Page 43 of Deadly Little Scandals
“Davis Ames seems like he might know some kneecap-busting types,” I volunteered. “Then again, Campbell said he won’t talk about anything related to Ana.”
I’d repeated to Campbell the single sentence Ana had given me back at the hospital.My baby deserved the world, and I deserved a chance to start over—alone.Cam and I took that to mean that the baby had been adopted, but for all that conversation with Ana had cost me, it hadn’t told me enough to know by whom.
“Incoming! Hostile at forty-four degrees! Duck, Mim! Sawyer—man down!” John David didn’t give me time to process whether that was supposed to be an order, a warning, or a threat before he army-crawled to my feet, swept them out from underneath me, and sent me flying.
“Man down,” I repeated, getting ready to give as good as I got.
“Oh, Sawyer,” my grandmother said indulgently. “He’s just having a bit of fun.”
John David wasn’t Lillian Taft’s grandson for nothing. He hopped to his feet and started blathering on a new topic in hopes of forestalling my revenge. “I love Fourth of July. It’s my favorite, isn’t it, Mim? This was going to be the year I won the golf cart paradeandthe pie-eating contest up at the lake. William Faulkner, too.”
“William Faulkner was going to win a pie-eating contest?” I asked.
Still channeling Lillian, John David gave me a look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Sawyer. There is no canine pie-eating contest. William Faulkner was going to win the costume contest, which is part of the parade.”
“I mean, sure,” I said, nodding. “Who doesn’t celebrate American independence with some kind of dog costume contest?”
“And parade.”John David could not have emphasized those words more.
“I know you miss your father,” Lillian told him. “And I know you’re missing how things usually are.”
“No one’s missing anything!” Aunt Olivia stepped onto the back porch, an honest-to-God apple pie in her hands and a stars-and-stripes apron tied neatly around her midsection. She looked like something out of either a Norman Rockwell painting or an Alfred Hitchcock movie, depending on how soon she snapped. “Now, what’s this nonsense about us skipping the Fourth of July festivities? I certainly never said a word about that.”
Lillian arched an eyebrow at her. “You’ve never been overly fond of the lake, Olivia.”
“Go on with you, Mama. I love the lake as much as anyone in this family. I just don’t care much for the heat or the humidity or actually going out on the water.But in any case, we’re going. To the lake. For Fourth of July.”
That was unexpected. My mind went immediately to the texts that Lily and I had received. There hadn’t been any details, just enough to know that the White Gloves had plans for tonight.
“Is Dad coming?” John David asked tentatively. I couldn’t remember if he’d ever called J.D.Daddythe way that Lily did, but either way, he saidDadlike a word that had lost nine-tenths of its shine.
“I’m afraid he can’t make it, sweetheart.” Aunt Olivia brandished the pie like she expected that to soften the blow. “But guess whoisjoining us?”
“Who?” John David asked, inching toward the pie.
Aunt Olivia beamed at me in a way that made me think she definitely hadn’t forgotten—or forgiven—the moment she’d seen me with Ana.
“Sawyer’s mama!”
hat was all of the warning I got. Within three hours, we’d made it most of the way to the lake, all of us in one car. Including my mom. And Lily. And every ax Lily had to grind with me.
I’d never been claustrophobic, but ignoring my mother while Lily ignored me was suffocating.Think about something else,I told myself, and my brain obliged.
I thought about my hands in Nick’s hair.
I thought about leaving him at the gala.
I thought about the fact that he hadn’t replied to any of the texts I’d sent him since. Presumably, he still needed an in to polite society. He needed me. I’d seenMy Fair Lady.I’d seenPretty Woman.This wasn’t a one-off kind of thing. And if he still needed my help…
If he stillwantedit…
Even if it meant nothing, at least it would distract me from everything else. As much as I wasn’t of the Campbell Ames school of thought on working out issues, the idea of touching Nick’s hair again—touchinghimagain—wasn’t entirely without appeal.
I looked down at my phone.Headed to the lake.My fingers typed out the message.Let me know if you need an escort for Fourth of July.I hit send right before looking up and catching sight of my mom. She would have been thrilled to know that I was texting a boy.
The thought made me sick to my stomach.
How many men had I seen her fall for? My childhood was filled with optimistic starts, followed alternatingly by boredom and broken hearts. Texting and dancing and touching wasn’t for girls like me.
