Aria and Dad’s plans showed no similarity to Marissa’s claim of the two taking a vacation.

The bell rang over the café’s door, and Sheriff Wendall walked in. I waved and he approached our booth.

After introductions, Aria peered up at him. “Are you taking me to jail until Granddad drives here?”

He chuckled and she relaxed. “I told your grandfather I’d make sure you were okay. Problem is the café closes at three.” He glanced at me. “I took the liberty of requestin’ permission for Aria to stay with you until then, providin’ Denton is present.”

“Who’s Denton?” Aria said.

I glanced at the sheriff. “I’ll explain it to her. He’s an FBI agent assigned to my case years ago. We’re friends now and neighbors.”

“Weird. But I’m good with it.”

Sheriff Wendall nodded, and I pressed in Denton’s number. He already knew the situation from the sheriff. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. I’m a little slow with the crutches.”

I stared into Aria’s smooth face. “You’ll be spending a few hours with me after all.”

Sheriff Wendall excused himself to order a cup of coffee from the take-out counter and visit with Amy-Jo.

Aria watched him leave. “Another reason I’m here is Mom dropped a bomb before she left. She intends to move to Phoenix, where the doctor says she’ll do better in a drier climate. I won’t be going. Mom says I’m too much trouble. She plans to tell Granddad I’ll miss my friends too much, and I’ll regret not graduating from Sharp’s Creek High School.”

“How do you feel about living with him?”

“I’m with him most of the time anyway when I’m not in school. Ever since I can remember, I’ve felt like Mom wanted me out of her life. This proves it. I love Granddad, but I miss Grandma.”

“I miss her too. We can share special times about her.”

Amy-Jo joined our table with the sheriff. I introduced her to Aria.

“Shelby, take the rest of the day off. Spend time with your niece.”

“But I just got back to work.”

“Family time is more important.” She pointed to Aria’s plate. “On the house, then have a wonderful day together.”

Oh, how I’d been blessed with great friends.

All these years, I’d envisioned the circumstances surrounding my first meeting with my niece or nephew. I expected an explosion of blame and accusations. An anticipated response would have been easier than the gentle girl seated across from me, a hurting teen who’d claimed to rely on her grandmother to fill an emotional vacancy.

53

Awkward best described my sensation of sitting on the passenger side of Denton’s rental car with Aria in the middle. My walk to and from work seemed to speed by faster than this. Every familiar fence post, clump of wildflowers, and dip in the road brought me closer to dealing with the past. I’d go to my grave wearing lies like another layer of skin.

I’d spent so many years with my own thoughts as a companion that I resembled a nineteenth-century hermit. What did I say to a fifteen-year-old who’d been told I’d murdered her father?