He’s been dating Freya for over six months now, meaning he knew lucid Alice. I doubt she would’ve revealed any deep, dark family secrets to him but he might be able to give me some insight into the aunt I haven’t seen in over a decade. It’s often easier to talk to a stranger about issues and with a little luck Aunt Alice might have told him something during their daily coffee chats.
He’s in the barn as usual so I knock and stick my head around the door. He’s polishing a wave sculpture. It’s stunning in its simplicity, the cool steel mimicking a stormy ocean.
“Come in,” he says, not looking up from his work, and I slip through the door and close it behind me. “What brings you by?”
“I want to chat about Aunt Alice, but first… wow.” I point at the wave. “This is incredible.”
“Thanks. The new surf shop in town commissioned it.”
“They’re going to love it.”
The last time I was in here I didn’t have a chance to look around but now I do a slow three-sixty, taking in the magnitude of his talent. Riker has constructed pieces out of various metals—copper, wrought iron, steel—creating art from simple fruit bowls to elaborate furniture sets. He’s extremely talented and for a moment I wonder why he’s happy to be stuck in Martino Bay and not traveling the world finding inspiration. He must really love Freya, and I’m glad she’s found happiness.
“What do you think?” He sweeps his arms wide at his creations, that lazy grin I’d fallen for so many years ago making my heart beat faster when it shouldn’t.
“You’re incredibly talented.”
“And you thought I was some lay-about dude cruising through town, huh?”
“In my defense, that’s a long time ago and it’s all I knew you as.”
“Over a decade is a long time,” he says, the intensity of his stare surprising me. “To be honest, I don’t do a lot of reminiscing, but when you walked into dinner that night and I recognized you…” He shrugs, oddly bashful. “It brought back how I thought you were the prettiest girl I’d ever seen, and then when we hooked up at that party… you dazzled me.”
Heat flushes my cheeks. We shouldn’t be talking about this. Nothing good can come of it. But I’m curious.
“You mentioned coming back to town after that?”
What I’m really asking is “Did you come back to town looking for me?” I don’t know why I want to know but I do. Not that I would’ve known if he had back then. After Eli’s death I’d holed up in the house because the few times I ventured into town I got heckled or glared at by people who blamed me for it.
To this day I don’t know who witnessed our big blow-up that night. No one had been around when we argued and broke up. I’d run home, heartbroken, and he’d been stalking into the darkness last time I’d seen him. The next morning when news broke of his suicide, I’d shut down: mentally, emotionally.
“The gang I was with left the morning after the party. We headed up the coast as far as Seattle so I didn’t get back to Martino Bay for about three months.” He rubs the stubble along his jaw, pensive. “I came looking for you but your family had gone.”
“Did you know Freya was my sister when you two got together?”
“No.” He grimaces. “That’s plain wrong.”
And would play right into Freya’s paranoia about being second best from her recent revelations.
I need to get this conversation back on track.
“As much as I’ve enjoyed our stroll down memory lane, I want to ask you about Aunt Alice.”
Rather than appearing relieved to change the subject, he’s staring at me with something I could almost label as regret. I have no idea why. We would’ve never worked even if our one-night stand had evolved into something more. I was too broken after Eli’s death and never would’ve dated the guy who precipitated it even if he didn’t know it.
“Before the dementia set in, did Alice ever mention anything about the past to you? About our family back then?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle as he thinks. “Not a lot. She thought I might be drawn to Freya initially because my folks are dead too, so it’s only my sister and me, but she never really said much about her family.”
“I’m sorry about your parents.”
He shrugs. “It’s okay, they died within a year of each other when Kel and I were in our twenties.”
Freya hasn’t mentioned his sister; then again, she’s had enough to deal with discovering another of her own. “Is Kel local? Will she be coming to the wedding?”
A shadow passes over his face as he half turns away. “She’s on the east coast so no, she won’t be coming to the wedding.”
There’s a story there but it’s not mine to delve into. “So Aunt Alice didn’t mention my folks or us moving here or anything like that?”
He shakes his head. “No. I got to spend some time with your aunt when I moved in here.” He smiles and my heart does that weird little flip it shouldn’t. “She brought me coffee every morning and would hang out here, sometimes chatting, other times checking out my latest work. We got on well and I was shocked when she went downhill so fast.”
“What do you mean?”
Lizzie has mentioned Alice’s rapid deterioration but why would it shock Riker?
“To me, it seemed like one minute she was okay, forgetting normal stuff like we all do, misplacing keys, losing bills to pay, that kind of thing, the next she was being locked in a room for her safety, dosed up on meds.”
I’m no dementia expert but for someone so young that sounds like a fast decline.
“Does she ever seem lucid to you?”
“Not really.” He tears his gaze from mine but it’s too late, I glimpse a flicker of unease. He knows something and he’s not telling me. “To be honest, I don’t spend a lot of time with her anymore. Seeing her like that, lying around and listless, is awful, and I prefer to remember her the way she used to be in here, joking around or poking fun at my ‘little hobby’ as she used to call it.” He spreads his hands wide. “But she’s in the best care, with Freya a nurse for patients like Alice.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
I’ve learned nothing and tears of frustration burn the back of my eyes. But I can’t cry in front of him because I don’t want him asking questions I can’t answer so I make a dash for the door.
“Thanks, I’ll see you later,” I murmur, my throat tight with emotion, and I make it out the door when his hand lands on my shoulder.
“You okay?”
I blink rapidly, willing the tears away, before turning to face him. “I’m really worried about Aunt Alice,” I say, as a tear spills over and trickles down my cheek.
“Hey, your aunt’s a fighter.” He hauls me into his arms before I know what’s happening, and hugs me tight. “It’ll be okay.”
My face is buried against his chest and I can’t help but inhale the earthy blend of hay and sweat mingled with his musky deodorant. It’s intoxicating and for an illicit second I give myself over to the pleasure of being in his strong arms again.
It’s a comforting hug, nothing more, and when he releases me I smile my gratitude. “I better let you get back to work.”
He nods before heading back inside to resume polishing the wave sculpture. So he doesn’t see what I glimpse when I walk away.
The curtain in the kitchen moves, too late to hide the shadow behind it.
Someone is watching me.
Forty-Four
Freya
I’ve had a terrible day.
One of my favorite patients at work died, a seventy-year-old grocer who used to undercharge me for oranges when Hope was younger because they were her favorite fruit. I used to shop at Bruce’s rather than the supermarket because I loved his ready smiles and the knock-knock jokes he’d tell Hope. He’d been just as happy since being admitted to the nursing home a year ago and it had broken my heart that I’d been the one to find him dead in his bed this morning. The only comfort was the myocardial infarct claimed him quick
ly and he didn’t suffer. That didn’t make it easier when I had to comfort the grieving family, his only daughter and her husband, while struggling to hold myself together.
Then I got halfway home before remembering I’d forgotten to have Alice’s scripts filled at the pharmacy, so had to turn back and wait another thirty minutes for her medication due to the after-work rush. The delay meant Hope was late for ballet class and I had to deal with a grumpy ten-year-old the entire way home.
Now this.
When I grab a glass of water before heading to my fiancé’s workshop to debrief after the day I’ve had, I don’t expect to see him with his arms around my sister.
I freeze, my blood turning to ice. My vision blurs and I clutch at the sink. It’s probably nothing. He could be hugging her for any number of reasons. But I’m catapulted back to the first night Brooke returned home when the two of them saw each other and how awful I felt they’d already met.
I have no reason to doubt Riker. He’s never given me any reason to. He’s dependable, big-hearted, and a straight shooter. So when he said they barely spoke at that party so long ago I believed him. But seeing the two of them locked in an embrace makes my old doubts rise to the surface, along with a long-suppressed antipathy toward my sister.
Memories flood in. Brooke, a year ahead of me at school, getting straight A’s, gaining awards, winning over teachers. The same teachers who, twelve months later, would try to hide their disappointment at my average C’s, some going as far as to say I was nothing like my sister. Brooke, sitting in the redbrick quadrangle at lunchtimes, surrounded by the popular kids, graciously accepting an apple or a chocolate bar from friends. Brooke, being able to wear anything she wanted and look good, while I often got her hand-me-downs that looked dowdy on me.
And more. Brooke being the first to kiss a boy at the lookout point, the first to get to second base, and as it turned out, the first to lose her virginity. She’d always had a superior air; not from trying, it came naturally to her, and that was part of her charm. People were drawn to Brooke from the time she could walk and a small part of me had been glad when she’d virtually been driven out of town by her friends’ derision.
So what if Brooke’s gotten everything she wants her entire life?
She won’t be getting Riker.
I gulp the water and slam the glass down, hating that I’ve allowed my latent insecurities to flare. I should be past this. My relationship with Brooke is different now. I’m happy with my life and I won’t allow my frustrations at letting old feelings bubble to the surface mess with that.
I nudge the curtain aside to get a better look, in time to see them disentangle. There’s nothing furtive in their body language and Riker heads back into his studio without a backward glance. Brooke dabs at her eyes like she’s been crying and I realize Riker was probably comforting her.
Am I curious as to why she’s been crying? Absolutely. And as much as I want to believe in my fiancé, a small part of me hopes Brooke isn’t crying over some shared secret from their past.
Damn it, once the thought insinuates its way into my head I can’t dislodge it. I should confront Brooke and ask, but I’m self-aware enough to know it will take longer for my jealousy to subside.
I back away from the window before Brooke sees me but it’s too late. She’s staring directly at the window and her step falters. I should pull the curtain back again and wave, make light of it.
But I don’t. Let her worry. I need her off guard. She’s not the only one who harbors secrets from the past and mine has the potential to tear apart her world all over again. Not that I will ever tell her. What good would it do? She’s already paid her dues regarding Eli’s death and nothing I reveal will change that.
Besides, she’s done enough damage poking her nose into Aunt Alice’s business; I can’t risk her discovering anything more.
Forty-Five
Alice
THEN
I’m missing Lizzie. She’s been at college for two months and the house seems empty without her. The night before she left I was in her room watching her pack, and I’ve never been closer to telling her the truth.
When we’d first moved from Verdant to Martino Bay I’d given her a tiny stuffed toy cactus. I thought it signified our past perfectly: dry, arid, prickly. Leaving Verdant was the best thing I ever did, giving my girls a fresh start on the Californian coast far from the sins of their parents.
That night she’d packed the last of her clothes and I’d spied the cactus on the top shelf of her closet. She must’ve seen me looking at it because she reached up and grabbed it, pressing it into the nook of her neck between her cheek and shoulder.
“I can’t believe you still have that old thing,” I said, nostalgia making my throat tighten. “It must stink.”
“Yeah, but it smells like you so I better take it,” she said, blinking as she stuffed it down the side of her suitcase between underwear and jeans. “For luck, right?”
“You don’t need it, kid, you’re going to kill it at college.” My voice sounded tight, squeaky and I cleared my throat. “You’re a good girl, Lizzie, and I’m proud of you.”
“Aww, Mom, cut it out.” She flung herself at me and we had a good cry together, tangled on the bed in a tight hug.
That was the moment I should’ve told her the truth. The words hovered on my lips. “I love you like my own daughter, Lizzie girl, but you’re actually Diana and Cam’s firstborn.”
I opened my mouth to speak but then she released me and scooted away, a grown-up again, and as I stared into her guileless blue eyes, so like her dad’s, I knew I couldn’t do it.
Telling her before she left for college would disarm her and I didn’t want her leaving home hating me. So I kept my mouth shut and the next morning she was gone.
That was eight weeks ago and I wish she’d never left. For purely selfish reasons: without Lizzie here to deflect some of Freya’s attention, it’s focused solely on Brooke, and not in a healthy way.
Eli has become a permanent fixture in our household and I like hearing his deep voice and the rumble of his laughter. But Freya likes it too, a bit too much, and I’m constantly on guard, watching her watch Eli.
I wonder if he knows. Brooke remains completely oblivious because she’s in the throes of first love and she only has eyes for Eli. But I’m concerned as I see Freya’s obsession grow. She’s lost weight, picking at her food at mealtimes, and she spends a lot of time in her room listening to music. Her grades have suffered too; not that they were outstanding to begin with. Brooke is the brains in the family, which almost seems unfair alongside her beauty.
To make matters worse, Brooke loves her sister and doesn’t want her to feel left out, especially with Lizzie out of the picture, so she often invites her to tag along with her and Eli. I see Freya’s eyes light up when this happens and on those evenings when she accompanies the happy couple, to the movies or the skating rink or for ice cream, she comes back practically glowing.
It’s not healthy and I need to put a stop to it. But how to do it without hurting both my girls? I must try because I fear Brooke is unwittingly fostering Freya’s unhealthy crush and if Freya is bottling everything inside I’m scared of what might happen…
My opportunity comes one evening when the girls are waiting in the lounge room for Eli to arrive. They’re going to an outdoor concert in the park where a new high school band is making its debut. Brooke is wearing dark denim slashed at the knees and a sparkly black tank top. Freya has tried to copy her, but her denim is faded and her top is purple velvet.
They’re sitting side by side on the sofa and in profile they both channel Cam. Strange, how I never see Diana in any of her girls, apart from the blonde hair Lizzie and Brooke have. Then again, maybe I don’t want to remember anything about my sister.
Some half-hearted argument about who’s dating the lead singer drifts toward me and I smile. At times like this I can almost imagine they’re like other normal siblings, but I know better.
My smile fades as Brooke’s cell buzzes because I see Freya’s expression of joy; she must know that individual message tone belongs to Eli too.
“Eli’s not coming,” Brooke says, her thumbs flying over the screen to respond. “His mom’s got vertigo and he needs to drive her to the doctor.”
I see Brooke’s disappointment in the slump of her shoulders but Freya’s expression is a scary mixture of anger and disdain. I rush into the room. “Hey, girls, ready to go?”
“Eli’s not coming, his mom’s sick,” Brooke says, with a grimace. “But that’s okay, I can drive us—”
“I’m not feeling great either,” Freya says, clutching at her stomach. “You go, I’ll stay here.”
Brooke shoots her sister a concerned glance. “You sure? Because I can stay and hang out with you if you want—”
“No, you go.” Freya fakes a small moan. “Probably some viral thing that’ll pass if I rest.”
“Okay.” Brooke squeezes Freya’s shoulder before standing and turning to me. “I won’t be late, Aunt Alice.”
I nod. “Have a good time.”
Brooke casts one last concerned glance at her sister before heading out the door, leaving me with the perfect opportunity to have a discussion with Freya. I wait until I hear the car start and pull out of the driveway before fixing Freya with a no-nonsense glare.
“Why didn’t you want to go with your sister?”
To her credit, she doesn’t try to convince me of her sudden fake illness. “Because I know what tonight will be like. We’ll get to the park, everyone will fawn over Brooke and I’ll be ignored as usual.”
I have to broach the awkwardness of her crush, now. “Yet you were looking forward to it when Eli was going?”
An angry flush stains her cheeks crimson and her lips compress.
“Freya, it’s okay to like Eli, he’s a good guy, but he’s your sister’s boyfriend.”
My Sister's Husband Page 16
