The Liar

He filled evenings and nights he couldn’t be with her chipping away at projects on the house, and planning for down the road.

When they finally managed an evening together, she vetoed his suggestion of dinner out for a casual one at his place.

That was fine with him.

He was out in the yard when she arrived, just hanging the tire swing he’d made on a sturdy branch of an old hickory.

“Look at that!” she called out. “There’s something Callie will make a beeline for.”

“Pretty cool, huh? Got the tire from your grandfather.”

He’d built it horizontally, choosing a mid-size tire that would suit a little girl’s butt, and had fed the chain through a garden hose to protect the branch.

“It’s so sweet.”

“Wanna try it out?”

“Of course I do.” She handed him a large insulated jug, leaned in when he slid an arm around her for a kiss.

“What’s in here?”

“Hard lemonade. My granddaddy’s recipe, and it’s a winner.” She scooted onto the tire, gave the chains a tug. “It’s sturdy.”

“Fun can be safe,” he said, gave her a push.

She leaned back, hair flying, gave a laugh. “And it is fun. What made you think of such a thing?”

He didn’t want to say—yet—that he’d been looking at plans for backyard swing sets, and had stumbled across the idea. “Just came to me. I had this friend—what was his name? Tim McNaulty—when I was about Callie’s age. He had one of these in his yard—set vertical. This way makes more sense.”

“I love it. So will she.”

As if hypnotized, the dog sat on the ground, his head tilting this way, then that, following Shelby’s rhythm. “I swear, that dog’s bigger than he was when I saw him a few days ago.”

“Next outdoor project’s a doghouse. A big one.”

“He’ll need big.”

She jumped off the swing. “I’m sorry I’ve been so tied up lately. I feel like I’ve had barely a minute without something that needed doing.”

“I know the feeling. It’s no problem, Red. Our best pals are getting married. It’s a lot.”

“It’d be a Macy’s Day Parade if I couldn’t keep Miz Bitsy down, and that’s taken every bit of creativity and energy I have. She’s jumping so fast from this party to the wedding and back again, my head’s on a constant revolution. She got it into her head Emma Kate should arrive at the ceremony—venue yet to be determined—in a princess carriage. White horses and a carriage, as Emma Kate had that on her wedding list when she was about twelve. It took some doing to nudge her off that one.”

“Emma Kate’s going to owe you for the rest of her life.”

“That’s a benefit. Why don’t we— Oh, Griff, you got a porch swing!”

Speaking of beelines, she made one herself, twirled a circle, the full skirt of her grass-green sundress billowing. “I just love it! How’d you find one this wonderful blue?”

“Like your eyes.” He followed her onto the porch. “I painted it. I made it.”

“You made it yourself? Of course you did.” She sat down, pushed off gently with her feet. “And it’s perfect, just perfect for sitting here on a lazy afternoon or a quiet evening. It’d be extra perfect if you got us a couple of tall glasses, and sat down here with me so we could sample that hard lemonade.”

“Be right back.”

When the dog tried to climb up with her, she hefted him up—no easy task now. “You’re almost too big.” But she hooked an arm around him, swinging and thinking she’d rarely seen a prettier spot.

All so green and private with the sky a blue dome dashed with white clouds. She could hear the stream, fast and lively from the last rains, and the insistent, echoing rat-a-tat-tat of a woodpecker busy somewhere beyond the green, setting up the percussion section for the chorus of birds.

“He’s got my spot,” Griff said when he brought out the drinks.

“He didn’t want to be left out.”

Resigned, Griff sat on the other side of the dog, who wiggled with absolute joy.

“There couldn’t be a better spot for a porch swing.” She sampled the drink. “I think I did Grandpa proud.”

“I’ll say.”

“It goes down easy, but it’s got a kick. It’s made for sipping. And sipping on a warm evening, on a porch swing, is even better. You’ve got your own little Eden here, Griffin.”

“Eden needs considerable work yet.”

“If Adam and Eve had put some time into working the garden instead of picking apples, they might still be there. Gardens, houses, lives, they’re a continual work in progress, aren’t they? I stopped progress on mine for a while, but I’m making up for it. It’s peaceful here. The light, the swing, this very fine lemonade. You, this sweet dog. I’m going to get what’s not peaceful out of the way, then we won’t have to think about it again.”

“Something happened.”

“I don’t know for certain, but I know now you didn’t talk to Forrest this afternoon.”

“No, not today.”

“I’m guessing he knew I was coming over, and I’d tell you. The police think they might have a kind of witness. On the detective. The FBI agents are going in to talk to him.”

“What did he see?”