I studied the way she was sitting, relaxed and content to be there with me. The way the corner of her mouth kept twitching as if she was fighting a smile. Lifting a shoulder, I said, “I’m good right here.”
I hurried into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee maker. My mind racing so fast as I grabbed a mug and the coffee pot that I didn’t notice Lala until she was beside me.
I jumped, nearly sloshing the hot liquid onto me, and tried to start my heart again when I realized it was her there. “Jesus.”
“Try again.”
Blowing out a steadying breath, I finished pouring the cup and set the pot back in its spot. “Morning, Lala.”
Her brows lifted. “Oh, so now you say good morning?” When I stared at her in confusion, she huffed and pointed behind her. “I said my greetings and asked where you were off to this Monday morning looking like you forgot that you were in South Carolina instead of New York again, and you just kept on walking.”
“I’m sorry.” I lifted my hand, trying to indicate where my head was at, but gave up and hurried to the fridge to grab creamer instead. “So many things going on in my head, I didn’t even know you were in here.”
“Maybe it’s because you don’t slow down,” she said with a huff. “Now, just where is it you’re going looking like a Yankee . . . and in those stupid, four-inch heels nonetheless?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. They were five inches, but I didn’t tell her that. “People in the south wear heels too, Lala.”
“Of that, I am well aware. But from the way you dress to the way you walk and talk, you have Yankee written in big ol’ letters across your forehead.”
I doubted I walked or talked any differently than I ever had. I’d only been in New York for five years.
“I have a meeting,” I said carelessly as I took a sip of the hot liquid.
“A meeting,” she echoed dully. “What could you ever have a meeting about in Colby when you’ve only been here a few days?”
I choked down the next sip and hurried to say, “Interview.” I met her stare, checking her reaction and praying she bought the lie. “I have an interview.”
Disbelief and surprise covered Lala’s face. “An interview? Goodness, I didn’t even know you were applying anywhere.”
I made a confirming hum as I forced down more of the coffee, thankful she’d accepted it so easily. Depending on how the meeting went, I would talk to her. But I refused to get her hopes up about something I might not be able to do for her.
“Well, that’s quite something,” she said. “Where’s the interview?”
“Can we talk about it later?” I asked, taking another big drink and draining the rest in the sink. “I need to get going.”
She pushed from the counter, talking as she went. “Oh, sure, sure. Let me get you the keys. You can take—”
“No,” I said quickly. “It’s fine. I have a car coming to pick me up.”
“Again?” Confusion coated and slowed her words. “Isn’t that getting expensive?”
“I’m used to paying for transportation. It’s fine.” I shrugged, letting her know it wasn’t a big deal. “Besides, they’re already on their way. I’ll be back later.”
She looked lost for words, but I didn’t want to get into it with her. Especially then.
I hurried from the kitchen, grabbing my bag with everything I’d researched and gathered during my late nights on the porch, and got outside just in time to meet the car.
Research to protect that little sliver of resentment I couldn’t seem to shake. Because, as Lala had told me that first night, she was always afraid that my mom would show up at any time and take Nora.
My mom hadn’t left Lala with anything more than Nora—not even a diaper bag. No written word that she was giving up her rights. No assurance that she would never be back. And knowing firsthand just how erratic and desperate my mom could be, I knew Lala’s fears were valid.
But I would do anything to make sure my mom couldn’t put anyone else through what she’d dragged me through. So, despite how bleak my research had come back, I wanted to meet with lawyers to see what Lala’s options were. Hoping they would give me better news.
Something that would ease Lala’s worries.
Something that would protect Nora.
I stepped through the doors of Butler and Davis Law Offices with a minute to spare, the large building located in the middle of Colby, and offered the secretary a smile. “I have an appointment—”
“Wade?” she asked, already reaching for her phone.
“That’s correct.”
“I believe they’re already ready for you . . .” She waited for a moment before speaking into her phone and then gave me a smile. “Just a moment.”
Before I could sit down in one of the chairs, a man came walking into the reception area. Brow creased and pointing at me. “Wade? Not . . . Joslin . . .”
“Her daughter,” I said, unease weaving through me because this man knew my mom.
His head shook in disbelief, eyes blinking exaggeratedly. “Well, goddamn. Look at you, all grown.” He held out his hand for me to shake and then quickly ushered me back the way he’d come. “When I heard the name Wade, I was wondering why your grandma didn’t just come talk to me. Then I walked out and saw you . . .”
I swallowed through my hesitation and asked, “How do you know my mom?”
A laugh left him, but it hinted at everything Joslin Wade.
Frustration and sorrow and relief that she was gone. I knew the feeling.
“This is Colby—everyone knows everyone. But we go way back with your family,” he explained as he gestured me down another hall. “My wife used to babysit your momma when she was a teen. We actually live just next door to your grandma.”
“Really?” I asked, surprise weaving through the word.
“As I said: Way back. And, I’m sorry,” he continued as he pushed open the door to a conference room and ushered me in, “it’s been a long damn time . . . what was your name again?”
“Em—” My name died in my throat when I saw the man already waiting for us at the table. Not much older than myself, handsome in a conventional way, with a charming grin.
I knew that grin.
“You’re gonna be worth every dime, darlin’.”
“This is my partner and son-in-law, Jarrod Davis,” Mr. Butler said as he shut the door behind us.
My chest pitched with a jagged breath as recognition slowly lit in Jarrod’s eyes.
Any hope I’d had for Lala . . . for Nora . . . abruptly vanished along with his grin.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. How is this possible?
“I’m sorry, I think . . .” I struggled to take a breath, but the air in the room felt too heavy and suffocating. And everything in me was screaming to leave. I stumbled back and grabbed the handle of the door. “I have to leave.”
“You feeling all right?” Mr. Butler asked.
“Why don’t you stay?” Jarrod Davis asked as he stood from his chair, the question sounding more like a demand in his low and commanding voice. His head slanted, stare glossing over the papers in front of him before his eyes were on me and dragging over my body. “Ms. Wade, was it?”
Ice shot down my spine at the look that flared in his eyes and the sound of my name leaving his mouth. But I fumbled with the handle until the door flung open wide behind me, then turned and hurried down the hall and through the building. Avoiding the receptionist’s eyes on my way out as emotion built in my throat, hot and full of shame. Anger pulsed just beneath my skin, making me shake and breathe erratically.
As soon as my feet touched the sidewalk, I felt him behind me. All hostility and fear and that overwhelming presence that screamed he was used to getting what he wanted.
“Get away from me,” I seethed, head whipping around to keep him in my sight.
He bared his teeth in a feral grin. “Right now, I’m simply checking to make sure you feel all
right since you ran out before our meeting could begin. So, you will not run, and you will not react. Do you understand?” Without waiting for a response, he took a step closer, his stare dipping over me and tone dropping. “What are you doing in my town, Ms. Wade? Better question: Why exactly do you need a lawyer? And know that there is a wrong answer to that.”
A trembling breath ripped from me at the threat. “Why are you here—you were in New York.”
“It’s funny how the world works,” he said in the same unforgiving tone. “Your boss was my college roommate and is still one of my closest friends. That doesn’t explain why you’re in South Carolina now. In my office, needing a lawyer,” he hissed, then rocked back a step, breaths harsh and fast.
I pressed my lips closely together, refusing to answer. Refusing to ease any of his worries.
After a while, he huffed irritably. “If you’re hoping for some type of retaliation, I told you that night: You can’t touch me. You can’t touch any of us. Now that you’ve seen what I do for a living, you know why.”
The threat rang in my ear long after he’d stormed back into the building, leaving me on the sidewalk alone. Trembling as I struggled to make my lungs work properly.
But I refused to break down. I refused to let any man break me or make me feel like this . . .
This shameful, dirty whore.
I refused—
A sob burst from my chest, sharp and unbidden before I had the chance to slap my hand over my mouth. Sucking in quick, shallow breaths, I attempted to pull myself together and hurried away from the law office.
For a long time, I simply walked until I somehow ended up on the main streets of downtown Colby, knowing if I was there, I’d be able to find my way back to Lala’s.
I could’ve gotten another car, but I just didn’t care.
Walking gave me time to think over the morning. Gave me time to think of the absurd odds of any of the men from that night being from Colby or South Carolina in general.
If I had even thought for a second that they might be, I never would’ve come. Just knowing Jarrod Davis was in the same small town had me itching to pack up my things and leave.
I slowed to a stop when my eyes caught on a piece of paper taped to the inside of the window of the building I was passing.
Could sure use some help.
Come on in.
I started stepping away but stepped back instead to take a long, assessing look of the building in front of me. All massive bay windows and a non-descript, faded sign that read Books.
And that faded sign pulled at a part of me from long ago that I’d tried to forget.
While the store was dull with chipped paint along the borders, the other storefronts on the street were bright with fresh color and care. But they had flat faces and windows that could never compare to the dusty panes before me that continued in designs all the way up to the second floor.
The store could have easily been a statement on the street, but it was muted and seemed to have settled into its place in the background decades ago. As if to say, “This is all I will ever be, and I’m content with that.”
It nearly begged people to walk right past it.
But the store and that sign, handwritten in beautiful script you just didn’t see anymore . . . it called to me. It begged me to stay.
I grabbed the handles of the thick, wooden and glass mosaic doors that had definitely seen better days, and let myself in.
And was immediately hit with the smell of dust.
“Jesus.” I cleared my throat and tried not to breathe in the smell as I walked deeper into the store and called out, “Hello?”
“Have a look,” a gentle voice called from the side.
I followed it, taking in the place as I did.
Dozens of memories swirling through my mind and tugging at my chest even though this store looked nothing like the others.
The place was enormous inside.
High ceilings with beams running the length, giving the store an elegant look within all the dust and dimmed lighting.
Floor to ceiling shelves almost completely lined three walls, separated every so often by large partitions that extended farther than the shelving, so it didn’t look cluttered.
But the outer shelves, along with what I could see of the inner bookshelves, were empty. All the books had been piled haphazardly on tables near the front of the store.
With every step toward the large, wooden checkout counter, I wondered why I was walking closer instead of turning right back around and walking out.
And then a sweet, old woman popped her head above the counter and let out a slow exhale as she hefted herself onto the chair.
She gave a little jolt when she saw me. “Well, hello. Was there something I could help you find?”
I cleared my throat and pointed to the side. “I saw the sign in the window.”
She nodded in a resigned sort of understanding. “Oh, yes. That’s been up for quite some time now.” Her eyes locked on me, studying me. “This place may not look like much, but I’m not selling. So, you can turn yourself around and leave if that’s why you’re in here.”
“What?” I always knew exactly what I was wearing and owned it. But at her words, I glanced down to inspect myself, feeling uncomfortable in my own skin even. “Oh. No. No, I had . . . no, I’m not a—I’m just here.” I lifted my head and met her questioning stare. “I would like to help you.”
Her chin wavered and her eyes watered. After a few seconds, she lifted a wrinkled hand to her chest. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
She gave a quiet sob and looked around. “This was my grandparents’ place. My parents took over after. I tried, but I . . .” She made a face as if there was only so much she could do. “My husband passed twenty years ago, and I couldn’t afford help when people no longer wanted to come in. Those electronic things have taken over, you know.”
I did, even though I’d never owned one.
“I can’t pay you much, I’m afraid,” she continued. “But this place . . . I can’t give it up either.”
“I can understand that.” I took a step closer and said, “I don’t have my résumé, but I can get it to you this afternoon.”
“Well, that’s something. I don’t know if I’ve ever looked at a résumé.”
“Also, you should probably know I left my last job under less-than-ideal circumstances.”
She wrung her thin hands together. “Oh?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, not giving her any more details on Chris Dennison or New York or that part of why I’d left was, apparently, in Colby.
For a long while, she was so silent, so still, that it was unnerving. Then she looked around the store and lifted her frail shoulders. “Like I said, I can’t pay you much. Maybe not even minimum wage.”
I nearly fell to my knees in shock and gratitude.
“And this place . . . I know how it looks.” She paused. “Do you know anything about books?”
Only that they had a part in saving my life.
“No,” I said honestly, throat thick with my past. “No, but I’ve never known anything about anything, and that’s never stopped me. I’ll keep going until I learn it all.”
Her smile was simple and kind. Gratitude pooled from her. “You know, you might want to wear something a little more casual around here.”
A laugh tumbled from my lips. “I can do that.” I glanced over my shoulder, assessing the place.
“I know how it looks,” she repeated. “Haven’t been able to do much more than sit back here for years now.”
“I can fix that,” I found myself saying, then hurried to look at her. “With your permission, of course. It’s your store.”
A tear slipped down her cheek. “If you can make her breathe again, you can do whatever you want to her.”
I turned then, taking in the quiet store that seemed to hide even within itself. “I think we can do more than that.”
“You back now, Emma?” La
la’s voice rang through the house, meeting me as soon as I walked in.
I rolled my eyes, the corner of my mouth lifting as I did. “What if it wasn’t me, Lala?”
“Well, whoever it was would be just in time for sandwiches.”
I rounded the corner into the kitchen and watched as she put the last bits of food on the island for lunch.
Fruits, vegetables, dips, cheeses, and rolled meats.
Different types of bread and mini loaves . . .
She had enough food out to feed an army.
“Expecting more people, Lala?”
I hated that my heart took off at the possibility of it. Hated that a small part of me was hoping Reed would be the one she was expecting.
I didn’t want him to have an effect on me at all.
She spread her hands out as if it wasn’t that big of a deal. “Just a little something for us to nibble on. Nothing fancy.”
“Oh yeah, nothing fancy.”
Her eyes narrowed in mock irritation before a questioning look entered them. “I got a call from Ron Butler not long ago . . .”
Shit.
When Lala realized I wasn’t going to respond to her prompting, she said, “When he first mentioned you, I thought maybe that’s where your interview had been. But he said you’d set up a meeting there.” Her head slanted curiously. “And then left before it could begin.”
I kept myself tall and still and held her stare. “Is there a question here, Lala?”
Hurt and frustration dashed across her expression at the coldness of my tone. “Honey, he’s a lawyer. I’m trying to figure out why you need one.”
“It isn’t anything to worry about,” I said, shrugging indifferently. “Besides, I decided they wouldn’t be a good match for me anyway.”
Lala looked equally worried and upset when she said, “They’re a very nice family, Emma. We all go to church together—Ron’s wife used to babysit your momma.”
“I heard.”
“And their daughter is married to that Davis boy. She’s about your age, and their first baby is on the way.”
He’s about to be a father?
Oh God.
My stomach rolled.
Lie to Me Page 6