Living Lies

by Natalie Walters

  “But your face says you want more.”

  Uneasiness spread through her. “I don’t know. I think it’s too early. I’m not sure I’m ready. And I don’t want Noah to be hurt.”

  Lane watched Charlie scoop Noah up and spin him overhead. Pops stood by, smiling. Paige and Owen lifted their hands up for their turns. Charlie obliged. He was winning them all over. And hope weaved itself around her heart.

  A second chance.

  “Look at him.” Meagan put her hands on Lane’s shoulders. “Does he look like someone who wants to hurt you?”

  Lane wanted to warn her sister about looks being deceiving, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it because Meagan was right. Charlie didn’t look like the kind of guy who would hurt her or Noah. And that made her feelings all the more complicated. Was she ready?

  “Friend, or whatever you want to call him, I’m just happy to see the life back in your eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s something different about you.” Meagan shrugged. “You seem happier. And if he’s what’s making you happy, then I’d like him to stick around. Even if it’s just as friends.”

  They walked over to the tables covered in butcher paper. “You keep saying that like you don’t believe we’re just friends.”

  “Some of the best relationships start out as people simply being friends.” Meagan stopped. “But promise me one thing.” She waited until Lane nodded. “Just breathe. Stop listening to the doubts inside that pretty little head of yours and live in the moment. And enjoy it. Life’s too . . .”

  Lane didn’t need Meagan to finish her thought. Life was fragile and unpredictable and, yes, very much too short. But was there really a change in her? If there was, it wasn’t just with her.

  Meagan seemed different too. They had never been close. The only things they shared were the same last name, same parents, and same address. Meagan was Miss Popularity growing up. President of everything, queen of everything, part of everything, while Lane just tried to survive. It didn’t feel much different now. Her sister was still very social and she . . . well, she was still trying to survive.

  “You might want to slow down on the spinning. These kids ate blue snow cones,” Meagan warned Charlie as they approached.

  Charlie wrinkled his nose at Lane and sat down. Just breathe. She could do that. Relax and have fun. It’s supposed to be fun, right? First dates—and that’s all this was—are supposed to be fun. Lane took Noah from Charlie and placed him in the chair between her and Charlie. A buffer to remind her that not all first dates ended with the promise of a second date and she needed to keep her growing hope in check.

  “Momma, I want to sit next to Owen.”

  “He’s sitting next to his daddy. There’s no room.”

  “I can move over one.” Charlie stood and exchanged seats, allowing Noah to take his.

  Meagan flashed her a knowing look only sisters understood.

  “Folks,” Pastor Tarpley spoke into the band’s microphone. “Before they bring out the food, I wanted to say a few words on behalf of Trevor and Amanda Donovan.”

  Behind him, Sydney’s parents held hands and offered tight-lipped smiles as some clapped and others shouted words of encouragement. “They’re so grateful to everyone who has come to honor their daughter, Sydney. Unknown to them and probably to most of you, their precious daughter was a talented artist.”

  Lane felt Charlie’s body stiffen.

  “God has given each of us a gift, a talent, a purpose, and he expects us to pursue life. That’s just what Sydney did, and now Trevor and Amanda hope to raise enough money to start a scholarship for young people who want to pursue their God-given purpose. For God does not call us to merely survive this life we’ve been given but to thrive in it. Thank you all for coming out and supporting the legacy Sydney Donovan has left behind. Let us pray.”

  Pastor Tarpley’s words stayed on her mind after the “amen.” It felt like they mirrored what Meagan had told her earlier. Surviving had become her way. It didn’t feel like there was any other option. How was she supposed to pursue life when she had no idea what purpose God had for her?

  “What exactly are we going to eat?” Charlie leaned close to her ear. His breath tickled the hair at the back of her neck.

  “You haven’t been to a shrimp boil yet?” Lane pulled out her deepest southern drawl.

  “No.”

  Before she could explain, men in white aprons carrying tall stockpots walked to the table, drawing a roar of applause and whistles from the hungry crowd. They turned over the pots, dumping shrimp, sausage, red potatoes, and cobs of corn down the middle of the tables.

  “Grab some and start eating.” Lane picked up a few pieces of shrimp and some potatoes.

  “With our hands?” Charlie’s smile traveled to his eyes. He turned to Noah, who was already working on a piece of corn. “We eat with our hands?”

  “Yes, silly.” Noah gave him a corny smile.

  Charlie didn’t wait to dig in. He grabbed some of everything as ladies from the church dispersed rolls of paper towels along the tables. Lane waved to Ms. Byrdie, who was delivering baskets of their homemade cheddar biscuits.

  “This might be my favorite thing about Georgia,” Charlie said between bites.

  “Your favorite thing?” she teased. Or was she flirting? Whatever it was left her feeling awkward. Lane caught Meagan’s curious glance and then Lane choked on her bite as she saw her father and mother approaching. They were waving and shaking hands as though they were in a parade.

  “Just breathe,” her sister mouthed.

  “Now, this is a good-looking family.” Her father’s eyes zeroed in on Charlie. “I don’t think we’ve met, son. You’re the new deputy.”

  “Yes, sir.” Charlie wiped his hands and then stood to shake hands with her father. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Likewise, I’m sure. And this is my wife, Elise.” Charlie shook hands with Lane’s mother. “I trust my daughters are representing Walton’s hospitality properly.”

  Charlie’s eyes met Lane’s. “They are, sir.”

  “Daddy, go find a seat and get something to eat,” Meagan said as she wiped her mouth. “Before it’s all gone.”

  “Now, that would be a serious crime.” Lane’s father laughed, along with several of those sitting around them, before someone called him and her mother away.

  Lane released a long breath. Now it was her turn. “Thank you,” she said to her sister.

  Meagan smiled. In the waning sunlight, her sister’s face took on a glow that made her look very much like their mother. “So, Charlie, is Walton growing on you?”

  “Yes.” He cast a sideways glance at Lane. “Growing up, I lived a lot of different places, but this is the smallest city I’ve ever lived in. I like the way the community comes together to support one another in their time of need. And the people are really nice.”

  As the food disappeared and twilight ushered in a starry canvas, Lane finally felt herself relax. Charlie and Meagan’s husband discussed football. Behind her, Noah and his cousins chased after fireflies. Meagan attempted to begin a conversation with Lane but kept getting interrupted by members of the Junior League who were either praising her sister for something or seeking advice about upcoming events.

  Was this what normal was? As the band played, couples swayed in rhythm to the steady beat, the trickle of laughter drifting all around her. Lane thought she even caught a small smile gracing the lips of Sydney Donovan’s parents for just a second. Their lives would never be normal, but someday a new normal might begin. And what about her and Noah? What would be their new normal?

  Lane allowed her gaze to settle on Charlie. It felt like butterflies had taken up permanent residence within her chest whenever she thought about him. And that was happening more frequently than she cared to admit. What would normal look like with Charlie included?

  What would Charlie say or do if he knew about her depression and what it had co
st her—what it had cost Noah? What he had said about his father choosing career over family . . . is that what she did that night? Chose to succumb to her weakness rather than choosing Mathias and Noah?

  A chill skirted her arms and, instantly, the darkness was there. Ready to remind her she wasn’t worthy of a second chance. Lane called to Noah. It was time to go.

  “Are we leaving, Momma?”

  “Yes, buddy,” Lane answered as Charlie shifted closer to her. “It’s getting late and you need a bath.”

  “I can take him home, Lane,” Meagan offered. Her gaze moved toward Charlie. “In case y’all want to stay a little longer.”

  “Um, I don’t . . .” Lane turned to meet Charlie’s blue eyes. “Unless you want to stay.”

  “Actually, I have a dog at home who will live up to his name if I don’t get back soon.”

  Lane expected to hear disappointment in his voice. Something to tell her he’d wanted her to stay a little longer. Maybe share a dance. This was, after all, their date. Sort of. If sharing a family style dinner with her four-year-old son and the rest of Walton could be considered a date. But as Charlie stood, their eyes locked and meaning passed through them—what it was, she didn’t know—but it felt like he understood her unease.

  “It was really nice meeting everyone.”

  “You too, Charlie.” Meagan smiled. “Did Lane invite you to our father’s barbecue fund-raiser next weekend?”

  Lane stiffened. She hadn’t fully decided if she was going, much less inviting the man whose perceptive ability had her on alert. Charlie’s arm brushed up against her shoulder, but rather than pull back, he stilled. The warmth of his nearness spread through her.

  “Actually, I’m already scheduled to be there.”

  “You are?” she asked, looking up at him.

  Charlie’s gaze reached Lane. “We’re handling security for the event.”

  “Security?” In all the years, there’d never been security. “Because of the election?”

  “Partly, yes.” Meagan sighed. Her face seemed paler than usual beneath the moon’s glow. Exhausted even. “A lot of people have been pressuring Daddy. They want to feel safe. You know, with the whole investigation.”

  “It’s always good to err on the safe side,” Charlie added, and this time Lane heard the disappointment in his voice. She didn’t know a lot about him, but from the long hours he’d been putting in at the station with Sheriff Huggins and the other deputies, Lane guessed the pressure of not finding Sydney’s killer was getting to him.

  “See, now you have an ally—”

  “Ready, Noah?” Lane cut her sister off before shooting her a look, only to receive an amused grin in return. “Charlie’s dog is waiting for him.”

  Noah grabbed a piece of sausage and wrapped it in a dirty paper towel. “Give this to him for me. We’re best friends.”

  “Best friends for life if you keep spoiling him.” Charlie accepted the gift as the three of them left the park, the prying eyes, and her sister’s enjoyment at making Lane uncomfortable. That, in itself, was odd. Why the sudden camaraderie between them? Something had shifted in their relationship and Lane hated the skepticism lurking in the corner of her mind.

  Noah paused at the edge of the park. “Momma, my legs are tired.”

  The days of carrying her son were quickly diminishing, as much as it pained her. “Buddy, we just have to cross the street and walk another block.”

  Charlie held out his hands. “Come here, bud.”

  Noah lifted his arms into the air and before Lane could protest, her son was wrapped around Charlie’s chest. Mixed emotions rattled within her as a whole game of what-ifs plagued her thoughts. What if they became more than friends? What if she just lived in the moment and saw where things went with Charlie? What if he found out the truth? Lane looked at her son’s head snuggled into the crook of Charlie’s neck. It wouldn’t just be her heart breaking—Noah would probably be devastated too.

  The walk back to her place didn’t take long, but it was long enough for Noah to drift off to sleep on Charlie’s shoulder.

  “He’s dead weight when he’s asleep,” Charlie said as Lane unlocked her front door.

  “He is.” Lane set her keys down and flipped on a light. “I can take him now.”

  “Let me carry him upstairs.”

  Charlie was already starting for the stairs, so Lane followed, knowing she’d have to wake up Noah or risk breaking her back to get him upstairs. After putting Noah in bed, Lane and Charlie walked back downstairs.

  “Tonight was nice,” Charlie said when Lane stepped onto the porch.

  A slight breeze had picked up, cooling the air and carrying with it the music from the park. It was a perfect summer night. “Did you have fun?”

  “I did.” He looked up at the stars. “Sometimes I forget how important it is to step away from the job and catch my breath. It was like that in Afghanistan. I’d get caught up in the monotony of our mission and forget to look around at the beauty of the world around me.”

  “Beauty in war?” Lane bit her tongue at the hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Sorry, but it’s hard to imagine seeing beauty in that kind of darkness.”

  “It wasn’t always easy, but if you look for it beauty can be seen even in the ugliness of war.”

  Charlie’s words reminded Lane of Ms. Byrdie’s. About God being able to love someone despite their flaws. If Charlie was able to find beauty on a battlefield, would he be able to see beyond her ugly past?

  The slow melody of another song filled the air and Charlie turned so he was facing her—close enough that she breathed in his scent. Her heart pounded. Certainly he could hear it. She stepped back, but Charlie closed the space between them.

  “Lane, I want you to know that I’m not here to hurt you or Noah.” His fingers traced the outer edge of her hand, sending a surge of nervous energy pulsing through her. “When I left the Marines and moved to Walton, I knew what I wanted.” He wrapped her hand in his, cocooning it in gentle strength. “I know you’ve lost love and I know I will never replace that, but I’m asking if there’s a chance that I can be the one to offer it to you again.”

  Melting. It was the only way Lane could describe what was going on inside her. Charlie was melting her defenses with his kindness and compassion, and it didn’t hurt that on this lazy summer night the heartbeat of attraction was pounding louder than her inhibitions. Louder than her fear.

  “All I’m asking is that you think about it. There’s no rush and I’m not going anywhere.” Charlie brushed a piece of hair from her face. He drew her closer to him. “Now, Ms. Lane Kent, may I have this dance?”

  Lane swallowed, trying to bring some moisture back to her mouth to answer. She couldn’t, so she nodded. Charlie’s hand found the curve of her back and her breath caught in her throat as his strong arms guided their bodies to the slow rhythm of the music. It took a few seconds before she allowed herself to relax.

  Live in the moment.

  It all came back to her. The flood of emotions and feelings she had long since shoved away returned with a force so strong it weakened her knees. She missed this. Being in someone’s arms. Feeling special. Wanted. The world around them disappeared and for the first time in too long, Lane felt peace.

  FOURTEEN

  THE POUNDING ON THE DOOR rattled Miguel from sleep. He blinked a few times to gather his bearings. The dome of light from his bathroom cast a yellow glow into the living room. It was still dark. Maybe the pounding was a dream.

  “Miguel!” a voice from outside called.

  He cringed as he pushed himself off the couch. A few of the scabs on his hand split open. He grabbed a rag from the floor and wrapped his wound.

  “Miguel!” The pounding continued. Leaving the lights off, Miguel twisted the bolt and opened the door.

  “It took you long enough.” Dark eyes glared at him. “I’ve been standing out here with the cockroaches for twenty minutes.”

  The woman was cast beneath the
shadows and Miguel could only make out the sharp features of her face. A fearful recognition brought a chill to his skin. “It’s late.”

  “Of course it’s late.” She peered into the house. “Why are the lights off?”

  “I wasn’t expecting company.”

  “Well, I wasn’t expecting to drive all the way down here. Where is the light switch?”

  Miguel’s guest pushed past him and fumbled along the wall to find the switch. A second later his living room was bathed in a brightness that made him wince. When his eyes adjusted, they focused on Annika’s thin body and the expression on her face. She looked upset.

  “Why are you here?” She never came to his house. Too much trouble. Trouble. The word pricked his consciousness, but the reason evaded him.

  Annika stared at him. Her eyes narrowed for a few seconds. “How long have you been out?”

  Miguel’s head started to throb. He pressed the heel of his hand to his forehead. He couldn’t remember. Only that the hours he was awake had grown longer.

  “What happened to your hands?” Annika started for him and Miguel stepped back until his back hit the door. Her cold fingers wrapped around his wrists, lifting them so she could see his hands.

  “I cut them.”

  “I can see that, but how?” She moved the wrap covering his wound, her fingers pressing into the sliced skin. Red blood oozed from another broken scab.

  “Work.” He twisted his hands away from her.

  “You’re sculpting again?”

  It had been months since he’d picked up his tools, but the urge to cut into the flesh of the tree had overwhelmed him. He’d needed a release. A way to escape the monster haunting him.

  “Can you still paint?”

  “Is that why you’re here?” He adjusted the rag over his hand. His head started to throb . . . like it did when he needed to slip away.

  Annika’s face grew indiscernible, or maybe it was his mind beginning to fade. “Why did Sydney call you?”

  Fear slid down his throat as images flashed in his mind. Short bursts of a nightmare that kept him shrouded in darkness. “What?”