Lies That Bind Read Online Free PDF Page B

bedroom throw rug, the water stain on the ceiling. She didn’t think about the fact that her father was gone or that Dolores Haggerty had ruined the funeral luncheon; instead, when she wasn’t focused on the rug or the ceiling, she thought about the solace she would have gotten from the kind people who had attended, had Dolores Haggerty not ruined it for her—Mrs. Devereaux and her trolling for Jack’s apartment notwithstanding. Jimmy Moriarty. The Department of Public Works guys who loved her and looked out for her like she was their sister.
    She had lain in the bed, drifting off every now and again, dreaming of her father. In one dream, she had handed him a loaf of bread and said, “Here, Dad. It’s a challah. Your favorite.” And he had responded, solemnly, “It’s rye.”
    She had woken up abruptly, wondering if she should have gone to the hospital, just as the EMTs had recommended.
    Jo had called, as had Chris Larsson, both checking in on her, both worried that she would never get out of bed, if their voices were any indication. She would get out of bed when she was ready, and two days after the funeral, she was ready.
    Now back at the store, once a haven for her, a gullet full of ibuprofen for the pounding at the back of her head, Maeve was already into the throes of the Christmas preparations that she went through every year. This year, though, was tinged with sadness. She wondered if it would always be like that, always a little sad, or if each passing year would bring a little more comfort.
    “I’m starting to rethink Jason as the baby’s name.” Jo picked up a broken cookie from a tray in the case and munched on it thoughtfully.
    Maeve cleaned the coffee maker, dumping a large pile of grounds into the garbage can by the kitchen door. “So what are your options?”
    Jo traced circles around her belly button with her index finger. On her ring finger glinted a huge solitaire engagement ring and a band alternating with diamonds and sapphires; Doug had chosen well even if Maeve was starting to think he was a bit of an absentee husband. He hadn’t attended the wake or the funeral and like always, Jo had made up some excuse about overtime, a big case. “Well, it has to be a ‘J’ name because Grandma Julia is the last person to have passed. What do you think about Jordan?”
    “I like it,” Maeve said. This was not the first conversation they had had about the baby’s name; in the last seven months, Maeve had lost count of how many times they had discussed it.
    “Maybe,” Jo said, oblivious to the sound of the bell jingling over the front door of the shop. “We have birth class tonight. Don’t forget.”
    How could she? Jo had only mentioned it every day for the past week, both in conversation and in texts. Maeve thought she might get a pass after having been hit in the head, but apparently, that wasn’t the case. She greeted the customer standing at the counter when it was clear that Jo was otherwise occupied, thoughts of baby names and birth class taking precedent over Maeve’s business, a money-making venture, as she reminded Jo on a daily basis.
    Maeve sold a brown-butter apple tart and a quiche Lorraine, two items that would have landed in the trash bin or Jo’s refrigerator had they not been sold; Maeve didn’t keep items in the cases more than two days. She ended the day with a fifty-dollar order and felt relieved when she saw that she had had a very good day, retail-wise.
    In the kitchen, Jo took her usual seat on a stool next to the counter. “Now that we have some downtime,” Jo said, as she watched Maeve wash a sink full of pots, “tell me what happened at the funeral the other day. Something with those old neighbors of yours? I saw you run into the street. I saw what you looked like when you came back. I didn’t want to bring it up, you know, with what happened the other day.”
    Maeve hesitated.
    “You know you can trust me,” Jo said. “I promise I won’t say a thing.”