Page 32 of Sharp Lies

“I’m the doctor from the hospital down the road,” he said, evidently noticing my confused look. “I took care of you when you were there. What was it, five years ago now?”

His face came into focus, and I suddenly did remember him. This was the man who’d treated me when I was in the hospital after Tony beat me up so badly I passed out.

“Oh! Dr. Connor?” I asked, hoping I was getting the name right.

“The very same,” he said, though he didn’t look too thrilled that I’d remembered. “What are you doing back in town?”

“My mom was in an accident. I came back to take care of her.”

He shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you staying in town? Surely not. Just sticking around until she’s back on her feet?”

Okay, what was going on here? Why was this guy acting like he was so concerned about me being in town?

“No, actually,” I said slowly. “I realized how much I missed my mom and decided I’d stay here with her. I’m done wandering. Why?”

“I just think it would be better if you left town, that’s all,” he said. Then he dropped to his knees next to my table. “Look, Lily, I saw how badly you were hurt that night. I saw what was done to you. Do you really want to be living in the place where that happened? Where you’re vulnerable?”

I frowned at him. “I want to be near my mother,” I said coldly. “And things that happened five years ago aren’t going to stop that.”

I turned away, intent on showing him that I was finished with the conversation, and found Warren standing with his hand out to me.

“I’m not actually that hungry,” he told me quietly. “How about we head home?”

I took his hand, thanking him in my head for getting me out of yet another situation I didn’t want to be in, and stood up. The doctor didn’t say anything else as we walked away, though that didn’t mean I’d forgotten what he said.

And how antsy he’d gotten when I told him I was planning to stay in town to be with my mom.

CHAPTER 15

LILY

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I STEPPED OUT OF MY van and looked up at my aunt’s house, silently going through the things I wanted to tell her.

Susan was one of my mother’s closest friends as well as her sister, and they’d always been thicker than thieves—which meant I’d grown up with Susan as a constant presence in my life. I trusted her as much as I trusted my own mother and loved her nearly as much.

I’d also always counted on her to be a voice of reason in my life, both when things went right and when things went wrong. She had a way of seeing things more clearly than I did and also had the benefit of living far enough from Oakville that she wasn’t personally involved in many of the things that happened there.

Like this situation with Tony McCarthy.

And now the cops and that doctor.

I locked my van and walked up the front walkway, reciting to myself everything that had happened and what, if anything, I wanted to hear from Susan. I wasn’t here asking her to do anything, of course, but I was hoping she could give me some outside perspective.

Maybe she’d tell me I was overreacting.

Or maybe she’d say I was right about everything, and that things were going sideways a whole lot faster than I’d feared they would. Maybe she’d have advice for what the hell I should do.

Either way, I needed to talk through what was going on, and she was my best option. I hadn’t wanted to talk to my mom any more than strictly necessary, given her situation, and I was tired of having to deal with this on my own. I needed someone older and wiser than me to weigh in with some thoughts.

I needed someone to tell me it was going to be okay, once all was said and done.

I knocked sharply on the door and heard an immediate answer.

“Silly girl, you’ve practically lived here your entire life. You don’t need to knock!”

Grinning, I opened the door and stepped into the little house. It was smaller than the one my mom had now, but she was right: I’d grown up here, and stepping into the place would always feel like coming home. The foyer was done in greens and creams, all checkered floor and spindly-legged side tables, and from there, the house opened up into the living room—equally checkered, only in red this time—and then into the kitchen, where my aunt was sitting at the table with coffee mugs and a carafe already set up.