All The Lies We Told Ourselves

26 - The Lie

Celestine
***********
July 16th, Sunday

"Wait, Rue!" I yelled out to her through the open car window, but she was already disappearing through the trees. I got out of the car into the windy afternoon, where the sweet rotten smell of seawater crazed my face, the spot where her lips had been.

"Celestine?"
It was a voice all too familiar to me. I wanted to sink into myself and disappear. Ace jogged towards me from the marina building, his figure obscured in the sunlight. I wondered if he had heard me. "What are you doing here?"

I slipped into the front seat of the car, but he held the door open. A silver bracelet shone on his wrist, engraved with the letter T, and I thought she must have gotten a similar one made for her, with the letter A instead.
"Okay, look. I'm sorry, alright? I should have told you about Miles." Ace sighed. It seemed like a reluctant apology. Before I could respond, he was seated next to me. The jazz still played on the radio. "Just- please talk to me, C." He said, stroking his uniform slacks the way he always did when he was nervous.

I did miss him too, but when you know someone for most of your life, that is to be expected. My fondness for him did not obscure the anger. Not nearly enough.

"What else are you hiding from me?" I said, folding my arms over my chest. I felt vindictive then.
"Nothing." He responded quickly, throwing up his hands. "I swear- on the gilded fortress."

That shabby treehouse must have already fallen apart behind the trees in our backyard. To think we spent two whole summers building it when we were eight and nine. That was until Ace's father told him that building treehouses was for little boys, and that he was to go patrolling with his uncle on the weekends. I had to finish building it by myself. Afterwards my mother inquired why my hands had cuts and blisters on them.

I chuckled, part frustration, part intrigue.
"I don't think you can swear on something that's half mine."
"Right-" He smiled and the dimples appeared on his cheeks.

***

July 19th, Wednesday

I sat down in Marcel's office and laid my head on the table, exhausted from all the campaigning I had done the past few days. I heard the stack of papers land in front of me with a thump as he walked in.
"We need to go over some of the questions for the final candidate interview."
"Not a moment's break?" I groaned.

A familiar rhythm of steps appeared and I stood up, as if by instinct. My mother rushed in, holding the day's newspaper. Her fine black dress was covered by an apron.

She had been making an effort, I suppose, to salvage what was left of their relationship. Now that he was leaving, everything must have felt more urgent. She had never been a cook, but maybe preparing his favorite food had a semblance of family to her, and that was all that mattered.

"Would you care to explain what this is about?"

On the front page of the day's paper was a photo, split in two. One side donned a picture of me, the other one of a face I had seen all too much lately. Levi Colbeck speaks out about fathers death and criticizes fellow candidate in an exclusive interview.

I wondered what any of it had to do with me. I was sure painting a picture of the opposing candidate was a part of politics, and no fault of mine alone. And though I would not admit it publicly, I felt bad for the fate of his father, despite what he had done. A public death was never a dignified reputation to leave. My mother read the paper.
"I ought to mention that the public execution of my father for his crimes was by no means the only example of traitorous behavior on the part of a government official," She said. "Why is it, then, that he specifically had to be put on trial? For something so miniscule, might I add. It would not be out of line to think it was heavily endorsed by candidate Delgado, as a way to taint the picture of my presidency, with mistakes not my own."