Read Sweet Liar for Free Online Page B

bed chosen by her father, and the trauma of the day was somewhat softened. But when she awoke, she felt worse than she had when she went to bed, because the full reality of her situation hit her. In Louisville, in her father’s house, she’d been all right, but now she was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers. Never in her life had she been alone before. Not really, truly alone, for she’d had her parents, her grandfather, then her husband.
    Hearing a noise outside, she got out of bed and went to the window to look out into the little graden below. The man, her landlord, was watering his plants, and the moment Samantha moved the curtain, as though he’d heard her, he turned and waved, making Samantha jump away from the window, flinging the curtain back into place.
    Not only was she alone, she thought, but she was surrounded by predators. The image came to her of being lost at sea, bobbing in the ocean with a life preserver about her waist, watching an ocean liner filled with happy, laughing people who were having too good a time to hear her cries for help—and sharks were circling her. At the moment, the sharks seemed to be in the form of one Michael Taggert.
    After she showered and dressed, she pulled her hair back from her face and waited until she heard the front door open and close before venturing down the stairs. Pausing at the front door of the town house, she dawdled, not wanting to go outside. In fact, she wished she didn’t have to leave the house at all, but she had to buy food and open an account at a bank so she could have money transferred from Kentucky.
    Quite honestly, New York terrified her. Now, peeking out the curtains, there wasn’t a story she had ever read or heard about the city that didn’t enter her head the moment she stepped outside. All over the world New York was used as a bogeyman for adults. When something dreadful happened in any other town in America, people said things like, “This place is getting as bad as New York,” or “At least this isn’t New York.” Well this was New York and she had to go out into it all alone.
    What happened when one walked alone in the city? she wondered. Through the door glass she could see women walking past the town house, some of them with dogs on leashes, some of them in long, tight black suit jackets with tiny skirts below. None of them seemed to be terrified.
    Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she finally opened the door, closed and locked it behind her, then went down the stairs, walked to the end of the block, and took a left. Reading the green street sign, she saw she was now on Lexington Avenue. As she walked north along the block, she saw a grocery with outdoor bins of fruit and vegetables, a shoe store, a dry cleaners, a branch of the Bank of New York, a tiny video rental store, a delicatessen that had freshly baked breads and pastries in the window, and a bookstore.
    Within two hours she had opened her account at the bank and bought groceries, fresh flowers, and a paperback novel—and she’d done it all without so much as crossing a street. She went back to the corner, took a right, and went straight back to the town house where she put her key in the front door lock, opened it, closed the door behind her, then leaned against the door, giving a great sigh of relief. She had just made a foray into the city of New York all alone and she had returned safely. She hadn’t had a knife held to her throat, hadn’t had her purse snatched, nor had anyone tried to sell her drugs. Right now she felt as though she’d climbed a mountain, planted a flag on top, and returned home to tell the story.
    After putting the groceries away, she made herself a bowl of cereal and a pot of herbal tea, took a cranberry muffin from the bakery bag, put it all on a tray, and took it into the garden.
    As she sat in the garden, lounging on one of the chaises, she stretched and wiggled her toes. Perhaps she