The Liar (9 page)

She’d listen to her mother’s advice, take the day to do what she wanted. A walk in the rain, taking her time, time enough to study the mountains in their smoky blanket, to appreciate the spring flowers and the quiet.

She glanced over at Emma Kate’s house, noted the handyman truck in the drive, and the bright red car behind it. She wondered how she’d approach Emma Kate now that they were both back in the Ridge.

And her friend got out of the car.

She wore a hoodie, too, in a bold candy-pink Callie would have loved. She’d changed her hair, Shelby thought as Emma Kate pulled two market bags out of the backseat. She’d hacked off the long nut-brown braid Shelby remembered, wore it all cute and shaggy, with bangs.

She started to call out, then could think of nothing to say and felt stupid and awkward.

As she swung the door closed, Emma Kate spotted her. Her eyebrows lifted under the warm brown fringe of bangs as she hauled one strap onto her shoulder.

“Well, look who’s standing out in the rain like a wet cat.”

“It’s just a drizzle.”

“It’s still wet.” She stood hipshot a moment, bags hanging from her shoulders, her wide mouth unsmiling, her deep brown eyes critical even through the rain. “I heard you were back.”

“I heard the same about you. I hope your daddy’s doing okay.”

“He is.”

Feeling more stupid just standing there, Shelby walked up the short driveway. “I like your hair.”

“Granny talked me into it. I’m sorry about your husband.”

“Thanks.”

“Where’s your little girl?”

“With Mama. They have a playdate with Miz Suzannah’s granddaughter.”

“Chelsea. She’s a pistol. You got a destination, Shelby, or are you just out wandering in the wet?”

“I’m going into Viola’s, but I have all this time on my hands with Callie off with Mama, so . . . I’m wandering first.”

“Then you’d better come inside, say hello to my mother or I won’t hear the end of it. I’ve got to take her these groceries anyway.”

“That’d be nice. Here, let me take one.”

“I’ve got it.”

Rebuffed, as she was meant to feel, Shelby hunched her shoulders as they walked to the door. “I . . . Forrest said you’re with someone, and living in town.”

“I am. Matt Baker. We’ve been together about two years now. He’s at Viola’s right now, fixing one of the sinks.”

“I thought this was his truck.”

“They have two. This is his partner’s. Griffin Lott. Mama’s redoing the kitchen, and driving us all insane.”

Emma Kate opened the door, glanced back at Shelby. “You’re the talk of Rendezvous Ridge, you know. That pretty Pomeroy girl who married rich, was widowed young, come back home again. What will she do?” Emma Kate smirked a little. “What will she do?” she said again, and walked inside with her market bags.

G
riff considered himself a patient man. He didn’t fly off the handle as a rule. And when he did, all bets were off, but it took a lot of pushing to get him off the ground.

But right at the moment he was seriously considering duct-taping Emma Kate’s pretty adorable mother’s mouth closed.

He’d worked on getting the base cabinets in all morning, and she’d been peppering him with questions all morning.

Breathing down his neck, hanging over his back, all but crawling up his ass.

He knew damn well Matt had taken off to Miz Vi’s place to spare himself the headache of his girlfriend’s sweet, chatty—and let’s face it—ditzy mother.

Worse, she was still dithering—“dithering” would be the word of the day—about the cabinets even as he installed them. And if he had to take them out because she changed her mind again, he might do worse than duct tape.

He had bungee cords, and he knew how to use them.

“Oh now, Griff honey, maybe I shouldn’t have gone with the white. They’re so plain, aren’t they? And white’s cold, it’s just a cold color, isn’t it? Kitchens ought to be a warm place. Maybe I should’ve gone with the cherrywood after all. It’s so hard to know before you see them right there where they’re going, isn’t it? How do you know what it’s going to look like until you see what it looks like?”

“Clean and fresh,” he said, trying to sound cheerful when he wanted to grind his teeth. “Kitchens should be clean and fresh, and that’s what you’re going to have.”

“Do you think so?” She stood, nearly at his elbow, twisted her linked fingers together. “Oh, I don’t know. Henry finally just threw up his hands and said he didn’t care either way. But he’ll care if it isn’t right.”

“It’s going to look great, Miz Bitsy.” He felt like someone, possibly himself, was shooting a nail gun dead center of his forehead.

He and Matt had dealt with fussy clients back in Baltimore. The control freaks, the whiners, the demanders and the ditherers, but Louisa “Bitsy” Addison was the undisputed queen of the ditherers.

She made the previously reigning champs—John and Rhonda Turner, who’d had them tear out a wall in their row house in Baltimore, build it back in, then tear it out a second time—seem resolute, steady as a brick wall—in comparison.

What they’d estimated as a three-week job—with a three-day contingency built in—was currently in week five. And God knew when it would end.

“I don’t know,” she said for the millionth time, patting her hands together under her chin. “White’s kind of stark, isn’t it?”

He set the cabinet, pulled out his level, shoved one hand through his mop of dark blond hair. “Wedding gowns are white.”

“Now, that’s true, and . . .” Her already big brown eyes got bigger, and a giddy thrill shone out of them. “Wedding gowns? Oh now, Griffin Lott, do you know something I don’t? Has Matt popped the question?”

He ought to throw his partner under the bus. He ought to throw him under, then back up and drive over him again. But . . . “I was just using an example, like . . .” He did a frantic mental search. “Magnolias, for instance. Or—” Sweet Jesus, give me one more. “Ah, baseballs.”

Crap.

“The hardware’s going to punch it all up,” he continued, just a little desperately. “And the countertop. That warm gray’s going to give you friendly and sophisticated at the same time.”

“Maybe it’s the wall color that’s wrong. Maybe I should—”

“Mama, you’re not having those walls repainted.” Emma Kate marched in.

Griff could’ve kissed her, could have dropped down and kissed her feet. Then he lost track of her completely when the redhead stepped in behind her.

He actually thought, Holy shit—and hoped he hadn’t said it out loud.

She was beautiful. A man didn’t get to be just shy of his thirtieth birthday without seeing some beautiful women, even if it was just on a movie screen. But this one, in the flesh, was one quick
wow
.

Masses of curling hair the color of a sunrise all tumbling around a face that looked like it had been carved out of porcelain—if they carved from porcelain, how would he know? Soft, full lips with a perfect dip at the top, and big, deep, sad blue eyes.

His heart actually skipped a couple of beats, and his ears buzzed for a minute so he missed most of the argument between Emma Kate and her mother.

“The kitchen’s the heart of a home, Emma Kate.”

“The way you keep turning and twisting it, you’re lucky to have a heart left. Let Griff work, Mama, and say hello to Shelby.”

“Shelby?
Shelby!
Oh my God!”

She raced across the room, grabbed the redhead in a wide, swaying hug. Shelby, grabbed Shelby, Griff thought. Nice name, Shelby. Currently his favorite name ever.

Then it clicked. Shelby—or Shelby Anne Pomeroy, as Bitsy squealed as she gave the redhead another squeeze. His friend Forrest’s sister.

Miz Vi—on whom he had a mad crush—Miz Viola’s granddaughter.

You could see if you stopped being dazzled for two seconds, just how Miz Vi had looked as a young woman. How Ada Mae might have looked twenty-some years back.

Miz Vi’s granddaughter, he thought again. The widow.

No wonder she had sad eyes.

He immediately felt guilty for wanting to wrap her up the way Bitsy was—then reminded himself it wasn’t his fault her husband was dead.

“Oh, I’m just sick about missing your welcome home yesterday, but Henry and I had to go to his cousin’s daughter’s wedding, clear to Memphis. And I don’t even like his cousin. Just a snooty woman, puts on airs because she married a Memphis lawyer. But it was a beautiful wedding, with the reception at the Peabody Hotel.”

“Mama, give Shelby a chance to breathe.”

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m just going on and on. I’m so excited to see you. Griff, Emma Kate and Shelby here were joined at the hip, I swear, before they were so much as a year old right up to . . .”

It seemed to occur to her just why Shelby was home.

“Oh, honey. Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. You’re so young to have such a tragedy in your life. How are you holding up?”

“It’s good to be home.”

“Nothing like home. And here mine’s all torn up, so I can’t even fix you something nice. And you so thin, too. Honey, you’re skinnier than a New York model. You always were tall enough to be one. Emma Kate, do we have any Coke? You always were fond of Coke, weren’t you, Shelby?”

“Yes, ma’am, but don’t trouble about it. I love your new cabinets, Miz Bitsy. They’re so clean and fresh, and just so pretty against that blue-gray on the walls.”

Widow or not, at that moment Griff wanted to kiss her. Everywhere.

“Why, that’s just what Griff said. He said they were clean and fresh. Do you really think—”

“Mama, we haven’t even introduced Shelby. Shelby, this is my boyfriend’s partner, Griffin Lott. Griff, Shelby—it’s Foxworth, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” She turned those amazing eyes on him, and yeah, hearts could skip a beat. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Hi. I’m a friend of your brother’s.”

“Which one?”

“I guess both, but mostly Forrest. And I might as well tell you right off, I’m in love with your grandmother. I’m working on a way to get her away from Jackson so we can run off to Tahiti.”

That wonderfully shaped mouth curved, those sad eyes lightened, just a little. “It’s hard to blame you.”

“Griff’s living out at the old Tripplehorn place,” Emma Kate added. “He’s rehabbing it.”

“So you work miracles?”

“As long as I can use tools. You should come by and see it sometime. It’s coming along.”

She smiled at him, but it didn’t reach those big sad eyes this time. “You’ve got your work cut out for you. I need to get on. I’m due at my grandmother’s place.”

“Now, Shelby, you come back when this is all finished and we’ll have a nice long talk.” Bitsy fluttered around her. “I expect to see you in and out of here just like you used to be. You know you’re same as family here.”

“Thank you, Miz Bitsy. It was nice meeting you,” she said to Griff again, turned to go.

“I’ll walk you out.” Emma Kate shoved the market bags at her mother. “There’s cold cuts and made-up salads and plenty of ready-to-eat food. You don’t have to worry about cooking until your new stove’s in. I’ll be right back.”

Emma Kate said nothing on the way to the door. “Say hey to Granny,” she said as she opened it.

“I will.” Shelby stepped out, turned. Bitsy’s open welcome made Emma Kate’s reserve all the more painful. “I need you to forgive me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the best friend I’ve had in my life.”

“That was then. People change.” After shaking back her shaggy hair, Emma Kate stuck her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “Look, Shelby, you’ve had a hard knock, and I’m sincerely sorry about it, but—”

“You have to forgive me.” Pride demanded she walk away; love wouldn’t allow it. “I didn’t do right by our friendship. I didn’t do right by you, and I’m sorry. I’ll always be sorry. I need you to forgive me. I’m asking you to remember that friendship before I ruined it, and forgive me. At least enough to talk to me, to tell me what you’ve been doing and how you are. Just enough for that.”

Emma Kate studied her face, her dark eyes thoughtful. “Tell me one thing. Why didn’t you come back when my granddaddy died? He loved you. I needed you.”

“I wanted to. I couldn’t.”

With a slow shake of her head, Emma Kate stepped back. “No, that’s not enough for forgiveness. You tell me why you couldn’t do something you had to know was important, just sent flowers and a card like that was enough. Tell me the straight truth on that one thing.”

“He said no.” The shame of it washed over Shelby’s face, burned in her heart. “He said no, and I didn’t have the money or the nerve to go against him on it.”

“You always had nerve.”

Shelby remembered the girl who’d always had nerve like she remembered her cousin Vonnie. Vaguely.

“I guess I used it up. It’s taking all I’ve got left to stand here and ask you to forgive me.”

Emma Kate took a long breath. “You remember Bootlegger’s Bar and Grill?”

“Sure I do.”

“You meet me there tomorrow. Seven-thirty should work for me. We’ll talk some of this out.”

“I need to ask Mama if she can watch Callie.”

“Oh yeah.” The chill came back, cooler and damper than the drizzling rain. “That would be your daughter, the one I’ve never laid eyes on.”

That twisted—both shame and guilt. “I can keep saying I’m sorry, as many times as you need to hear it.”

“I’ll be there at seven-thirty. Come if you can make it.”

Emma Kate went back inside, then leaned back against the door and let herself cry just a little.

•   •   •

G
RIFF SET THE LAST
base cabinet in blessed peace since Emma Kate fell on her sword and took her mother shopping. He gave himself a break, swigging Gatorade straight from the bottle and eyeing the progress.

He didn’t doubt the champion waffler would love every square inch of the remodeled kitchen once it was done. And it would look clean and fresh—just like the redhead.

Something going on there, he mused, with Bitsy going on about how Emma Kate and Shelby had been friends practically in the womb, and Emma Kate standing there as stiff and cool as he’d ever seen her. And the redhead sad and awkward.

Girl fight, he supposed. He had a sister, so he knew girl fights could be long and bitter. He’d have to poke at Emma Kate. It was just a matter of finding the right spot, getting her to open up and spill.

He wanted to know.

And he wondered how long was a reasonable length of time before a guy asked a widow out.

He should probably be ashamed of himself for wondering, but he just couldn’t drum it up. He hadn’t had such a quick and strong reaction to a woman in . . . ever, he decided. And he liked women a lot.

He set the Gatorade down and decided since Matt was taking all damn day to fix a sink, he’d start on the upper cabinets. Plus it wouldn’t be just the sink, he thought, as he hauled his stepladder over. There’d be conversation. Nothing got done in Rendezvous Ridge without considerable conversation.

And iced tea. And questions, and long, lazy pauses.

He was getting used to it, found he enjoyed the slower pace, and definitely appreciated the small-town vibe.

He’d had a choice to make when Matt decided to move to Tennessee with Emma Kate. Stay or go. Find a new partner, run the business himself. Or take the leap and start over, more or less, in a new place with new people.

He didn’t regret taking the leap.

He heard the front door open. That took getting used to, the way people in the Ridge rarely locked a door.

“Did you have to make her a new sink?” Griff called out, then set the drill on the last screw of the first upper.

“Miss Vi found a few other things for me to do. Hey, you’re moving along. This looks great.”

Griff grunted, stepped down to eye the cabinet. “Word of the day is ‘dithering,’ which has a picture of Bitsy Addison beside it in every dictionary across the land.”

“She has a little trouble sticking to decisions.”

And there was Matt’s gift for understatement.