BooksBarbecue
Back One White Lie Save as PDF
Chapters (59)
  1. COVER
  2. About the Author
  3. DEDICATION
  4. ONE
  5. TWO
  6. THREE
  7. FOUR
  8. FIVE
  9. SIX
  10. SEVEN
  11. EIGHT
  12. NINE
  13. TEN
  14. ELEVEN
  15. TWELVE
  16. THIRTEEN
  17. FOURTEEN
  18. FIFTEEN
  19. SIXTEEN
  20. SEVENTEEN
  21. EIGHTEEN
  22. NINETEEN
  23. TWENTY
  24. TWENTY-ONE
  25. TWENTY-TWO
  26. TWENTY-THREE
  27. TWENTY-FOUR
  28. TWENTY-FIVE
  29. TWENTY-SIX
  30. TWENTY-SEVEN
  31. TWENTY-EIGHT
  32. TWENTY-NINE
  33. THIRTY
  34. THIRTY-ONE
  35. THIRTY-TWO
  36. THIRTY-THREE
  37. THIRTY-FOUR
  38. THIRTY-FIVE
  39. THIRTY-SIX
  40. THIRTY-SEVEN
  41. THIRTY-EIGHT
  42. THIRTY-NINE
  43. FORTY
  44. FORTY-ONE
  45. FORTY-TWO
  46. FORTY-THREE
  47. FORTY-FOUR
  48. FORTY-FIVE
  49. FORTY-SIX
  50. FORTY-SEVEN
  51. FORTY-EIGHT
  52. FORTY-NINE
  53. FIFTY
  54. FIFTY-ONE
  55. FIFTY-TWO
  56. FIFTY-THREE
  57. FIFTY-FOUR
  58. Acknowledgments
  59. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

She smiled matter-of-factly, then looked down at Dusty. ‘Oh, and you don’t really have to use the bags around here. No one does. Between the deer shit and the bear shit, it’s not a big deal.’

I nodded, skin prickling at the thought of bears casually waltzing by. She stared, as if waiting for me to say something next. ‘We should probably get going,’ I said, tugging on Dusty’s leash.

‘You should come over for dinner,’ she said suddenly, her smile turning on again. ‘You just got in, and I know you don’t have groceries in the house. Unless you’re the kind of person who does that first thing, and in that case, I hate you. Please share your secrets to perfection with the rest of us.’

The sound of my laugh surprised me – it had been a long time since I’d heard it. In another time and place, the answer would have been easy. I’d have suggested we get a drink, and we’d have met at some cocktail bar with exposed brick and bartenders who read Bukowski, ordered concoctions made with ridiculous things like absinthe rinses and egg whites. By the end of the night, we’d have been great friends, having exchanged everything from the number of nights per week we slept with our partners to the unbearable pain of a UTI. In this world, however, the thought was unnerving. What if she posted something about me to Facebook or Instagram? What if it had been so long since I made a new friend, since I expanded my circle beyond Davis and Ellie and the world we’d created together, that I forgot how? What if my internal compass was so fucked, I’d completely lost any sense of who I could trust?

‘I didn’t go shopping yet, but I really –’

Vera cut me off. ‘Good. Then I don’t have to hate you. Come over. Eight thirty. You’re not vegetarian or gluten-free or allergic to any other wonderful things, are you?’

‘I don’t know –’

‘You don’t know if you’re allergic or you don’t know if you want to come?’

I laughed again.

‘Look,’ she said, ‘I’m the kind of person who cooks way more than I need to. If you find yourself in need of a hot meal, come over. You can meet John, my husband, and I promise we won’t be screaming about the laundry.’

It shocked me, the way she casually admitted she’d been fighting with her husband. It made me feel like I was the messed-up one, not her.