Page 9 of Lies and Lullabies
Each night, after our card game, or a stroll by the moonlit lake, he walked me fifty yards past the B&B, to my front door. Sometimes we’d pass Mrs. Wetzle sitting on the front porch of the B&B. I didn’t appreciate the way the old woman stared at us as we walked by. It made me feel oddly guilty. Like I was a teenager again, and out past curfew.
“She doesn’t like me,” John whispered under his breath. “She actually said, ‘If I’d known you were a musician, I wouldn’t have rented you the room.’”
“That’s weird.”
“Yeah. I mean… it’s not like I’m practicing drum solos, you know? It’s just a little strumming here and there.”
I stopped myself from saying how much I enjoyed hearing the sound of his guitar on the nighttime breeze. I had my pride to maintain. “She’s a little judgmental,” I whispered instead.
And it was true. I’d already experienced Mrs. Wetzle’s judgment firsthand.
When I’d decided to take a semester off after being attacked in Boston, I’d begun helping my father with the grocery deliveries. My ugly little story got around town awfully fast, as these things always do. The first time I brought a delivery to Mrs. Wetzle’s house, the old woman had grabbed my wrist. “You have to learn to be more careful in the big city.”
I’d felt all kinds of shame that I didn’t even have a name for.
“I think she makes me bad lunches on purpose,” John had complained. “She hopes I’ll leave.”
That made me laugh. “It’s not personal. She’s a famously bad cook, with one exception.”
“Really? What’s the exception?”
We’d arrived at my screen porch already, which meant that it was time to go into the sleepy house alone. But we paused for a last bit of conversation. “She makes really good homemade popcorn balls with molasses. She delivers them to the neighbors at Christmastime.”
John crossed his arms over his muscular chest and smiled at me. “Maybe she’ll make me one when I leave in September. But I won’t hold my breath.”
I thanked him for walking me home. He gave me a friendly wave and walked away as I climbed the porch steps.
He did that every night except for the one that changed my life.
And what happened that night hadn’t even been his decision. This whole scandal was all on me.
Three
Jonas
After those precious minutes on the dock with Kira, I herded Quinn back into the canoe, and then launched it, feeling great. I was in the best kind of shock. Not only was Kira in Nest Lake, I could still taste her on my tongue.
Ineverthought I’d see her again. But some kind of wish-granting goddess had smiled down on me, offering me another chance to reconnect. I wouldn’t let it go to waste.
My elation lasted about four minutes.
“So…” Quinn started from the front of the canoe. There were questions in her voice.
“So.” I repeated flatly. There was no way I felt like sharing. Quinn and I were close, but the hope I was feeling was too fragile for friendly dishing.
“An old friend?” she pressed.
“Yeah.”Please let it go.
“She’s your sweetness, huh? Just like in the new song?”
Fuck. Leave it to a female to overhear that and make the connection. “Quinn, I’m not talking about it, okay? Just let me be. And if you say anything to anyone else, I’ll kill you dead.”
“It’s just that…” She bit her lip. “Did you see herbeforeshe turned her car around?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were reading your magazine. Which I brought back with me.” She patted her back pocket. “You can thank me later. But anyway, first she pulled up in front of the general store, and a guy with a baby got out of the car.”
