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Rory licks his lips. “Yes, it is odd. I’m sorry for that. I just needed to—” He closes his eyes. “I thought you couldn’t lie.”
I can smell beer on him. He’s not woozy though. Not drunk. But certainly not one hundred percent sober. “What?”
“I… someone told me that you’re bad at lying.”
“Who?”
“Confidential source,” he says.
I shake my head, open my mouth to respond, then close it. He’s not wrong. I don’t lie. In fact, I never do. I’m cursed to be a truth teller even when no one is expecting it out of me. “He would have probably thrown you off the porch if I hadn’t done that. Besides, it’s not lying, it’s doing what has to be done.”
“He has dementia?”
I want to recoil and slam the door on him. “Was this something else you learned from yourconfidential source?”
Rory runs a hand through his dark hair. He’s nervous. I like that. “Sorry, I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
His brows jump. “Huh?”
I grab the edge of the door. If he isn’t careful, I’ll slam it closed right in his face. “Whatare you sorry for?”
“Well, for showing up to your house late at night, for one. And then for the lying comment. Then the dad comment.”
I nod. “Fine. I accept your apology, now if you’ll excuse me?—”
I try to shut the door, but Rory stops it with his hand. “There’s more thing I have to apologize for!”
“Maybe you have me confused for a Catholic priest, but I don’t usually take confessions at this hour, Sheriff.”
Rory cracks a smile. “That was good. Funny.”
I hadn’t meant to be funny, but I can’t help how nice it feels that he thought it was. “Why are you here?”
He takes a deep breath. “I think I jumped to some conclusions and I’m not proud of how I acted this morning.”
“Oh.” I didn’t expect that.
“I don’t think you did it.”
“Because a little birdie told you I can’t lie.”
Rory sucks his lower lip into his mouth and then shrugs. “Kind of.”
I tilt my head to the side. All of his professional gravitas has disappeared and in its place is a bumbling, rambling mess. I sort of like it when he doesn’t feel like the ground is steady beneath him. “Kind of?”
“I mean…” he sighs. “Maybe I’m being a little unreasonable by believing it, okay, but?—”
“I told my mother I was coming home from my friend’s house and I’d be home in half an hour,” I say, my voice surprising me just as much as Rory. I lick my lips. It’s out there. Might as well finish the story. “But that wasn’t true, because we were watching a movie that had an hour and a half left. I just didn’t want to upset her by telling her I wouldn’t be home for dinner.” I can’t believe I’m telling him this. But I don’t want him questioning my integrity any more. This is all the proof I have. “When I didn’t come home after half an hour, she went out to try and find me. And her car got T-boned by a semi at an intersection.”
Rory’s face slackens, though his eyebrows lift. “Wh-what?”
“I lied and it resulted in the worst thing that’s ever happened to me or my father,” I say. “So I can’t lie anymore about anything.” I roll my eyes. “Unless I’m trying to protect my dad from having an episode.”
He shakes his head slightly. “How old were you?”
“Twelve,” I say. It was a long time ago. Not long enough that the memory doesn’t slice through my sternum, remind me how one seemingly innocent lie killed my mom. Broke my dad’s heart. Keeps me from smiling to this day.
