Page 51 of Nothing Ever Happens Here

I see Belinda move closer behind Riley and give him a look like “is that true” and he shakes his head subtly before aiming his attention back to Shelby.

“You’re making a fool of yourself.There was no phone in my house. I think it’s time for you to get a ride home, Shelby,” he says, and since she hasn’t registered that we’re there, we opt not to speak up right at this moment because it does seem like she should probably get a ride home and not appear so very unhinged in front of half the town. She has every right to be, but it’s not a good look.

“Let’s go, Shel,” Clay says, and she pulls away again.

“Get off me. I’m going with Mack,” she slurs, and Clay looks to Mack who leaps off her stool and collects Shelby’s things and makes her way quickly across the room to assist her.

“Let’s get outta here,” she says trying to keep it casual and not trigger any more anger.

“This guy’s a fucking crook!” Shelby yells, shoving Riley’s shoulder with her palm. Riley plays the victim—the perfectly stable one who has to suffer a crazy woman who’s gone off the deep end. Of course he does, how else would he play it? He could probably arrest her, I think, but that’s not the play he wants to make.

“A fucking thief, and he’s hiding evidence—don’t trust him” is the last thing she says as Mack ushers her out the door. And then I see Mack motion to us to follow, and we get to our feet and are right behind them.

Outside, we stand on the porch of the Trout where Shelby is flopped in a wooden rocking chair that’s covered in snow, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’ve never seen her inebriated before, and it would be entertaining if the circumstances weren’t so dire.

“That fucker,” she mumbles. “Who has a smoke?” She pushes a giant ashtray on a metal table around, which is where the smokers usually congregate, but no one else is out here right now.

“You don’t smoke, kid,” Mack says and she looks to us, all shivering in the frigid air.

“Sorry. I had a few and I planned to call a cab. Can you give us a ride to my place on your way back? We’ll figure our cars out in the morning.”

“Of course,” Herb says, and we pile into the freezing van, then drive through the dark night to Mack’s place. Shelby is quiet now, staring out the window with her forehead leaning on it and tears glistening in her eyes. Herb turns on the radio and nobody says much.

Mack suddenly inhales sharply and holds the dash with both hands. Herb must think she sees a deer in the road or maybe she’s having a heart attack or something, and he immediately pulls over.

“What is it?” he asks. Shelby is sitting up and alert now.

“I just remembered something that I didn’t really register at the time—all the shock—everything happening all at once, but…”

“What?” Shelby almost screams.

“When we found the car. Bernie’s car…there were footprints leading away from it. It was snowing, so they’d be gone now. But…even though everything points to suicide… No. No way. Someone else was there that night.”

21

MACK

It’s late morning by the time I hear Shelby stir in the guest room. I hear the rattle of the pipes and running water in the bathroom sink, so I pick up the tray of coffee and muffins I made when I was up far too early because Rowan was texting me about some boy she was crying over. I notice the coffee’s gone cold, so I pour two new mugs and tiptoe down the hall and tap on her door.

Inside Shelby looks like I remember her in college after a few too many Jell-O shots at a dorm party, and I don’t recall even seeing her take a shot of liquor like a twenty-year-old since we were actually in our twenties, but times are tough right now, so I can’t say she doesn’t deserve to do whatever gets her through.

“Morning.” I sit next to her on the bed and hand her a cup of coffee and then slide under the puffy white down comforter next to her with my own mug. “There’s a couple ibuprofen,” I say, pointing to the tray. She takes them and sips her coffee.

“Thanks, Mack.” She leans her head on my shoulder and we are both quiet for a few minutes, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the wind whipping through the tree branches and snow blowing around the deck. I designed that deck that’s so lovely, even underneath the two feet of snow on top of it. I’ll miss this house.

“I saw a check for an obscene amount of money hanging on your fridge with a magnet…from Billy Curran? I mean it’s none of my business whatsoever, but is there anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, and I can feel myself blush.

“I’m not accepting it. He was trying to help with…an expense, but I’m giving it back.”

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Expense? Everything okay?”

“Yes,” I say, with a tone that requests an end to the topic.

“You two seem…close lately,” she says.

“Just business. I’m helping him with remodeling ideas,” I say, dismissing the topic. “That’s it.”

“Huh,” she mumbles, reaching for her phone on the nightstand and I quickly take it from her and toss it to the end of the bed.

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