The Liar

Viola’s hands paused. “He got himself snipped and let you think you were trying to make a baby?”

“I’m never going to be able to forgive him for that. Out of all of it, it’s that I can’t forgive.”

“His right to decide if he wanted to make another baby, but not his right to get fixed and not tell you. It’s a terrible lie. And a man who could tell that terrible lie, live with that terrible lie, had something missing inside him.”

“There were so many lies, Granny, and finding them after he’s dead?” There was an emptiness left there, Shelby thought, that could never be filled again. “I feel like a fool, I feel like I lived with a stranger. And I don’t understand why he married me, why he lived with me.”

Despite what churned up inside her, Viola kept her hands gentle, her voice calm. “You’re a beautiful girl, Shelby Anne, and you said you were a good wife. And you’re not to feel like a fool because you trusted your husband. What else did he lie about? Were there other women?”

“I don’t know for certain, and can’t ask. But I have to say yes, from things I found, yes, there were other women. And I find now I don’t care. I can’t even care how many—he took so many trips without us. And I went to the doctor a few weeks ago, got tested in case . . . He didn’t give me anything, so if he had other women, he was careful. So I don’t care if he had a hundred other women.”

She worked up her nerve while Viola slathered on the energizing mask.

“The money, Granny. He lied about the money. I never paid much attention to it because he said that was his business, and mine was to run the house and Callie. He—he could lash out like a whip over that without raising his voice or his hand.”

“Cold contempt can be a sharper blade than hot temper.”

Comforted, Shelby opened her eyes, looked into her grandmother’s. “He cowed me. I hate admitting it, and I don’t even know how it happened. But I can look back and see it so clear. He didn’t like me asking questions about money, so I didn’t. We had so much—the clothes and the furniture and the restaurants and the travel. But he was cheating there, too, and running some sort of scam. I’m still not clear on all of it.”

She closed her eyes again, not in shame—not with Granny—but in weariness. “Everything was on credit, and the house up North, he hadn’t made even the first payment on the loan, and he bought it back in the summer. I didn’t know a thing about it until he told me in November we were moving. And there were the cars, and the credit cards, and the time payments—and some debts in Atlanta he left behind. Taxes unpaid.”

“He left you in debt?”

“I’ve been sorting it out, and setting up payment plans—and I sold a lot off in the last few weeks. There’s an offer on the house, and if it goes through, it’ll take a lot off.”

“How much did he leave you owing?”

“As of right now?” She opened her eyes, looked into her grandmother’s. “One million, nine hundred and ninety-six thousand dollars and eighty-nine cents.”

“Well.” Viola had to draw in breath, let it out slow. “Well. Jesus Christ in a rocking chair, Shelby Anne, that’s a considerable sum of money.”

“When the house sells, it’ll cut it back. The offer’s for one point eight million. I owe a hundred and fifty more than that on it, but they forgive that with this short-sale business. And it started out around three million. Some over that with the lawyers’ bills, and accounting bills.”

“You paid off a million dollars since January?” Viola shook her head. “That must’ve been one holy hell of a yard sale.”

7

A massage, an energizing facial and coming home to find her little girl bubbling over with happiness, those went a long way toward lifting Shelby’s mood.

But the biggest lift had been unburdening herself to her grandmother. She’d told her everything—about finding the safe-deposit box and what was in it, the private detective, the spreadsheet she’d created, and her need to find a paying job as soon as she could.

By the time she’d given Callie her supper, her bath, tucked her in for the night, she felt she knew all there was to know about Chelsea—and had made a promise to have Chelsea over as soon as she could.

She went back down, found her father stretched out in the La-Z-Boy recliner he loved, watching a basketball game on his new TV. And her mother sitting on the sofa crocheting.

“She go down all right?”

“Out like a light before I’d finished her bedtime story. You wore her out today, Mama.”

“It sure was fun. The two girls were like tadpoles swimming in their own pond, hardly still a minute. Suzannah and I talked about taking turns, having Chelsea come here, then taking Callie there. And I’ve got Tracey’s number for you, right in on the kitchen board. You ought to call Chelsea’s mama, honey, make a good bridge there.”

“I will. You gave her a happy day. Can I ask you for a favor?”

“You know you can.”

“I ran into Emma Kate today.”