Page 57 of Liar Byrd
“Jail ain’t too good for the likes of you. And that’sexactlywhere I’ll be putting you.” Lip curling, he straightens and takes his hands from the table. “I’ll see myself out.”
His footsteps echo as he leaves the room. I wait ten seconds, then I raise my voice, calling out, “Nance?”
Footsteps hurry toward me, and the door swings open. “Mr. Gabriel?”
I meet Nancy’s worried expression. “See that the sheriff has left the property this time and that he didn’t somehow get lost on the roof.”
Again.
She nods. “Yes, sir.”
The garden door swings open, and Vonn steps in, scowling. “I thought you agreed that you weren’t going to do anything stupid. Provoking a sheriff wasn’t exactly smart.”
I settle back in my seat, suddenly worn out, not just from today or this month. From this life. “I did say that, didn’t I?”
Chapter 20
Byrdie
In my first two weeks at the Gabriel Mansion, I gave every room a deep clean.
Between the stale-smelling sheets, the cobwebs and dust, and the musty rooms that weren't aired out enough, all needed it. It’s a beautiful home. Lovely, but neglected.
It’s been more satisfying than I thought it would be to make every surface shine.
There are more bathrooms than bedrooms, and I spend most of my days moving from one to the next. I start with the toilet first. Do the hated job first, and the rest will feel easier in comparison. I learned that from Jeremiah.
The most hated job was not moving as I lay under him, my eyes squeezed shut as I waited for it to be over. Whatever came after Jeremiah did was always a relief. It just wasn’t me.
After the toilet, I move onto the shower, then the bathtub, and the sink before I polish the mirrors and mop the floors on my way out.
I have a system that keeps my hands busy and my mind elsewhere.
I’m not in a neglected mansion in Massey, Arizona. I dream of so many things. Like finding the father who walked out onMom and me, and his arms opening wide as he gives me the home I always craved.
Or my ship has hit a rock, shipwrecking me. I’m the only survivor, but I don’t put up a sign or want anyone to rescue me. I live among the monkeys and shy wildlife that run whenever they hear me approaching. Happily alone in the middle of nowhere, eating exotic fruits in a tiny, cozy cabin I built from sticks washed ashore.
Sometimes, I think about Vonn.
He’s been keeping his distance since I destroyed the groceries in town, and he covered for me.
It’s been three days, and I haven’t seen him once. Before, I would have been pleased about that. But now, I’m not so sure I want to keep avoiding him.
On a cool Thursday afternoon, I’m polishing the bottom of the staircase, daydreaming about my idyllic island life where the only bad thing that happens is a cheeky monkey throws a stick at my head.
The prick of awareness I sometimes get when someone is watching me, sharpened from Jeremiah’s regular habit, prompts me to lift my head. My gaze connects with Vonn standing at the top of the staircase.
“You have good instincts. I was quiet.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in a smile.
“Did you want to come down?” I ask, getting up off my knees.
“I’ll come back later. Don’t want to mess up your work.”
Four days ago, I would have pretended I had something else to do in another part of the house where he wasn’t. Today, I shake my head. “It’s okay. You can pass.”
“You sure?” His eyes drop to the cloth in my hand.
My grip loosens at the sign he hasn’t missed my fear. No matter how much I try to hide it from him, he always knows when I’m afraid. “I’m sure.”
