The Liar

“Her first husband had a swagger to him,” Viola said under her breath. “And he swaggered off with anything female he could talk into it.”

“I hope she does better this time.”

“I like this one. No swagger, but a steady way about him, which she needs to balance her out. I love that girl like I love raspberry sherbet, but she needs that balance. What’s for dinner?”

“I’m going to surprise you. And I’d better get to the market or we’ll be ordering from the Pizzateria.”

She ran into Chelsea and her mother in the food market, which added a half hour onto her time—and produced a deal to meet at the town park the next day so the girls could play together.

Now that she was cooking a meal for six she fiddled with the menu as she shopped. She made a good roast chicken with garlic and sage and rosemary, and she could make some red potatoes in that zingy dressing she cut out of a magazine, the carrots in butter and thyme Callie liked so much, and some peas. And she’d make biscuits.

Richard hadn’t cared for her biscuits, called them hick bread, she remembered.

Well, the hell with him.

Maybe she’d make some appetizers, really do it up. And profiteroles for dessert. The cook they’d had three times a week in Atlanta had shown her how to make them.

She loaded up ingredients, bribed Callie with animal crackers. And tried not to swallow out loud when she checked out.

For family, she reminded herself as she counted out the money. Family was putting a roof over her head, and her daughter’s. She could and would afford to pay for a good family dinner.

It wasn’t until she wheeled the cart and stroller outside that she remembered she’d walked.

“Oh, for God’s sake, how stupid am I?”

Three bags of groceries, a stroller and a mile-and-a-half walk.

Muttering to herself, she crammed two bags in the back of the stroller, slung the big Callie bag over one shoulder and hefted the last grocery bag.

She switched arms at the half-mile mark, seriously considered calling her mother, or poking into the sheriff’s office to see if Forrest was there and could give her a ride.

“We’ll make it. We’ll make it fine.”

She thought back to when she’d run the mile into town, and back again, as a child. Up and down those hills, around those curves.

Well, now she had a child, and three bags of groceries. And she might be working up a blister on her heel.

She made it to the fork, arms aching, and stopped to gather herself for the last leg.

The Fix-It Guys truck pulled up beside her. Griff leaned out the window.

“Hey. Did your car break down? Griff,” he added, in case she’d forgotten. “Griffin Lott.”

“I remember. No, my car didn’t break down. I didn’t take the damn car because I wasn’t intending to buy so many groceries.”

“Damn car,” Callie said to Fifi, and had Shelby sighing.

“Okay. Want a ride home?”

“More, at this moment, than I want a long and happy life. But . . .”

“I get you only met me yesterday, but Emma Kate’s known me for a couple years. I’d be in jail if I were an ax murderer. Hey, cutie. Is your name Callie?”

“Callie.” The little girl angled her head, an accomplished flirt, and fluffed at her new hairdo. “I’m pretty.”

“As pretty as they come. Look, I can’t leave you by the side of the road with the pretty girl and three bags of groceries.”

“I was going to say I want a ride, but you don’t have a car seat.”

“Oh. Right.” He shoved a hand at his hair. “We’ll break the law, but it’s less than a mile, and I’ll drive slow. I’ll pull over anytime another car’s coming, either direction.”

Her heel burned, her arms ached and her legs felt like rubber stretched too hard and long. “I think driving slow’s going to be enough.”

“Hold on. Let me help you.”

That made the second person who wasn’t family in the last little while who’d offered to help her. It was hard to remember how long before that anyone had.

He got out of the truck, took the bag from her. Feeling came back into her arm in pins and needles.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He stowed the groceries while she lifted Callie out. “You sit right there,” Shelby told Callie. “Sit still while I fold up the stroller.”

“How does it— Oh, I get it.” Griff folded the stroller as if he’d been doing so for years.

She turned back to Callie as he stowed it, and saw her daughter had opened a takeout bag sitting on the seat beside her.

She was now eating french fries.

“Callie! Those aren’t yours.”

“I’m hungry, Mama.”

“It’s okay.” Laughing, Griff got in the truck. “I wouldn’t trust anybody who could resist fries. I had to pick up some stuff in town, grabbed lunch for me and Matt while I was at it. She can have some fries.”

“It’s past her lunchtime. I didn’t expect to be gone so long.”

“Didn’t you grow up here?”

She took a deep breath as he drove—true to his word—at about twenty miles an hour. “I should’ve known better.”

Now sitting on her lap, Callie held out a fry to Griff.

“Thanks. You look like your mother.”

“Mama’s hair.”

“Yours is really pretty. Have you been to Miz Vi’s?”

“That’s Granny, Callie. Miz Vi’s Granny.”