The Liar

Though it was barely eight, she crawled into bed, and was asleep in minutes like her little girl.

•   •   •

SHE WOKE IN THE DARK, shocked out of a dream she remembered in bits and pieces. A storm at sea, drowning waves swamping a boat—a rolling white dot in a thrashing sea of black. And she’d been at the wheel, fighting so hard to ride it out while waves lashed, lightning flashed. And Callie, somewhere Callie cried and called for her.

Then Richard? Yes, yes, Richard in one of his fine suits pulling her away from the controls because she didn’t know how to handle a boat. She didn’t know how to do anything.

Then falling, falling, falling into that drowning sea.

Cold, shaken, she sat up in the strange dark room, trying to get her breath back.

Because it was Richard who’d fallen into the water, not her. It was Richard who’d drowned.

Callie slept, her cute little butt hiked in the air. Warm and safe.

She slid down, lay for a while stroking Callie’s back to comfort herself. But sleep was done, so she gave it up, walked quietly into the bathroom. She stood debating.

Did she leave the door open so if Callie woke in a strange place she’d know where her mama was? Or did she close the door so the light and the sound of the shower didn’t wake her baby, which they were all but guaranteed to do?

She compromised, left the door open a crack.

She didn’t think a motel shower had ever felt so good, warming away the last chills from the dream, washing away the dragging dregs of fatigue.

She’d brought her own shampoo, shower gel. She’d been spoiled on good products long before Richard. But then she’d been raised on them, as her grandmother ran Rendezvous Ridge’s best salon.

And day spa now, Callie thought. There was just no stopping Granny.

She couldn’t wait to see her, to see everyone. To just be home, breathe the mountain air, see the greens, the blues, hear the voices that didn’t make hers sound somehow wrong.

She wrapped her hair in a towel, knowing it would take forever to dry, and did what her mother had taught her when she’d been hardly older than Callie.

She slicked on lotion everywhere. It felt good, that skin to skin, even if it was just her own hands. It had been so long since anyone had touched her.

She dressed, peeked out to check on Callie, and left the door open just a little wider as she started on her makeup. She wasn’t going home pale and heavy-eyed.

She couldn’t do anything about going home bony, but her appetite would come back once she got there, settled in, pushed some of the weights off the heavy end of the scale.

And the outfit was nice—black leggings, the grass-green shirt that made her think of spring. She added earrings, a spritz of perfume, because according to Ada Mae Pomeroy, a woman wasn’t fully dressed without them.

Deciding she’d done her best, she went back into the bedroom, packed up everything but Callie’s outfit for the homecoming. A pretty blue dress with white flowers and a white sweater. Then turning on one of the bedside lights, she climbed onto the bed to nuzzle her daughter awake.

“Callie Rose. Where is my Callie Rose? Is she still in Dreamland riding pink ponies?”

“I’m here, Mama!” Warm and soft as a baby rabbit, she turned into Shelby’s arms. “We’re on a ’venture.”

“You bet we are.” She cuddled for a moment because those moments were precious.

“I didn’t wet the bed.”

“I know. You’re such a big girl. Let’s go pee now, and get dressed.”

Even with fussing Callie’s hair into a braid tied with a blue bow to match the dress, cleaning her up again after a breakfast of waffles, gassing up the van, they were on the road by seven-thirty.

An early start, Shelby thought. She’d take it as a good sign of things to come.

She stopped at ten, another pee break, fueled her system with a Coke, filled Callie’s sippy cup and texted her mother.

Got going early. Traffic’s not bad. Should be there by twelve-thirty. Love you!

When she pulled back onto the highway, the gray compact slipped out three cars behind her. And kept pace.

So the young widow was heading home in her secondhand minivan. Every action she did reasonable, normal, ordinary.

But she knew something, Privet thought. And he’d find out just what that was.

•   •   •

WHEN SHE CAUGHT SIGHT of the mountains, the great green rise of them, Shelby’s heart jumped to her throat until her eyes stung. She’d thought she knew how much she wanted this, needed this, but it was more.

It was everything safe and real.

“Look, Callie. Look out there. There’s home out there. There’s the Smokies.”

“Gamma’s in the ’mokies.”

“Ssssssmokies,” Shelby said with a grinning glance in the rearview.

“Sssssssmokies. Gamma and Granny and Grandpa and Granddaddy, and Unca Clay and Aunt Gilly and Unca Forrest.”

She rattled off family names, and to Shelby’s surprise got most of them, down to the dogs and cats.

Maybe, Shelby thought, she wasn’t the only one who wanted and needed this.