Sweet Little Lies by J.T. Ellison Read Free Book Online Page B

me slowly. Her eyes were wide, bluer than Mama’s china
teapot. Then she smiled.
    “Well. Who knew you’d sound like that? I’m
Carol Ann. It’s nice to meet you.”
    She strode to me, her hand raised. I’d never
shaken hands with a girl my age before. It struck me as awfully
romantic. She grasped my hand in hers.
    “How do,” I mumbled.
    “Now, is that any way to greet your dearest
friend?” Her voice had a lilt to it, southern definitely, but
something foreign too. She squeezed my hand a little harder, her
little fingers pinching mine.
    “That hurts. Stop it.” I tried to shake
loose, but she was like a barnacle I’d seen on a Tappy’s boat once.
Tappy took care of the rest of the yard for us. He wasn’t allowed
to touch the flowerbeds, but someone had to mow and weed and prune.
Mama could grow grass like nobody’s business too.
    “Not until you do it right. My God, am I
going to have to teach you manners as well as how to bathe?”
    She wrinkled her nose at me and I realized
how sweet she smelled. Just like Mama’s flowers. I was lost. I
looked her straight in those china blue eyes, my dull brown irises
meeting hers. I cleared my throat, but I didn’t smile.
    “It’s nice to meet you as well.”
    She dropped my hand then and laughed, a
tinkling, musical sound like wind chimes on a breezy afternoon. She
had me enthralled in a moment.
    “Let’s go skip rocks in the river.”
    “I’m not allowed. Mama says—”
    “Oh, you’re one of those.” She dragged the
last word out, gave it an extra syllable and emphasis.
    “One of what?” My hackles rose. Two minutes
and we were having our first fight. It should have been a warning.
Instead it made my blood boil.
    She smiled coyly. “A Mama’s girl.”
    Back then, I thought it was an insult. I
reached out to smack her one good, but she pranced away, closer to
the river with each skip.
    “Mama’s girl, Mama’s girl.” She sing-songed
and danced and I followed, my chin set, incensed. Before I knew it,
we were in front on the river, a whole block away from Mama’s
house. I wasn’t allowed to go to the river. A boy drowned the
summer past, no one I really knew, but all the grown-ups decided it
wasn’t safe for us to play down there. This girl was new, she
wouldn’t know any better. But if I told her that we couldn’t be
here, she’d start that ridiculous chant again. I didn’t want to be
a Mama’s Girl anymore.
    We skipped rocks until dinnertime. Mama
skinned my hide that night. She’d called and called for me to come
to dinner, had Tappy look for me. Carol Ann and I were too busy to
hear. We skipped rocks, whistled through pieces of grass turned
sideways between our thumbs, and dug for worms. I showed her how to
bait a line and she’d nearly fainted dead away when I put a warm,
wriggling worm in her hand. Tappy found us right after sunset, took
me home screaming over his shoulder. The joy I felt wouldn’t be
suffused by Mama’s switch. Never again. I had a friend, and her
name was Carol Ann.
    It was the first of many concessions to her
whims.
    ***
    “My Goodness, Lily, can’t you try to look
happy? You’re all sweet and clean, and we’ll have some ice cream
after, if you’re good. Alright?”
    “Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled, sullen.
    Mama had me spit shined and polished for a
funeral service at church. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to run off
to the river with Carol Ann, skip rocks, have a spitting contest,
something. Anything but go to church, sit in those hard pews and
listen to Preacher yell at the old folks who couldn’t sing loud
enough because their voices were caked with age and rot.
    I didn’t think that was fair to them. I
remember my Granny vaguely, who smelled like our attic and had a
long hair poking out of her chin. She’d scoop me in her arms and
sing to me, her voice soft like the other old folks. I liked that,
liked to hear them whisper the words. It made the hymns seem
dangerous in a way. Like the old folks knew the