The Liar Next Door by Nicola Marsh
Three
Saylor
My back aches, my feet are swollen and my head is on the verge of exploding. Enduring congratulations from a bunch of strangers isn’t my idea of fun but I decided to throw this party to establish rapport with our new neighbors. I need to fit in, to be accepted, to become one of them, because I only moved here for one reason.
To get what I’m owed.
“You okay?” Lloyd’s hand rests in the small of my back, giving it a gentle rub, and I stifle a moan.
“Better now you’re doing that.”
“I told you not to wear those heels.”
“Stop nagging, more pressure,” I murmur, sighing with pleasure as his strong fingers dig into my back. “That feels so good.”
He leans down and whispers in my ear, “Maybe we should ditch this party and continue this massage in private?”
“Pervert,” I say, grinning at him, loving that he still finds me as attractive at twenty weeks pregnant as he did when we married nine months ago.
Our trajectory from dating to parenthood has been swift. My religious parents approved of my pregnancy so soon after we married because they introduced me to Lloyd in the first place. They knew him through their church, a modern blend of Methodist and Presbyterian. He’d been a visiting youth minister and his ease talking with kids is one of the things that caught my eye. I saw him preach once, in the early days, and anyone who can captivate a bunch of kids must be doing something right. He’d been using an old parable about forgiving your neighbor for any wrongdoing and relating it to a kid who’d stolen his friend’s bike the week before. Making the story relatable ensured the kids could identify and I’d been impressed.
Lloyd is trustworthy, exactly what I needed at the time after having my heart broken by a guy who was anything but. A guy who’d been the love of my life. A guy who wouldn’t know the meaning of dependability even if it bit him on the butt.
My parents had seen it. They’d disapproved of him from the moment he strutted into my senior year at high school. I’d fallen hard, they’d done everything in their power to keep us apart. They deemed any boy who didn’t go to church not worthy of me. Throw in the rumors about alcohol and drug use, and our romance had been destined for failure.
I should’ve been happy to see the back of him. But there’s a vast difference between logic and the heart, so when I saw him last year, I did something incredibly stupid.
I’m dealing with the consequences now.
Lloyd and I married in a quiet ceremony presided over by my folks. I hadn’t wanted any fuss or attention. I’d been eerily composed standing outside the church, mentally counting the red bricks above the doorway to stay focused and quell the urge to bolt. My father had been reciting some passage from the Bible about love, but I’d tuned him out too, breathing slowly and deeply, filling my lungs with the familiar scents of damp moss and oak, comforting smells that evoked memories of attending services every Sunday for as long as I could remember.
Marrying Lloyd had been the best decision I’ve ever made. Some guys have dependable stamped in invisible ink on their foreheads and Lloyd is one of them. I’m so lucky. His adoration, his steadiness, calms me. I wish I could be a good person like him, so I could be honest and tell him why I really wanted to move to Hambridge Heights, why I insisted on it. He’s clueless and I intend to keep it that way. I need him, as more than a husband and a father. He’ll never know how much.
“We should introduce ourselves to our next-door neighbors.” He points to an attractive blond couple talking to a woman in dowdy jeans and an ugly paisley top. “Frankie and Andre.”
“They sound like a pop duo.”
“Pretty enough to be one too.” He bumps me gently with his hip. “Don’t go getting any ideas about swapping me for that blond himbo.”
“Don’t you mean mimbo? As in male bimbo?”
“Whatever the terminology, you’re stuck with me.” He presses his palm to my belly that’s only just beginning to protrude. The ob-gyn said the baby is small for five months but he’s not worried so neither am I. I may be able to control some things in my life, like where we live and how I’ll get the money to support my baby, but the size of the life growing inside me isn’t one of them.
“We’re lucky to have you.” I cover his hand with mine and we stare into each other’s eyes. Lloyd’s are brown, mine are hazel, and I wonder if our baby will inherit the same color or something entirely different.
I know next to nothing about Lloyd’s family. His parents died a few years ago and that’s when he found his way into the church. My parents adore him and I can see why. He’s never given me any reason to doubt him, which makes my deception worse.
But everything I do is for our baby. It’s justified. Maybe if I keep telling myself this, I’ll start to believe it?
I keep referring to our “baby” when I know it’s a boy, as everyone at this gender reveal is about to discover. I’ve already started decorating the nursery in pale blues and greens, with a border featuring tiny boats and dolphins. I love the idea of having a boy the image of his father. Lloyd had been ambivalent about discovering the sex but I’d been adamant. I had to know. I’m done with surprises.
Someone snaps a photo of us on their cell and we blink, breaking our stare and we laugh. I turn and see it’s the small pretty blonde whose husband is a himbo according to Lloyd.
She’s brandishing her cell and smiling. “Sorry for the intrusion. I’m not usually snap-happy but the two of you standing there with your hands on your baby bump is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Thought you might like a memento.”
“Thanks.” I slip my hand into Lloyd’s and we move toward the small group. “I know it’s weird to meet like this but I’m Saylor, this is my partner Lloyd and this,” I pat my belly, “is Bump.”
“Frankie. Pleased to meet you.” She gestures at the gorgeous guy by her side. “This is my husband, Andre, and our neighbor on the other side, Celeste.”
No wonder Lloyd scoffingly warned me off. Andre’s stunning, his beauty marred by a scar running from his right eyebrow to his hairline. It adds a toughness to his features, making him breathtaking.
“Hey,” Celeste says, her gaze lingering on my belly a tad too long, making me uncomfortable, but I force a smile and return her greeting with a “Hey.”
As Lloyd and Andre shake hands, I see something over Andre’s shoulder: more precisely, someone.
It can’t be.
What is he doing here?
I feel the blood drain from my face and I’m grateful Lloyd has his arm around my waist.
Ruston is standing by the food table, alone, serving salad onto a plate. As if sensing my gaze, he looks up and his shock mirrors mine.
Like always, I feel the eye contact with Ruston all the way down to my toes. Neither of us look away. Stunned, I can’t breathe, my lungs constricting in horror. This can’t be happening.
After what seems like an eternity, he arches an eyebrow and finally turns away, leaving me flustered. My palms are clammy, my fingers tingling, and I’m lightheaded with nerves. It’s hard enough pretending daily that everything’s fine so Lloyd doesn’t notice I’m on edge. Secrets have a way of festering and growing, until it’s too late to contain and they explode in a gory mess. I don’t want that. Now this?
As if sensing my unease Frankie touches my arm, her smile genuine, her big blue eyes guileless, and I’m glad for the distraction. I wish I could tell Lloyd everything. But I can’t.
Not yet.