The Liar

Before and after her Saturday job, she hit her spreadsheet hard, meticulously paying bills, doing careful math.

And shaking her clasped hands at the ceiling when she paid off another credit card.

Three down, nine to go.

Straight after Sunday breakfast, she stood at the stove frying up chicken and listening to Callie squeal with delight while she played with the much-loved bubble maker.

Ada Mae came in, hugged Shelby from behind. “That’s the best sound in the world.”

“I know it. She’s so happy, Mama, it turns my heart inside out.”

“And how about you?”

“I’m about as happy as a little girl with a bubble machine.”

“You were in fine voice Friday night, baby girl. And so pretty up there in that blue dress.”

“I’m going to have fun with the sixties. I’ve been playing around some for next week. Tansy told me they’re going ahead for sure with that expansion. That’ll be exciting.”

“Good thing Griff and Matt are all but done here. I love my new bathroom like Callie loves her bubble maker.”

To demonstrate, Ada Mae did a neat pirouette and had Shelby grinning.

“They’re handy men. A handy man’s worth his weight in gold. You must’ve had a nice time after.”

Heat rose up the back of Shelby’s neck. “I did. Mama, you didn’t wait up, did you?”

“It’s not a matter of waiting up. You have a child under your roof—whether she’s fourteen or forty—you hear that car pull up the drive. And don’t even think about saying you’re sorry. It put a smile on my face thinking about you being with a good man. He puts a smile on your face, too.”

She knew just where her mother was going. “He does. I can admit I didn’t see myself having a nice time with any man for a long time yet. As it is, it’s a pretty surprise. Still, I can’t think past next week, not yet.”

“That’s all right. You take your time, give him a good test-drive.”

“Mama!”

“You think your generation invented sex? And you’re doing the sixties next week? That generation likely figured the same. Speaking of test-driving, I heard Florence Piedmont bought Griff a new truck.”

“He said she wouldn’t take no, turned it around so it felt like he’d be insulting her if he refused. Grandpa’s going to strip the wrecked one for parts, and Griff’s having the new truck painted with the logo.”

She paused as she drained some of the chicken.

“Did we do the right thing, Mama? Letting Melody get off with going to that rehabilitation center, anger management therapy and the like?”

“Next thing to a country club, I expect, and that just chafes my thighs. But down under it, I think it was the right thing. I don’t know as she’ll be coming back here, at least not for some time. I do know Miz Florence isn’t holding her job.”

“Oh.”

“And I expect you could have that job, if you wanted it.”

“I . . . No. I think I like just how things are. I like working at Granny’s, I like the girls and the work and the customers. I like knowing if something came up, nobody’d be upset if I had to take off to deal with it. And I do know, for certain, I wouldn’t want Melody’s old office, her old job, her old anything. Just . . . bad juju. You know what I mean, Mama?”

“I do. You’ve got your granny’s hand with fried chicken, girl. If you don’t want to look past next week yet, you’d better be careful. Chicken like that could drive a man to propose marriage.”

“I think I’m safe there.”

And safe, Shelby thought, was where she needed to be.

At noon when Griff pulled up in his rental truck, she had the hamper loaded and ready, and Callie in her yellow dress with a ribbon in her hair. She’d opted for jeans and her old hiking boots.

Callie rushed out before Griff got to the door, and launched herself at him.

“You look like a picnic, Little Red.”

“I got a bow.” Callie reached back to where the yellow ribbon trailed.

“I see that. Pretty as they come, and so’s your mom. Here, let me take that.”

“You’ve already got her. We’ll take my van since I know where we’re going. I’ve got the blankets in there already.”

“I’ve just got to get a couple things out of the truck.”

He strapped Callie in her car seat—expertly, Shelby noted. You didn’t have to show the man something twice. He walked to his rental truck, came back with a tote bag. “Contributions,” he said, and put them in the van with the hamper.

“I’m hoping this spot is as pretty as I remember. It’s been a while.”

She drove toward town, then veered off on a back road, just skimming by the holler while Callie chattered like a magpie. As she took the rise, navigated the switchbacks, it all came back to her. The sights, the smells.

The color.

Winding through the greens, the browns, yellow trillium and crested iris splashed, while the delicate trumpets of columbine played in dappled sunlight. There, or there, mountain laurel brightened the shadows, and lady’s slippers danced.

“Pretty. It’s pretty country,” Griff said when Callie shifted to conversation with the ever-present Fifi.

“It won’t be long till the wild rhododendrons pop out. I just love the green of it. The endless, rising green of it, and how the color from wildflowers comes and goes.”