by Lyla Payne
I haven’t seen Leo in what seems like forever, even though it hasn’t been that long. He’s asked me to go running a couple of times, but I’ve turned him down for the same reason I’ve weaseled out of every other opportunity to get out of the house: embarrassment and depression. He’s been pretty busy with Victoria too, I guess, since that whole thing is still going on.
Travis arrives at the same time as Brick, who unpacks a slew of Italian food on the kitchen table. There’s chicken parmesan, spaghetti and meatballs, chicken alfredo, some kind of buttery pasta with shrimp and scallops, and a positively shameful number of breadsticks.
“Do you think you got enough?” I ask Brick, eyeing it all as my stomach grumbles. Hours have passed since my last ignored meal.
“I think so. Amelia invited Cade, too, and the guy has the appetite of a stoned frat boy.”
“Nice image,” I tell him around a mouthful of bread. “Are you sure you’re not the writer?”
He makes a face. “I’m still young.”
“Ha.” The idea of Brick making a living in any sort of creative field is amusing.
Travis has been silent, lurking in the doorway, a reminder that even if he wasn’t arrested for murder, Frank was his father, too. He’s been trying to show me through texts that we’re in this together, that he wants to continue to look into our family’s past, but I’ve ignored those, too.
His irritation with me is evident in his stormy gaze, one eyebrow cocked when he meets my eyes. “Can I help with anything?”
“Um, sure, if you want. Grab some plates and silverware and I’ll get drinks.”
By the time the dinnerware is set out and ice is in glasses, the rest of our guests have arrived. The house isn’t small, but it’s definitely crowded once all of us, a baby, and two kids under five are running around underfoot.
Leo gives me an awkward side-hug. He’s been acting weird ever since I got arrested and the house got broken into and everything. Like he’s afraid to touch me. It reminds me of when we were young and he believed girls had cooties or something.
Really young, because Leo started liking girls way before most of his brothers did. Probably because most of them really liked him. Not me, but I’ve never been one to really follow the crowd.
“Hey, Bugs. How are you holding up?”
I give him a thin smile. “I’m okay.”
“Hope you don’t mind me bringing Marcella,” he says, nodding at his niece. “She asked if Grant would be here and then I couldn’t shake her.”
“It’s fine. I’m sure Mel and Will appreciate the distraction, and besides, Marcella is always welcome. You know I love her.”
“Yeah, I know, but you’ve got a lot going on.”
Mel and Will herd the kids into the kitchen right then, giving me a welcome escape from that particular line of questioning.
“Hi, Gracie,” Mel says, looking frazzled and sweaty despite the fact that it’s colder than it has been in days. Amelia does keep the thermostat cranked, but still. “Thanks for inviting us.”
“Sure. There’s plenty of food, so you guys help yourselves.”
Will meets my eye over his wife’s ponytail and beckons me into the living room with a subtle inclination of his head. I slip out of the kitchen without anyone taking notice, or maybe I’m not as stealthy as I think and the reason no one follows us is that they don’t want to lose their place in the food line. The serious expression on Will’s face lands like a rock in my stomach.
I can’t take any more bad news.
“Calm down, it’s not about you,” he starts, proving how well he can read me. “I wanted to let you know that I’ve put some feelers out to the surrounding counties about Clete’s disappearance. Most of them know who he is, but no one’s seen him. I guess he’s not back?”
I shrug, my guts twisting into an even bigger mess. “Not that I know of, but I haven’t been out to check or anything.”
Somehow, I know he’s still gone. Clete or Big Ern would have let me know if this had all turned out to be some kind of misunderstanding.
“It’s weird, Gracie. I don’t like it.” Will frowns. “The timing feels wrong. You were asking him for help, right? And he said he’d think about it?”
“I asked him if he knew who stole those drugs from the hospital, and he said yes, but as far as helping me, you know Clete. He said I’d have to offer him something in return.”
“Right, but…it’s all connected. The drugs found under the house. Frank. His death. You being framed.”
“I guess. I mean, they were all under the house together, so that’s certainly what someone wants us to think, anyway.” I bite my lower lip, glancing into the kitchen. Amelia glides down the stairs with Jack in her arms, sporting his third or fourth outfit of the day. The kid has a wardrobe that any supermodel would envy. At least in volume.
“What are you two talking about?” she asks, a suspicious glint to her eye. “Don’t think that you’re going to start leaving me out of interesting discussions just because I have a baby now.”
Will holds up his hands, laughter crinkling around his pretty blue eyes. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I learned that lesson over three years ago and have never looked back.”
“Okay, good. So, spill.”
“Will was just telling me that no one has heard from Clete.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, I forgot about that with everything else going on. He’s still missing?”
Will nods. “So it would seem. I was also telling Gracie that I don’t like the timing of him wandering off or whatever now. Feels connected.”
She sets Jack down in his rocker and settles a blanket over his tiny body. A frown crinkles her forehead as she straightens up. “Agreed. At this point, I think we have to assume that everything that’s happened to Gracie since Frank first showed up could be connected.”
“Will? Can you please come fix your son a plate? Apparently I’m not doing it right.” Mel’s voice rings out from the kitchen, half-amused and half-frustrated.
Will looks down at Jack, a nostalgic smile on his face. “Enjoy this time, when all he needs are food and snuggles. The toddler years are a challenge.”
He heads off into the kitchen and Amelia links her arm through mine. Her aura is peaceful in a way it hasn’t been in a long time, as if she’s shed all of her anxiety now that her son has arrived safely.
Maybe not all of it, given that she’s a new mother, but at least she seems to be looking at the future with something other than a feeling of foreboding. I wish I could share that. That we could enjoy this new chapter of our lives in Heron Creek together.
Sadly, as her life gets better and better, mine circles the drain with ever more fervor.
“Maybe we could just enjoy tonight with our friends before you go back to work tomorrow? You know, without sidebars about missing moonshiners and dead bodies under the house? I think that would be nice.”
I smile at her, trying to force myself to look happier than I feel. But she’s my cousin, and she knows I’m not happy. Only a couple of weeks out from a bad breakup, among other things, she can’t expect me to be.
But for her, I can pretend.
“Okay, Millie. Let’s try that.”
“Thanks, Grace. I promise we can go back to moping tomorrow.”
That actually makes me laugh—a real one, if unexpected, and she giggles, too.
Mel stops piling food on her plate to give us a raised eyebrow. “What’s up with you two?”
“Nothing. We’re delirious, probably.” Amelia leaves me and bustles into the kitchen to kiss Mel on the cheek. “How are you feeling?”
“Like a baby is going to fall out of my vagina without warning.”
That statement causes both Leo and Travis to shuffle out of the kitchen, leaving an uncomfortable-looking Brick Drayton and an oblivious Will Gayle behind at the table. Cade hasn’t shown up, which is sort of weird, considering how much time he spends watching the neighborhood from his porch. I’d thought he
might want a chance to get more up close and personal with us. I guess I was wrong. Certainly wouldn’t be the first time.
Will is negotiating the number of breadsticks his son is allowed to sneak out of one of the bags, a process which is both adorable and a disaster in the making.
“We’re just going to sit in the living room since there aren’t enough actual chairs in here.” Amelia smiles and grabs a plate for herself as she directs our guests. She looks happy, and relaxed, and a little tired.
My heart swells with love for my cousin. For all of our friends, who have neither questioned my innocence nor withdrawn their friendship despite the craziness of the past several months. Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back. I promised Amelia to have a good night with our friends, and I’m not going to be the turd in the punch bowl. Not tonight.
That determined pledge is still hanging in my mind as my butt hits the sofa. Which is also, it turns out, right when all my grand intentions about keeping tonight normal and light fly right out the window.
“Where’s Mayor Drayton?” Grant pipes up, a piece of plain spaghetti stuck to his cheek.
The room goes silent and his eyes get big, because even a toddler can’t miss the discomfort that’s fallen over us.
“Um, he’s in Washington, remember? Helping make laws?” Will attempts to correct the situation in the most normal way possible.
“Yeah, but…he’s Miss Gracie’s friend. And she’s in trouble.”
“He’s helping lots of people up there, baby,” Mel says. “But he still cares about us. One of his other friends is in trouble, too.” She shoots me an apologetic look before shifting her focus to Brick. There’s desperation in her gaze. “How is Lucy? I’ve been reading articles about her and it seems as if she’s recovering.”
Hearing her name is like a stab through the ear, but I get why she asked. We should be worried about how Lucy is doing, and she’s a good friend of Brick’s, too. My pain isn’t the only thing that matters.
Brick clears his throat—a stalling tactic if ever I’ve witnessed one—and darts a glance at me. I give him a nod, because what the hell. I’m a little curious myself about what’s going on with Lucy and, because I’m a masochist, what’s going on between her and Beau.
“She’s doing much better. Clean bill of health now other than exhaustion and understandable mental health issues. The military is working with her on trying to pinpoint certain leaders of the terrorist group who took her, as well as some locations she may have seen while abroad, so she’s staying in D.C. for a few more weeks before heading home to heal.” Brick takes a big bite of food. It’s obvious he’s done sharing, but to be honest, he didn’t tell us anything we couldn’t have learned on Google.
What I wanted to hear is whether she’s staying with Beau or somewhere else.
I know she is. Somehow I just do. Part of me is grateful to Brick for leaving that part out, while the rest of me fears the curiosity might just kill me.
Amelia changes the subject, asking Mel about her plans for after Mary is born. When the guys start chatting about college football, tension leaves the room like air hissing out of a balloon.
After a while, I feel like it would be okay for me to slip into the kitchen. Maybe it won’t even be obvious that I’m looking for a place to hide.
The dishes need to be done, after all.
I only manage about five minutes of solitude, my mind unraveling my feelings about Beau and Lucy, or trying to, before Travis crashes my pity party.
“Hey,” he says softly, surprising me. “You okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine,” I say for the fourth or fifth time today and quirk a half-smile, all that I can come up with on short notice. “None of that was a surprise to me, and Beau and I broke up. He’s free to spend time with whoever he wants.”
“Yeah, I know. I was really asking more about the whole being accused of our father’s murder thing.”
If anyone else had uttered those words in that order, I would have assumed they were being funny, or a smartass, but Travis looks like he’s playing the straight man in a drama.
“Oh, that,” I reply, waving a sudsy hand in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I have a good attorney.”
“Graciela, I’m serious. You can’t just leave this up to Brick and his sister.” He pauses, glancing back over his shoulder toward the other room, where my friends have erupted into laughter.
My heart hurts at my inability to join them. Or maybe my heart hurts because Beau isn’t here, like Grant expected him to be. Or because I can’t call him, and when I go up to bed, there won’t be a sweet text waiting for me on my phone.
All of it.
“I’m not sure what you want me to do, Travis.”
“How about you pull your head out of the sand and we finish what we started before you were arrested? Look into Frank’s past and try to figure out who’s framing you.” He picks up a towel and starts drying the plates I left beside the sink. “I think I’ve tracked down a few of our relatives who might still be alive.”
That piques my interest. It was a stroke of luck that I sent Travis pictures of the family tree in Frank’s bag before it was stolen. At least my half-brother has been doing something with them while I’ve been trying to turn avoidance into a viable career option.
“Oh? Around here?”
“A few within driving distance. The rest we’d have to Skype.” He peers over his shoulder again, then keeps drying. “Maybe we can have a drink sometime this week and talk about it. I mean, since you’re going back to work and everything.”
Here he goes again—bland words, judgy tone. Sometimes I wonder how Travis and I could possibly be related at all, as he seems to have no discernible sense of humor.
I sigh. “Sure. Not tomorrow, though, since it’s my first day leaving Amelia alone with Jack. And Tuesday I have a bunch of work commitments. Wednesday?”
“Sure. Whatever. See you then.” He pauses. “Are you allowed to leave the county?”
The question takes me by surprise, though it makes sense: I’m on bail for a felony. Maybe I should have a little chat with Brick, if only to get answers to my own questions.
“I’m sure I can go for a drive,” I reply, my tone far more confident and haughty than I feel. “It’s not as if I’m hopping a plane to South America.”
“Whatever you say, Graciela.”
Travis finishes the last dish and then takes big, impatient strides back into the living room. He’s obviously annoyed that I’m not ready to jump back into this whole thing with two feet, but there’s Brick’s advice to consider. He thinks I should leave it alone, that perhaps my meddling is what caused someone to come after me in the first place, and for all I know, he’s right.
Then again, what Amelia said earlier also seems fair—shouldn’t I fight for myself with the same tenacity I’ve fought for my friends?
I hear Travis say his goodbyes as I put away the plates. Once the last dish is in its place, I make my way back into the living room with a smile plastered on my face. I made a promise, after all, and I should keep it.
Even if it takes all damn night.
Chapter Two
When Brick shows up for our scheduled lunch the next day in the same clothes he had on last night, I suspect that he slept in our guest room. Again. He and Amelia still haven’t publicly admitted to their feelings for each other, but he’s been quietly inserting himself into our lives more and more ever since Jack was born.
It both makes me feel better and worse to know that if I go to prison, Amelia and Jack won’t have to take care of themselves. If I were a nice person, I suppose it would only make me feel better, but I like that they need me.
Or at least make me feel needed.
“Hey,” I greet him, dropping into a chair at one of the high-top tables at the front of the library. The ones that pretty much never get used except when Millie and I have people stop by for lunch. “What did you bring me?”
“Soup. As requested.”
<
br /> My appetite still hasn’t returned, so the tomato bisque should be more than enough. Plus, the chill in the air makes it the perfect choice for lunch.
The library is virtually empty. The weather plays a part in keeping people away, and so does the fact that it’s Monday and we don’t have any activities or events scheduled.
At least, that’s what I’m telling myself. Because if it’s the fact that people don’t want to come hang out with a potential murderer, I’m going to totally lose my shit.
Then again, who could blame them if they thought that? After all, this is the second time I’ve been accused of that particular crime since returning to Heron Creek eight or so months ago. How many times do the police have to say it before people start to believe it’s true?
How many times before I start to wonder, even though I haven’t bashed anyone’s head in, if I’m somehow responsible for all the death and mayhem dogging my heels?
“Okay,” Brick says, jostling me from my thoughts. “We need to discuss your defense.”
He keeps talking for another three or four minutes while I eat my soup. His words are like mosquitoes in my ear—buzzing and persistent and liable to bite me—but Amelia’s and Travis’s comments are running on a loop through my mind, masking Brick’s legal monologue.
Then, once I’ve convinced myself that I can do this, that I need to do this, I put down my spoon and raise my hand for silence. “Stop. I don’t want to talk about this. Not yet.”
“Not yet?” He raises his eyebrows incredulously. “Oh, well, then. You just let me know when you’re ready to discuss your defense, which you’ll likely need at a preliminary hearing within the month, by all means.”
The preliminary hearing, designed to decide whether there is enough evidence to hold me over for trial, is in three weeks. If it’s deemed that there is enough evidence, the real trial will probably start a few weeks after that—we live in a part of the country where felony trials aren’t that common, and therefore the docket isn’t exactly packed. Yay, me.
