The Liar Read Free Page B

smooth—she’d had blown out and straightened every week.
    “Callie’s eyes. Mama’s eyes.”
    Callie pulled Shelby’s eye open with her fingers—the same deep blue eyes that read almost purple in some lights.
    “Just the same,” Shelby began, then winced when Callie poked at her eye.
    “Red.”
    “I bet. What does Fifi want for breakfast?” Five more minutes, Callie thought. Just five.
    “Fifi wants . . . candy!”
    The utter glee in her daughter’s voice had Shelby opening her bloodshot blue eyes. “Is that so, Fifi?” Shelby turned the plush, cheerful face on the pink poodle in her direction. “Not a chance.”
    She rolled Callie over, tickled her ribs and, despite the headache, reveled in the joyful squeals.
    “Breakfast it is.” She scooped Callie up. “Then we’ve got places to go, my little fairy queen, and people to see.”
    “Marta? Is Marta coming?”
    “No, baby.” She thought of the nanny Richard had insisted on. “Remember how I told you Marta can’t come anymore?”
    “Like Daddy,” Callie said as Shelby carried her downstairs.
    “Not exactly. But I’m going to fix us a fabulous breakfast. You know what’s almost as good as candy for breakfast?”
    “Cake!”
    Shelby laughed. “Close. Pancakes. Puppy dog pancakes.”
    With a giggle, Callie laid her head on Shelby’s shoulder. “I love Mama.”
    “I love Callie,” Shelby replied, and promised herself she’d do whatever she had to do to give Callie a good, secure life.
    •   •   •
    A FTER BREAKFAST , she helped her daughter dress, bundled them both up. She’d enjoyed the snow at Christmas, had barely noticed it in January, after Richard’s accident.
    But now it was March, and she was thoroughly sick of it, and the bitter air that showed no sign of thawing. But it was warm enough in the garage to settle Callie into her car seat, to haul all the heavy garment bags into the sleek-lined SUV she probably wouldn’t have much longer.
    She’d need to find enough money to buy a secondhand car. A good, safe, child-friendly car. A minivan, she thought, as she backed out of the garage.
    She drove carefully. The roads here had been well plowed, but winter did its damage however exclusive the neighborhood, and there were potholes.
    She didn’t know anyone here. The winter had been so harsh, so cold, her circumstances so overwhelming, she’d stayed in more than going out. And Callie caught that nasty cold. The cold, Shelby remembered, that had kept them home when Richard took the trip to South Carolina. The trip that was supposed to be a family winter break.
    They would’ve been with him on the boat, and hearing her daughter chattering to Fifi, it didn’t bear thinking about. Instead she concentrated on negotiating traffic, and finding the consignment shop.
    She transferred Callie to her stroller and, cursing the biting wind, dragged the top three bags out of the car. As she fought to open the shop door, keep the bags from sliding and block Callie from the worst of the wind, a woman pulled open the door.
    “Oh, wow! Let me give you a hand.”
    “Thank you. They’re a little heavy so I should—”
    “I’ve got them. Macey! Treasure trove.”
    Another woman—this one very pregnant—stepped out from a back room. “Good morning. Well, hello, cutie,” she said to Callie.
    “You got a baby in your tummy.”
    “Yes, I do.” Laying a hand over it, Macey smiled at Shelby. “Welcome to Second Chances. Do you have some things for us to consider?”
    “I do.” A quick glance around showed Shelby racks and shelves of clothes and accessories. And a very tiny area dedicated to men’s clothes.
    Her hopes sank.
    “I haven’t had a chance to come in before, so I wasn’t sure what you . . . Most of what I brought in are suits. Men’s suits and shirts and jackets.”
    “We don’t get nearly enough menswear.” The woman who’d let her in tapped the garment bags she’d laid on a wide counter. “Is it all right to