Really? I asked with a look. We both knew the idea was absurd.
“Then I’m getting sick,” he said. “I’ll catch something … like Ebola.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes.” His eyes held mine. “No?”
“No.”
“I’m telling you, running away is the best plan.”
I grabbed his arms this time. “That would make things ten times worse. Promise me you won’t, Chris? Promise me.”
“Fine. Okay.” Jutting his chin out, he looked away. A second later, with bravado, his eyes returned. “Then I’ll just shut myself in my room. I don’t have to eat dinner if Mom isn’t there. I don’t have to talk if she isn’t there. All I need’s a bag of nachos. I’ll get in bed and pull up the covers.”
I was about to tell him how childish that was, when I realized two things. First, taking a bag of chips to bed was harmless. Second, it was exactly what I wanted to do, myself.
“There’s a plan,” I said and, hearing the door open behind me, looked back. Grace emerged, followed closely by Edward. He seemed to be shepherding her, meaning that he may have forced her to come, but I lacked the wherewithal to analyze her expression. Not that it mattered what she felt. As long as she was there, I could leave.
I gave Chris’s arm a final squeeze, drilled him with a remember-your-promise look, and set off for my truck. I didn’t look at Grace again, certainly didn’t look at Edward. I blocked out everything but the sanctity of my home.
At least, I tried to block it all out. But the word busted kept popping up in my mind as I drove. Many, many Devonites read The Devon Times and were as computer-savvy as Nina. Thinking about it made my stomach twist.
I thought to call Kevin, but I couldn’t bear to rehash the day.
I thought to call Grace, but she would be busy with Chris and, if she did answer—honestly?—I didn’t want to deal with what I’d told Chris.
I thought to call Cornelia, just to tip her off in advance of comments she would surely hear. But she liked me. She respected me. My heart broke at the thought of losing that.
And then there was Joyce, who probably already knew everything, so what was the point?
And my girlfriends? My book group? My clay friends? Spa clients? Given how my phone continued to vibrate with texts, I knew there were questions. I didn’t want to answer any of them.
Home was where I needed to be, safe and alone and in control of my life.
* * *
Unfortunately, I had forgotten about Liam.
18
Seeing his car brought it back, so finding him in the house wasn’t a total shock. It was just disappointing. I really wanted to be alone with myself, my pets, and my furniture in my very own place. I really wanted to be alone with the silence, because too much had happened today, and too much static remained. I was used to silence. It was comfortable and safe.
But I opened the door to Liam’s chop-chop-chopping and scents that were organic and raw. I identified onion, garlic, and celery. I thought I smelled rosemary—and melting butter—and lamb, not beef, but that was only a hunch.
“You’re too early,” Liam cried from the kitchen, his head bent over the cutting board, his thinning red hair actually combed. “I need another hour.”
“No problem.” I toed off my boots. “I’m going upstairs.” Hanging my coat on a hook, I knelt. “Hello, babies,” I whispered and hugged each pet as he crowded in. Then I went straight for the Ritz cracker sandwiches, which were my go-to comfort snack. The Spa offered apples, homemade granola squares, and organic coconut candies, but they didn’t do it for me the way Ritz sandwiches did. I want to say I’d been raised on them, but with a mother like Margaret McGowan Reid? Nope. I had been raised on gourmet cookies and bars, from experimental to sublime. Prepackaged crackers were the antithesis of those, definitely against Reid family rules, which was likely part of their appeal.
Opening the eye-level cabinet where I kept them, I found one pack, angled it up to see the label, then pushed it aside. I stood on tiptoe for a deeper look. Reaching in, I felt around.
“Where are my Ritz sandwiches?” I asked Liam none too sweetly. “They were right here.”
“There’s one,” he offered, a tad too innocent. His freckles were bright, which was a sure sign of guilt.