Quite Precarious

by Lyla Payne

  “Which is why you want to protect Gracie, too.”

  “We both love Gracie—that’s why you were staring at us through a set of bars. But it’s nothing compared to how I love you, Mel. You’re the mother of my children. I like our life together.” I squeeze harder, trying not to lose it in the face of this mountain of shit we’re facing. “I know we have to help Gracie. She’s family. But I don’t want to lose mine in the process.”

  Her hand covers mine, chocolate eyes wet as they latch on to my face. “You’re never going to lose me, Will. Not even if you try.”

  Though they’re just words, her conviction allows me the slightest sense of relief. Mel believes this is all going to work out, and she’s the one who was arrested for snooping through her boss’s records. Maybe it will.

  That doesn’t change the fact that she got fired over it, and we’re in a deeper financial crisis than ever even though I got the job at the police department. I may be happier, but it doesn’t pay seventy percent of what the state did.

  The respite from worry is brief, but I don’t realize that it’s all over my face until my wife reaches up and tries to smooth away the wrinkle in the middle of my forehead.

  Her lips touch mine, trembling slightly, and I grab onto her for dear life.

  “It’s going to be okay, handsome,” she reassures me with a smile after we pull apart.

  “Gracie’s got more than a few tricks up her sleeves, and we’re all working on it. Okay?

  Beau recommended a great lawyer, and she’s representing Leo, too. I’ll meet with her tomorrow and we’ll figure it out. Those assholes are not going to win.”

  I keep my mouth shut about the inconvenient fact that she’s guilty as sin. So is Leo.

  They might have done what they did for the right reasons, but that doesn’t change the fact that they broke the law. If they don’t find a clever solution, they’re both going to prison.

  “Will. Look at me.” I do, because her face helps me focus. “I just heard your mother’s car, which means Grant will be in here any minute. We have to trust Gracie, and God.”

  “In that order?” I manage a smile, even though the words are thin.

  “Maybe.” Her lips twitch in response and she presses them quickly against mine for a second time. “We’ve been in worse scrapes.”

  I frown as my mother pushes open the front door and Grant, a bundle of sticky energy and blond curls, streaks toward Mel. It might be true that we’ve been in worse scrapes.

  Mostly because of our friendship with Graciela Harper.

  “Hey, buddy! Oof!” I stagger backward dramatically as my son barrels into me,

  squeezing me around the waist. I ruffle his soft hair, a wistfulness for a simple life breezing through me. “Did Grammy feed you dinner?”

  “Yep! French fries!”

  “Okay, well, how about you go get into your jammies and pick out a book?”

  He pouts at having to come home and go straight to bed. “Can I have a snack?”

  “Don’t even try it, Grant Richard Gayle.” My mother gives him a look and, after all these years, a quick bolt of fear flashes through me. “You had cookies at my house. Now scoot.”

  He obeys without a second thought and I wonder for the millionth time since

  becoming a father how to copy my mother’s parenting mojo. She makes it look easy—so does Mel, on most days.

  “Brush your teeth!” my wife yells after Grant as he stumbles up the stairs, trying to force his three-year-old legs to take them two at a time.

  “We had more than French fries for dinner.”

  Melanie smiles. “I know you did, Marianne.”

  My wife steers my mother back to the front door, chatting easily along the way.

  Normally, I’m the one asking her if she wants to have a cup of coffee and a chat, if she’ll stay awhile, but tonight we need to be alone.

  The thoughts in my head, when they turn loose the vision of my wife in jail, keep turning to Clete Raynard. I was happy to get out of his territory and from under his thumb when I took the job for the police department. Still, the man has knowledge and experience that has helped us out on more than one occasion, and it’s hard not to think he could do it again. He runs illegal moonshine, among other things, and even though no one disputes the man is breaking the law, he remains free to go about his business. In public.

  Well, I’m not sure I would call his mountain shack exactly public, but it’s still applicable.

  Clete, were he here, would probably be all too happy to remind me that the difference between him and Mel or Leo is that he doesn’t get caught. He might have been able to give us some advice beforehand, but as they say, that goose has been cooked.

  We really need to think ahead the next time we’re considering becoming criminals.

  “I’m going to check Grant’s teeth. You coming up to read to him?” Mel’s back, her soft hand rubbing circles on the small of my back.

  I have no idea how long I sat here fretting, but my mother has left. “Yes. Let’s go together.”

  We haven’t gotten to the bottom step when there’s a knock at the front door. I stop, sigh. “Mom must have forgotten something. I’ll get it.”

  Mel keeps going, scooting away faster after I give her butt a swat. She shoots a look over her shoulder like I might enjoy her revenge for that little move later tonight. If she doesn’t fall asleep first, with a book in her hands and her glasses slipping down her nose and onto her growing belly. We haven’t quite gotten to the horny stage of pregnancy, but I’m looking forward to it.

  Hopefully she’ll be living at home still, I think dryly as I trudge back toward the front door. I might have performance anxiety in the context of a conjugal visit.

  It’s not until I pull it open and see my boss standing on the front steps that it occurs to me that my mother has a key and never knocks.

  On second glance, it’s clear that something is wrong. He’s disheveled, his hair wet and out of place. I think hard, but can’t remember ever seeing him without a tie, not to mention his shirt has come untucked at some point. He’s not on duty—the twins are pulling the overnight shift—but the sight disturbs me all the same. The smell of toothpaste doesn’t do a whole lot to mask the stench of booze coming off of him. The total package seizes my muscles with dread.

  “What’s up?” I ask, trying not to wrinkle my nose.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Yeah, of course. Sorry.” We’ve got a big enough Southern porch to keep the rain off, but the evening has grown chilly with the storm. Travis stomps past me, pausing on the mat to wipe his shoes in a vain attempt to dislodge all of the mud. “Better just take them off, if you don’t mind. Mel is a little crazy about the floors.”

  I am, too, but mainly because we spent thousands of dollars swiping my parents’

  threadbare carpets for new hardwoods.

  Travis slips out of his boots without protest, then steps aside to let me lead him into the kitchen.

  “Do you want a drink?” I ask, against my better judgment. It seems like maybe he’s had too many already.

  My concern is unwarranted as he shakes his head. “No, thanks.”

  It’s odd, watching my boss drop into a chair at my worn kitchen table. Like having a random audience member walk onto stage during a play. I’ve always sucked at improv, but my instincts say to let Travis lead the conversation. He’s out of sorts, making me feel like maybe the ground underneath us is littered with unexploded mines, and I can’t help but go over the day. Had I done something wrong? Why else would he be here?

  “Have you talked to Gracie today?”

  I have to stop and think about it, even though the question shouldn’t surprise me. If Travis’s presence here isn’t about me, then of course it’s about her. She’s not the only person who causes trouble in town, but Gracie goes big or goes home with everything in her life. Other than her, we’ve got only run of the mill stuff in Heron Creek—domestic disputes, missing dogs,
the occasional drunk and disorderly or elderly person that’s wandered off—and I think Travis would prefer the mundane.

  “No.”

  “So she hasn’t said anything to you about me?”

  Yikes. Tread lightly, Gayle. Gracie’s your friend, but Travis is your boss and you sure can’t afford to lose your job now.

  Then again, even though Gracie has said things to me about Travis—things that would certainly piss him off—I’m not sure what he knows.

  “Um…” I sit across from him, trying to buy some time—a fruitless exercise since he’s got far more experience in interrogation. At least on his side of things. “Look, I’m going to be honest. Gracie’s my friend, you’re my boss, and that makes the question a little awkward. If you have a specific question, I’ll try to answer it.”

  He pauses, biting down on his lower lip as his gaze skims the kitchen. I hold my breath, wondering if he’s found out about her deal with Clete to try to dig up dirt on him.

  Or if she’s actually found dirt since our last chat, and has implemented some harebrained scheme to blackmail him.

  In addition to my friendship with Gracie making this uncomfortable, my relationship with Clete doubles it down. I may not work in the mountains anymore, but I have a gut feeling my place in the local police department only makes our acquaintance more valuable to Clete. I haven’t gotten rid of him forever—it’s only a matter of time before he comes asking for favors from me, too.

  I’m the last person Travis should trust with any sort of secret, but I can’t tell him that.

  “Has she said anything to you about my past? Before I came to Heron Creek, I mean?”

  I shake my head after I shake off the surprise. A ball of dread drops into my stomach, because this sounds exactly what I feared. “No, nothing at all. If she tried to, I’d tell her it’s none of my business. Sir.”

  The smile he gives me is a thin acknowledgment of my attempt at keeping this

  conversation professional. He’s not thinking clearly, and I’m trying to do it for both of us.

  When he opens his mouth again, I have the sinking feeling that he’s not going to let me.

  “She contacted my parents and learned…something I should have told her myself.”

  Confusion twists my expression. What should he have told Gracie? What about his past could possibly concern her? “Sir?”

  “I was hoping to get in front of what she knows, is all. My mother confessed one thing she accidentally spilled the beans about, but there are other…indiscretions lurking in my past. I’d rather not confess everything to Ms. Harper, as some of it doesn’t concern her.”

  “Only some of it?”

  “Yes.” He digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, which are bloodshot. Travis isn’t drunk, though. At least, he’s not now. “Graciela is my half-sister.”

  The room is so silent I could hear a pin drop, or the scurry of the feet of the mice I don’t have the heart to trap under the sink. In fact, it takes several moments for me to

  decide I heard him right and for the information to realign the world in front of me so that words can form.

  “And you haven’t told her? Is that why you took the job here?”

  He nods, looking miserable and smashed by regret. “I planned to tell her, I

  just…things weren’t exactly easy for me, stepping into town with her the suspect in a murder case.”

  “I’m pretty sure you were the only one who really suspected her,” I mutter, even though it’s probably bad form considering his current state of mind. “But I understand how that would be weird. What about since?”

  Gracie, with all of her mother issues, would have gotten her knickers in a knot just finding out Felicia hid a brother from her. Learning that he’s been in town basically spying on her is going to have her pitching a dying duck fit.

  “I know. I know, I should have told her myself. It’s complicated.”

  He pauses, and in those seconds, every last molecule inside me wants to tell him to shut his mouth. Not to tell me anything Clete could use to get him fired, or worse, but to say something would mean admitting our connection, and my wife was just fired. She’s about to go on trial for theft.

  I can’t lose this job.

  “This is really none of my business, Travis…” I try, a last-ditch effort.

  “Well, hell. I don’t have anyone else to talk to, and you know Gracie about as well as anyone. So shut up and at least pretend to give a shit for a few minutes, will you?”

  I nod, unable to do anything else. It’s not that I don’t care. I’m a pretty caring guy, actually, and it’s clear Travis needs a friend—he doesn’t have any in Heron Creek, not that he’s gone out of his way to make them.

  “I’ve known about Gracie her whole life. Felicia had an open adoption agreement with my parents—their idea, not hers—but she was insistent that the two halves of her life stay separate.” He glances toward the fridge. “You know what? I will take a beer.”

  “Sure.” I hesitate, wondering whether this new level of our relationship means I should express concerns about his sobriety.

  “I promise not to get sloppy and emotional on your kitchen floor, Gayle,” he says, reading my mind. He pops open the cheap aluminum can and takes a swig, then settles his expression into hard lines of determination. “I’m not going to pretend it didn’t mess with me, knowing that Felicia gave me away and then decided to keep the next one. Like she was just waiting for the better kid to come along.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. I don’t know how well you knew Fe, but based on my own limited experience, she didn’t have plans, exactly. It was more a fly by the seat of her pants life, and if you actually talked to Gracie about all of this, she’d tell you that she never felt exactly wanted, either.” Please just talk to Gracie about this, please just talk to Gracie about this…

  “That may well be, but young Dylan didn’t understand that his mother was a human being the same as everyone else—that she made mistakes, had problems, all that. He felt abandoned and unwanted, even though my adoptive parents were…adequate.” He pauses, as though the admission that the people who raised him hadn’t met some expectation takes a moment to swallow. “I acted out. Got into my fair share of trouble that was expunged when I was eighteen—”

  “You are related to Gracie!” My attempt to distract him with jokes is forced, and it fails, anyway.

  “When I left Texas and took a job in Arkansas, there was an internal affairs

  investigation that forced me to resign or have it on my personal record.”

  “Travis, stop. I don’t want to know anything like that, and you don’t have to tell me.” I lean forward, put my elbows on the table, and give him a good stare. “I get what you’re saying. You’ve always felt like you didn’t belong, like you weren’t wanted, but you’ve known Gracie exists. Maybe you’ve thought, all these years, that she might be the family you missed out on even if her mother was a selfish rat. And she was. So why not talk to Gracie?”

  “I guess as long as she doesn’t know, I can keep believing it will all turn out the way I want.”

  “Look, Travis. Gracie…she’s tough on the outside, and she’s a little harder than she was as a kid, but that girl would do anything for family—even her extended version of it.

  She’s going to pitch a fit about you lying to her about why you came to Heron Creek, and keeping this secret for so long, but she’ll forgive you. She’s a good girl.” A bang from upstairs reminds me that I’m supposed to be saying goodnight to my son, an evening ritual that I hate to interrupt, even for a conversation as odd as this one. “Can you give me a few minutes to say goodnight to Grant?”

  “I should get going.” He stands up and pats his pockets as though looking for his keys.

  “Travis, you don’t have to leave. If you need…” The truth is that he does need to leave. He needs to get the hell out of here before he says something he can’t take back.

  So far, all he�
��s really told me is that he’s got a juvie record—which Gracie and Clete already know—and that he’s her half-brother, which I don’t think would be of particular interest to Clete.

  Well, maybe it would be of interest, but I don’t see how he could use it as leverage.

  I rethink that as I let Travis back out into the gathering storm and trudge up the stairs to spend some time with my family. Because if there’s one thing that’s always true about Heron Creek with Graciela Anne Harper living here, it’s that anything can happen.

  Chapter Seven

  Leo

  I sit in Marcella’s room a long time after she’s fallen asleep. My sister probably thinks I’m hiding, avoiding a longer talk about the case against me and how we’re going to pay for it, among other things. Maybe she’s not totally wrong.

  But it’s also peaceful in here, with nothing but the sound of the rain pattering on the windows and the deep breaths sighing from my niece’s perfect little form. The only illumination comes from her princess nightlight and the occasional flash of lightning through the trees.

  I can’t help but feel as though I’ve spent too much of my adult life sitting in the dark.

  Life had been so simple when I was a boy, even though our family produced too many kids, not enough bedrooms, and ran short on cash more months than not. I did well in school, got in an appropriate amount of trouble, had friends and enemies and plenty to keep me busy. My family was big and loud and noisy and annoying as shit, but they were there for me.

  When all of that changed, it cast me adrift. As though someone had cut my moorings and I’d lost my grip on the docks, slipping out to sea with the tide, too far gone to find before anyone noticed. If anyone had noticed at all, which remained to be seen. Even Lindsay hadn’t been there for me, not at first. I’d forgiven her because she’s had her own troubles, a mountain of them, and since she’d been forced to pay for them she’d been the one person I could count on.

  Strangely, Gracie’s return to Heron Creek felt a little bit like she’d wandered down to the docks and picked up an old mooring line, giving it a tug. It’s somehow still attached to me after all this time, that life I once had—and also the one I’d fantasized about more times than I cared to remember—but the rest of the lines were missing. I don’t know whether Gracie’s friendship is enough to pull me all the way back to shore, but I do know that these last six months, I’ve had more than one reason to get out of bed in the morning.