The domestic violence angle worked well for my story, so I went with it. Pulling away, I said, “That’s so sweet of you, Max, but he’s not gonna come lookin’ for me. He’s glad to be rid of me.”
His eyes narrowed and he cocked his head to the side as he studied my face, as if trying to determine whether I was being truthful. “You know, your Southern accent slips back in from time to time,” he finally said, then added for good measure, “and it doesn’t sound Georgian. It certainly doesn’t sound like anyone I’ve ever met from Michigan.”
I froze in terror. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why had I let my guard down?
Max grabbed both of my hands and squeezed. “It’s okay, Carly. I don’t care if you really came from Georgia or not. Just know that you don’t have to keep secrets from me.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Okay, but if you ever want to talk, I’m always here.”
“Thanks, Max.” I pushed past him and down the hall to the entrance to the dining room, but instead of turning right to check on my customers, I turned left and went out the back door. I wasn’t ready to put my game face back on just yet.
I made sure the small rock we used to prop the door open was in place so I wasn’t locked out, and pressed my back against the cold brick wall. It was early December, and the air was crisp and cold, giving my body the shock it needed to pull me out of this spiral of dark emotions. The hair on my bare arms stood on end, and I tilted back my head to look up at the cloudless sky. One thing I loved about Drum was the night sky—usually so packed with stars it looked milky, but the rear parking lot lights hid them from view as effectively as city lights did in urban areas. It was easy for the dimmer stars to get lost in the heavens, among a multitude of bright companions. Drum was so small, so secluded from newcomers. I was shining too brightly here, drawing attention to myself.
Maybe it was time to move on.
I didn’t realize I was crying until my cheeks stung from the cold. I lifted my hands to wipe them just as the back door opened and Wyatt came out.
“What are you doin’ out here?” he asked gently.
“I needed a breather,” I said, still looking up at the sky.
“What happened with Bingham?”
“Any other man would have turned caveman when that happened. Max sure did,” I said in an accusatory tone. “But you stayed in your seat.” I swiveled my head to look at him, not sure why I was attacking him, other than I was just plain pissed. And overwhelmed. And frightened.
To his credit, he didn’t look ruffled. “I was watchin’,” he said evenly, “but you were holdin’ your own. You’re no shrinkin’ violet, Carly Moore, and you sure as hell don’t need a man to fight your battles for you. Now tell me why you’re out here, because I doubt you’re moping over Todd Bingham.”
Wyatt had a knack for seeing through my walls, which only served to remind me there was so much I didn’t know about him. I turned away to look back up at the sky. “Max thinks I’m a domestic violence victim, on the run from an abusive boyfriend. He wanted to know why I was standin’ up to Bingham, and I slipped up and told him I wasn’t backin’ down from men like him again.” I shook my head and released a bitter laugh. “Guess I’m not a good candidate for the CIA.”
“You’re doin’ the best you can in a very bad situation,” he said, moving next to me and placing his back against the wall, his hands pressed behind him. “Why are you really out here?”
“I keep slippin’ up. I’m scared that maybe Drum’s too small to hide in and I need to go to a bigger city.”
He stood up straighter, then said in surprise, “You’re thinkin’ about runnin’ again.”
“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’m worried I’ve made myself too visible. Especially after my name and those blurry photos ran in the local paper a few weeks back. When you’re on the run, you’re supposed to fade into the background. I’m definitely not doin’ that here.”
“I doubt you’re capable of hidin’ in the background,” he said softly.
“I hid in the background for thirty-one years. I just seem to be incapable of doing it here.” But to be fair, I was a different person here. Leaving my name and my past behind had allowed me to become the person I’d always wanted to be—the person who’d always hidden inside the shell of Caroline Blakely. “Part of the reason I decided to stay was because you said we’d work together to bring our fathers down, but I can’t do squat to help if you don’t tell me anything.” I turned my head to face him. “What happened between you and your dad?”
Frustration filled his eyes. “Carly…”
I was a fool. Wyatt wasn’t going to tell me anything.
I pushed away from the wall with a long sigh. Would I always be fool enough to fall for lines from good-looking men? “I need to get back to work.”
He rushed to block the doorway. “Carly, wait. Why are you pushin’ me away?”
I shook my head, amazed at his gall. “Are you serious? You’re the one pushin’ me away, Wyatt. You know everything about my life, and you’ve shared next to nothing with me!”
His chest puffed out. “That’s not true! Besides, I guessed your secret. You didn’t voluntarily share it.”
“Yet I suspect if I guessed yours, you wouldn’t admit to it.”
“I’ve told you things.”
My eyes narrowed, my anger rising. “Sure, you’ve told me plenty of inconsequential things, but you have yet to tell me anything of importance. I thought we were supposed to be in this together.”
His jaw set and I could see a war waging in his eyes, even in the dimly lit parking lot. “I’m tryin’ to protect you.”
“Bull. Shit,” I snapped, poking him in the chest. “I’m not sure who you’re really protectin’, but it sure as hell isn’t me.” Then I stormed past him into the bar, so pissed I could kick something.
The men were all watching me when I returned, not that I was surprised. I’d had my run-in with Bingham, then Max had dragged me to the back. They all probably thought I’d gone off to sulk after being reprimanded. What burned is they weren’t wrong, but it made me look weak, something I couldn’t afford in this town.
Maybe it really was time to move on.
Chapter Five
Wyatt left soon after that. Part of me was hurt that he’d taken off without saying goodbye. Then I reminded myself he probably thought I didn’t want to talk to him. He was right, which only proved I was a hot mess over that man.
What was I doing starting a relationship with everything else going on with my life?
Bingham smirked every time I served his table, as though he thought he’d won the upper hand, but I tolerated his condescension with a smart-ass smile. He left before the game ended, keeping his gaze on Lula, who avoided him like he was a cat ready to pounce on her.
Lula had something Bingham wanted. But what? Had she left town because of him?
Things slowed down enough that Max went back to his office, leaving Ruth behind the bar. I was getting a fourth refill for a man who looked like he had no business driving home when Ruth pinned me with her scrutinizing gaze. “What the hell happened with Bingham?”
“He tried to intimidate me, and I made sure he knew it wouldn’t work.”
She shook her head, her lips pursed. “Just because you got away from his clutches last time, doesn’t mean you’re safe, girl. Just leave that man be.”
“I’ll leave him be when he does the same for me.” I lowered my voice. “Did he have something goin’ on with Lula?”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?” But then she shrugged. “Actually, I don’t know. The whole time she’s been here, she’s never once shared who she’s sleepin’ with.”
“How long has she worked here?”
“About a year and a half.”
I frowned. “Bingham was watching her like a hawk tonight, and she was downright nervous. Max blew it off, but something’s goin’ on.”
“I’d tell you to ask her, but she’s buttoned up t
ighter than a drum about her personal life. She’s friendly and definitely a sweetheart once you get past all the irresponsibility, but she rarely shares anything of any depth.”
“But neither do I,” I countered.
“You’ve been here all of a month,” Ruth said with a groan. “And you share a hell of a lot more than she does. I know you’re slowly changin’ Hank’s diet—the fact that he’s falling for it floors me. I know you’re still takin’ care of his wound and takin’ him to his doctor’s appointments. I know what you bought when you went to Target in Greeneville last week. And I know you’re dating Wyatt Drummond, and the two of you had an argument that sent him packin’.” She leaned closer. “Yeah, I know you have a past you don’t talk about, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. We’ve all got our secrets, but you’re sharing your real life with me. The here and now, just like I’m sharing mine with you. Even the stuff I don’t share with anyone else. She shares nothin’.”
Maybe Ruth was right, but I didn’t think I could just let this go. I knew anxious when I saw it—I’d spent a good two months staring at it in the mirror.
About a half hour before midnight, Max went up to his apartment, leaving the rest of us to close up. Things had settled down enough that Lula and I sat at a table by the front window and sorted out our tips. She glanced outside and frowned. “It’s snowin’.”
I turned to look out and saw fat flakes falling from the sky. “I have to bring Hank to Greeneville tomorrow. I hope it doesn’t get bad.”
Anywhere else, I would have checked the weather app on my phone, but I didn’t have cell service up here. I felt completely out of touch with the world.
“Ruth,” I called out. “Do you know the forecast for tonight and tomorrow? It’s snowing.”
“Nope.” But she changed the TV to the Weather Channel. Max’s Tavern was one of the few places in town that had cable TV, and I was pretty sure that Bart Drummond had something to do with that since he’d owned the place up until Max took over from Wyatt. One of Max’s conditions for leaving college to take over the tavern had been a transfer of the title to his name.
“You worried about tomorrow?” she asked, making her way over to us, holding a glass of water.
“Yeah,” I said with a frown. “I’m used to drivin’ in the snow, but not on mountain roads.”
She gave me an inquisitive glance, likely because my cover story was that I’d lived in Atlanta for the last decade after moving from Michigan, which covered the snow comment. Truth was, I’d gained the driving experience while going to college and graduate school in the upper East Coast.
“I can call Franklin and ask him,” she said. “He pays attention to that sort of thing, what with workin’ on the roads. He needs to know what to wear or if he’ll be driving a snowplow, but he usually lets me know if it’s in the forecast.”
“Nah,” I said, “don’t bother him. He’s likely sleepin’. I’ll just check on Max’s computer when I put the money in his drawer.” A new thought hit me. “If you tend bar the nights the three of us are on shift together, we need to start sharin’ our tips with you, Ruth. Max never wanted tips as the bartender, but you need them.”
“You let me know if it hurts you too much,” Ruth said. “If it does, I’ll make Max give us all another raise.”
I noticed that Lula was silent through it all, still counting her money with a furrowed brow. She shot another glance out the window and anxiety washed over her face.
“You worried about getting home, Lula?” I asked. “If you want to take off early, I can finish that up for you.”
She shook her head. “Nah. I’ll be fine.”
But the look on her face didn’t match her reassurance.
We both finished a few minutes later, and after giving Ruth her share, I took the shares for Tiny and Sugar into Max’s office. I turned on the computer and as it booted, I tucked their money into their respective places in the cashbox. The computer screen came to life, and a spreadsheet filled the page, with the title “Max’s Tavern November Expense Sheet.” Items were listed down the side—food, liquor, wages, utilities, and a few assorted other items like insurance and repairs. The quantities of each entry seemed huge, but I had no idea how much it cost to run a bar. Max had likely been trying to figure out how to offset his increased payout in wages, which made me feel guilty. Maybe it would be better for me to take a few days off and let Lula settle back in. Given time, we’d have a better idea of how to best manage all of this.
I minimized the spreadsheet, then searched the Weather Channel website to check the forecast for the mountains. I was relieved to see the snow was supposed to stop in another hour or so, and that the temperature would be a balmy thirty-four when I drove Hank to Greeneville in the morning.
When I walked out of the office, I found Ruth and Lula in the back room, putting on their coats. Lula’s duffel bag sat on the floor next to the employee lockers.
“I’m good to go to Greeneville tomorrow. The snow will be letting up soon and it’s going to warm up in the morning,” I said. “I’ll be back by five. Lula, you still good with working the lunch shift?”
“What?” she asked, sounding distracted while she buttoned her thin coat. The words must have processed after the fact, because she nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be here.” Then she made a face and asked, “I hate to ask you this, but can one of you drive me home?”
“Where’s your car?” Ruth asked in surprise.
“Well,” she said, refusing to make eye contact. “Dickie dropped me off here, so I ain’t been home yet.”
“How were you gonna get home if it wasn’t snowin’?” Ruth asked.
“I was gonna walk.”
“That’s a good six miles, Lula,” Ruth protested. “You’d be walkin’ in the dark on Highway 25!”
“It’s outta your way,” Lula said.
“I’ll take her,” I said eagerly. I was dying to find out more about her. I didn’t have high hopes of finding out much after what Ruth had said, but at least I could be kind to her. Maybe I could earn her trust. Something told me I should try—she had the look of someone who needed help, even if she didn’t want to ask.
Ruth gave me a dubious look that suggested she knew I had an ulterior motive, but she shook her head and said, “All right. Let’s go.”
We filed out the back door and she locked the door behind us.
“It feels weird without Max here tellin’ us goodbye,” Lula said wistfully. “He’s always here.”
“He’s here,” Ruth said with a hint of irritation. “He’s just upstairs.”
“You’re right,” I said. “It does feel weird.” Truth was, I missed him and his jovial spirit. During down times, Ruth, Max, and I usually hung out and talked. Max was surprisingly well-read, and we’d had several conversations about books.
The windshield of Hank’s car had a light dusting of snow, but the windshield wipers got most of it off. The car was slow to heat up, so we waited a couple of minutes to let it warm before I backed up. Ruth had already left and waved goodbye on her way out.
“Thank you so much for doin’ this,” Lula said.
“Would you have really walked?” I asked.
“I considered askin’ Max if I could stay at the motel, but I gotta get home to get my car anyway.”
“Anytime you need a ride, you just let me know, okay?” I said. “I don’t mind, Lula. Really.”
“Thanks,” she said, staring out the windshield. I got the impression she was embarrassed.
I started backing up and said, “Okay, where to?”
“Head toward Ewing,” she said.
Once I pulled out of the parking lot, I turned right onto Highway 25, the road that ran through town and connected Drum to Greeneville. After half a minute of silence, I said, “How long have you lived in Drum?”
“Oh,” she said in surprise. “My whole life. I was born in my daddy’s shack.”
“No wonder you have wanderlust,” I said. “Stuck here your who
le life. You probably want to see the world.”
“I used to want to,” she said, looking close to tears, “but that’s not why I was gone.”
“Oh?” I said. “Where did you go?”
“I was visiting my momma in prison.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t expected that.
“I don’t like drivin’ that far, so I caught a ride with Dickie to Chattanooga. He arranged for his friend to give me a ride to Nashville.”
“Why on earth didn’t you tell Max and Ruth that?” I asked. “I’m sure they would have understood.”
“The less people know, the better,” she said.
“But you’re telling me.”
She turned to look at me with her wide, innocent eyes. “Because I can tell you’re different.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I’d take it. “Why don’t you want it to get out?”
She pressed her lips together.
“What’s your mother in prison for?” I asked, knowing full well, but I didn’t want her to think I’d been gossiping about her. Besides, part of me was still hoping Jerry might have gotten it wrong.
“For murderin’ my daddy,” she said blankly. “He was drownin’ me in the creek and my momma stopped him.”
I let out an appalled gasp. A genuine one. Even though I’d anticipated her answer, it was horrifying to hear her state the facts so matter-of-factly. “How old were you?”
“Eight. My momma got fifteen years, and she’s about to get out due to good behavior. She says she’s comin’ for me once she gets out and we’re goin’ to Cali-fornia.”
I smiled at the way she pronounced the state. “I hear it’s sunny there.”
But I also remembered what she’d said to the patrons—that she planned on staying for good this time. Had that just been talk? Or did part of her think her mother’s plan would never come to fruition?
“And warm,” she said. “I don’t want my baby sleepin’ in that drafty shack.”
Baby?
I nearly let out a gasp as my gaze dropped to her stomach and then lifted to her face. Was that why Todd Bingham had been watching her all night? Was he the baby’s father?
Her Scream in the Silence: Carly Moore #2 Page 5