Lies That Bind

Eliza looked startled. “Because Maddie was difficult?”

“That was one of the reasons. He was also hot. And he asked me. Whatever, he and I were not soul mates. But I was scared of being alone. My foster parents couldn’t wait for me to leave when I turned eighteen. I was lucky they let me stay until the end of the school year. Nothing had prepared me for finding a place to live, trying to get a job without any skills. Billy Bob seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Only he wasn’t,” Eliza guessed.

“You got it. His idea of a wife was someone to show off to his friends. And get him a beer while he watched football. His glory days were on the high school football team, and he’s never done anything else. At least I guess he hasn’t. He was still talking about all his touchdowns when I filed for divorce and headed for Manhattan. I haven’t heard from him since.”

She pushed aside the remembered hurt of being wanted solely for her looks. There was more to April Jeffries than a beautiful face, corn-silk hair and blue eyes, though most people never bothered to search for it. The few who did had become true friends. April had grown used to the attention that came from being a model, but sometimes, deep inside, she wished she hadn’t been blessed with such beauty. She wanted people to like her for who she was, not what she looked like.

“So you were in Manhattan when I was in Boston,” Eliza sighed. “I could have driven down to see you.”

“How did you like Boston?”

“Okay. It was as good a place as any other. How did you like New York?”

“I loved it. I worked as a clerk in a deli near the garment district. There’s so much life in the city. I would still be there if I hadn’t moved to France, which turns out to have been a good thing. I don’t think I would have hit it as big modeling in the States.”

April yawned and snuggled down onto the pillow a little more. “Tell me how you got into cooking,” she said, wanting to hear more about Eliza. There was no hurry, she realized. She’d arranged her schedule so she could stay through the end of June.

“Later,” Eliza promised. “I can tell you’re half-asleep. I’m so glad to see you again, April. I’ve missed you so much.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Blood sisters, remember?” She held up her finger.

Eliza touched it with her own scarred fingertip.

Smiling, April closed her eyes and was soon asleep.

WHEN SHE AWOKE, it was late afternoon. The sun shone in her window, dust motes dancing in the beams. She lay there for a while, letting her eyes roam around the familiar bedroom. It looked the same as the day she left. There were old rock posters on the walls, jumbled books in the bookshelves. April loved to read. Books had taken her away from the small Mississippi town and swept her into adventure. Her grades in school had never been as high as Eliza’s, because if a subject didn’t interest her, she hadn’t bothered doing more than the minimum to get by. She had excelled in English literature, however. And French.

Recognizing favorite books, she vowed she’d reread some of them while she was here.

As she got out of bed to freshen up, April was touched to see that Eliza had unpacked for her. Her clothes were put away and her suitcase tucked into the closet.

After she’d changed her clothes, April went downstairs. The phone sat on the table at the foot of the stairs. She remembered how she’d argued and argued for an extension, one located somewhere a little more private. Obviously, Maddie still felt that one phone was enough.

Wandering into the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway. Eliza was cooking and the aroma made her mouth water.

“That smells divine. What is it?”

“Gumbo. We’re having it for dinner, but I want it to simmer all afternoon. Cade’s coming.”

“Am I going to be in the way?” April asked.

“Not at all. We’re mature adults,” Eliza teased. “We can behave around others.”

“Hmm, like that kiss earlier?”

Eliza beamed. “I love him so much I ache with it.”

“He seems to feel the same. Tell me what happened to split up high school’s couple-most-likely-to-succeed.”

“He blamed me for Chelsea’s death.”

“Hey, wasn’t that the same day Jo got beaten so badly? And Maddie had a fit because I was caught smoking in school and was suspended? And you cut classes? The day we were separated.”

“The day from hell,” Eliza agreed, stirring the gumbo. “Cade and I have cleared things up…finally.”

“Yeah, I guess so, from that kiss.”

“Want something to eat before we go to the hospital?” Eliza asked.

“A sandwich will hold me. Maybe we should wait until tomorrow to go to the hospital.” She felt oddly nervous about seeing Maddie again.

Eliza put down her spoon and shook her head. She went to the refrigerator and pulled out cold cuts and mayonnaise. “Maddie is so looking forward to your visit. I told her the minute I knew you were coming. She can hardly wait.”

“How do you know that? I thought she couldn’t talk.” April sat at the table, in the place that had been hers so many years ago.

“She has limited mobility in her right hand, so she squeezes once for yes and twice for no. It’s hard coming up with conversation that requires a yes or no response, but it’s the best I can do. The speech therapist is working with her. She says Maddie’s making progress, but I don’t hear it.” Eliza quickly made a couple of sandwiches, cut them and handed one to April.

“Thanks. I’m still not sure about this.” It was silly of her to feel so scared of seeing Maddie again.

“She wants to see you.”

“I know. I want to see her, too, but I’m nervous.” There, she’d admitted what was bothering her. Their parting hadn’t been amicable. Her aborted visit to Maraville a year later had not gone well. Would their reunion be any better? April hoped so. Otherwise she wouldn’t have made the trip from Paris.

“I’LL JUST POP in to say hi,” Eliza said as they walked down the hospital corridor a little while later. “Then you’re on your own.”

April wasn’t sure what she would say, but her nervousness fled when they entered the room and she saw Maddie. The woman had aged as Eliza said. Her hair was gray and thin, her cheeks hollow, her skin wrinkled and parchmentlike. But Maddie’s eyes were bright and they seemed to light up when she saw April. One side of her mouth lifted up in a smile and garbled sounds came out.

“Hi, Maddie,” April said softly. How could she have been worried about seeing her foster mother again?

She leaned over and gathered the older woman into a hug, squeezing gently. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, blinking back tears. It was true, April realized. She had missed Maddie. And Eliza and Jo. Only now that she was back could she admit to herself it was good to be home.

Just for a visit.

CHAPTER TWO

“WHAT I CAN’T FIGURE is what you’re doing in this backwater town. If you had to leave New Orleans, why not choose a city that at least offered some diversions? What do you do here for fun—watch trees grow?” Jack Palmer leaned back in the rocking chair—rocking chair, for God’s sake—on Sam Witt’s front porch. Maybe when he was eighty he’d want a rocker, but not now. He looked at his friend in bafflement. What had happened to change the man so much? Sam used to have a fire in his belly that only constant work could assuage. Now he was content to sit on a blasted porch in a bucolic town as unlike New Orleans as Jack had ever seen.

Sam smiled. “The town grows on you.”

Jack sighed loudly. “Maybe. I won’t be here long enough to find out. I came to see you, hoping for some action. If I wanted to sit around and do nothing, I could have stayed with my parents.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sam asked. He took a long drink of his beer and studied his friend.

“Too much coddling,” Jack growled. He had hated every moment his mother had fussed over him. Sure he’d been injured by a land mine, but injured wasn’t dead. And he was mobile. What more could they expect when he’d been covering Iraq?

“Probably scared them to death when they got word you’d been blown up,” Sam said reasonably.

Jack wasn’t in the mood for reasonable. He was antsy.

“I was injured, not blown up.”

“The guy with you died,” Sam reminded him.

He hardly needed reminding. Not a day went by that Jack didn’t think about Pete and fate and that blasted mine. Why had he been spared and not his cameraman?

“Anyway,” Jack continued, “until I’m one-hundred percent again, I’m grounded. No reporting.”

“Relax, Jack. You’ll heal at your own pace. Once you’re fit, you can head back into the line of fire.”

“In the meantime, I’m supposed to do what?”

“Did you visit your sister?”

“Yes. Alice said to tell you hi if I saw you. And her brood was wild. If she and Ed don’t rein in some of that energy, they’re going to have a pack of hellions by the time the kids are teenagers.”

“So, can’t stay at your mother’s, can’t stay at your sister’s. I’m next best, right?”

“I thought you were still in New Orleans.”

“I told you after Patty died that I was leaving. I should have done it before her death. She hated my job. She wouldn’t have minded it so much here in Maraville. It’s a quiet, slow-paced town.”

“She’d have been bored to tears,” Jack said, looking across the lawn at the street. He hadn’t seen a car drive by in twenty minutes. “And you’re happy here?” he asked with some skepticism.

“Content, I’d say.” Sam took another swallow of beer.

For a split second, Jack envied him the cold beer. Still on medication, he wasn’t drinking. He’d tried to kick the pills a week ago, but the knife-sharp pain in his foot and ankle had kept him up all night long. He’d cut back, but sometimes the meds were the only thing that helped.

He hated being dependent on drugs of any kind. Or on the hospitality of friends, no matter how far back they went. And he and Sam went back to early childhood. They’d started elementary school together in Baton Rouge. They’d enrolled in college together, and enlisted into the military as a team. Then their paths had separated. Sam had married Patty and become a New Orleans cop.

Jack majored in journalism in college, and used his military experience as a springboard to reporting news in foreign countries. Lately, all he seemed to see was death and destruction. He rubbed his hand across his eyes. He continued to see it in his dreams at night. But if he didn’t keep going, he might take time to rethink things. Who knew where that would lead? Look at Sam. From a detective in New Orleans to a sheriff in a backwater town in Mississippi.

Losing his wife must have been hard. Jack had liked Patty a lot. How had Sam stood it?

“Contentment?” Jack said, just to prod his old friend. “You sound like you’re ancient. What happened to the fire you had for righting wrong?”

“Hey, I can right wrongs here as well as in New Orleans,” Sam replied easily. “I know my neighbors. I’ve made some good friends over the last couple of years. And I don’t see the drug dealers or killers like I used to in the city. It’s realigned my thinking about mankind.”

“Don’t you get bored?”

Sam shrugged. “Not as much as I thought I would.”

“So what am I supposed to do while I’m here?” Jack knew he was whining, and didn’t like it. The thought of moving elsewhere didn’t help. Who else would put up with him while he convalesced?

“I’d suggest we go dancing, but with your bum leg, I don’t think that would work.” Sam laughed at Jack’s dour expression.

“I don’t go dancing even when my leg isn’t banged up,” he groused.

“I know. Tomorrow you can ride shotgun with me, see the town, meet some folks. Maybe you’ll find something to do. If not, you’re on your own. I’m not your keeper.”

Not like his mother or sister, Jack thought, who fussed over him every moment he was awake. They hadn’t wanted him to do anything more than sit in front of a television all day to rest his leg. That had driven him nuts. He wasn’t an invalid, just temporarily sidelined.

Maybe he was still a little nuts. He couldn’t settle down for a minute. He was restless sitting on the porch. Sam, on the other hand, seemed content to linger in the twilight and talk with an old friend.

Was he destined to seek that adrenaline rush all his life? Jack wondered. If he didn’t find some diversion soon, he’d head back to New Orleans.

To what? A motel room and television? He didn’t even have an apartment to call his own. Since he traveled all the time, it made no sense to have one. Mail was sent to his folks’ house, where they held it until he made one of his infrequent visits, or to the office in Atlanta to be forwarded to his latest posting. Any bills were paid through his bank.

He looked at the porch, at the yard. Not a lot to see in the gray of evening. “You buy this place?” he asked.

“Yep,” Sam said.

“So you’re staying.”

“I’ve been here a couple of years. Like what I have. I’m staying.”

Two years in one place. A house. Jack looked at his friend, feeling the gap widen. They’d been close as boys, even as young men, talking big, living for adventure. But their paths had diverged, and now Sam seemed to belong to another world, unlike the one Jack was familiar with.

Or was he the one who lived in another dimension? Risking life and limb daily to get the story. Seeing the hot spots in the world. Making a difference. God, he couldn’t wait to get back.

He stretched out his left leg, wincing at the pain that shot through it. His foot had all but been blown off. Only the skill of the surgeons at the military hospital in Germany had saved it. Whether he would ever regain full function was still questionable. He could walk, though, using a cane. That was what mattered now. He’d work on the mobility once the cast came off. With any luck, he’d be back on the front lines in only a few months—if he survived this interval in Maraville, Mississippi.

“Okay, I’ll give it a shot,” Jack said, knowing he didn’t have any choice.

They were silent for a while. Then Jack looked at Sam. “Been dating lately?” Patty had been dead for more than three years. He was curious as to whether Sam was moving on.

Sam shook his head. “You?”

Jack shrugged. “The front lines of a war aren’t exactly conducive to meeting women. Any prospects in Maraville?”

Sam laughed softly. “Not unless you like them really young. Anyone our age is already married, or has long left for brighter lights.”

“See, I was right. This town is dead. No one stays here if they can go elsewhere.”

“So I’m getting to be an old fogy, is that what you’re saying?”

“If the shoe fits.”

“I’m not ready,” Sam said softly. “I still miss Patty like she died yesterday.”

“At least you had five years together. I’m sorry as hell, Sam. She was the best.”

“You ever think about settling down?”

“Never. I’ll be reporting to you live from the next trouble zone when I’m in my eighties.” Jack hoped it was true. If his foot didn’t heal properly, he might never go on that kind of assignment again. He didn’t want to think about it.

“I told Etta Williams you were coming to visit,” Sam said.

“Who is Etta Williams?”

“The local librarian. She wondered if you would do a couple of talks at the library about being a foreign correspondent.”

“I don’t see myself talking to a bunch of gray-haired old ladies about the death and destruction in Iraq.”

“Etta seems to feel younger people would be interested in how to get into journalism, how to get into foreign reporting. The basics of the business, with an occasional personal story thrown in to showcase your unique style.”

Jack laughed. “My unique style?”

“Standing in front of firing artillery to report the latest developments,” Sam said drily.

“Hell, why not? It’s not as if I have a lot of other pressing engagements.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d feel that way.”

“So you already accepted for me?” Jack asked.

“No, it’s still your choice. But it’ll give you something to do. How about Wednesdays for a few weeks.”

“If I stay here that long.” Jack wondered if the medication was dulling his senses. He wasn’t used to giving speeches or answering questions. He reported news—hard news. He wondered when the last thing of any interest had happened in Maraville. Probably during the Civil War.

“Stay, or go,” Sam said. “But if you stay, try to fit in, don’t find fault with everything you see. I know we’re not Baghdad or Cairo. But this is a nice town. The people are real. These are the folks the soldiers are fighting for.”

“So maybe I can do a human-interest story.”

“Or maybe you can just live here for a while and not do a story,” Sam suggested. “When was the last time you lived your own life and not a news story?”

Jack frowned. It was what he was made for—getting the news out to the rest of the world. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Until then, he might as well regale people with the realities of reporting. It wasn’t all glamour and excitement. A lot of it was drudgery—digging for facts, verifying each one, cross-checking references and sources. Making sure the report was as unbiased as possible.

“I’ll tell Etta in the morning,” Sam said.

A pickup truck drove down the street, passed the house, then braked. After backing up, it parked in front of Sam’s place. When a man got out and headed for the porch, Sam rose and went to the steps.

“Evening, Cade,” he said.

“Sam.” He glanced at Jack. “Am I interrupting?”

“Come on up. This business?”

“Not really. Just wanted to see if you had narrowed down the search for Jo Hunter.”

“No.” Sam made introductions and offered Cade a beer, which he took as he settled in a chair.

“April showed up today,” he said. “She and Eliza are talking a mile a minute, so I left right after dinner. It would be great if we could find Jo while April is here. Those girls were close. I know Eliza’s talked about nothing else since April said she’d come.”

“I’ll see about sorting through the lists we have and narrowing the search,” Sam said. “I didn’t think it was urgent.”

“Someone missing?” Jack asked, his curiosity aroused. Was there a story in this?

Cade explained about three girls who were raised by one of the local residents. “They lost touch when they were sent to separate foster homes twelve years ago. Two of the girls are back in town now and would like to locate the third.”

“One’s engaged to Cade,” Sam interjected. “Eliza Shaw.”

“Yeah, guess that’s my main reason for coming by,” Cade admitted. “I’d love to have Jo show up and surprise both her and April.”

Sam told Jack about the search he’d started for Jo Hunter and the lack of leads he’d turned up so far.

“She could be dead for all we know,” he finished.

“Or married, or living underground,” Jack said. Maybe there was no story after all.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” Cade asked. “You look familiar. Not from Maraville, but New Orleans maybe?”

“From CNN, probably,” Sam said. “Jack’s been in Iraq until recently.”

“You’re that Jack Palmer. I should have recognized you immediately. Sorry about that.” Cade looked at Jack with new interest. “Sometime, if you’re in the mood, I’d like to hear more about what’s going on over there.”

“Jack plans to give a series of talks at the library, starting on Wednesday,” Sam said.

“A series sounds long-term,” Jack growled. “I don’t know how long I’m staying.”

“Okay, one or two talks,” Sam amended. “I want to hear them myself.”

“Let me know the time, and I’ll do my best to be there.” Cade stood up to go. “Thanks for the beer. Call me if you hear anything that might help us locate Jo.”

Jack needed to rethink his approach to the library talks. Maybe his audience wouldn’t only be gray-haired ladies after all.

BY WEDNESDAY MORNING, April was feeling more acclimated to the Mississippi spring. The hot, humid days zapped her energy—what little she had—so she rested as much as possible. The nights were cooler, and she and Eliza stayed up late talking. They had so much to share. April couldn’t believe she’d been here several days and they still talked nonstop from dinner to bedtime.

This morning she had helped Eliza dust and vacuum the rooms they were using. The renovations seemed to spread dust everywhere. There’d been four men working on the project the past couple of days, and every time she walked by, they stopped to stare, strike up a conversation, make an excuse for her to stay and talk. She didn’t mind talking with the workmen, but whenever she was around they seemed to compete with each other for her attention. Maybe she should mention it to Cade, but on second thought she decided against it. There was no sense making a big deal time, and she’d do her best to be friendly but not encourage their flirting. She’d had to deal with situations like these before.

She’d gone to visit Maddie both days. April wasn’t sure who had changed, her or Maddie, but their visits were going well. Maybe that was partly due to the fact Maddie couldn’t talk, but April didn’t think so. She skimmed over her marriages, focusing on her life in Paris. Maddie seemed to love hearing about her flat, about the fresh baguettes from the boulangerie, and the lively cafés on the Left Bank. April tried to give her career a bit of a spin, glossing over how hard it was to maintain her slim figure by constantly watching what she ate, and getting enough sleep to keep circles from beneath her eyes.

Today Maddie had been tired from her physical therapy, so April had stayed only a few minutes. She should stick to late afternoon or evening visits, rather than right after lunch. With nothing else to do, she walked down the main street of town, reminiscing as she went. Passing Ruby’s Café, she glanced inside, debating whether to stop for a cup of coffee or not.

Before she made up her mind, the door burst open and a waitress came rushing out.

“April Jeffries. Eliza said you were here. I’m glad to see you.”

April was embraced in a friendly hug.

“Betsy?” She hugged the woman back. Betsy had been more Eliza’s friend than April’s. She and Eliza had embarked on a fledgling catering business in Maraville, though Betsy was keeping her regular job until their new company was financially secure. She was the first friend from school other than Cade that April had seen in the two days she’d been in town.

“You look fantastic,” Betsy said. “I can’t believe you’re a supermodel in Europe. All I’ve ever done is stay in Maraville and marry Dexter Bullard.”

“Sounds like as good a way to live as any,” April said diplomatically. Truth to tell, she’d once hoped to do something very much like that. After two failed marriages, those dreams had changed.

“Come in and have something to eat,” Betsy said.

“Not just now. Maybe tomorrow. I ate lunch before I went to see Maddie.”

No matter how glad she was to see Betsy, April didn’t feel up to talking with an old acquaintance. Tomorrow, she promised herself.

“Okay, then. Maybe I’ll stop by the house later and we can catch up.”

April nodded. She’d heard a lot about Betsy from Eliza already. She’d have to look up some of her own friends—if any had remained in Maraville. But not today.

Continuing her walk down the main street, she passed the library, noticing a poster with a picture of Jack Palmer, CNN correspondent, prominently displayed on the door.

She did a double take. Jack Palmer here in Maraville? She often saw him on television at home, where her satellite connection pulled in both CNN and his feed to the BBC. What in the world was a reporter of his reputation doing in Maraville? According to the poster, giving a series of lectures starting today.

Intrigued, she walked into the cool building. The scents of old books assailed her and she smiled at the once-familiar smell. She’d spent many afternoons in this place as a child. Fewer afternoons as she grew older.