Lie, Lie Again - Stacy Wise Page 0,8

mouth. She was only twenty-five, not forty.

Yet Embry was twenty-four. And married. And a mother times two.

Maybe this was a bad idea. She couldn’t imagine Embry hooking up with some guy for comfort sex.

But she wasn’t Embry.

And Chris wasn’t just some guy. They were dating.

She turned her head down to brush the underside of her straight hair before flipping it back. It had become a habit, but not a very effective one. Her hair looked puffy, not full and luxurious like in the shampoo commercials. Not like Embry’s. She ran the brush through it again, which got it right back to where she had started. Rowan, her older sister, had been blessed with a thick mass of chestnut curls, presumably from their maternal grandmother, though now Grandma Willet’s hair was cut short and kept in place with half a can of hair spray. When she was little, Rowan had told her that Grandma Willet was the reason for the hole in the ozone layer. For years, Riki had felt a residual guilt that someone in her family had caused such damage to the planet, and she’d always made sure to pick up trash at the park and turn off all the lights every time they left the house. It wasn’t until sixth grade, when her teacher taught an earth science unit, that she’d realized Rowan had been joking. How many other things had Rowan joked about that Riki had believed to be true? She looked at her reflection in the mirror. What would Rowan say about the thing with Chris? It’d be nice if they had the kind of relationship where they talked every day, eager to share even the most mundane details, but the truth was, they weren’t close. It didn’t help that Rowan was halfway across the world. She’d decided to travel all the way to Australia to get her master’s degree in sustainability, whatever that meant. She’d probably say, “Seriously, Riki? Either you like him or you don’t. Why the drama?”

But it wasn’t so black-and-white in her mind. The ringing of the doorbell interrupted her thoughts, and she took a breath before opening the door.

Chris had his hands tucked in the pockets of his stiff jeans, attempting a cool stance. It was charming despite the forced effort. “Hi,” he said, darting a kiss to her lips.

She took his hand and led him inside.

Jonathan parked half a block from the apartment complex, a good distance between the streetlights. Their glow was shrouded by heavy fog, but he couldn’t be too careful. He didn’t want the tenants to know he was back in town, crashing at Ma’s old place for the night. Easing from his car, he tugged the hood of his sweatshirt into place and stole across the long driveway, keeping his head down as he crept to the second-floor apartment.

Shucking his sneakers by the door, he padded to the kitchen in his socks. Not that he cared about getting the floors dirty. This wasn’t his place. He chuckled at the irony. Correction: this wasn’t where he lived. And he didn’t want the tenants below to call the police because they’d heard an intruder. As he filled a glass with water, he wondered if Ma had asked him to come back all those months ago so she could give him the paperwork for the complex. He wished she would’ve said more. But with her, it was always the dangled carrot, and he didn’t have time for that.

When she’d asked him to come home, he’d been across the country in New York visiting a friend. She hadn’t told him she was dying. It was a voice mail saying she wanted to see him about something important. How the hell was he supposed to know she was near the end? When he returned for the funeral, he found a note she’d left for him on the table by the door. In her annoyingly perfect handwriting, she’d written, I wish you would’ve come around more. And I hope you find a nice girl.

That’s not a problem, Ma. He drained his glass, and a satisfied smile eased across his lips.

He was still riding high from his two-month luxury escape to Europe. How else was he supposed to process his mother’s death? The Italian girls had been especially hospitable to the fine American man. Life was good. He could almost taste the salty air drifting up off the waters of Positano on the Amalfi Coast. Before long, he’d go back and rent a