Bootleg Springs library was hopping. The hum of conversation filled the air. Not exactly outside-voice volume, but much louder than the usual hushed whispers in a place like this.
I went inside with my big handbag slung over my shoulder. The smell of food mixed with the scents of paper, leather, and lemon furniture polish. The library wasn’t large, but it was cozy, with a neat front counter, rows of shelves, and natural light from high windows.
I’d received no fewer than six invitations to June’s book club. Nine, if you counted the three times I’d been invited to the last meeting. I’d only just started the current book, but everyone—including June—had assured me I was still welcome.
Gibson and I had paid Darren a visit earlier today, bringing him a few groceries and making sure he was comfortable—and still willing to be cooperative. He’d gone from scared, to reluctant participant in our strange—and as yet unfinished—plan, to downright cheerful.
No one in town knew he had any connection to the Callie Kendall case. To them, he was just a tourist named Darren. He’d told his family and friends he was doing a little traveling, and proceeded to soak up all Bootleg Springs had to offer. As far as he was concerned, for now he was getting a free vacation.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, considering what he’d done. But at least he was being cooperative. And we didn’t have to try to hold him forcibly. Cassidy and her father were especially glad about that.
Pausing near the front, I gazed at the two long tables set up in an open space near the fiction section. They were covered with food, potluck style. Casseroles, jello molds, baskets of muffins and buttermilk biscuits, fried chicken, at least four different pies, and numerous other dishes, baskets, and containers crowded together along the rectangular surfaces. It was an enormous amount of food, but the library was packed with people.
It looked like half the female residents of Bootleg Springs had turned out for June’s book club. Many wore matching t-shirts that said Book Babes on the front. I saw everyone from Carolina Rae Carwell—who’d been claiming to be sixty years old since before I had disappeared—to Lula, the drop-dead-gorgeous owner of the Bootleg Springs Spa.
There were young women in sundresses or flannels and cut-offs, and a little cluster of new moms who’d worn heels and lipstick, like they were living it up on a rare night out. Women whose grown daughters were here with them, and a circle of white-haired women with crepe-paper skin, several of whom had their knitting out.
Jenny Leland was here, who for so many years had been my one last tenuous—almost anonymous—tie to this place. To the good parts of my past. She stood smiling and talking with Nadine Tucker and Betsy Larkin, Leah Mae’s stepmom.
And among the large group, the women who’d scooped me up into their lives without question. Scarlett, Cassidy, June, and Leah Mae—girls I’d known when we were young. Girls I’d spent summers with—long days of running around town, piling into booths at Moonshine to share milkshakes, giggling about boys, swimming in the lake. And Shelby, who in the short time we’d known each other had treated me like we were long-lost friends.
It was like looking at the intersection of my past and my future, all in one place. A past I’d been struggling to outrun, and a future that, until recently, hadn’t seemed possible.
With a deep breath, I let the flurry of emotions pass through me. One feeling settled like a gentle mist. Contentment. I didn’t feel anxious or antsy, wondering where I was going next. Despite the fact that I was closer to danger than I’d been in years—in terms of physical proximity—I wasn’t compelled to constantly look over my shoulder.
I’d developed habits as Maya that I’d barely noticed. Watching over my shoulder. Checking and double-checking locks. Wiping down surfaces to get rid of fingerprints. I’d willfully ignored them, telling myself they weren’t out of the ordinary. Trying to convince myself that I was fine. I’d moved on.
But here, in this funny little town that was famous for not letting go of the past, I felt some of those habits slipping away. Or easing their hold on me, at the very least. I didn’t look over my shoulder as often because I knew there were other people around who had my back. I’d stopped wiping down the booth at Moonshine or the table at Yee Haw Yarn