The Liar

“Here you are! Here’s my girls! My God, Shelby Anne, you’re skinny as a snake. We’re going to fix that. For goodness’ sake, you kids give us some room here. Look at you, just look!” She cupped Shelby’s face, tilted it up. “Everything’s going to be just fine,” she said when Shelby’s eyes teared. “Don’t you go running your mascara. It’s all fine now. How do you get this door open?”

Shelby pulled the handle so the side door slid open.

“Gamma! Gamma!” Callie reached out, arms stretched. “Out, out!”

“I’m going to get you out of there. How the hell do you get her out of there? Oh, just look at you!” Ada Mae covered Callie’s face with kisses as Shelby released the harness, the seat belt. “You’re pretty as a sunbeam in May. And what a pretty dress, too. Oh, give your Gamma a big hug.”

In her yellow sling-back heels, Ada Mae turned circles in the road while Callie clung to her like a burr.

“We’re all over the place.” Tears slid down Ada Mae’s cheeks as she circled.

“Don’t cry, Gamma.”

“That’s just joy spilling out, and good thing I’ve got waterproof mascara. We’re out here, in the house, out the backyard where they’ve got the big grill going already. We’ve got food to feed the army we are, and some champagne, too, to celebrate.”

With Callie on her hip, Ada Mae pulled Shelby in for a three-generation hug. “Welcome home, baby.”

“Thank you, Mama, more than I can say.”

“Let’s get you inside, get you some sweet tea. The moving van was here not two hours ago.”

“Already?”

“Carted everything right up to Callie’s room. We’ve got it all made up so sweet and pretty. Your room’s right next to your mama’s,” she said as they walked to the house. “I put you in Clay’s old room, Shelby, as it’s bigger than the one you had. It’s been fresh painted, and we got a new mattress. The old was worn out. Callie’s in Forrest’s old room, so you know you’ll share that bath between them. We got some nice new towels in there for you. Got them from your granny’s spa, so they’re nice.”

Shelby would’ve said she shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, but if Ada Mae wasn’t fussing, she wasn’t breathing.

“Gilly baked a cake, all fancy. She’s about ready to pop, but that girl can bake like Betty Crocker.”

Her brother Clay came out. He’d gotten his parents’ height, and their father’s coloring with his dark hair and eyes. Grinning, he plucked Shelby off her feet, spun her like a top.

“About time you got here,” he murmured in her ear.

“Soon as I could.”

“Give her over,” he ordered his mother, and snatched Callie. “Hey there, sunshine. Remember me?”

“Unca Clay.”

“Girls always remember the handsome ones. Let’s go find some trouble.”

“If anybody can,” Ada Mae said, and wrapped an arm around Shelby’s waist. “You need a cold drink and a chair.”

“I feel like I’ve been sitting for days, but I’d take the cold drink.”

Family spread around the house so there were more hugs and welcomes, more yet when they reached the kitchen. Gilly—and she did look ready to pop—stood with a boy just a year younger than Callie on her hip.

“I’ve got him.” Clay transferred his son, Jackson, to his other hip. “Got me a set now.” He took off running out the back door, letting out a war hoop that had both kids squealing.

“Born to be a daddy. And a good thing,” Ada Mae added, giving Gilly’s belly a gentle pat. “You get off your feet now.”

“I’m feeling fine. Even better now.” She wrapped her arms around Shelby, swayed with the hug. “It’s so good to see you. We’ve got pitchers of tea outside, and plenty of beer. And four bottles of champagne—your mama has decreed it’s for the ladies only, as none of the men here can appreciate it.”

“Sounds about right. I’ll start with the tea.” Shelby hadn’t caught her breath, not yet, but decided she’d catch it later. “Gilly, you just look wonderful.”

Hair as sunny as Clay’s was dark, slicked back in a pretty tail to leave her face—round with pregnancy—unframed. Eyes of cornflower blue sparkled.

“Really wonderful. Are you doing good?”

“I’m doing great. Five weeks and two days to go.”

Shelby made her way outside, onto the wide back porch, looking over the big backyard with its vegetable patch already sprouting, kids clambering over a swing set, a grill smoking, picnic tables lined up like soldiers with balloons tied to chairs.

Her father stood at the grill—the general—in one of his silly aprons. This one suggested you kiss his grits.

She was in his arms in seconds. She wouldn’t break down, she told herself. She just wouldn’t spoil it. “Hey, Daddy.”

“Hey, Shelby.”

He bent from his six feet, two inches, kissed the top of her head. Handsome and fit, a marathon runner for pleasure, a country doctor by trade, he held her close.

“You’re too thin.”

“Mama said she’d fix that.”

“Then she will.” He drew her back. “The doctor says food, drink, plenty of sleep and pampering. That’ll be twenty dollars.”

“Put it on my bill.”

“That’s what they all say. Go, get that drink. I’ve got ribs to finish.”