. And he started to slip, say things that he really meant after I’d known him a few years. Men can only hide it for so long, you know?
Ben: Hide what?
Beverly: Who they really are. Matt’s real, horrible self was shining through after a few years.
Ben: What kinds of things did he say?
Beverly: Well, let me tell you the one that really matters. I may be old, but I remember this word for word. We were out to eat at the restaurant where Savvy worked. We saw her over at the bar as we walked in, and Don leaned over and said something to Matt. I don’t know what. But Matt goes, “That little slut hates me.”
Ben: … He said “little slut” in front of you?
Beverly: He sure did. He muttered it under his breath, and he looked a little embarrassed after, like he hadn’t meant to say it. Don just laughed a little, like he was embarrassed too, and I don’t think either of them realized I’d heard.
Ben: Did you tell Lucy?
Beverly: No. I considered it, but I didn’t know what purpose it would serve. But I really started to worry at that point. If that was something he’d say to his wife’s father, what sorts of things must he be thinking? Or saying to Lucy?
