Lie to Me

by McAdams, Molly

  My jaw shifted. Tensed.

  “Just be careful,” Butler added. “You didn’t hear it all. You didn’t see it. See what it did to Lala every time they showed up and left again.”

  A pang of sadness and protectiveness hit my chest for the woman who looked out for the town. “I understand.”

  Butler’s head slanted in a show of denial as he picked up his fork again. “I don’t think you do.”

  Two hundred and six.

  That was the number of books Donna had left in the store when she hired me, all piled on a table at the very front up until a few minutes ago.

  They varied from books about cooking to travel to thrillers to self-help to romance . . . but they all had one thing in common. They looked old and worn though they had probably never been read, only touched.

  I also had a feeling that no matter how much we cleaned the store, we would never get the smell from the pages.

  “I think the books you already have should be discounted. Heavily.”

  Donna’s expression said she agreed, but a sadness lingered there. “How did I let this happen?”

  My heart sank.

  She’d said the same thing so many times over the last few days.

  “Donna . . .”

  “I could’ve tried,” she said, her voice softer than a whisper. “I could’ve tried harder. I could’ve made sure this store didn’t die.”

  “It didn’t.” I held my arms out to encompass the building we were in before heading for the cart that held the boxes of books. “It’s still standing. It’s still open. It didn’t die. It just needs a makeover, is all, and we’re giving her one.”

  A fierce determination lit in her eyes. “It’s long overdue.” When I groaned opening the heavy doors, Donna sighed. “I’ve never liked those doors. The poor things are—well, I just don’t have anything nice to say about them.”

  A giggle worked in my chest at her soft admission. “They can’t hear you,” I called out as I pushed the cart outside.

  In the three days since she’d hired me, I’d quickly come to adore Donna. Everything about her was kind and gentle and graceful.

  The way she moved. The way she spoke. Even the way she sat, staring out the window.

  And despite letting the store fall into the state I’d first walked into, it was what kept her going. So, I was determined to make sure I held true to my promise.

  I was going to make the store breathe and thrive.

  First thing yesterday, Donna had gone to the bank for a loan. Neither of us had been sure what the outcome would be, but she’d come out of the meeting both hopeful and discouraged.

  The bank had happily loaned exactly what we needed, unaware that there had been a bookstore in Colby and wanting nothing more than for the town to have one. But Donna hadn’t understood how the woman hadn’t known when the building was so large and had a prime spot on Main Street.

  I hadn’t had the heart to tell her that, despite the size and uniqueness compared to the other stores, the building seemed to hide the way Donna hid inside.

  Instead, I’d told her that everyone would soon know it was there.

  Since then, we’d gone over plans and ideas, and I’d spent hours on the phone hiring crews for all the things we would need. Last night, I’d spent hours researching bookstores until I’d ended up scrolling through never-ending pictures of books, bookstores, and readers’ bookshelves. And I’d somehow managed to convince Donna to close the shop until we were done with our minor renovations.

  I’d had to remind her that we would need to be coming and going to oversee the progress and to do the shopping for the store. She’d only agreed after admitting I had been the first person to walk into her store in over a month.

  To prepare for everything that was about to happen inside, we were clearing out the store. Boxing up the two hundred and six remaining books . . . organizing and filing the scattered papers in the office and front desk before packing those up too . . .

  All that was left were the two small boxes and shoebox in the loft.

  There was a couch up there that should have been retired a decade or two ago, but the crew coming to move out the bookshelves for the cleaning company was going to get rid of it for us.

  An idea came to me when I was walking back to the shop, and excitement made my tired body feel light as I hurried inside. “Donna, we need to let people know we’re closed.”

  “I’m not sure they know we’re open, Emma dear.”

  I gestured to the window. “You had the smallest piece of paper asking for help, and it caught my attention immediately. If we had a large sign letting people know we’re closed for renovations and will be opening again soon, they would see it. They would be intrigued. They would want to come in to see what all the fuss is about when we open again,” I rambled quickly. “I can have something done up this afternoon or tomorrow.”

  A few seconds passed before she said, “If you think it would help.”

  It was the first time she had been hesitant about anything so far.

  “I don’t have to, it was just a thought.”

  “It’s a good thought, and I think we should.” She stared at the desk for a few moments before looking at me. “Emma, I received a call from your previous employer when you went outside.”

  The high I’d been riding vanished.

  My knees felt weak, and it suddenly felt too hot in that space.

  “From HR?” My voice was nothing more than a breath, but Donna heard and shook her head.

  “I’m not sure. It was a man named Dennis? Dennis something?”

  My knees gave out so abruptly that I had to grab at the wall to remain standing. “Chris Dennison?”

  Donna’s head listed in acknowledgment. “He wanted to warn me of the person I hired.”

  “How does he know?” I asked anxiously. “I just—it just happened. I just started here.”

  She gave me a helpless look. “You were upfront with me. It’s only fair that I return the favor. I felt you needed to know that he contacted me.”

  I’d left.

  I’d made no threats. No anything. I’d just left.

  Why couldn’t he let me go?

  “Can I know what he said?” I finally asked.

  Donna’s frail hands wrung for a moment before she said, “No, I don’t think so.”

  Just as worry and fear started swirling in my stomach, she continued. “If he had been trying to help me with real information, he wouldn’t have sounded so desperate—worried that I wouldn’t believe him. There’s no sense in upsetting you over what were clearly lies from a man I believe it’s fair to say we do not like.”

  “I didn’t—” I clutched at my stomach, feeling like I might get sick all over the stained, threadbare carpet, before forcing it all away.

  Steeling my limbs, fortifying my mind, and locking away the demons as I mentally chanted:

  I will not break.

  I cannot be broken.

  I will not break . . .

  “Donna, whatever he said, I didn’t do it,” I finished helplessly. Numbly.

  “Oh, Emma dear,” was all she said as she started over to me. Genuine pain creased her face when she reached me. “I’ve never seen something so sad in all my years.” Her hand weakly reached up to cup my cheek, light eyes never leaving mine. “We were given emotions for a reason. Given pain the same as we were given love. If we bury them away, refusing to let them surface, how will we truly live?”

  “I’m fine,” I tried to assure her, but she just shook her head sadly.

  “Don’t run from what’s inside you.” After another moment, she clicked her tongue and took a step away. “What do you say we call it a day?”

  I nodded, the movement stiff. “All I have left is what’s upstairs. Let me get that first.”

  She didn’t protest as I hurried past her for the hallway that held the office and storage rooms. Slipping up the nearly hidden staircase just beyond the archway and using the solitude to breathe
and shake the news that Chris had called Donna from my mind.

  Once I was in the loft, I stood there looking out over the store, letting the sight and possibilities wash away the remaining wraiths scraping their claws down my shield.

  I could see it all . . . what I wanted to do to the place, what it could be. The boost Donna needed and the fresh start I wanted. I just hoped when it was done, the woman waiting below would be happy.

  I hoped I wouldn’t fail her.

  With a sigh, I picked up the boxes and made my way down the stairs.

  “Last chance to turn the loft into something for the store,” I said when I emerged again.

  Donna’s head moved in faint shakes when I placed the boxes on the desk. “My grandmother always said it was our own special escape. I grew up playing in that loft . . . so did my mother.” She reached for the boxes, her face drawn together in delicate curiosity. A gasp slipped from her when she lifted the lid to the shoebox. “Oh.”

  My attention automatically slid to the box when she pushed it so it was between us.

  It was full of letters.

  Very old letters.

  “My husband wrote these to me when he was in the war.” Her hand shakily moved to the other boxes. “I believe those are pictures. I’ve wondered where these went. I must have brought them here after he passed.”

  I settled onto a stool when she gestured for me to open them and lifted the lid from the first box as if it were fragile.

  Because I knew . . . I knew the contents were more valuable to her than anything I had ever owned.

  My heart expanded and my lips twisted into a shy smile when I did.

  The adoration and love that poured from the picture resting on top were enough to make even me believe love truly existed.

  A married couple was sitting on the floor, curled up together and smiling at the camera like nothing bad could ever touch their lives as long as they had each other.

  I pulled it out and turned it to show Donna. “Is that you?”

  Light and love and emotion lit her features as she stared at the photo. After a while, she gave me a saucy smile. “I was quite the catch, wasn’t I?”

  A surprised laugh burst from me. “You still are, Donna.”

  We sat there for hours, going through pictures of her family and husband before finally leaving. By the time I got home, Lala was already prepping dinner for the first responders and had a glass of sweet tea waiting for me.

  “Come tell me what happened with Ms. Donna today,” she said as she slid the glass in my direction before going back to chopping an onion.

  I hurried over to the island and snuck a sip of the death-in-a-cup before launching into the day, all the while checking on the remaining lunch, making sure the pans were full and the plates were piled for the first responders who were still coming in, before heading over to do dishes.

  When I got to the pictures and letters, Lala stopped prepping and turned to listen, a hand pressed against her chest.

  “Lala, I nearly cried,” I admitted.

  Her brows lifted, a disbelieving and amused look crossing her face. “You? Now that’s just something I don’t believe.”

  A soft laugh worked up my throat.

  A group of firemen entered the kitchen then, one of them with Nora on his shoulders, their movements slow and expressions hesitant.

  “Look how big I am!” Nora cried out, all excitement.

  “We too late for lunch, Lala?” the one holding Nora asked.

  Lala scoffed. “Now, what kind of question is that? As if I wouldn’t whip something up for y’all even if I’d already run out. Get you some plates and fill them up.”

  Nora patted his head and echoed, “Fill ’em up!” with a wild laugh.

  Whoever he was, he must be special to Nora if she was so open with him—so free.

  I finished rinsing out one of the large pots I’d cleaned as the guys chatted with Lala, then grabbed a towel and dried it as I walked it over to the stove for dinner.

  It wasn’t until I set it down that I realized one of the other firemen was watching me curiously.

  I glanced from his empty plate to the buffet-style pans Lala had lined up. “Is everything okay?”

  “You were in here last week.”

  A couple of the guys next to him quieted in their conversations—the others continued talking with Lala and Nora.

  My cheeks reddened as I tried to remember what they had seen of me last week.

  It seemed so long ago, but everything had been so fresh then.

  Wrecked. Agonizing over the fact that I was following in my mother’s footsteps and being terrified that I was turning into her. Reed.

  An uncomfortable laugh bubbled up my throat. “Uh, yeah . . . you’ll probably see me in here quite a bit from now on.”

  I didn’t miss the way Lala’s breath caught or how it took her a few seconds too long to resume speaking. I was surprised that my statement had been shocking for her. Last week, sure, my entire life had been up in the air. But I thought she’d know by now that I wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Is that so?” he asked.

  But I couldn’t respond.

  Trouble had just walked into the kitchen, dripping sex and frustration and looking every inch the regret I’d suspected he would be that first night. And his piercing stare had immediately locked onto me.

  Freezing me in place.

  Stealing my words.

  Muddling my mind.

  He started my way, looking like he was coming right for me.

  I wanted to both back away and stand tall to show him I wouldn’t back down, but I was unable to move. Wanting nothing more than to have him near again. Feel his touch on my arm. Have him close enough that he stole my air and I took his.

  At the last second, he dipped his head close to mine and whispered, “Emma.”

  My body trembled when he brushed past me.

  I glanced over my shoulder but didn’t allow myself to turn. Didn’t allow myself to look when I heard him talking to Lala and Nora.

  I finally focused ahead of me and tensed when I found the three firemen watching me expectantly.

  Waiting for me to respond.

  I blinked, trying to remember what we had been talking about, and stumbled over my words. “Right—I’m here—yes—I’ll be around.” I cleared my throat and forced a smile, silently damning Reed for being able to do that to me by just walking into a room. “I actually live here now. Lala is my grandma.”

  “That’s right, boys,” Lala said loudly. “This here is my Emma. So, take care of her if you see her around, but keep your hands to yourself.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath when fingers trailed against my palm—light, teasing, asserting. The touch sent a spark of electricity up my arm and a shock of heat through my stomach.

  I knew in an instant who it belonged to without needing to look—before he ever had the chance to continue past me and out of the kitchen.

  Because although it shouldn’t have been . . . it was all so familiar.

  The firemen were asking questions about being Lala’s granddaughter and if that meant I was Nora’s sister and where I’d been up until the past week. For the most part, I think I responded. Keeping my answers as vague as possible until they realized I wasn’t going to give them much. When the fireman holding Nora on his shoulders introduced himself to me as Reed’s roommate and Some-Guy-Named-Peter, I’d awkwardly stumbled over my words as understanding dawned.

  As I realized he’d probably overheard all that had taken place a few days before when I’d discovered Reed was a cop.

  But throughout it all, my attention kept pulling toward the entrance of the kitchen, waiting to see if Reed would walk back in. And as the last of the firemen were filing out, he did, weighed down with bags upon bags of garlic bread.

  As before, he came directly to me.

  “So, firemen are okay then?” His voice was soft enough that it wouldn’t carry to Lala or Nora, but it only emphasized the hu
rt there.

  “Reed—”

  “I saw you, Emma. It didn’t faze you to look at them. Talk to them. So, if I were a fireman, would it all be different?”

  It felt like he’d delivered a critical blow with that one question. “Don’t do this.”

  “You know neither of us really want that,” he said in a voice that had a flash of heat racing over my body.

  I started to step away but somehow ended up taking a step closer. “And what if it would?” I bit out. “Would you quit your job and do something else?”

  “Fuck no. I’m just trying to figure you out.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Give me one good reason not to,” he fired back.

  But I just stood there, lips parted and mind racing with a dozen reasons that sounded as inane as my rhetorical question.

  “Lie to me, Emma,” he practically begged. “I’ll know you’re lying to yourself too.” He inched forward, bringing us nearly as close as we had been the other night. “Or don’t say anything at all. That’s all I need from you to know that getting into your head is worth every fight. That you want this as badly as I do.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said through clenched teeth.

  For the first time since he’d walked into Lala’s kitchen this afternoon, a smile broke across his face. “How’s that lie taste?”

  I wanted to scream at him.

  I wanted to push him away.

  But all I could think of was how close his lips were to mine, what they would feel like, taste like.

  Lala cleared her throat, and I quickly stepped away from Reed, having forgotten where we were . . . who was in the room with us.

  “Are you going to stand there holding that bread all afternoon, or are you going to set it down?” Her question was laced with knowing humor, and her raised brows said more than words could.

  I put another few steps between Reed and me until I bumped into one of the counters, then gripped it tightly as if I needed to grasp something to stay standing after the intense moment we’d just had.

  Reed put the bags on one of the counters and started unloading them onto the same place he had the week before.