Dangerous Lies (23 page)

Shouldering my way through the crowd, I looked for a familiar face, and suddenly he was right there, standing directly in front of me. He saw me at the exact same moment, his blue eyes locking onto mine.

Slipping my hands in my back pockets, I rocked back on my heels, trying to pull off calm and collected, but really I was just trying to get my bearings. How many times had I practiced what I’d say at this moment, and now that it was here, my thoughts scattered. All I could think of was how his body was doing that faded T-shirt a number of favors. He’d ditched the cowboy hat; his mussed hair fell sexily into his eyes. And then I remembered I wasn’t supposed to be thinking about his body or his eyes. Friends didn’t think about friends that way.

“Hey,” I said, smiling brightly, just like pals would. “Is it just me, or are you avoiding me?” I laughed, letting Chet know I was teasing and I was all for sparing us both an awkward or humiliating moment by keeping our first official run-in since the kiss as light as possible.

“You look better,” he said, his face politely stoic. Eyes carefully avoiding mine. “The cuts and bruises are healing.”

“Yeah, and it kind of sucks. I’m afraid I’m going to lose the special treatment soon. Tonight was my first night back at work, and customers were standing outside the carhop door, ready to take their orders off my fragile, wounded hands. Going to miss that.” I was joking, but Chet didn’t laugh. Unlike me, it seemed he hadn’t reached the point where he could joke about the assault. Which made my stomach do a strange flutter.

“I’m happy to hear you’re feeling better.”

“Yeah,” I echoed, hating how formal and stilted our conversation sounded. I knew why that was, but I missed how easy it used to be to talk with him. Maybe if I kept talking I could lighten him up. “So. What are you doing here?”

“Keeping an eye on Dusty. And before you ask, yeah, I feel like an idiot. I graduated last year, and here I am, hanging out at a high school party.” He rose up on his toes, scanning the crowd. He’d ditched the cowboy hat, but kept the boots. Oddly, I found myself liking them more and more. They fit Chet. Rugged, tough, broken in. I wondered why it had taken me so long to realize this.

“It’s nice that you care so much, but he’s not a kid anymore, and nothing you do is going to stop him from making whatever bad decisions he’s planning on making. You’ll just be around to witness it all.”

Now he looked at me, with surprise and maybe even anger. It flashed in his eyes, but retreated when he saw from my face that I wasn’t judging him—just trying to help him see clearly.

His stance relaxed. “What about you?”

“Why am I here? Oh, Inny talked me into coming.”

“Where is Inny?”

“I’d tell you, but it would be TMI. Want to take a walk?” I suggested. “By the river? I can’t promise we’ll be able to see it—did I mention the country gets dark at night?” I waited for Chet to crack a smile, and when he didn’t, I cleared my throat. “All joking aside, I have a few things I want to say, mainly apologize for being inconsiderate of your feelings the other day by the duck pond.”

Chet watched me with those clear eyes that made me feel transparent. I didn’t like the idea of him seeing more into me than I could into him. Right now, he was completely unreadable. It was like he’d put up a shield to protect himself from me, and it made my heart twist painfully. I didn’t want to be the enemy. At last he said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stella.”

I tried to hide my disappointment, but his rejection stung. Was he so angry he wasn’t going to let me apologize? I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of the summer with Chet mad at me. What if the end of August came, and I left without ever reconciling our friendship? The idea caused panic to bubble up inside me. I couldn’t bear the thought of our last words being angry ones.

“Listen,” I began with quiet remorse. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t mean to lead you on. I really thought we were friends, just friends. I didn’t see the kiss coming. When it happened, I—well, if I could take it back, I would.”

His whole body went utterly still. I’d said the wrong thing.

“Can we please take a walk?” I quickly asked, sounding flustered. I reached for his arm, and he stiffened at my touch. What was wrong with me? I couldn’t think with all this noise. I’d sworn I wouldn’t let Thunder Basin, or anyone in it, grow on me, but Chet had gotten under my skin. I had to set things right before I lost my chance. I couldn’t live with myself knowing we’d parted on bad terms.

“I need to keep an eye on Dusty.”

“You know I won’t take no for an answer.” I tugged lightly on his sleeve. “Please?” I added more desperately.

His eyes met mine directly. They were flat and distant. “I don’t want to take a walk because I don’t think it’s fair to your boyfriend. I made my intentions pretty clear on that park bench last week. I want to be more than your friend. I don’t think I can be around you and stop from wanting that. I like you too much, Stella, to be anything less than honest. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. Had I known, I wouldn’t have acted the way I did. I wouldn’t have pushed for more. I wish I could be your friend, but I don’t trust myself to be satisfied with that. I think it’s best if I give you some space.” He exhaled. “And I’m asking for some in return.”

I stared at him, feeling my throat close off. This wasn’t happening. After living in Thunder Basin for weeks, deprived of friends and family, I’d finally met someone I cared about, and I was losing him. I felt him slipping away, and my fear came fast and sharp. The world seemed to be swirling out of my control. I’d promised myself I would never feel this way again—desperate, dependent, needy. I’d let my defenses down with Chet. It had happened without my realizing. I’d let him in, and now I was paying the price for my mistake. Reed was right—it was a weakness to care. When you cared, you had baggage. You had something to lose.

My eyes dampened with emotion, and I was appalled to feel hot tears rolling down my face. Swiping recklessly at them, I said, “I understand. Will you take Inny home? I have to go.”

Light-headed and disoriented, I pushed my way through the crowd. I thought I heard Chet call my name, but I couldn’t be sure. My head felt swarmed with bees. I needed fresh air. I had to get away from this place.

Stumbling out of the barn, I fled for Carmina’s truck.

I held it together on the drive to the farmhouse. But the moment I was through the front door, my lip started quivering and the tears I’d kept under control flooded out. I hurried upstairs before Carmina could come and find me—I didn’t want her to see me like this. Shutting myself in my bedroom, I crawled into bed.

I buried my face in the pillow and cried freely.

I PUSHED BACK IN MY
chair and let go of a frustrated breath. I was at the library, and there was still not a single e-mail from Reed. Something had happened. By now I was sure of it. I could come up with a hundred ways to justify his silence, but deep down, I knew something had gone wrong. I tried not to feel sick to my stomach, but how could I not? My boyfriend was wanted—
hunted
—by a ruthless criminal (all my mom’s fault!), and he’d suddenly vanished? It was hard not to connect the dots and form a terrifying conclusion.

Breaking one of my own rules, I let my thoughts travel briefly to my mom. Thinking about her always left me feeling angry and exhausted, which was why I shut her out. Call it unhealthy, call it denial, but so far it had turned out to be a reliable coping mechanism. Days, even weeks, could go by without a single thought of her. I was happier for it. And now here I was, doing what I knew would not end well.

Was she safe?

Almost reflexively, I cast her out of my mind like she was a toxic chemical. Who cared if she was safe? She’d gotten us into this mess. Actions have consequences—hadn’t she always drilled that into me when I was young? If she was in danger, she was getting her comeuppance.

I could hear my breath heaving in and out, and I made a controlled effort to slow it. I sat rooted in the library chair until the heat drained from my body and I was in control once again. My mom’s safety was no concern of mine. Why should I care about her, when she clearly didn’t care about me?

To refocus my thoughts, I pulled out one of Reed’s letters that I’d brought with me. I smoothed the worn paper. The familiar sight of his handwriting was enough to console me a little.

Estella,

Sometimes I feel like I can express my feelings better in a letter, when I have time to really think about what I want to say, so here goes. First, please know that I was going to keep my mouth shut (I don’t want what I say here to overshadow what you told me about your mom last night), but in the end, I decided it was important for you to know you’re not alone. My mom’s an addict too. You know she has a disease called fibromyalgia, but do you know that it means she has severe muscle pain and fatigue all the time? Her doctor gave her a narcotic, OxyContin, to control the pain. She’s supposed to take one pill every twelve hours, but I’ve seen her crush two pills at a time into a fine powder and swallow them. This way all the medicine goes into her blood at once and she gets high. She’s been addicted to the drug from the beginning. She keeps her addiction hidden from friends, neighbors, even her doctor. My dad knows about her problem, but pretends he doesn’t. He drives her to the doctor for a new prescription every month, because it’s easier to slap on a Band-Aid than to open a wound and clean it out.

Just wanted you to know. Not so you feel sorry for me, but so you know you’re not alone.

If you need to talk, call.

xReed

Twenty minutes later, I pulled into Carmina’s drive. She had the barn doors thrown wide open and was bent over a workbench, her brow furrowed in deep concentration. At the sound of the truck, she looked up and waved.

“What are you doing out here?” I asked, walking up to inspect her work. Canisters filled with various colors of stains, mostly reds and browns, littered the workbench, and there was a lineup of small jars of polishes, waxes, and vegetable dyes on the shelf. She had a pair of brightly colored cowboy boots in her hands. She buffed the boots with a bristled brush, polishing the leather to a lustrous shine.

“You’ve been in Thunder Basin one month today,” she answered.

I did the math in my head, and was surprised to discover she was right. I’d religiously kept track of the days the first few weeks, ticking down until my birthday, but recently, the hot summer days had started to blur together.

“Decided we should celebrate,” Carmina went on. “A fancy dinner for two. That, and I have a gift for you.” She tipped her head at the boots. “If you hate them, you don’t have to wear them. Just the same, thought you might like a little something country for the summer. I know you aren’t one to blend in, but this is what the locals wear.”

I carefully took the boots from her. I ran my hand over the soft, soft leather. Bright turquoise and dusty-pink flowers embroidered the chocolate leather. The boots were not new. Lines and wrinkles formed worn grooves in the glossy surface. Every line seemed to tell a story. I wondered where these boots had traveled. What they’d seen.

“I put a fresh lining in every pair,” Carmina said, “so don’t worry about where the former owner’s feet have been.”

“They’re beautiful,” I murmured. And I meant it. There was something dignified and special about the boots that made you sit up and take notice. Like a rare treasure you might find in some corner nook after spending all day popping in and out of vintage shops along the Main Line. “What do I wear them with?”

Carmina laughed, evidently pleased. “Wear them with anything. Jeans, dresses, I’ve even seen girls in town wear them with denim shorts, the kind you’re fond of.”

For a split moment, I wished I could show the boots to Tory. Tory had a thing for vintage. She’d gush about how jealous she was and then insist I get Carmina to make her a pair too.

And just like that, I’d crossed a line. The past did not belong in the present. Why did I keep doing this? Why did I have to ruin a perfect moment?

I put my focus back on Carmina. “Where did you learn to do this?”

“Refurbish boots, you mean? Been doing it for years. My grandpa, Papa-Dew, taught me when I was just a girl. He was a good cobbler. We’d sit at his workbench and fix up the whole family’s boots. Resole them and polish them to a shine. Saved having to buy new ones.

“One year, I told Papa-Dew I wanted boots with flowers. He laughed and told me boots and flowers don’t go together. But sure enough, Christmas morning I had a pair of blue boots collared with leather flowers under the tree.”

“I hardly ever saw my grandparents,” I said quietly, still running my hand over the silken leather. “My dad’s parents died before I was born. And my mother fought with hers constantly. She said we were better off not seeing them. They weren’t worth the headache. They live in Knoxville, you know. I’ve never seen their house. I hear they live on twenty acres and keep horses. My mother refused to take me there. I only saw my grandparents during the few trips they made to Philadelphia. My mom made them stay in a hotel, so I saw even less of them than I might have. After a day or two, my mom would accuse them of trying to control her, and a huge fight would follow. Inevitably, the next morning, when I asked about my grandparents, my mom would tell me something had come up and they’d had to go home to Tennessee early.”