Lie to Me

by McAdams, Molly

  “That’s great, but I don’t need a lawyer, Lala.”

  She stared at me, silently begging me to give her something since she knew I was lying, but I held my ground.

  After a while, she released a weighted sigh. “Well, then . . . go get you out of those clothes, then come eat.”

  “I’m fine in—” I pressed my lips firmly together when she lifted a brow. “Yes, ma’am,” I muttered, then turned to go do as she’d said.

  Once I was in jeans and a different top, I padded into the kitchen and grabbed a plate to load up with food.

  “Nora and I popped over to the BBQ place in town,” Lala said as I neared the meats. “And there isn’t one thing about that place or their food that is less than divine. Isn’t that right, Nora?”

  Nora nodded subtly from where she was already at the table with food, barely catching my eye before studying her plate.

  I looked over the different meats as I placed cheese on my bread, emotion tugging at my chest as I remembered the days we’d stop in, and Momma would beg for Lala’s money. It was the only time I ever ate like this.

  I’d grown up on peanut butter sandwiches and dry cereal—what we could afford and what traveled easily since our RV didn’t have a working fridge. When my mom bailed, not much changed because I needed to save money.

  The first year working for Mr. Dennison, I’d finally let myself buy real groceries when I’d received my Christmas bonus. I’d cried when I’d cooked and eaten that first meal. It’d been terrible, but it’d been mine. And Lala had been on my mind the entire time.

  “Something not to your liking?”

  “What?” I glanced over to see Lala’s full attention on me. “No. No, of course not. Sorry . . . just a lot on my mind.”

  She nodded after a moment and resumed assembling her sandwich. “Always seems to be.” As she was grabbing her plate and turning for the table, she whispered, “Your momma had a lot of secrets before she started disappearing too.”

  Frustration and fear swirled in my stomach. “What else, Lala?” I demanded as I faced her.

  She turned at my question, mouth parted and brows lifted in surprise.

  “Running . . . secrets . . . what else am I doing that’s like her? Because, of all people, I thought you would be proud that I didn’t go down her path. That I worked my ass off and tried to make a life for myself. But since I’ve come here, it’s been nothing but snide remarks about my clothes or the way I talk or my life up until last week.” I stumbled back until I was pressed to the counter, my throat tightening and words straining as I pointed at Nora. “She shouldn’t be here for this.”

  Lala’s head shook for a moment as if she wasn’t sure what to do, then she hurried to usher Nora out of the kitchen. “Adult talk. We’ll be done soon,” she tried to assure her.

  Once Nora was gone, I went on. “I thought I’d done it. A life to be proud of. A great job. I’d done it. And then it fell apart, and now I’m getting pushed down like I’m the one at fault. I don’t need you digging at me every day, making sure I stay down.”

  “Oh, Emma.” Lala breathed a quiet cry and fell into her chair. Placing her hand over her mouth, she just stared at a spot in the kitchen as I continued.

  “You had troubles with my mom. You struggled with her before she left. You’ve told me all that. After, you saw her—saw us—every year or so for a couple hours or maybe a day. But you didn’t really see her. What you saw during that time was her at her best because she was trying to get money from you. I know her life and her actions broke your heart because she’s your daughter.” I placed my hand on my chest. “I know. But you don’t know what it was like for me. Every day with her. Fixing her mistakes and bearing her shame and trying to keep us alive because she wouldn’t. Being her permanent, reluctant crutch. That was my job. So, forgive me for not turning out how you hoped I would. Forgive me for having irredeemable traits like running and keeping things to myself when that’s all I’ve ever known.”

  “Emma, no. I’m sorry—please . . . forgive me.” Her hand fell to her chest as her shoulders lifted in a faint shrug. “I just . . . I always knew why y’all returned—why she returned. I did. And she always had an excuse for needing the money, and I knew it was a lie, but I couldn’t help hoping she might be telling the truth. That she might be changing.”

  “I would’ve told you why we were really here if you’d asked.”

  She studied me for a moment before looking away. “When I opened the door the last time both of y’all showed up and saw you standing there, it was written all over your face that you were just . . . broken.”

  I wanted to say I hadn’t been.

  I wanted to say nothing would ever succeed in breaking me, but she continued speaking.

  “I knew by helping you all those years, I had only hurt you. I knew by not fighting harder for you, I was to blame for that look in your eyes. That’s why I said ‘no’ to her and fought harder than ever for you,” she said, voice filled with years of grief. “I lost you that night, and the decision to stand up to your mother has haunted me ever since.”

  The words I never wanted to leave you were on the tip of my tongue, but I choked them back. Lala already knew I hadn’t. She’d known that then.

  It didn’t change that I had left with my mom. It didn’t change that when opportunity after opportunity arose, I hadn’t come back. I’d stayed with my mom because I’d known she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself or protecting herself from the disgusting men she brought around. When she’d left me, all the fears that still consumed me had kept me from coming here . . . from letting Lala even know I was alive.

  “You should be proud of yourself and your life, Emma. You should be very proud . . . I am,” she said, voice weak. “Anyone who knew your Momma can see you’re nothing like her. You weren’t then, and you aren’t now. But I’ve been guarding my heart with you because you are so guarded and because I’ve been preparing for you to walk right back out that door ever since I found you standing on my porch.”

  “Lala . . .” Her name was soft and twisted with regret.

  “I’m sorry, Emma,” she whispered sadly. “You needed me, not a house, and I’ve failed to give you that because of the past.” A mixture of a laugh and a cry burst from her as she waved her hand toward the island. “If anyone should be ashamed of their actions, it’s me. I did this to prove I’ve always been fine without the two of you here. That Nora and I are fine.”

  I looked behind me at the island covered in food.

  “And it ain’t even Thursday.”

  Despite the heavy tension in the kitchen, a laugh bubbled up my throat. “So much food, Lala.”

  “I know. I feel juvenile.” She placed her head in her hand, looking at the spread.

  “So, this isn’t normal?” I asked, confirming.

  “Not unless I’m throwing a party.”

  My lips tipped up but quickly fell into a frown. “The Thursday thing . . .” The unspoken question lingered in the air.

  “That is to give them a little extra lovin’.”

  “Every week?”

  Lala dipped her head in a nod and gestured between the table and me. “Eat. Please.” Once I’d gone back to putting my sandwich together, Lala came to my side. “I am sorry, Emma. I will try to push aside my fears, and I apologize now because I know it might take time before they’re gone completely.”

  “I understand.”

  I had to. She was on the other side for those sixteen years. Constant coming and going for nothing other than money. I would’ve had the same thoughts too. I couldn’t understand why she’d ever let me back in the house at all.

  “I’m sorry for abandoning you,” I said softly, words I should’ve voiced the minute she’d opened the door to me when I’d needed her most.

  “Oh, hush.”

  “I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner. For not contacting you,” I continued even when she waved my words away. “I’m sorry you had to make a family of stra
ngers when I should’ve been there.”

  She gripped my chin in her hand to stop me and looked at me through glassy eyes. “You had a hard life. I’m sure I can’t imagine the half of it, but I see it when I look at you. I saw it. You did what you had to in order to survive.” She shrugged and stepped back. “And you did come back to me.”

  “When I needed help.”

  “There is nothing wrong with asking for help, Emma,” she assured me. “I ask for help all the time. Hell, I receive help even when I don’t ask for it. That’s why First Responder Day here at the house began.”

  The corners of my mouth lifted before falling when I thought about a man covered in tattoos with a smirk that did traitorous things to my stomach and knees. Gray, knowing eyes that seemed to see straight to my soul . . .

  And disaster written all over him.

  “The difference is what you do with that help,” Lala said simply. “It’s how you receive it and what you do in turn. And I know asking was hard enough for you, but you need to learn how to accept the help that is offered to you.”

  I nodded hesitantly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Now enough heavy.” She waved her hand between us as if she were washing away the conversation. “Tell me about the interview,” she said before calling out, “Nora, honey, come eat.”

  My eyebrows drew together in confusion before I remembered passing off my meeting as an interview.

  Lala must’ve seen the look on my face because she said, “Unless there was no interview . . .”

  “No, I actually got a job.”

  Lala clicked her tongue as she sank back into her seat and pushed Nora’s plate closer to the little girl when she sat as well. “Well, congratulations. Where at?”

  “Um, I actually don’t even know if it has a name,” I said with a hesitant laugh. “And it isn’t ideal, but I’m . . .” My lungs expanded with a deep inhale. “I don’t know, I’m really excited about it.”

  Lala waved a chunk of fruit in the air. “Well, what is it?”

  “You know that bookstore on Main street? It’s almost at the corner—it has beautiful bay windows.”

  She blinked slowly, her eyes drifting to the side for a moment. “Is that still there?”

  Another soft laugh left me. “Yes, it is, and yes, that one. It looks like it’s hiding. The woman who owns it is older and can’t do much with it. I think she kind of gave up on it after her husband died. But it’s been in her family for generations, and it clearly means everything to her.” My mouth curled into a smile. “When she saw me, she told me she wasn’t selling and that I could turn right back around.”

  An amused huff left Lala. “Donna,” she said suddenly as if just remembering her name.

  I made a sound of affirmation as I moved to sit at the table with them. Setting my plate down, I asked, “You know her?”

  “Not well, just from around church. She keeps to herself mostly.” Her stare seemed distant as she ate for a few moments. When she looked at me, curiosity wove through her words. “And what is it about an old bookstore that has you so excited?”

  Old memories danced at the edges of my mind, my head shaking when I said, “There was just something about that building that called to me. I had to go in.”

  A soft smile pulled at my lips as I thought about the dusty store with chipped paint and dirty windows.

  “The place is a wreck. Looks abandoned and looted. It feels forgotten and just . . . sad. All I want to do is bring it out of hiding and see what it can be.” I blinked away the shop and the old woman within the shadowed walls and laughed uneasily. “That sounds weird.”

  “Not when you did the same for you.”

  My head snapped to the side, but Lala was staring at the table as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.

  “I like books,” Nora said softly, pulling my attention to her. “My Reed got me some books for my birthday.”

  I tried to ignore the wings taking flight in my stomach at just the mention of him and asked, “Oh yeah?” even though I’d already been told as much the day before.

  “Two of them,” she whispered, but her eyes were lit with excitement the way they seemed to whenever Reed came around.

  “That’s right, he did,” Lala said. “And he got you some fun and pretty things to go with them, didn’t he?”

  Nora nodded quickly, her head lowering when she realized I was still watching her.

  “I didn’t know that store was still standing, let alone open,” Lala said, easily shifting back to our conversation. “Is Donna gonna be able to pay you?”

  “She was upfront about that . . . said what she could afford. It isn’t what I was making, but it’s more than I’ve made at other jobs. And it’s enough for me to start over. Besides, I want to be there.”

  Lala seemed happy with that answer, sitting back in her chair with a satisfied look. “That’s good, Emma. I’m happy for you. So, what is it you want to do with this bookstore?”

  My chest rose and fell with an excited breath.

  Ideas swirled in my mind, as they had since I was in the store.

  So much to do and even more to work with.

  So many possibilities.

  “Everything.”

  “Got it,” I called out as I headed toward the entryway.

  “Careful, it might be Courtney,” my roommate, Peter Rowe, teased from where he was making a post-workout shake in the kitchen.

  I let out a dull laugh, my mouth quirking up at his own responding laughter that was pure amusement because he knew just how much the shit with Courtney bothered me. With a steeling breath, I glanced through the peephole and felt everything in me go wild.

  I don’t know who I expected to be knocking on the door.

  One of the guys from the department wanting to shoot the shit before work started . . . since that was a thing in Colby. Even Courtney . . . because God knew that girl had probably figured out where I lived.

  But it hadn’t been Emma.

  I shifted away from the door, murmuring, “Stalker,” as I pulled it open.

  The corners of Emma’s mouth tipped up, negating the scowl she was clearly trying to keep in place. Her gaze darted over me as if drawn, and then she went utterly still as horror blanketed her expression.

  I automatically glanced down to see if something was on me but stopped my quick inspection when her whispered words slammed into me.

  “You’re a cop?”

  I slowly lifted my head, unsure of what to say or think.

  Because Emma’s back was ramrod straight and her chin was lifted, but there was no missing the mixture of denial and disgust in the way she was staring at me.

  If I’d thought she hated me when we first met, I was wrong.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why Lala hadn’t warned me that her granddaughter hated police officers. I also wasn’t sure how this was news to Emma.

  She shoved a large paper bag toward me. “We had a lot of food leftover,” she muttered, voice cold as ice. “Lala thought you and some guy named Peter would want some.”

  “I’m some guy named Peter,” Rowe yelled, his steps coming closer. When I glanced over my shoulder at him, he took one look at me and quickly turned to go back the way he’d come.

  I looked back to Emma and then let my stare drift to the bag but didn’t move to take it. I just leaned against the doorjamb and folded my arms across my chest as the dozens of questions swirling in my mind gathered on my tongue.

  Before I could settle on any one of them to ask, she asked, “Do you want it or not?”

  Disappointment built in my chest as I felt that push just as strongly as I felt the pull.

  “She’s the way she is because men made her that way. Because they terrify her.”

  I hadn’t believed Lala then . . . I was beginning to.

  Men. Officers. Who the fuck knew what else.

  I forced something like a smile, but it felt all kinds of wrong. “And here I’d thought your anger w
as only reserved for me.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “So, it isn’t me then—”

  “Oh, trust me, it’s you.” A bitter laugh fell from her lips as her eyes slowly raked over me. “It’s every single thing about you.”

  I nodded and worked my jaw. “The other day, you said you know my type. Said you grew up surrounded by men like me . . . but you clearly hadn’t known I was a cop. So, what kind of guy do you think I am exactly?”

  “Trouble,” she said immediately. Her eyes narrowed and that sweet face creased with some kind of hatred I couldn’t even begin to understand. “The kind of guy who knows women will ruin themselves for him, so he uses them up and leaves them broken before moving on to the next. The kind of guy who uses his position and power to get what he wants.”

  Anger and confusion and irritation washed over me.

  I’d never had someone pin me so wrong. But I could tell she believed every word.

  I stared at her until I was sure I could speak calmly. “All that because I was hooking up with someone the night you stopped by?”

  Her head shook in quick jerks as she rocked back a step, her expression screaming I didn’t get it . . . that she hadn’t expected me to.

  A sharp, berating laugh burst from me when I remembered her words from the coffee shop. “Oh, and because of Courtney. Right? The barista,” I offered when confusion lit in her eyes. “That girl who took your order? I’ve been politely rejecting her for three years. Never encouraging. Not my goddamn fault she doesn’t stop.”

  “Ever consider trying harder?”

  “Right, and then I’d be the asshole.” I leaned forward, my mouth twisted into a sneer. “And you apparently have an issue with law enforcement, but the day I use my position to get what I want is the day I turn in my badge.”

  The bitter amusement drained from her expression, leaving an understanding that was as haunting as it was hollow. “I’m sure that’s what they all said before the first time . . . and the second. Power can be as addicting as any drug.”

  Jesus Christ, what did she grow up around?

  I swallowed thickly, afraid to go down that road. Knowing my mind would run wild, and I would only want to annihilate whoever had put that look there—whoever had made her this way.