Dark and Shallow Lies(37)

But I can’t tell Hart tonight. He’s already in too many pieces.

It only takes another minute or two to reach the Mystic Rose, but when we stop on the front steps, I look across to the dock.

And there stands Case. Real as you please.

Fishing off the edge. Like he’s been there for hours. And Hart and I both know that was him we passed on the walk here.

Whistling in the dark.

But here he is now, too. Goading us.

Goading Hart. Daring him to say something. Hoping to get something going.

Case doesn’t even turn around to look at us, but I feel Hart bristle beside me. His muscles tighten, and he puffs out air through his nose like an angry bull.

“Don’t.” I lay a hand on his arm, but Hart is already wound up. Ready for a fight. “Please,” I beg. “Not now. Not tonight.”

Hart gives me a long look, then he sighs and leans against a porch post. He glances at his watch. “After midnight,” he says. “Your birthday’s over.”

Evie’s wind chimes ring like funeral bells. Every day there are more of them. There must be close to twenty now. Each one different from the others.

“I need to go to bed,” I say. And Hart nods.

I reach for the front door, but he stops me. “What are you hiding, Greycie?”

I don’t look at him. “Nothing.”

I feel the burn of Elora’s ring in my pocket.

“That’s bullshit,” he says, and the disappointment in his words makes me cringe. “You don’t think I can tell?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “You think I can’t feel it when you sit next to me? When you touch me? Jesus.” He lowers his voice. “You think I can’t taste it when you fuckin’ kiss me like that?”

“Hart –”

“Look, Greycie. I know everyone has secrets. And maybe, when you get right down to it, I don’t wanna know yours any more than you wanna know mine.”

As stupid as it is, it bothers me that Hart has secrets, too.

Things he’s hiding from me. Because we never used to be like this. Not back when we were Hart and Elora and Grey. Or Grey and Elora and Hart. Back then, we all told each other everything.

Now that we’re just Grey and Hart – Hart and Grey – it’s all changing. All these hidden things are flowing in like mud to fill up the Elora-shaped space between us.

Hart reaches for my hand, but I pull away. He looks at me and sighs again. “Listen, if there’s something you know . . . something that I need to know . . . I’m countin’ on you to tell me. Straight. Okay? No matter what.”

“Yeah,” I tell him. “Okay.”

But it’s a promise I know I can’t keep. At least not quite yet. Not when all I have are questions.

I watch him walk away for a minute, and as I turn back, I catch a flash of movement. A glimpse of white-blonde hair disappearing around the corner of the little house next door.

Evie.

She’s been playing spy again. I think about calling her over, but I don’t have it in me tonight.

Inside, I find Hart’s soggy birthday card in my back pocket, but I still can’t bring myself to open it. Like he said, my birthday’s over.

I bury the card in my underwear drawer before I dig Elora’s ring out of my pocket and slip in on to my finger.

“Happy seventeenth birthday to us,” I whisper.

But the ringing of wind chimes is the only response.





It’s early the next morning when that image of the gun comes to me.

Or more the sound of it.

Click.

I’m in the middle of getting dressed, and that sound is so clear – so real – that I whirl around to look over my shoulder. Just to be sure.

My head is pounding from last night. Two beers is two more than I’m used to. I feel like total crap. But I can’t stand lying in bed and staring at my ceiling any more.

Honey has arranged for Bernadette to watch the shop this morning so the two of us can go upriver to Kinter, but I figure she won’t be ready to go for at least an hour.

What I could really use is a good, long run to work out the stiffness in my aching muscles and to clear my jumbled head, but there’s nowhere to run down here. So a walk will have to do.

I swallow some Tylenol and head out through the bookstore. Sweet-N-Low whines and follows at my heels, and I feel bad, because he probably has to pee. But I hear Honey moving around upstairs, so I figure she’ll take him out pretty soon.

When I step out on to the porch to pull on my mud boots, I’m greeted by the tinkling cacophony of Evie’s wind chimes. They’re spread out all along the side of the house now, and she’s standing on a kitchen chair, tying another one up. This newest one is made of metal bits and scraps. A couple keys. A little toy car. A measuring spoon. A set of big hoop earrings.

“Don’t those things keep you awake at night?” I ask her.

“No.” She’s balancing barefoot on the chair – stretched up on her tiptoes, arms extended over her head – tying off a fishing line loop. “They help me sleep.”

Evie’s hair is dull and stringy, and when she glances in my direction, her eyes look a little wild. I guess I’m not the only one who can’t rest easy this summer.

I turn and start down the boardwalk, toward the old pontoon boat. Just out of habit. But then I think about Hart.