The Liar

“No, I loved it. I’ve got good memories of playing here, listening to the ladies talk, getting my hair and nails done like a grown-up. I don’t want to take advantage, Granny. I don’t want you to make work for me.”

“It’s not taking advantage or making work when I can use you. I can’t say you’d be doing me a favor as I’d have to pay you. It makes good sense, unless you just don’t want to work here.”

“I wish you would,” Crystal called over from her station. “It would save the rest of us from having to answer the phone or check the book for walk-ins if Dottie’s in the back or it’s her time off.”

“I could use you three days a week ten to three, and on Saturdays from nine to four when we’re hopping.” Viola paused, seeing the hesitation on Shelby’s face. “If you don’t take the job, I’ll have to hire somebody else. That’s a fact. Crystal?”

“That is a fact. We were just talking about looking for somebody to come in part-time.” With the rat-tail comb in her hand, Crystal crossed her heart. “I swear on it.”

“We’d need to go over some things as it’s been some time since you did any filling in around here,” Viola continued, “but you’re a bright girl. I expect you’d catch on quick.”

Shelby looked over at Crystal. “You’re swearing she’s not making busywork for me?”

“She sure isn’t. Dottie’s doing a lot of running between the salon and the treatment rooms, back in the locker and relaxation areas. And Sasha hardly has time for that anymore since she got her license and she’s doing face and body treatments. We keep up with it, but it would sure be nice to have somebody doing more of the running.”

“All right.” Shelby let out a surprised laugh. “I’d love to work here.”

“Then you’re hired. You can give me the hour you’d have spent going all around seeing about a job, and go in the back there. Towels should be dry by now. You could fold them and bring them out, put them at stations.”

Shelby leaned down, pressed her cheek to Viola’s. “Thank you, Granny.”

“You’ll be busy.”

“That’s just what I want,” Shelby said, and got to work.

•   •   •

BY THE TIME she got home with Callie she’d worked out a doable schedule. She’d barter one day a week with Tracey, pay her for two days when Saturday was called for, and Ada Mae scooped up the other day as her “Gamma and Callie Day.”

Whenever it didn’t work, she’d take Callie with her.

Friday nights her mother and grandmother would switch off—their idea, she thought, as she pulled in the drive.

She could earn a decent enough living, her child would be well cared for. She couldn’t ask for more.

And as Callie got that glassy-eyed look on the short drive home, Shelby calculated she could get her down for a nap right off, then spend some time looking up songs from the forties, starting her playlist. With Callie half asleep on her shoulder, she started straight upstairs.

She made the turn toward Callie’s room, swaying and humming to keep her daughter in the nap zone, then let out a short scream when Griff stepped into the hallway.

Callie jumped in her arms, and rather than a short scream, blasted out a wailing screech.

“Sorry!” Griff dragged the earbuds off. “I didn’t hear you. Sorry. Your mother said— Hey, Callie, I’m sorry I scared you.”

Clutching Shelby, Callie stared at him, sobbing, then threw herself at him. He had to scramble forward, grab hold. Callie clung, crying on his shoulder.

“It’s okay. It’s all right.” He rubbed her back as he smiled at Shelby. “Your mother wants that new bathroom. I said I’d stop over first chance, make sure on the measurements. Wow, you look really good.”

“I’m just going to sit down a minute.” She did so, right on the top step. “I didn’t see your truck.”

“I walked over from Miz Bitsy’s. We’re just punching out there, so we can start here next week.”

“Next week?”

“Yeah.” He patted and jiggled as Callie’s tears dissolved into sniffles. “We’ve got a couple of little jobs, but we’ll juggle this in. I had music in my ears, so I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s okay. I probably didn’t need those last ten years of my life. I’m just going to put her down for her nap.”

“I’ve got it. Over in here, right?”

He stepped into Callie’s room. By the time Shelby pushed up, walked across, he had her on the bed, under her light blanket, and was quietly answering the singsong questions she often came up with at nap or bed time.

“Kiss,” Callie demanded.

“You got it.” He kissed her cheek, stood up, glanced at Shelby. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.” But she did a come-away motion, and eased out. “It’s only that easy because she wore herself out at Chelsea’s.”

“She smells like cherries.”

“Juice box, I imagine.”

And her mother smells like a mountain meadow—fresh and sweet and wild all at once. Maybe the word of the day should be “pheromones.”

“You really do look good.”

“Oh, I’ve been job hunting, tried to look presentable.”

“You went way over presentable into”—he caught himself on “hot”—“excellent. How’d you do on the job hunt?”

“I did great, out of the park with bases loaded.”

Jesus, baseball metaphor. He might have to marry her.