“Dadda!” Mila claps her hands.
I turn around sharply. She pulls herself up on the TV stand and stares at the screen like a lovesick teenager. But my heart is thumping double time, my palms almost sweating. It takes a few beats of the music to realize it’s just Dirty B.’s latest song on MTV and not the man himself walking through the door.
I force a laugh at myself. Shit, I’ve been back in Shelton Bay for ten minutes, and I’m already thinking Conner Burke will burst my door down for the daughter he doesn’t even know exists.
I run my fingers through my hair. Crap.
My stomach twists with the same guilt I’ve carried around for nearly two and a half years—the guilt of keeping her away.
Mila shrieks when Conner’s face fills the screen. He’s smiling, his voice crooning through the speakers and sending wave after wave of tremors through my body. The way it always has. He’s living the dream, his dream. I could never take that from him.
I know what I did was for the best. Running away the day I saw that little blue line was both the best and worst decision I’ve ever made. Besides, I’ve never kept him from her.
That’s not a justification for my actions, no matter how many times I tell myself it is. And I’ve told that myself a million times, maybe more. Like the fact I’m lying to only one of them makes it better.
I watch Mila bopping up and down to the song. I watch my secret, my darling little skeleton in the closet, and know it’s about to be over. I know that within forty-eight hours, all of Shelton Bay will know I’m back. Forty-eight hours, if I’m lucky.
They’ll know and they’ll spy and they’ll talk. Because that’s small-town life. Everyone knows everyone’s business. No stone is left unturned, no secret left unshared.
Soon enough, they’ll all know. And Conner will, too. The second Dirty B. arrive back in town for their mid-tour break, he’ll know.
I pull the keys from my pocket, turn off the television, and swoop Mila up with one arm. “C’mon, baby girl. Let’s go shopping.”
The store stares at me like it’s challenging me to get out of the car. I stare back at it, wondering if I really am brave enough to face reality this time.
I wasn’t for my father’s funeral. I wasn’t brave enough to show everyone I was there, so I slipped in a minute late and hid at the back of the church. I watched them bury him from afar like the wimp I am.
Now I can’t run any longer.
I swipe my sweaty palms across my thighs and take a deep breath. My fingers run through my hair as I get out, like the impromptu restyle will hide my face from everyone.
Mila reaches for me as I set her on my hip and push the car door shut. I lock it and rush toward the front of the store for a cart. Let’s get this over with.
I slip Mila into the seat, my hands shaking as I walk into the store. Not without reason.
All it takes is for one person to notice you, and you’re done for.
And I’ve been noticed.
Maybe it’s paranoia. Maybe it’s assumption. Or maybe it’s true, because I can feel questioning gazes burning into me. I can feel the stares making sure I’m really here. That I’m really Sofie Callahan, back from wherever the hell it was I went.
I hide down one of the aisles, smiling reassuringly at Mila. She babbles to herself quietly, blissfully ignorant of the whispers I know are circulating. It might be midday on a Thursday, but it’s still packed.
For the first time in my life, I wish for a Walmart instead of our local market. And I hate Walmart.
I fill the shopping cart with the essentials. Bread, milk, cheese, Mila’s favorite star-shaped chips. She reaches for the packet immediately and I swat her hand away gently.
“Nuh-uh, missy. When we get back.”
“Mama! Want sars!” She reaches behind her.
“Mila, no.” I right her and grab her diapers off the shelf. Her little legs kick the cart in protest, but I ignore her. This is a regular battle—one I always win.
“Well, if it ain’t the long-lost Sofie Callahan,” a voice drawls behind me. A voice I despise.
I turn, keeping Mila hidden behind my back, and stare into the face of Nina Hawkins. From the bleached blonde hair and heavy makeup to the way-too-low-cut shirt, she looks exactly as I remember her. “Nina. How are you?”
She smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “I’m doin’ good. Where’d you go to?”
“I’m really well, thanks for asking.” I force my own smile. My mom taught me that a Southern girl is always polite. Especially when she wants to scratch the other woman’s eyeballs out.
Nina’s smile strains, and her eyes flick to my side. “I didn’t know you were a mom now.”
I reach behind for Mila’s hand. “A lot of things change in two years. I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s time for her lunch. Bye, Nina.”
I’ve barely taken a few steps before I hear her voice again. “I guess Conner doesn’t know. At least he never mentioned it to me after you left.”
My heart clenches with her insinuation, and I turn quickly. Only my face doesn’t betray what I feel inside. “Conner? Why would he know anything about her?”
Nina blinks harshly but doesn’t say another thing. I have no idea if she bought that, but the sound of a “You’ll never guess who I just saw . . .” follows me as I walk to the cashier.
I almost drop my debit card because my palms are sweating again, but I jab my pin number in correctly. I just want to get out of here and back to the safety of my father’s house. My house, I guess.
I’m practically running across the parking lot when another familiar voice calls my name. This one is softer, one I’ve missed.
“Sofie? You’re back?”
I pause, swallowing, and nod. “Yep. I’m back.”
“And . . .” Leila Burke steps in front of me and looks at Mila. “A baby?”
I look into the eyes of one of my closest friends. At least, she used to be. Once upon a time, when everything was simple and the biggest thing we had to worry about was whether or not we could sneak in past curfew without getting caught. “Yep.”
“She’s yours?”
“No. I stole her,” I mutter, and load the shopping into the trunk. Leila doesn’t say anything when I lift Mila and strap her into her seat.
“Sofie . . .”
“Don’t.” I look up and into her blue eyes, so similar to Conner’s. “Please don’t ask me questions I’m not ready to answer.”