Dark and Shallow Lies(22)

“Hart,” I beg him, “don’t. Please.” But he ignores me.

“Somebody killed her. And I think you need to prepare yourself to deal with that. You know? And if it wasn’t Case, then I have no fuckin’ clue who it could have been.”

And there it is.

Out loud.

We sit in silence for a really long time. Minutes creep by in slow motion like river barges. Hart pulls out a cigarette and lights it in one fluid movement, then we watch the little tugs moving up and down the Mississippi. He tips his head back to blow smoke into the air, and it reminds me of the vapor from an old-fashioned steamboat funnel.

“We had a fight,” I confess. “A really bad one. That last night. Back in August of last year.”

Hart finishes the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot.

“What about?”

I shrug. “Everything. Her wanting to leave. Me wanting to come back. A whole bunch of other stuff.” I focus on the cigarette smoke hanging in the still afternoon air. I detach myself and try to drift away like that. “It’d been building all last summer. She was feeling suffocated, I think. By this place. By me.” Hart is staring at me now. “And I didn’t handle it well.”

I can’t be your one and only, Grey! God, we’re not six years old any more. I need more than that! Shit, maybe you do, too.

“She was sneaking off a lot. Lying to me. Leaving me out of things.” I take a deep breath. “That’s why I was thinking, maybe Case was right. Maybe there was someone else. Someone secret. Because things weren’t the way they’d always been between us.” It feels weird to finally say that to someone. I’ve kept it locked away for so long, afraid that telling would make it true. “She didn’t love me the way she used to.”

Hart lets out a long puff of air. I see the damp curls lift off his forehead before they settle back against his skin. “She still loved you, Greycie. Whatever was going on between the two of you last summer, Elora loved you more than she loved anybody in the world. I know it for a fact.”

A thick silence settles into the space between us, and Hart gets up to leave. But I grab his hand to stop him. “Wrynn told me something last night. It’s silly, but –” I feel my face flush. It’s so stupid. I shouldn’t even have brought it up, but now Hart’s staring at me. Waiting. “She said she saw the rougarou kill Elora.”

“You don’t believe that, do you?”

“Of course not,” I tell him. “But –”

“It’s Wrynn,” he says.

“I know. But she must have seen something. Right?”

“Greycie, Wrynn wasn’t even out there that night. She’s tellin’ you one of her stories.” Hart tries to smile, only his eyes don’t crinkle up at the edges. “But do me a favor, Shortcake, and stay inside tonight anyway.” He turns and heads off down the boardwalk. “Rougarou or no rougarou, I don’t want you out here in the dark.”

When he’s gone, all I can think about is air-conditioning. But Evie is waiting for me on the front steps of the bookstore. I figure she’s been watching us again.

Hart and me.

A breeze blows through, and I lift my face to find it. The sound of tinkling wind chimes cuts through the stifling afternoon heat. Now three homemade creations dangle from the overhang of the roof, right outside Evie’s bedroom window. The newest one is made from old silverware. Forks and spoons clink against colorful bits of polished river glass.

“Those are really pretty,” I tell her. “I bet Honey could sell them for you in the shop.” Evie’s uncle, Victor, is a shrimper. He has his own boat, but he doesn’t make much money, and I know they mostly do without. Like everyone else down here.

“Oh . . .” Evie turns to look at the chimes. “I could never sell them.” Her voice is even softer than usual, almost like she’s afraid they’ll hear. She offers me another half stick of that stale gum, so I take it and sit down beside her.

“Is Hart gonna be okay?” she asks. And there’s that new sound in her voice again. Like she takes special care of his name when it’s inside her mouth. She’s always had this intense hero-worship thing for Hart. Most of us have, honestly. But that naked longing in her words? That’s definitely new.

“I don’t know,” I say. “I really hope so.”

“Me too.” Evie takes a deep breath, and I feel her relax against me.

“Evie, can’t you tell me what was wrong last night? Did anybody hurt you or –”

“Nobody hurt me, Grey. I promise.” She slips her soft hand into mine, and I give it a little squeeze. “It was the Flower Moon last night. Did you know that?” Her head is warm and lazy on my shoulder. “That’s what you call the full moon in May. And it’s magic. The most powerful moon of the year. ’Cause everything’s in bloom.”

“I didn’t know that,” I say.

“The Flower Moon means change comes soon. That’s a thing my mémé used to tell me.”

“Why did you say that last night?” I ask her. “About the dead telling lies?”

Evie pulls at a long thread on her shorts. “Because everybody lies, Grey. Don’t they?” Those wind chimes sing out again, relentless as the biting flies. “It’s just the dead are harder to ignore.”