Page 98 of This is Why We Lied

Faith couldn’t begin to guess, and Penny didn’t seem interested in volunteering. She had taken some bacon out of her pocket and was offering it to the dog. She saw Faith looking and offered her some bacon, too.

“I’m good,” Faith said.

“Suit yourself.” Penny took a bite, staring silently at the road as she chewed.

Faith was struggling to think of random facts about Dolly Parton to break the ice when she silently reminded herself that sometimes, it was better to keep your mouth shut. She let the empty fields roll by. The cows. The occasional, low-flying, murder-bird.

As promised, the road turned bumpy. Faith had to fight with the steering wheel to keep from going into the ditch again. There were potholes in the city, but these were more like crevasses. She was grateful when she finally spotted the barn in the distance. The thing was huge, bright red, and probably new because she hadn’t seen it on Google Earth. An American flag was painted on the side that faced the road. Two horses swung up their heads to watch the Mini pass.

Penny said, “We’re patriots here. My father served in Nam.”

Faith’s brother was currently in the Air Force, but she said, “I’m grateful for his service.”

“We don’t like having you Atlanta people all up in our business,” Penny continued. “We got our own way of doing things. You stay out of our lives. We’ll stay out of yours.”

Faith knew this woman was testing her. She also knew Georgia would be Mississippi without metro Atlanta’s tax dollars. Everybody romanticized country living until they needed internet and healthcare.

“It’s up there.” Penny pointed to the only driveway for thirty miles like it was easy to miss. “On the left.”

Faith slowed to make the turn down the long driveway. She saw the name on the mailbox, and Penny’s tribalism made a lot more sense. “D. Hartshorne. That wouldn’t be the sheriff?”

“Used to be,” she said. “That’s my daddy. He lives in the trailer out back. We moved him there after his stroke cause he can’t handle stairs. Biscuits is my brother.”

Faith treaded carefully. “Are you close?”

“You mean, did he tell me about Dave not being the one that killed Mercy?”

Faith guessed she had her answer.

“If you’re wondering, Biscuits called up to the lodge to tell them, but he couldn’t get through. Phone and internet finally crapped out.” She gave Faith a meaningful glance. “He’s helping the highway patrol clear an overturned chicken truck down in Ellijay. Asked me to let them know when I go in to work.”

“Will you?”

“I dunno.”

Faith couldn’t control what Penny was going to do, but she could try to get as much information out of her as possible. “Biscuits told my partner that you used to see Mercy and Dave walloping on each other back in high school.”

“Not much of a fair fight.” Penny’s jaw had cranked down so tight that her lips barely moved when she spoke. “Mercy could take a punch, I’ll say that.”

“Until she couldn’t.”

Penny gripped her hands around the shotgun, but clearly not because she wanted to use it. Her chin tilted down to her chest as they coasted toward the farmhouse. For the first time since the woman had announced herself on the road, she seemed vulnerable.

Faith wished like hell that Will was here. He could carry a silence longer than anybody she’d ever met. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from asking a question. They had almost reached the house by the time her effort paid off.

Penny said, “Mercy was a good person. That gets lost a lot of times, but it’s true.”

Faith pulled alongside a rusted Chevy truck. The house was as worn as Penny; paint peeling off bleached wood, rotted front porch, a swaybacked roof with missing shingles. There was another horse on the side of the house. He was tied to a post. His head dipped down into the water trough, but his eyes stayed on the car. Faith suppressed a shudder. She was terrified of horses.

“What you gotta know,” Penny said, “is up here, girls get the message real early that whatever you get, that’s what you deserve.”

Faith didn’t think that message was limited to any specific region.

“There was a big stink when Mercy got pregnant in high school. All kinds of phone calls and meetings. The pastor weighed in. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like she was a good student, but she had a right to stay in school, and they wouldn’t let her. Said she set a bad example. And maybe she did, but it still wasn’t right how they treated her.”

Faith chewed her bottom lip. She hadn’t been stopped from entering ninth grade after she’d given birth to Jeremy, but everyone in the school had made it clear that they didn’t want her there. She’d had to eat lunch in the library.

“Mercy was always wild, but the way that aunt stole her baby away was wrong. She’s a lesbian. Did you hear?”