The Word of a Liar by Sally Beauchamp

Dog asked as handed her the whiskey.
    “Hell, yes,” Ellen answered with too much enthusiasm, taking a drink.
    “See?” Mad Dog said, his eyebrows raised in innocence.
    Ellen swung around to give Mad Dog back the whiskey and nearly took out his eye with the stick. He grabbed it. “You’d better let me have that.”
    “But I really want a s’more.” Ellen slumped down in the chair. Mason couldn’t help but smile. She looked like a spoiled child, sulking because Daddy had taken away her toy.  About to offer his services, Mad Dog beat him to it.
    “Allow me,” Mad Dog said as he speared two marshmallows and then held them over the coals.
    “I don’t like them burnt.” Ellen pouted.
    “I won’t burn them. I’ve got three kids. I think I know how to roast a marshmallow by now, Mrs. Abrams.”
    “That reminds me.” Ellen’s sullenness disappeared. “You both promised I could use the phone to call JD tomorrow at nine o’clock.” Ellen sobered a little, looking at Spider. “My son will go crazy if I don’t call him on time. He has autism.”
    Dee spoke up. “Of course you can call your son. I’ll take you up to Granddad’s myself. You certainly have your hands full, don’t you Ellen? A single mom and a son with autism.”
    “How about a single dad with three kids to raise?” Mad Dog mumbled.
    Dee Dee eyed the two of them. She took a drag off her cigarette. “Mad Dog, Ellen lost her husband in a car accident.”
    “I’m sorry, Ellen. How long has your husband been gone?”
    “It was seven years on June twenty-fourth.” Ellen gazed into the flames, her thoughts turning inward.
    Mason shifted, rested his elbows on his knees, and studied the two. Ellen looked up at him. Firelight flickered in her somber dark eyes.
    Mad Dog carefully peeled the marshmallows from the stick with the edge of a graham cracker, but it broke in half and the precious treat fell in the dirt. “Shit!”
    Ellen looked down, staring at the melted concoction as if it were a small dead animal.
    “They were perfect,” she sighed, then picked them up and tossed them into the fire.
    Mad Dog snapped the stick in two, dropped it into the flames and then took a long drink from the whiskey bottle.
    Feeling uneasy, Mason rose and stood behind Desi, absently rubbing her shoulders.  He watched Ellen and Mad Dog, trying to imagine what it must be like to suddenly lose someone you shared so much with. He wondered whether they would ever completely recover.
    Shrugging off her melancholy, Ellen looked up at Mason.  Like heat seeking missiles, his brilliant eyes took her by surprise, exploding dormant desire. Her whole body tingled with the aftershock. The firelight dancing in his hair; his sensual mouth, partly hidden by his bread, slipped into a sexy grin. Breathless, she closed her eyes, imagining his warm breath on her neck, the taste of his mouth, his tongue probing, her body responding…. She opened her eyes. He stared, making her feel exposed.  Ellen pulled the blanket around her.
    “You know, the two of you make quite a good looking couple,” she commented, attempting to divert Mason’s attention. “That lap dance was amazing, Desi. I mean, it made me hot. I can only imagine what it did for you Mason.”
    Mad Dog laughed, wrapping his arm around Ellen’s shoulder. They looked at one another and smiled. Relieved by Mad Dog’s recovery, Ellen took the bottle from his hand. She took a swig, trying to prove her stamina, but then choked. Mad Dog patted her back. “You’ve had enough, Mrs. Abrams. I’m cutting you off.”
    “But didn’t you think, Mad Dog, Desi was amazing up there on that stage?”
    “Yes, I did. But I’m not going to make much of it. Rambo is likely to shoot my balls off if I do.”
    Mad Dog smirked. Mason flipped him off.
    Giggling, Ellen flopped her head on Mad Dog’s shoulder. She needed to get her mind off of Mason. Ellen turned to Spider.
    “I have a question for you, Spider. Why does everyone call