The Liar (37 page)

She went down where her parents held their own evening ritual of TV and needlework.

“Callie’s all tucked in. I wonder if you’d mind if I went out awhile? There’s something I’d like to do.”

“You go on.” Her father gave her an absent smile before he zeroed back in on the ball game. “We’re not going anywhere.”

“I’m dragging your daddy as far as the front porch when the game’s over. We’re going to sit and have ourselves a glass of tea and smell the roses rambling up the trellis.”

“You enjoy that, and thank you. I won’t be very long.”

“You take your time,” her mother said. “And you put some lipstick on, fluff your hair some. You can’t go over to Griff’s without your lipstick.”

“I didn’t say I was going to Griff’s.”

“A mama knows. You put some lipstick on.”

“I won’t be long,” Shelby repeated, and got out before her mother suggested she change her clothes.

•   •   •

G
RIFF HADN’T SHOWERED
off the day, because he’d decided the day wasn’t done. Even after Matt left, he kept at it. He broke briefly—let the dog out, fixed a sandwich, let the dog in, but kept focused on the work.

He’d finished the closet, and thanks to Matt, the interior was drywalled, had its second coat of mud. So he focused on the window seat he’d designed for the double windows looking over the backyard. It’d be a nice place to sit—with convenient storage beneath.

He saw the room, finished, pretty clearly. And even if that image irritated him half the time, he would damn well stick with it.

He made a habit of sticking.

Once he had the closet sanded, the window seat finished, the trim finished, all the room really needed was paint and a good clean. Well, some punch out—outlet covers, light switch covers, and he figured—and had wired for—a ceiling fan with a light kit.

Had to find the right one, one that worked with his image of the room.

Maybe he’d play around online tonight, see what he found.

Then there was the small en suite. That he’d tackle next, and probably within the next evening or two as he had the time.

He had music going, heard nothing else until Snickers began to bark. When the dog scrambled out of the room, raced downstairs, Griff pulled out his earbuds.

He picked up his hammer, tested its weight, and started out with it. He heard the knock then—he really needed to do a doorbell—and though he doubted the laptop invader would bother with a knock, he glanced out the landing window.

And saw Shelby’s van.

Emotions rolled up, conflicting, contrasting. Pleasure—God, he’d missed just looking at her face. Annoyance. Whose fault was it he hadn’t seen her face? Puzzlement, as it wasn’t like her to drop by after nine at night. Relief, tremendous, that she had.

He set the hammer down on the steps, walked the rest of the way down, where the dog barked and wagged at the door.

He opened the door and wondered how he managed to keep his heart from just falling at her feet.

“I hope it’s all right I came by,” she began. “I wanted to talk to you.”

And he wanted to pluck her right off the ground, feel her hang onto him while he kissed them both brainless.

“Sure.”

“Hey, Snickers. There’s a good dog,” she soothed as she bent over to rub him. “Look how he’s grown already. Maybe we could sit outside. It’s such a nice night.”

“We can do that. You want a drink or anything?”

“No, don’t bother. You’re working—you smell like sawdust and sweat, in a good way.”

“Just fiddling with a couple things. I could use a break.”

He stepped outside, gestured to one of the chairs.

“I know you’re mad at me,” she began as she sat, and kept rubbing the dog, who plopped his forefeet on her knees. “And you were clear as to why.”

“Okay.”

“I tried to explain my reasons to you, but I don’t think you understand.”

“I understand,” he countered. “I just don’t agree with your reasons.”

“You haven’t lived my life, Griffin. One that brought federal agents to the door.”

“I heard about that, and I heard they were grateful for your cooperation.”

“Forrest.”

“He wasn’t passing on state secrets. Plus, they talked to me.”

“They . . .” Her hands stilled; her head whipped around. “They came here?”

“Just for a chat. It’s also not a state secret you and I have spent time together since you got back. It wasn’t a problem.”

Her eyes sparked, flashed. Temper, resentment, frustration—he saw the mix clearly enough.

“Why can’t you see it’s a problem for me that they’d come here, ask you questions about something you didn’t have anything to do with?”

“You haven’t lived my life, either, Shelby. They knew about the laptop business, so they followed through. The way I look at it, having the locals and the feds involved in this is only a good thing.”

“He killed someone.”

“What?”

“They didn’t tell you that, and Forrest didn’t choose to impart that information in his reports to you?”

“No, and don’t be so snotty about it. Your brother’s my friend,” he continued before she could toss something else at him. “He doesn’t report to me. He talks to me.”

She
had
been snotty about it, she admitted, but . . . Put it aside, she ordered herself, and say what needed saying.

“Richard killed a woman, in Atlanta. Or she fell down the stairs, it’s not altogether clear, while he was stealing from her. He left her there, just left her dead or dying on the floor and walked away. That’s who I thought I married, that’s who I had a child with, that’s who I lived with for nearly five years.”

“That’s hard on you, and I’m sorry about it. But what he did, who he was, what he was? It doesn’t have anything to do with me. It doesn’t have anything to do with you and me.”

“It has everything to do with me, so that means it has to do with you and me. Why can’t you see that?”

“Because this is now.” He said it simply. “Because I’m in love with you. Because I can see you have feelings for me. Maybe you’re not where I am, and I can’t argue about that, but you have feelings. What I see is you pushing them away, and me with them, because a sociopath, a con man, a thief, and apparently a murdering son of a bitch, used you, deceived you, and you’re letting yourself feel guilty and responsible for it.”

“I have to be responsible for my own choices, my actions and the consequences of them.”

“Okay,” he said after a moment. “You’re right about that. Now, when are you going to stop beating yourself up for them?”

“I can’t make another mistake.”

“I’m not a mistake.” He shoved up at that, had to stride away, pull his control back, grip it. “Don’t hang that on me.”

“No, no, it’s me. It’s—”

“It’s not you, it’s me? That’s a classic.”

“Oh, just shut up a minute. Just shut up! I do have feelings for you, and they’re scaring me. I can’t just run with my feelings again because, yes, this is now. Now I have a little girl. I have a life to make for her, for us. I have to know I’m doing right, not just taking what I want for me. I need to take a breath, damn it. I need to settle down and think, not just feel. I hurt people. I hurt my family, and I’m never, never going to do that again. I hurt myself in the long run.”

She rose as well, walked to the rail on the other side of the steps from him. Across the lawn, into the trees, scores of lightning bugs put on a show, countless pulses of warm light against the dark.

“I’m not beating myself up, or not much anymore. Or feeling sorry for myself. I’m done with that. I came home, and I brought my girl home, and I’m building that life for us. That feels right. I feel good about that. It would’ve been enough, Griffin, it would’ve been more than enough for me. Then you . . . I just . . . There were—are—feelings.”

“I planned to go slower. I figured to get you to go out with me and Emma Kate and Matt a few times, over a couple months, maybe. Get used to being around me. Then I’d ask you out. I didn’t follow the blueprint.”

“You have a blueprint?”

“I always have a blueprint. But the thing about them is, sometimes you see how to improve the whole with a change, or some changes. So you do. I planned to go slower, but . . . Did I push you?”

“No.” It was wrong, she admitted, it was unfair and wrong to let him think so. “No, you didn’t push me, Griff. You . . . appealed, and you . . .”

She looked out, all those pulses of warm yellow. He’d put a light in her, she thought. Pulses of light against the dark she’d carried.

“How much you appealed caught me off guard. I wanted—want—to be with you. You’re the opposite of Richard. And I asked myself if that was why you appealed so much. You’re so different from him. Not flashy or showy, just—”

“Dull?”

She glanced over quickly, relieved when she saw him smile. “No, not dull. Real. I needed real more than I can say, and there you were. I have feelings, and they scare me.”

“I don’t mind that. You take the time you need to work that out. Don’t make excuses not to see me—be straight about it.”

“I didn’t know how. I hadn’t figured out how because I didn’t want to stop seeing you. I felt I should, for a while, but I didn’t want to.”

“Has it been a while yet?”

“It feels like it’s been a lot longer than a while.”

“There’s a point of agreement. I’ve missed the hell out of you, Red.”

“You came by to see Callie when I was at work.”

“I missed the hell out of her, too. And Callie and I didn’t have a fight.”

With a nod, Shelby stared out at the dark, the light. “I kept thinking you’d come by to see me, too. You came to Friday Nights, but you stayed away from me.”

“You hurt me.”

She turned to him quickly. “Oh, Griff—”

“I’m telling you, Shelby, don’t stack me up against him, not in any way. It hurts me, and it really pisses me off.”

“I’m sorry for that. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I’ll work on it.”

“That’s good enough.”

“You hurt me, too, and really pissed me off.”

“I’m sorry for that. I can’t promise it won’t happen again, but I’ll work on it.”

That made her laugh, and mean it. “I really have missed you something awful. I don’t just mean the sex, though I’ve missed that. I just missed talking to you. But . . .”

“Uh-oh.”

“I thought I was in love once before, so fast it was like being swept under a wave. But I wasn’t in love, not the way it should count. Maybe you need a little time, too.”

“If he’d been who he pretended to be when he took you under that wave, would it have counted?”

“I . . .” She could only lift her hands, let them fall.

“You can’t say because he wasn’t. He wasn’t who you thought he was, so you can’t know. Here’s what I know. I wanted you the first second I saw you. That was more a holy shit moment than what they’d call love at first sight. Look at her. That’s the most beautiful woman I’ve seen in my life.”

She wanted to laugh again, but his words clogged her throat. “Wet and miserable, as I recall.”

“And sad and beautiful. Then you and Callie, and you walking home with her, pushing that stroller and all those groceries up those hills. You’re so mad—at yourself—so worn out. And she’s so sweet. So I wanted you, then I wanted to help you. I fell for Callie first, I’ll tell you that straight-out. She had me wrapped up in about two minutes.”

“She has a way.”

“She’s got your way. I’m surprised you don’t see it. Anyway, then I heard you sing, and I started falling. I watched you sing, and I fell harder. Then I had you, and that put the cap on it. But what twisted the cap, secured it tight, was—” He stuck his hands in his pockets as he studied her. “Hell, you might not like what twisted the cap tight.”

“I want to know. There isn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t.”

“All right. What twisted the cap tight? You punching Melody. I don’t think I’m a particularly violent man, but when you did that, all I could think was, Well, hell, Griff, you’re in love with her. You’d be a fool not to be.”

“You’re making that up.”

“I’m not.” He stepped toward her, laid his hands on her shoulders. “I had to pull you off—sort of wished I didn’t have to—but I realized, yeah, I want her. I want to help her. I can fix some things for her. But god
damn
, a woman who throws a punch like that? She can fix some things, too. She can do whatever she needs to do.”

She’d thought hearing that he was in love with her rattled her. But that last sentence, the tone of admiration, just stunned. “You thought that?”

“I know that. I’ve seen it. I admire the hell out of it. And I love you. So I don’t mind scaring you a little because you’ll handle it. But when you look at me, Shelby, you’d better see me. Just me. When you think of me, just me.”

“I don’t think of anyone but you when you kiss me, when you touch me.”

“Then I should do more of that.”

“Oh God, I wish you would.”

She wrapped herself around him, pressed her mouth to his.

And he did a lot more of it.

“Come inside.” He couldn’t get enough. “Come to bed.”

“Yes.” She ran her hands up his back, thrilled to feel hard muscle again. “Yes.” Drew in his scent—sweat and sawdust. “Yes.”

They circled toward the door, and she said, “Oh. Wait.”

“Please God, don’t turn that into a no.”

“No—I mean yes.” Still wrapped around him, she managed a breathless laugh. “I mean, I need to text Mama. I told her I wouldn’t be long, and I’m going to be longer.”

“Okay. Text and walk.”

“I can do that.” She took out her phone, worked to keep her hands steady enough to write the quick text. “She knew I was coming to see you, so I don’t think she’ll be surprised to— She’s sure quick to answer.”

They’d made it inside, to the stairs, had started up. Shelby stopped halfway.

“Problem?”

“No. No, not a problem. She says—” Shelby let out another quick laugh. “She says you’ll follow me home, so why don’t I save you the trouble of that, stay the night here. Then she says—I guess you could say she knows me—don’t worry about Callie wondering where I am in the morning. We should get up early enough for me to bring you home for breakfast. She’ll make pancakes.”