The Liar

There’d be plenty to gossip about. And they didn’t know the half of it.

The smart thing to do would be to keep her head down, be friendly and get steady work. Steady work would mean some sort of day care for Callie, so that had to be balanced.

Day care would be good for Callie. Just look how she’d latched onto this Chelsea. She needed to interact with other kids, even if it meant most of any paycheck coming in went out again.

While Callie talked to Fifi, Shelby took the fork into town. She kept her eyes peeled for houses for sale. When she moved out on her own, she wanted something close by. Close enough maybe Callie could walk to her grandmother’s, or to Granny’s. To friends, to town, just as she had.

A little house, two bedrooms, maybe with enough land for a small garden. She’d missed gardening in the condo, and hadn’t had a chance in Philadelphia.

She let her mind drift, imagined the house in her head. Like a cottage, that’s all they needed, and she’d plant flowers and have a vegetable patch, some herbs. She’d teach Callie how to plant and tend and harvest.

She could haunt yard sales and flea markets for furniture, for bargains she could refinish or paint or reupholster. Warm colors and sink-into chairs.

They’d have a good life here, whatever it took to make it.

She took the main road, with shops and a few old houses on each side of the winding street.

She could work in a gift shop, or wait tables, ring up sales at the drugstore or food at the market. Granny had told her she could come work at the salon, but she didn’t have any real talent for hair—or a license. Whatever she did there would be make work, and her family was already making enough for her.

She could check at the hotel or the lodge just outside of town. Not today, not with Callie along, but they should go on her list.

She liked the way it all looked, freshening up for spring with storefronts shining in the sunlight, tubs and hanging baskets of flowers decking the buildings that climbed up or down the hilly road. She enjoyed seeing people stopping to talk, a few tourists wandering along the steep sidewalks, hikers with their big backpacks taking pictures of the town well, where legend had it star-crossed lovers, from feuding families, would meet at midnight.

Until the girl’s father shot the boy dead, and the girl died of a broken heart.

Their rendezvous, so it was said, gave the town its name, and the well—haunted, of course—ended up on a lot of cameras and canvases.

Maybe she could get an office job since she had decent computer skills. But the truth was she had no experience there. Her work experience spread to helping out at the salon—filling shampoo bottles, sweeping the floor, working the register—babysitting, working in the college bookstore a couple of semesters.

And singing with the band.

She wasn’t likely to form a band, and was beyond filling shampoo bottles. So retail maybe. Or maybe she could look into opening a day care. But the Ridge had one—and those who had family usually had a mother or cousin or sister who’d watch their kids when they worked.

Retail, she thought again. Retail or waitressing. There could be opportunities there, especially since summer was coming, and summer brought more tourists, more hikers, more families who rented cabins or stayed at the hotel.

The Artful Ridge—local artists mostly. Mountain Treasures, gifts and whatnots. The Hasty Market—selling staples and snacks for anyone who didn’t want to go the half mile to Haggerty Food Market. There was the pharmacy, the ice cream shop, the bar and grill, the Pizzateria, Al’s Liquors.

Farther down and around the corner sat Shady’s Bar, which was just that. And her mama would have a heart attack if she took a job there.

Considering her options, she stopped in the salon first so her granny could show off Callie.

“I’m going to do your hair,” Viola told Callie. “Crystal, get me one of those booster seats, would you? You can sit right here at Granny’s station, Callie Rose. I used to do your Gamma’s hair, and your mama’s. Now I get to do yours.”

“Callie’s hair.” Callie lifted her arms to Viola, then brushed at Viola’s hair. “Granny’s hair.”

“About the same, isn’t it—though mine takes some doing these days.”

“Some doing,” Callie echoed, and made Viola laugh.

“Have a seat there, Shelby, Crystal doesn’t have another head for a half hour. Look at this beautiful hair.”

Callie, who could sometimes be fussy and impatient at hair-fixing time, sat happily staring at herself in the mirror.

“I wanna be a princess, Granny.”

“You are a princess, but we’ll give you hair worthy of your rank.” She brushed through the curls, grabbed one of the big silver clips to hold some back, and began to do a fancy French braid on the side.