Big Lies in a Small Town - Diane Chamberlain Page 0,28

finish my work at the gallery?” I asked. “My work on the mural?”

“We’ll talk about it then. One step at a time,” she said, handing me an appointment card. “I’ll see you here again in two weeks.”

I nodded, then started getting to my feet.

“We’re not finished,” Rebecca said, and I lowered myself to the chair again.

Rebecca opened a box with what looked like one of those ankle bracelets that monitored people under house arrest.

“Do you know what this is?” Rebecca asked.

“Do I have to wear that?” I asked in disbelief. “I’m not under house arrest, am I?”

“It’s an alcohol monitor, and yes you do need to wear it,” Rebecca said. “It goes on your ankle and reacts to your sweat. You take the smallest sip of booze and I’ll know about it even before you feel the buzz. You don’t take it off, not for showering, not for anything. I’ll know if you drink and I’ll know if you tamper with it. I’ll know if you try to stick a piece of plastic wrap between it and your skin. You’ll wear it for six months and then we’ll reevaluate.”

I couldn’t imagine being tied to that thing for six months … but then I thought of Emily Maxwell. I imagined her tied to a wheelchair for life.

“All right,” I said.

“You can wear pants that cover it up, if it bothers you,” Rebecca said. “Tell people it’s an exercise monitor. I don’t care. All I care about is that you don’t drink.”

I nodded.

“You’ll have an eleven P.M. curfew and I’ll be checking on that occasionally. You need to attend DUI classes to get your license back. Here’s a list of where and when the classes are offered.” She handed me yet one more piece of paper. How was I going to find time for all of this? “You’ll have a random drug screen at least monthly, and—”

“I’ve never used drugs,” I said.

“A random drug screen at least monthly,” Rebecca repeated as if I hadn’t spoken.

“All right,” I said, thinking it was best to nod and go along.

“Now let’s talk about your risk factors,” Rebecca said. “Who do you need to stay away from to avoid temptation?”

The name “Trey” thumped inside my brain in time with my heartbeat.

“There’s no one around here I need to avoid,” I said. “I’m hours away from any of my old friends and I’m done with them.”

“Who did you used to drink with?”

“Friends. And my boyfriend. The one who was driving that night.” I looked at her as if challenging her to argue with me on that fact again.

“Have you been in touch with the boyfriend? What’s his name?”

“Trey. And no.”

“Whether he was driving or not, do I need to tell you to steer clear of that guy?”

I shook my head. “No, you don’t,” I said, and I felt my anger at Trey rise up inside me again.

The walk from the parole office to the gallery wasn’t far, but I felt the monitor rubbing against my ankle with every step. It was going to take some getting used to.

No one was in the foyer of the gallery, though I could hear the buzz of saws and the pop of nail guns coming from somewhere in the rear of the building. I was alone with the mural, which seemed to have grown in size overnight. I stared down at the seventy-two square feet of dirt and abraded paint, and panic filled my chest. What a mess. I didn’t even like the thing. The old-fashioned style and subject matter. The bizarre motorcycle was the only intriguing thing about it. Jesse Williams, I thought, what have you gotten me into?

I stared at the mural a while longer, already feeling time ticking away from me, growing closer minute by minute to August 5. There wasn’t anything I could do with the mural until I got my new computer and learned something about restoration. Even then, I wasn’t sure I’d know where to begin.

Chapter 10

ANNA

December 11, 1939

Mid-afternoon, Mayor Sykes picked Anna up from Miss Myrtle’s house in his green Chevrolet for the drive to the warehouse that he hoped would become her new studio space.

“What do you think of Miss Myrtle’s?” he asked, chewing his cigar as he drove. The smoke filled the car and Anna wanted to roll down the window, but then they’d both freeze. The mayor exuded a sense of power in his strong, resonant voice. Although she remembered him being short at lunch, she hadn’t realized how very fat