My Sister's Husband

by Marsh, Nicola

I quickly check in on Aunt Alice—she barely registers I’m in the room—before locking her door and slipping out of the house. Riker’s van isn’t parked in its usual spot and I have no clue where he is. He knows I don’t like getting texts or calls while I’m at work so he’ll check in later.

  Trepidation wars with eagerness as I make my way along the worn dirt pathway toward the back of the property, the roar of the ocean crashing against the rocks at the bottom of the cliffs becoming louder with every step. Hope knows never to come down here unless supervised and I avoid the place.

  As I stumble over a small rock, it reminds me of another day I stubbed my toe heading down here. Lizzie and Brooke had told Aunt Alice they were taking a picnic to the cliffs. We were sixteen, fifteen and fourteen respectively and I hated how close those two had become, always whispering about boys. While I’d been stuck inside finishing algebra homework because it always took me longer, they’d gone off on their own.

  After I finished I’d been eager to find them and had been half-jogging when I tripped over a rock, bruising my big toe in the process. I’d hopped around for a moment, irrationally blaming them, before continuing along the path. When I reached the highest peak I saw them sitting on a picnic blanket, their heads bent close as they studied something on one of their cells. They looked so alike with their shiny blonde hair hanging halfway down their backs, their slim torsos, their perfect postures, and I never felt more alienated than I did in that moment.

  I’d heeded what Aunt Alice had told me several years earlier on the day I ripped Brooke’s favorite jacket to shreds and kept my antipathy at bay. I love my sister, I don’t hate her, but it’s times like this when I feel ostracized and completely alone that it becomes difficult to hide my resentment.

  Now, I blink several times to eradicate memories of the past and glance down to kick away the offending rock. I’m older, wiser, but as I reach the top of the path and see Brooke and Lizzie huddled together, murmuring something in low voices, I’m struck anew by how much of an outsider I am in my own family.

  “Hey,” I call out, and they glance up wearing matching guilty expressions. “You two look like you’re up to something.”

  “Not really,” Brooke says, while Lizzie appears strangely nervous. She’s tugging on the ends of her sleeves and shifting her weight from side to side like she’s about to bolt. “But we want to talk to you.”

  “About what?” A gust of wind blows me back a little. “And why the hell are we meeting in this godforsaken spot?”

  They know what I mean. Eli died about two hundred meters from here, on the boundary of our property with our faraway neighbors. Hope likes the view so I bring her on occasion but we never stay long and we never picnic like I used to with these two so many years ago.

  “Actually, now I think about it, maybe it’s not the best spot,” Lizzie says, screwing up her nose. “Then again, I’m the one most likely of the three of us to jump off a cliff at this news, you should be safe.”

  Trepidation tiptoes through me. What have they discovered?

  “Don’t be so dramatic.” Brooke pokes her in the arm and Lizzie smiles. “Tell her.”

  “You discovered it, you tell her—”

  “Will one of you idiots tell me what the hell is going on?”

  Startled by my outburst they stare at me, wary, and I temper my question with a calmer, “All this hedging around isn’t helping so why don’t one of you spill?”

  They exchange brief glances before Brooke nods. “You know I said I was in San Fran the other day and you didn’t believe me?”

  My heart starts to pound, roaring in my ears along with the wind blowing a gale. “Yeah?”

  “You were right. I wasn’t there. I was in Verdant, meeting with an old friend of Mom’s.”

  The tightness in my chest eases a little. This can’t have anything to do with me. “Why would you do that?”

  “Already told you, I’m curious about our parents.” She’s not telling me everything but I won’t push for answers now. I want to hear this great secret they’re keeping. “But I found out something that shocked me.”

  “Shocked us,” Lizzie adds, her fingers continuing to pluck at her sleeves. “Me most of all.”

  My head swivels between them and I’m increasingly nervous.

  Brooke fixes me with an odd stare. “Lizzie isn’t our cousin. She’s our sister,” she blurts in a rush, reaching out to clasp Lizzie’s hand, as I stand rooted to the spot, shock and something else rendering me speechless.

  That something is rage.

  The fury expands through my chest, making me breathless. I gasp, craving air, as it spreads into my arms, my legs. I’m numb. Can’t move. Can’t compute.

  “I know it’s a shock, Freya—”

  “You don’t know anything!” I yell and they both take a step back. “This is crazy. It’s bad enough having one sister, now you’re telling me I have another?”

  I bark out a sharp laugh devoid of amusement. “How can Lizzie be my sister? It’s ridiculous. I don’t need another bloody Stuart sister to feel inferior to. As for you.” I jab a finger in Brooke’s direction. She’s staring at me in open-mouthed disbelief. “Stop poking your nose into other people’s business because it will only end badly.”

  I pause, chest heaving, out of control, and despising myself because of it.

  I turn and run, stumbling down the path, desperate to get back to the house. My house, my home, where I have a daughter and a fiancé and a carefully constructed life I will not have disrupted by anyone.

  But as I near the backyard my steps falter. Hope can’t see me like this. I’m distraught, a mess. My anger fades, replaced by mortification. I wanted Brooke to come home. I wanted to reconnect with my sister. And my over-the-top reaction to the news I have another sister is not going to endear me to either of them.

  It all makes sense now, that constant feeling of alienation growing up: of being excluded from their cozy twosome, of looking different to them, my dark features to their light, of not quite measuring up to their perfection.

  I always thought Aunt Alice was on my side. She championed me, she defended me, she understood me.

  But she’s lied to me about this too and I’ll never forgive her. I feel so betrayed.

  I glance toward the barn, wishing Riker was here. He’d comfort me. He’d know what to do to smooth this over. But he’s not and I know I’m the only one who can fix this mess. I created it; I need to deal with it. And I will, but I can’t stop the images flashing through my head like a horror movie.

  Brooke and Lizzie swapping clothes as teens.

  Brooke and Lizzie going to parties together without me because I was deemed too young.

  Brooke and Lizzie moving forward now, re-establishing that closeness, ostracizing me further, making me feel like the third wheel I’ve always been.

  The fury rises again but this time I push it back down.

  I’m about to marry a wonderful guy and complete my happy family scenario.

  I can’t let anything derail that, least of all my jealousy.

  Thirty-Nine

  Alice

  THEN

  I move towards Freya, taking slow steps so she won’t startle. She’s still holding the scissors and by the erratic behavior I’d just witnessed, I don’t want to scare her. She hears me coming because she turns, her eyes blurred by tears, her expression so desolate it’s something I will never forget.

  I wait, knowing that feeling of almost being out of one’s body while lashing out. In my case I’d reined it in before I could tamper with those brakes, but the guilt I’d got so close still lingers. Freya will experience the same regret. She’ll calm down, see what she’s done and feel guilt-ridden she let her resentment overwhelm her.

  My heart aches for Freya. It takes a few moments before she blinks and her face softens into the girl I know and love. She stares at the tattered jacket in her hand, the scissors in the other, and lets them fall from her fingers.

 
“I don’t know why I did that,” she says, her voice soft, broken, and only then do I step forward and bundle her into my arms.

  She cries, gut-wrenching sobs, drenching my top with her tears. I hold her tight, waiting until the sobbing peters out before easing away to look her in the eyes.

  “It’s okay, sweetie. We all do stuff we’re not proud of at times.”

  She hiccups. “Even you?”

  “Especially me.” I wipe away a tear about to drip off her jaw. “Nobody’s perfect, Freya.”

  “Brooke is,” she mutters. “Little Miss Perfect, getting everything she wants, loved by everyone.”

  Bitterness laces her words and I can totally identify, though for me it had been Diana.

  “Go inside, wash your face.” I press a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll take care of this then come in and we can talk.”

  Her gaze is drawn to the shredded jacket lying on the lawn. “What are you going to tell her?”

  “Nothing. I’ll say she must’ve misplaced it, left it somewhere.”

  Freya’s eyes widen. “You’re going to lie?”

  It won’t be the first time.

  “I don’t condone it but in this case, yes.” I cup her cheek, hoping to convey how much I understand. “You love your sister, right?”

  She hesitates before nodding.

  “Then this will only hurt her and drive a wedge between you. It’s easier if we do it my way.”

  “Okay,” she says, but she’s still eyeing me suspiciously, like she can’t figure why I’m taking her side.

  “Go inside, I’ll be in shortly.”

  She trudges toward the house, dragging her feet, shoulders slumped. She’s the picture of misery and I empathize with this poor child so similar to me.

  I fetch two plastic bags, stuff the macerated jacket into one before double bagging it so it’s not visible. I push it down to the bottom of the trash outside and rearrange garbage bags over it. Only then do I pick up the scissors and head inside to find Freya sitting at the kitchen table staring into space. She hasn’t washed her face, dried tear streaks tracking along her cheeks, and she looks so small, so forlorn, tears well in my eyes.

  I blink them away, put the scissors back in the utility drawer alongside a plethora of ice cream scoops, vegetable peelers, hair ties, pens and notebooks, and pull up a seat next to her.

  “I know why you did it.”

  Her eyes meet mine but she doesn’t speak, so I continue. “Your mom was the prettiest, smartest, nicest girl I knew. Everyone loved her. I did too, but sometimes it made me feel invisible.”

  I have her attention now and she inadvertently leans toward me.

  “I was the big sister, so I found it really tough that everyone paid her all the attention. And while we’re always meant to love our siblings, there were times when I almost hated her.”

  A hate that drove me to end her life, no matter how inadvertently, and that will eat away at my conscience until the day I die.

  “That’s how I feel about Brooke sometimes too,” she murmurs, so softly I have to lean closer to hear. “She’s only eleven months older than me but it feels like she’s this bright star and I’m an invisible speck of meteor dust.”

  I bite back a smile. Freya’s learning about outer space at school at the moment and she’s become obsessed with the cosmos.

  “You’re not invisible.” I take her hand. “You’re an intelligent, beautiful girl and I want you to stop comparing yourself to your sister, okay?”

  She gives a slight nod and I squeeze her hand.

  “You’re unique and as you grow older you’ll come to recognize it’s a good thing being different from her.”

  I did, way too late. Diana may have been smarter and prettier than me but I’m a better mother than she ever was. She gave away one child and practically ignored the other two. Admittedly she struggled with postnatal depression and the medications were helping, but deep down I know I’m more caring, more nurturing, than she ever would’ve been.

  Cam would’ve made up for it though. He’d adored his girls from the moment they were born. A hands-on dad, he’d changed diapers and made up bottles and paced until they fell asleep in his arms. Guilt may be eroding me day by day for what I did but it’s Cam I still mourn with every fiber of my being.

  “How did you feel when Mom died?”

  The insightful question startles me and in that moment I fear Freya is more like me than I think.

  “Definitely sad,” I say, the lie burning my gullet. “It’s not good to wish ill on anyone, Freya, because karma will always come back to bite you.”

  I don’t like the shifting emotions in Freya’s eyes so I release her hand and tip her chin up so I can eyeball her.

  “Promise me you won’t ever do anything to hurt your sister. That you’ll come to me if you ever feel like this again?”

  She doesn’t answer and I give her chin a little pinch.

  “Promise me.”

  Eventually, she shrugs, and mutters, “I promise.”

  I really hope she keeps it.

  Forty

  Brooke

  “That went well,” Lizzie says, her drollness finally breaking through my shock.

  I shake my head as I try to assimilate Freya’s reaction after she disappears from sight. “I should go to her—”

  “Leave her.” Lizzie lays a hand on my arm. “She’ll need to process and when she does I’m pretty sure she’s going to be embarrassed by her outburst. Give her some time.”

  Lizzie’s right and I clamp down on the urge to run after Freya. What did she mean by saying it’s bad enough having one sister? We were close growing up. Sure, she annoyed me by trying to mimic my clothes and take my stuff and hang around when I wanted to be alone with my friends, but all siblings go through that. We still had each other’s backs, always.

  So to witness her vitriol a few minutes ago, to see the hatred blazing from her eyes… I’m shocked to my core. I thought Lizzie would be most affected by Aunt Alice’s lie, I never anticipated Freya would be this rattled. It makes me feel guilty, that despite the time we’ve spent together since I returned home, I’ve been away too long and can’t get a proper read on my sister.

  It also makes me wonder: if Freya had this extreme reaction to learning the truth about Lizzie being our sister, how would she react if she discovered my secret about Riker and how well we really know each other?

  “She snapped.” Lizzie guides me to the ground where we sit, the wind howling around us. “She’s been under a lot of pressure, what with Alice’s deterioration and the wedding and you coming home, it’s probably bound to happen.”

  I agree with some of what Lizzie says, but not all. “How does my coming home make her stressed?”

  An odd expression crosses Lizzie’s face. She hesitates, as if doubting the wisdom of telling me something, before saying, “Freya’s always been in your shadow and I think having you home might’ve made her nervous it would happen again.”

  “What’s she nervous about?” I immediately think of Riker, deliberately ignoring the memory of his hands all over me, his tongue in my mouth, the ecstasy of it all.

  Lizzie shakes her head. “Hang-ups like that don’t fade away completely and by that crazy outburst we witnessed, she still feels second best.”

  “But I’ve done nothing to make her feel that way.”

  I shared most of my clothes with her, except my favorite jacket, which I still lament to this day. I took her places and introduced her to my friends, and didn’t mind when she stole my make-up. I included her. I loved her. She’s my sister.

  “This has everything to do with her and not you,” Lizzie says. “When we were younger, I saw the way she looked at me whenever we went out together, she was jealous and I put it down to sisterly possessiveness.” She rubs her chin, absentmindedly. “But after today, I wonder if she was jealous of you, not only me.”

  I want to dismiss Lizzie’s supposition as ridiculous because Freya and I have had go
od conversations since I’ve been home in our efforts to re-establish a bond. We’re adults now and I left my hang-ups in the past when I returned, to start afresh, But now I feel like I’ve been kidding myself. Is Freya still obsessing about the past?

  I remember the day I confronted her about my jacket. She’d coveted it from the second I saw it online and was furious when Aunt Alice told her there was only one. Every time I wore it, and I wore it a lot because I adored it, she’d get this mutinous expression and would barely talk to me.

  Then I’d come home from a party at the fairgrounds, high on adrenalin from the rides and sugar from too much cotton candy, to find it gone. I’d virtually torn the house apart looking for my jacket and had been distraught when I couldn’t find it. Aunt Alice had placated me, saying I must’ve misplaced it and we’d go search in all the places I’d been over the last week. Freya had merely shrugged like it meant nothing, but I’d seen a glint in her eyes that made me think she’d taken it.

  I’d waited until she was in the shower that night to go through her room, checking in every nook and cranny, but I hadn’t found the jacket and I’d felt bad for suspecting her of stealing it. And despite Aunt Alice taking me to the library, the pool, and the games arcade, all places I’d been in the last week, I never found it.

  “Jealousy between sisters is natural,” I say, but knowing I’ve never been envious of Freya. “And in her defense, you and I spent more time together as we got older and she felt left out.”

  Lizzie frowns and clasps her hands together, shooting me several glances, before I finally say, “There’s obviously something on your mind, so tell me.”

  “I think Freya wished she could be exactly like you and if she couldn’t, she wanted what you had.”

  Lizzie’s proclamation echoes what I’ve been thinking about that old jacket and I wait for her to continue.

  “Did you know she had a thing for Eli?”

  My mouth drops open for the second time in the last ten minutes. “No.”