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In which thirteen lies and a couple half-truths are told.
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As instructed I arrived at Morningview Arbor at eight a.m. the next morning and promptly began lying through my teeth. This was phase one of the plan Parker revealed to me the night before. A shitty plan that in retrospect makes the Bay of Pigs Invasion look like Ocean’s 11.
“A field trip to where now?” A nurse I recognized from Monday afternoon asked as Parker, Garland, and I stood before her at the nurse’s station.
“The National Medal of Honor Museum,” Parker said.
The nurse frowned and said, “Parker honey, I don’t know the first thing about this.”
“Aunt Marcy knows,” Parker lied. “I was here when she spoke to Mr. Lenox’s attorney yesterday.”
“Old Lucian faxed my release form,” Garland said. “I’m sure Marcy left it lying ’round here somewhere.”
The nurse began looking for the imaginary lost form and asked, “Where’s this museum again?”
“In Chattanooga,” I said, then added, “Tennessee. Chattanooga, Tennessee. Not some other Chattanooga in Europe or somewhere.” Parker stepped on my toes and applied pressure until I shut up.
“Mr. Graham thinks taking a veteran with us will bring the history to life,” Parker said, and the nurse nodded enthusiastically. “We’re taking one of the school buses, and we’ll be back by four this afternoon because the baseball team has a game tonight. We’re playing Rome. Win and we’re in the play-offs!” None of this was true, but Parker operated under the impression the more details you could add to a lie the more believable it became.
“Okay, just let me call Marcy real quick to—”
“Oh please don’t wake her,” Parker said, and the nurse took her hand off the phone. “She worked a double shift yesterday and she’d just fallen asleep when I left the apartment.”
It could have gone either way, but Garland smiled and said, “Don’t you worry, Nurse Duncan, I’m in good hands with these two. I’ll be back in time for the early bird supper. It’s Salisbury steak night, and you and I both know I wouldn’t miss that.”
The nurse bit her lip and thought for an eternity before finally saying, “Okay, y’all have fun.” We turned and walked toward the exit, but only made it a few feet before the nurse noticed Garland rolling his suitcase. “Mr. Lenox,” she said, “are you planning on spending the night at the museum?”
I stiffened, but Garland didn’t skip a beat. “I figured that museum might have some use for my old flight suits,” the old man said, then patted his stomach and added, “they don’t fit me like they used to.” The man could tell a lie.
The nurse smiled and said, “How thoughtful of you.” Minutes later we were in my Jetta, barreling down I-20 toward Atlanta.