Lies I Told(67)

I turned to the window. I didn’t want to have the same fight with Parker. Not now. I had to get my head in the game. Had to be ready to execute my part of the plan. If one of us screwed up, it could mean failure for the whole job. And failure meant jail. Or worse.

I took a deep breath as Parker turned onto the Fairchilds’ street. The property came into view, and I spotted Logan on the other side of the iron gate.

Parker turned to me as we approached. “Everything will be okay, Grace. I’m going to get us out of this for good, I promise.”

“I can’t think about that now,” I said as the car came to a stop. “Just be careful. Whatever happens, we’ll figure it out together.”

“Promise?”

I tried to smile. “I promise.”

He nodded. “You have the Valium?”

I touched the vial in my pocket. “Yeah.”

“See you on the flip side.”

The gates were already swinging open when I stepped outside the car with my bag.

“Hello, you,” Logan said, walking toward me.

I smiled. “Hello.”

He looked over my shoulder and stepped around the car, extending a hand to Parker. “Hey, man. Wanna catch some waves Sunday morning?”

Parker took his hand. “Sure.”

“Cool.” Logan retreated. “See you at the Cove.”


“Sounds good.” Parker met my eyes. “See you later, Grace.”

Logan waited for Parker to go before hitting a button on the keypad at the head of the driveway. The gates swung shut with a quiet hum.

I looked over at him. “You didn’t have to come to the gate.”

“It wasn’t a problem,” he said. “I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Same.” My stomach twisted with regret.

He took my hand. “You hungry?”

“Sure.”

We walked in silence, the setting sun casting dappled shade through the trees alongside the driveway. The sky was a watercolor painting, streaked with orange and pink and violet as twilight took hold of the day.

Logan armed the alarm as soon as we entered the foyer and then shut the door behind us.

“How do you feel about pasta?” he asked, leading me into the kitchen. Fresh garlands hung over the cabinets, and a minitree sat on the counter, lights winking against the encroaching darkness.

“Who doesn’t like pasta?”

He pulled me into his arms. “I knew there was a reason I loved you,” he said before giving me a quick kiss.

I swatted playfully at his chest, swallowing the lump of emotion that had risen in my throat at his use of the L word. Stupid. It was just a figure of speech.

We worked together in the kitchen, Logan preparing his mother’s homemade tomato sauce while I chopped greens and vegetables for a salad. I’d never cooked with anyone other than my family, and I was surprised how comfortable and easy it was, the two of us moving around each other like we’d done it a thousand times before.

Logan went to the media room, and a couple of minutes later music streamed from the speakers hidden above the kitchen cupboards. We sang along, and every now and then Logan would take my hand and spin me around the kitchen.

When the food was done, we sat side by side at the island, talking about the holidays. Logan told me about his traditions, about Christmas Eves by the fireplace, sugar cookies left out for Santa and carrots for his reindeer, trees with the lights left on all night. When he asked me what I remembered, I took bits and pieces and tried to weave them together into something that resembled a normal childhood.

We loaded our dishes into the dishwasher and wiped off the counters. We were getting ready to go to the media room for a movie when Logan asked if I wanted some wine.

I fingered the vial of crushed Valium in my pocket. “Sure.”

He pulled a bottle from the wine cooler and studied the label. “I have no idea if this is any good. Do you know anything about wine?”

“Not a thing,” I laughed. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

He poured two glasses, handing me one of them, and we headed upstairs.

The media room was dark, lit only by the colored lights on the massive tree in the corner. Logan used the dimmer switch to turn the lights on low.

“Want a fire?” he asked. “It’s getting cold.”

“That sounds nice.”

He crossed the room to the big stone fireplace. “Why don’t you look for a movie while I get this going?” he suggested. “If you can’t find anything, we can stream something.”

I set my wineglass on the coffee table and opened the armoire’s massive double doors. I tried to focus on the titles in the Fairchilds’ DVD library, but my mind was all over the place. I was acutely aware of Logan a few feet behind me, of how easy it would be to turn around and walk into his arms. Give him everything. Then I remembered what I was about to do. How much it would hurt him and his family. And not just in the obvious ways. Not just because we would steal from him, but because it would shake his faith in himself. In the goodness he thought lived in everyone because it was so absolute in him.

I didn’t want to cross that line. Not yet.

I blinked back tears as I turned around. Logan was bent over the fireplace, placing a large log on top of a couple of smaller ones. He reached for a match, struck it on the stone, and lit the newspaper. The fire crackled to life.