The Liar

8

By the time her mother got home, Shelby had the chicken in the oven, the potatoes and carrots scrubbed, and the dining room table—used only for important meals—set with the good dishes.

Not the best dishes, which were her father’s grandmother’s and worth more in sentiment than money, but the company dishes with the roses around the rims.

She’d added linen napkins, folding them into fussy standing fans, rearranged candles and flowers into a pretty centerpiece, and was finishing the last of the pastries for the profiteroles.

“Oh my goodness, Shelby! The table looks just beautiful, like for a high-class dinner party.”

“We are high class.”

“We’re sure going to eat like we are—and it smells wonderful in here. You always were one to know just how things should go together to look pretty.”

“It’s fun, fussing a little. I hope it’s all right I asked Granny and Grandpa to come.”

“You know it is. Mama told me when I stopped into Vi’s after my garden club meeting—and after Suzannah and I did a little shopping. I got Callie the cutest outfits for spring. I had the best time.”

She set three shopping bags on the counter, began to pull things out. “I can’t wait to see her wearing this—it’s just precious, isn’t it? The little skirt with the pink and white stripes, and the frilly shirt. And these pink Mary Janes! Now, I checked her size before I left, so they should fit. But if they don’t, we’ll just take them back.”

“Mama, she’ll love those. She’ll just go crazy for those shoes.”

“And I got this cute shirt with ‘Princess’ on it, and the sweetest little white cardigan sweater with ribbon trim.” She pulled more out as she talked. “Where is she? Maybe she can try some on.”

“She’s napping. I’m sorry she’s napping so late, but it all took me longer, and then I had to fix her lunch, and she was revved up, so I didn’t get her down until almost three.”

“Oh, we won’t worry about that. So I stopped into Vi’s, and there was Maxine Pinkett—you remember she moved to Arkansas a few years ago, but she was back visiting, and came into Vi’s hoping I could give her a cut and color. I don’t do hair anymore as a rule, but she’s an old customer, and I know what she likes.”

Shelby had a misty memory of Mrs. Pinkett, so made assenting noises as she began to fill the pastries with cream.

“She told me that she was disappointed when Crystal told her I was off, then I walked in, and she asked if I couldn’t please see to her hair. She’s not happy at all with the stylists she’s tried in Little Rock. So I set her up. Turns out her daughter’s husband may take a job in Ohio now, and this after she moved to Little Rock to be close by her daughter and three grandchildren. She’s in a state, let me tell you. I know just how she feels, so I . . .”

Ada Mae shut her eyes, gave herself a shake. “I can’t keep my mouth shut with a stapler.”

“You don’t have to. You didn’t get to make many memories with Callie for more than three years. And more, I see now, she didn’t get to make them with you. That’s on me, Mama.”

“It’s all over and done now, and we’re making plenty of memories all around. What are you making there? Little cream puffs? Oh, she’s awake.” Ada Mae looked toward the baby monitor on the counter. “I’m going to take her new things up, and we’ll have some fun. You need help here, honey?”

“I don’t, Mama, thanks. I don’t want you to do a thing but sit down to this meal. You go have fun with Callie.”

“Oh, I hope the pink Mary Janes fit, ’cause they couldn’t be cuter.”

She’d take pictures of Callie in the pink Mary Janes, Shelby thought. Callie might not remember them when she grew up, but she’d remember her grandmother loved her, enjoyed getting her pretty clothes. She’d remember her granny had fixed her hair like a princess.

That’s what counted. Like a good family dinner at the dining room table, that’s what counted.

She finished the pastries, basted the chicken, got the potatoes and carrots going.

She needed to change, not only for dinner, but to go out and meet Emma Kate. With a glance at the timer, she ran upstairs, tiptoed from the landing to her room so she didn’t distract Callie and her mother and their fashion show.

And spent the next fifteen minutes agonizing over what to wear. She’d once had three, maybe even four times as many clothes, and had never agonized.

Maybe, she thought, because it had stopped being important.

It was the bar and grill, she reminded herself. People didn’t dress up especially to go there. It was at least three giant steps up from Shady’s, but about an equal amount down from the big restaurant at the hotel.

She settled on black jeans, a simple white shirt. And she’d put the leather jacket she’d kept—one she just loved—over it. The pewter gray went well with her hair, and wasn’t as harsh as black.

Since the evenings ran cool yet, she chose heeled half boots.

Mindful of the meal, she slipped straight back down and into the kitchen, grabbed an apron this time to start on the biscuits.

It was fun to fuss, she thought, and after hunting up a pretty platter for the chicken, stood trying to imagine if it would look better if she laid the potatoes and carrots around the chicken or if she put them in bowls.

Forrest came in the back door.

“What’s all this?” He sniffed the air. “What is that?”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“I didn’t say anything was wrong. It smells like . . . It smells like I’m hungry.”

“You can stay for dinner if you want. Granny and Grandpa are coming. I’m cooking.”

“You’re cooking?”

“That’s right, Forrest Jackson Pomeroy, so take it or leave it.”

“Do you always get dressed up to cook dinner?”

“I’m not dressed up. Hell. Am I too dressed up to go to Bootlegger’s?”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because, you idiot, I’m going to Bootlegger’s and I don’t want to dress wrong.”

“I meant why are you going to the bar and grill when you’re fixing dinner?”

“I’m going after dinner, if you need every detail of it. I’m meeting Emma Kate.”

His face cleared. “Oh.”

“Am I too dressed up or not?”

“You’re okay.” He opened the top oven, peered in at the chicken. “That looks damn good.”

“It will be damn good. Now stay out of the way. I need to set out the appetizers.”

“Aren’t we fancy?” He stepped around her, got himself a beer.

“I just want it to be nice. Mama’s getting me massages, and Granny’s fixing Callie’s hair, and—you saw how they fixed the rooms upstairs for us. I just want it to be nice.”

He gave her shoulder a rub. “It is nice. The table looks like a company meal. It’s good you’re meeting Emma Kate.”

“We’ll see how good when I do. She’s still awful mad at me.”

“Maybe you should fix her a chicken dinner.”

It felt good to have her family around the table enjoying a meal she’d made. And made her realize it was the first time. There’d be a second time, she promised herself, and she’d make sure Clay and Gilly and little Jackson were around the table that next time.

She knew she’d done well when her grandfather had seconds of everything—and Granny asked for the recipes.

“I’ll write them out for you, Granny.”

“You’ll want to do it twice.” Ada Mae got up to help clear. “That chicken put mine to shame.”

“You’d better’ve saved room for dessert.”

“We’ve got room, don’t we, Callie?” Jack patted his belly so Callie leaned back in her booster chair to pat hers.

The best was watching eyes go big when she came in carrying the tower of profiteroles she’d made, with their topping of melted chocolate.

“That’s as pretty as anything you’d see in a restaurant,” her father told her. “Is it as good as it looks?”

“You’re going to find out. I need to go, so Mama, would you serve this up? I don’t want to be late.”

“You don’t go till you’ve put on some lipstick.” This was her grandmother’s decree. “Something with a little pink it in. It’s spring.”

“All right. Make Forrest help with the dishes.”

“I was going to,” he said immediately. He grabbed her hand when she bent over to kiss Callie. “It was a real good meal, Shelby. Don’t drink and drive.”

“You’re the one with a beer on the table. Callie, you be a good girl.”

“Gamma said I get a bath with bubbles.”

“Won’t that be fun? I won’t be late.”

“Oh, be late.” Ada Mae served up generous portions of pastry. “Go have some fun.”

“I will. Don’t—”

“Scat!”

“All right.”

It felt odd going out at night, on her own. And then add in the nerves, the worry that Emma Kate wouldn’t forgive her.

But she put on lipstick, added a little more blush for good measure. And drove to town hoping she’d find the right words, make the right penance to get her best friend back in her life.

The streetlights gleamed, and she caught a few lights glimmering in the mountains. Shops shut down by six, but she noted Pizzateria was doing good business, and a few people strolled along the sidewalk.

She found the stingy parking lot beside the bar and grill already jammed, started hunting up a place on the street. Maybe she had to give herself a mental push to get out of the car, but she did it, and walked the half block down, opened the door, stepped into the noise.

She didn’t recall the place doing this level of business on weeknights. But then she hadn’t reached legal drinking age when she left so had spent more time with pizza or at the ice cream parlor.

Still, most of the tables and booths were full, and the air smelled of beer and barbecue.

“How’re you doing?” A waitress—hostess?—approached with an easy smile, and dark eyes that scanned the crowded room, probably looking for a free table. “I can seat you at the bar if you’re . . . Shelby? Shelby Anne Pomeroy!”

Shelby found herself enveloped in a hug that smelled of peach blossoms.

She drew Shelby back, a good-looking woman with skin like polished walnut and thickly lashed dark eyes. “You don’t remember me.”

“I’m sorry, I—” It clicked, stunning her. “Tansy?”

“You do remember. Can’t blame you for taking a few minutes. I’ve changed some.”

“Some?” The Tansy Johnson she’d known had been gawky, gap-toothed, acne-prone and bespectacled. This one was admirably curvy with a gorgeous smile, clear skin and luminous eyes.

“My skin cleared up, I filled out, got my teeth fixed and wear contacts.”

“You look just fantastic.”

“It’s nice to hear it. But then, you and Emma Kate never made fun of me like some of the girls did. I’m sorry about your husband, Shelby, but I’m glad you’re home.”

“Thanks. You work here now. It’s busier than I remember, and nicer.”

“That’s good to hear, too, because I don’t just work here, I’m the manager. And I happen to be married to the owner.”

“Wow. Things have changed. When did you get married?”

“A year ago in June. I’m going to tell you all about my Derrick first chance, but Emma Kate’s waiting for you.”

“She’s already here?”

“I’ll take you over. I got you a corner booth—prime real estate, especially on Wing Night.” She hooked her arm through Shelby’s. “You’ve got a little girl, don’t you?”

“Callie. She’s three.”

“I’m going to have one.”

“Oh, that’s great, Tansy.” It called for another hug. “Congratulations.”

“Just hit four weeks, and I know they always say wait until after the first trimester, but I can’t wait. So I’m telling everybody, even complete strangers. Look who I found!”

Emma Kate looked up from her phone. “You made it.”

“I did. I’m sorry if I’m late.”

“You’re not. I forgot it was Wing Night, so I had Tansy save us a table and got here a little early.”

“Sit down.” Tansy waved toward the booth. “And you two do your catching up. What’ll you have, Shelby? First one’s on the house.”

“I’m driving, so . . . Well, I ought to be able to handle one glass of wine.”

“We’ve got a nice selection by the glass.” Tansy rattled off several choices.

“The pinot noir sounds perfect.”

“I’ll get that right out to you. You okay there, Emma Kate?”

Emma Kate lifted her beer. “I’m good, Tansy.”

“So good seeing you.” Tansy gave Shelby’s shoulder a squeeze before she walked away.

“I didn’t recognize her for a minute.”

“She grew up. She’s about the happiest person I know, but then she always had a sunny nature.”

“Despite being bullied and picked on half the time. I remember in high school especially how Melody Bunker and Jolene Newton made deviling her a mission.”

“Melody’s as sour and snotty as she ever was. She was second runner-up in the Miss Tennessee pageant—something she tosses around like candy wrappers. You know she’s never forgiven you for beating her out for Homecoming Queen.”

“God, I haven’t thought about that in years.”

“Melody’s existence is based on being the prettiest and most popular. She fell short. And Jolene hasn’t evolved much, either.” Emma Kate leaned back, settled into the corner of the booth, diagonal from Shelby. “She’s engaged to the son of the hotel’s owners, and likes to drive around town in the fancy car her daddy bought her.”

A waitress brought over Shelby’s wine. “Tansy says enjoy, and just let me know if you want anything else.”

“Thank you. I don’t care about Melody or Jolene,” Shelby continued while she turned the wineglass around and around in small circles with her fingers. “I want to hear about you. You got your nursing degree just like you said you would. Did you like Baltimore?”

“I liked it well enough. I made some friends, had good work. Met Matt.”

“It’s serious, you and Matt?”

“Serious enough I dealt with my mama’s shock and horror when I told her we were moving in together. She still gives me pushes toward marriage and babies.”

“Don’t you want that?”

“I’m not in a rush about it, like you were.”

Shelby accepted the hit, took a sip of wine. “You like working at the clinic?”

“I’d have to be stupid not to like working for Doc Pomeroy. Your daddy’s a good man, a fine doctor.” After another sip of her beer, Emma Kate straightened a couple of inches. “What did you mean, you didn’t have the money to come back? The word I got was you were rolling in it.”

“Richard handled the money. As I wasn’t working—”

“Didn’t you want to work?”

“I had Callie to tend to, and the house. And I’m not qualified for any serious work. I didn’t finish college or—”

“What about singing?”

It flustered her not to finish a sentence. There’d been a time when she and Emma Kate could finish each other’s—but this was different.

“That was just a childish fantasy. It wasn’t like I had any real skills or experience, and I had a child, and he married me, provided for me and Callie, gave us a good home.”

Emma Kate sat back again. “And that’s all you wanted? To be provided for?”

“With Callie, and having no skills or the education—”

“Did he tell you that you were stupid? You want my forgiveness, Shelby?” Emma Kate said when Shelby went silent. “You tell me the truth. You look me in the eye and you tell me the truth.”

“All the time, one way or the other. How was he wrong? I didn’t know how to do anything.”

“That’s a big bucket of bullshit.” With her eyes fired up, Emma Kate set the beer down, shoved it aside and leaned across the table. “You didn’t just sing in that band, you did most of the managing and marketing. You figured out how to do that. They made you assistant manager at the college bookstore after a month so you knew how to do that. You started writing songs, and they were good, Shelby, damn it, so you knew how to do that. You redecorated my bedroom when we were sixteen—and not only did it look beautiful, but you figured out how to get around Mama on it. Don’t sit there and say you didn’t know how to do anything. That’s him talking. Speak for yourself.”

The words, fast as machine-gun fire, left Shelby breathless.

“None of those things were practical or realistic. Emma Kate, things change when you have a child depending on you. I was a housewife and a stay-at-home mother. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“There’s not a thing wrong with that if it makes you happy, if it’s appreciated. It doesn’t sound like it was appreciated, and when you talk about it you don’t look happy.”

She shook her head in denial. “Being Callie’s mama is the best thing in my life—it’s the light in it. Richard worked so I could stay home with her. A lot of mothers who want to can’t, so I should be grateful he provided for us.”

“There’s that word again.”

She felt sick inside, with a thin layer of shame coating it. “Do we have to talk about this?”

“You want me to forgive you for running off—and that I could—but to forgive you for cutting me off, for staying away, for not being there for me when I most needed you. But you’re skirting around the truth of it.”

She was because the center was so dark and sticky. The noise of voices and dishes that had seemed festive and fun when she’d come in now pounded against her head.

Her throat felt so painfully dry she wished she’d asked for water. But she pushed the words out.

“I didn’t have the money because if I managed to tuck a thousand dollars away, he’d find it, and he’d take it. To invest, he’d say, because I didn’t have a head for money. I had charge accounts, didn’t I, if I wanted to buy clothes or some other toy or outfit to spoil Callie with so I didn’t need cash money. And what was I complaining about, I had someone to clean the place, someone to help with Callie, someone to cook because I didn’t know anything but country cooking. I should be grateful. And I couldn’t take off to Tennessee every time somebody died or got married or had a birthday. He needed his wife home.”

“He cut you off from your family, your friends. He whittled your world right down, didn’t he, and hammered at you to be grateful for it.”

He had, of course he had. She hadn’t seen it happening because it was so gradual—until it was just her life.

“Sometimes I thought he hated me, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel that much for me. The first few months, even the first year, it was exciting and full, and he made me feel so special. I let him run everything. I was along for the ride, and I was carrying Callie and so happy about it. After she came, he . . . it was different.”

She took a breath, let herself settle into it.

“I thought it was different,” she said slowly, “because a baby changes things. He never paid much attention to her, and if I said anything about that, he’d get angry or act insulted. He was making sure she had a good life, wasn’t he? I didn’t want to travel so much with the baby, and he didn’t push. So he was gone a lot. Sometimes he’d come back and things would be good for a while, sometimes not so good. I never knew which it was going to be. I couldn’t anticipate how it was going to be, so I tried to make sure everything was the way he liked it. I wanted my girl to have a peaceful, happy home. That was the most important thing.”

“But you weren’t happy.”

“It was the life I’d made, Emma Kate. The choices I’d made.”

“You chose to be abused.”

Her spine went stiff and hard. “He never laid a hand on me or Callie in anger.”

“You’re smart enough to know that’s not the only kind of abuse.”

Though her tone was brisk, no-nonsense, she kept it low, under the other chatter. Even in a noisy restaurant people often heard what you’d rather they didn’t.

“He made you feel less, feel small and stupid and obliged. And he cut you off as much as he could from people who’d make you feel whole and special and really happy. And from what I’m hearing, he used Callie to keep you in line.”

“Maybe he did. He’s dead now, so it’s over with.”

“Would you have stayed with him, just stayed living like that?”

Frowning, Shelby ran a finger around the rim of her glass. “I thought about divorce—I’d be the first in our family, and that was a weight. But I thought about it, especially when he went on this last trip. It was supposed to be the three of us, a family vacation. A few days in the warm, but when Callie got sick and we couldn’t go, he went anyway. He left us in the awful house the day after Christmas, where I didn’t know a soul, and our girl was running a fever.”

Now she looked up, and some of the bottled rage gleamed out. “He didn’t even say goodbye to her, in case she was contagious, he said. I thought, He doesn’t love her. It’s okay if he doesn’t love me, but he doesn’t love our daughter, and she deserves better. She damn well deserves better. I thought about a divorce, but I didn’t have money for a lawyer, and I thought he had so much money he might go ahead and get the divorce, and what if he took Callie to spite me? I was thinking what to do, how I could do it, when they came to the house, the police. They said there’d been an accident down in South Carolina, the boat, and Richard was missing.”

She picked up the wine now. “He’d called in an SOS, said he was taking on water, and the engine had gone out. They were talking to him, getting the—what do you call it?—bearings or headings or whatever it is, sending out a rescue boat, but they had lost contact.

“They found the boat, all wrecked, and they searched for him, for almost a week. They found some of his things. His windbreaker, all torn up, and one of his shoes. Just one. They found one of the life preservers. They said the boat capsized, and he got washed away and likely drowned. So I didn’t have to think about getting a divorce.”

“If you feel guilty about that, you are stupid.”

“I stopped being guilty about it.”

“There’s a lot more, isn’t there?”

“There’s more, but can this be enough for now? Just enough for right now?” Needing the contact, she reached over to grip Emma Kate’s hand. “I’m sorry for hurting you, and I’m sorry for not being strong enough to stand up for what I knew was right and best. I just . . . God, I need some water.” She glanced around for the waitress, then pushed out of the booth. “Wait!”

When she rushed off, skirting around tables, trying to get through the crowd at the bar, Emma Kate got up to follow.

“Are you sick? The bathrooms are the other way.”

“No. I thought I saw somebody.”

“A lot of somebodies in here on Wing Night.”

“No, somebody from Philadelphia. This private detective who came looking for Richard.”

“Private detective? That is more.”

“Couldn’t have been him. No reason for it. It’s just talking so much about Richard, and thinking about all of it. I don’t want to think about it anymore right now. I want it off my mind for right now.”

“All right.”

“Can we just talk about something else? Even Melody and Jolene, I don’t care. Anything else.”

“Bonnie Jo Farnsworth’s getting a divorce. She married Les Wickett in a big, fancy wedding not two years ago.”

“I heard about that. She’s taken up with Boyd Kattery again, and they’re in Florida maybe cooking meth with his cousins.”

“So you’re getting back in the loop. Let’s go sit back down. I want another beer since I’m not driving.”

Grateful, Shelby walked back with her. “You live close.”

“We live in one of the apartments over Mountain Treasures so I left my car parked and walked over. Let me find the waitress and . . . oh hell.”

“What?”

“Matt and Griff just came in. I got caught up. I was supposed to text Matt if I decided I didn’t want him to come in and give me an excuse to ditch you. Since I didn’t, we’re going to have the boys around so I won’t be able to pry any more out of you once you relax again.”

“Is it enough that I’ve told you more than anyone but Granny?”

“It’ll do for now.” Emma Kate smiled, waved her hand.

“Your Matt’s awful cute.”

“He really is. And really good with his hands.”

As Shelby choked out a laugh, Matt worked his way through. He hooked his really good hands under Emma Kate’s elbows, lifted her off her feet, kissed her. “There’s my girl.” He set her on her feet, turned to Shelby. “And you’re Shelby.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

“Really happy to meet you. You two weren’t leaving, were you?”

“Just heading back to the table,” Emma Kate told him. “I’m ready for another round.”

“This one’s on Griff.”

“Two Black Bears. I think I’m going for a Bombardier. What’ll you have, Shelby?”

“I was just after a glass of water.”

“I don’t know if I can afford that, but I’ll dig deep since it’s you.”

“I’m driving,” Shelby said as an explanation as they maneuvered back to the booth.

“We’re not.” Matt said it cheerfully, draped an arm around Emma Kate’s shoulders when they sat. “And we had a really good day. Put in a little OT at your mother’s, hon, and the countertop’s done.”

“How’d she like it?”

“She didn’t like it. She loved it. Told you she would.”

“You have more faith, and less experience, with Mama’s waffling ways.”

“I saw the kitchen the other day, when some of the cabinets were in,” Shelby told Matt. “It already looked wonderful. You do nice work.”

“I like your friend. She has excellent taste and a very good eye. How do you like being back home?”

“It feels good, and right. It’s a big change for you from Baltimore.”

“I couldn’t let this one get away.”

“That shows you have excellent taste and a very good eye.”

“We’ll drink to that when Griff gets back with the beer. He said your daughter’s cute as they come.”

“I think so.”

“When did Griff see Callie?” Emma Kate wondered.

“Oh, he gave me a ride home this afternoon when I found myself carting three grocery bags and Callie on foot. I had a brain freeze in the market. She’s smitten with him.”

“Sounded like he was smitten with her. So . . .” Smiling, Matt twirled a lock of Emma Kate’s hair around his finger. “Now that we’re such good friends, tell me something embarrassing about Emma Kate her mother wouldn’t know about. I think I’ve worked most of the embarrassing stories out of Bitsy.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t tell you about the time she stole two cans of Budweiser out of her daddy’s six-pack, and we sneaked out of the house and drank them until she got sick in her mother’s hydrangeas.”

“Sick? Hydrangea sick on one can of Bud?”

“We were fourteen.” Emma Kate narrowed her eyes at Shelby, but there was a laugh in them. “And Shelby was sicker.”

“I was. I chugged it down as fast as I could because the taste was so hard and sour to me, then I sicked it all back up again. I never did acquire a genuine taste for beer.”

“She doesn’t like beer?” Griff set the pilsners in front of his friends, a glass of water with a slice of lime in front of Shelby, then slid in beside her with his own drink. “That may affect my plans for playing up to you so I can enlist your help in running off with Viola.”

“He’s not altogether kidding.” Matt lifted his glass. “Well, to friends, even when they don’t have the good sense to drink beer.”

• • •

PRIVET SAT OUT in his car making notes. He’d parked across the street from where Shelby had left her minivan. It seemed to him the young widow was enjoying herself, having a glass of wine with an old friend. She wasn’t quite as oblivious as he’d thought, as she’d nearly spotted him.

Now it looked like she was having a double date in the local bar and grill.

And still she’d made no suspicious moves, was hardly tossing money around.

Maybe she’d had nothing to do with it, after all. Maybe she didn’t know anything.

Or maybe she was smart enough to sit tight in Nowhere, Tennessee, until she thought the coast was clear. Considering what was at stake, he could give it a few more days.

For his cut of nearly thirty million, he could spare the time.