Liar's Bench by Kim Michele Richardson Page A

just like me, that it was the Summers’ last Thanksgiving dinner. The last one before Daddy cheated, the last one before she hooked up with Tommy. And the last one before she started sporting Tommy’s bruises.
    â€œListen, Mudas, I don’t want you to tell your daddy, or anyone, about what happened today, okay? It’s complicated. And there’s no sense in riling up Adam’s temper with this, do you understand? My hands are full enough with my job and taking care of Tommy and the baby. I don’t need to be worrying about Adam going off half-cocked. Okay, sugar? Promise me?”
    â€œBut—”
    â€œI know you’re worried, but I’ll handle it. I am handling it, Mudas. I promise. Your mama’s not all out of tricks just yet. You’ll see. Now, let’s have that promise.” She raised two fingers.
    Reluctantly, I brought two fingers up to my mouth, kissed, then raised them in the air, like she’d taught me long ago, knowing she wouldn’t be pleased and the promise wouldn’t be sealed until I did. “Promise.”
    Mama kissed her fingers, pressed them to mine, and nodded. “Now, wait till I show you what I found!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œGo get the box that’s sitting on my bed.”
    I found a medium cardboard box on her sagging mattress and lugged it to the kitchen table. Mama plucked off the blue tissue paper that had been stuffed inside and pulled out my toddler blanket (or, the shreds that were left of it), a dog-eared copy of Heidi, and my junior chemistry set.
    I laughed. “I haven’t seen this stuff in ages.”
    â€œI found these in your memory trunk last week and thought it would be a good time to show you. It’s not every day you turn seventeen, sugar. This age is special. It’s the twilight between youth and adulthood. Sometimes a bit gray, sometimes a prism full of colors. You’ll want to savor it.”
    I pocketed her words.
    â€œLook here, Mudas,” she said, holding up the wad of faded yarn that was the remains of my baby blanket. “Nothing but strings left here! Lawd, you sucked on that blanket so much when you were falling asleep, I feared you’d end up with a ball of yarn in your belly big enough to knit a new one.”
    I picked up the old chemistry set and unfolded the metal accordion-style box. “I remember how bad I wanted this thing and how excited I was when I got it.” I ran my fingers over the test tubes.
    â€œYes, and you drove us all crazy with your experiments! Especially that invisible ink—marking up everything you could get your mitts on!”
    â€œUh-huh.” I chuckled. “And do you remember me mixing up those smoke bombs? I still remember how: Take sulfur, charcoal, and potassium nitrate, and voilà!”
    â€œI’m not likely to forget your famous stink bombs, Mudas. I do believe a couple of them found their way onto Jingles’s porch, and that a certain young lady”—she sly-eyed me—“ended up doing time with a month of prayer study over at the pastor’s house.”
    I snorted with laughter at the memory.
    â€œYour granddaddy Tilley gave me a chemistry set a lot like this when I was your age. Oh, I wished you had met your grandparents. You would’ve loved your granddaddy Tilley.”
    â€œWe hardly ever talk about your mama and daddy. Or any of the Tilleys. I do wish I could’ve met them.”
    â€œMe too, sugar. God, that was so long ago, but to me it feels like yesterday. It was more than I could bear, losing them to that crash. And then losing Adam so soon after that . . .” She placed her hands in her lap and folded them prayer-like.
    Unsure of what to say, I looked down at my own.
    â€œYou know,” she said, clearing her throat and plastering on a stiff smile. “Your granddaddy Tilley used codes and invisible ink in World War I, just like you did with your chemistry set. He sure