I want to ask her what she did but the last thing she needs is an interrogation. She’ll tell me when she’s ready. For now, all I can do is support.
“Where’s Freya? She didn’t come home with you?”
“She doesn’t know I left. I told one of my friends to let her know.” She swipes at the tears still trickling down her cheeks. “I had to talk to Eli so we got out of there.”
She shudders and her eyes turn so dark they’re almost indigo. “We were talking at the bottom of the cliffs. I begged him to come back with me but he wouldn’t budge so I eventually left.”
Every property along our long winding road backs onto cliffs but when kids talk about “the cliffs” they’re referring to a section out of town known as a popular make-out spot. I’m surprised they went there to talk, but what do I know?
“I messed up really badly,” she murmurs, her pain audible. “I’m never impulsive so why did I do something so stupid?”
“We all give in to impulse at times.” I reach out and squeeze her hand. “We’re human, sweetie. We make mistakes, we learn from them.”
And sometimes we pay for them for the rest of our lives.
“Maybe you’re right.” She drags in a shaky breath and lets it go. “I’ll talk to him in the morning when we’ve had a chance to sleep on it.”
“Good girl.” I kiss her cheek. “It’ll all be better in the morning, you’ll see.”
Hollow reassurance because I have no idea what she did. I’m assuming it involves another boy. Maybe she kissed someone else? Then again, Brooke and Eli are solid; I can’t imagine her doing anything to jeopardize their relationship.
A small part of me still wonders if Freya has something to do with this. She’s been so good lately, has it all been a front leading up to this?
I’ve seen my niece at her worst and I wouldn’t put anything past her.
“Thanks, Aunt Alice. I’m going to bed.”
“Sweet dreams, sweetie.”
I watch her leave the kitchen, my heart heavy. If she’s anything like me she won’t sleep and will probably still be mulling this problem in the morning. But keeping her distance from Eli for now, gaining perspective, can only help.
I put the kettle on to make another cup of chamomile tea and while I’m waiting for it to boil, I send Freya a text message.
R U OK?
She doesn’t answer for twenty minutes. By then I’ve had two cups of tea and my anxiety makes me crave a third. When my cell finally beeps and I see her YES, B BACK SOON, I slump in relief.
Parenting Cam’s girls has been a challenge, one I’ve relished, but on occasions like this I wonder how much easier my life would’ve been if I hadn’t interfered in Diana’s. I always think of them as Cam’s girls because my sister didn’t deserve him and she certainly didn’t deserve Brooke and Freya, not after she gave up Lizzie so readily.
I wait up for Freya but her version of “soon” is another fifty minutes. It’s after one when I hear a car and when she enters the back door I immediately know something is wrong. She’s not wildly upset like Brooke had been but I see it in her eyes. An unease, a furtiveness, that scares me.
I know pushing for answers isn’t the way to handle her so I feign nonchalance. “How was your evening?”
“Okay.”
She glances at the door behind me like she can’t wait to escape, but I can’t let her off so lightly, not until I know if she had a hand in upsetting her sister.
“Brooke came home from the party over an hour ago. Did you see her when she left?”
She shrugs. “Not really. There were a lot of people there.”
“Did she seem okay to you?”
She rolls her eyes. “Center of attention as usual, so yeah, she was fine.”
“What about Eli?”
And there it is, her tell, the barest clenching of her jaw.
“Yeah, he was around, glued to Brooke’s side.”
She’s not telling me everything. Her gaze shifts away for a few seconds before sliding back to meet mine and when it does she’s regained control. Her stare is eerily blank, almost catatonic, and I resist the urge to rub my bare arms.
“You’d tell me if something was wrong?”
“Of course,” she responds, too quickly. “I’m tired. Can I go to bed or do you want to play another round of twenty questions?”
“Watch yourself, missie,” I admonish, but she’s already gone, practically sprinting down the hallway toward her room.
I have a bad feeling about this.
Brooke broke up with Eli because of something she did, but I have an awful suspicion Freya’s involved somehow.
Hopefully the morning will bring us all clarity.
Fifty-Seven
Freya
After the last guest leaves, I tuck Hope into bed. She’s exhausted from all the excitement and has overdosed on sugar from lime meringues. I’m tired too and once I kiss her goodnight I can’t wait to crawl into bed.
Once Riker brought me home for the surprise shower, he hit the road to San Diego, dropping off one of his pieces for a park near the pier, and while I usually love nothing better than snuggling up with him after a long day, I’m glad to have my bed to myself tonight.
However, as I step out of Hope’s room and close the door, Brooke is waiting for me.
“I’ve made a fresh pot of coffee. Want some?”
I don’t but she’s making me uneasy. Halfway through the shower she kept casting me strange looks, and after a few minutes she took Aunt Alice back to her room and didn’t return. I used to think Brooke was predictable once upon a time. I don’t anymore. She has this look in her eyes tonight…
“Okay. But just one cup, I’m exhausted.”
“Me too.”
She leads the way to the kitchen where she’s already set up two mugs and the coffee pot. Our friends used to be horrified when we had coffee this late at night but the caffeine never affected us. We could drink a big cup and fall asleep as soon as our heads touched the pillow. The stimulant effect of caffeine was the least of my problems back then.
She sits, pours coffee into the two mugs, and pushes one toward me. “Did you enjoy today?”
“I did, thanks. You and Hope did an amazing job.”
She shrugs, as if my gratitude means little. “Have you opened the presents yet?”
“No, too tired, I’ll do it tomorrow.” I raise the mug to my lips, blow on the surface and take a sip. “Where did you disappear to?”
“Aunt Alice looked like she’d had enough so I took her back to her room.”
“That was a good idea of yours, having her there.”
“I think so.”
She stares into her coffee, not touching it, and I know she’s building up to something. The last thing I feel like doing is having yet another discussion about Alice’s care.
“I was chatting with Helena earlier.” Her tone is almost too blasé and I’m instantly on high alert.
“Yeah? I hardly see her these days, we lead such busy lives—”
“Why didn’t you mention talking to Eli the night he died?”
My heart stalls. A chill swamps me. I’m blindsided. I scramble quickly; I’ve become an expert at that over the years.
“Of course I spoke to him. Most people at the party did.”
Her glare is scathing. “I mean after we broke up.”
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
“He came back to the party after you two left. I was surprised to see him, especially when he seemed really freaked out.”
Her stare is unwavering. She wants answers. “What did he say?”
“That you two had a big fight and you dumped him. I was shocked so I sat with him for a bit.”
“And that’s it?”
“Why are you dredging up that awful night from so long ago?” I leap to my feet, jostling the table and spilling coffee from my mug.
“Why are you so defensive?” She sips at her coffee, an eerie calm emanating from her. �
�I’m surprised, that in the horrible aftermath, you didn’t mention any of this to me.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything. You were devastated after he killed himself. What good would it have done for me to tell you how upset he’d been by you dumping him?”
Her accusatory stare bores into me. “You should’ve told me.”
“What difference would it have made?”
She ponders this for a while, finally lowering her gaze to stare into her coffee. “You have no idea how I’ve spent the last eleven years second-guessing every aspect of that night. What I should have done differently. Regretting our big fight, along with everything else I did.”
What does she mean by that? But before I can ask, she bursts into noisy tears and I’m left having to console her rather than grill her.
“You couldn’t have stopped him doing what he did. That’s not on you, Sis.” I pat her shoulder, out of my depth with the level of her grief after all this time.
It had been the same back then, the morning when we learned the horrific truth etched into my memory.
I often wonder if I could go back in time, would things have turned out differently?
Fifty-Eight
Brooke
I don’t sleep that night.
Seeing Freya’s reaction to my questions about the night Eli died confirmed what I’d already suspected since Helena told me he’d gone back to the party.
Freya had been the last person to see Eli alive that night, not me.
I’ve spent eleven years rehashing my last conversation with Eli, wishing I hadn’t told him the truth about my mistake with Riker, wishing I hadn’t broken up with him because he’d been so disgusted with me he’d lashed out, wishing I’d seen the signs of a guy on the edge, a guy about to self-harm.
The guilt has been insidious and never-ending. I haven’t had a relationship since Eli. I’ve moved around constantly until I joined an international volunteer organization in desperation, hoping that helping others would bring me some kind of peace. It hasn’t. My five-year penance has been nothing but more of the same; me trying my utmost during the days to distract myself but the nights bringing a smothering guilt resulting in nightmares and insomnia.
Now I learn Freya spoke to Eli after me. What the hell did she say? How long did she spend with him? What did she do to comfort him?
She’d been lying earlier, trying to deflect by trite responses. I may not have seen my sister in over a decade but I can still read her.
She’s hiding something.
I wonder… I hate to think it, because Eli had been my world back then, but by Freya’s overreaction, did they have a closer relationship than I thought? I hadn’t suspected her crush, but how far would she have gone to ingratiate herself with Eli, especially at his lowest? Would she have taken advantage of his heartbreak to get closer to him? Which leads to an even worse thought: had he slept with Freya after I’d broken up with him, and been so consumed with guilt that’s what drove him to jump off that cliff?
Another shocking supposition detonates in my wild imagination.
Is he Hope’s father?
My head is spinning with my outlandish theories and I hate that she’s made me envisage these crazy scenarios.
If she won’t give me a straight answer, I know another person who’d been at the party that night.
I slip out of bed, pull on jeans and shrug into a jacket. Thrusting my feet into fluffy slippers, I don’t second-guess my decision, even though I know it’s a bad idea to seek out my sister’s fiancé at two in the morning.
Freya had said Riker would be away in San Diego for the night but I heard his van pull into the drive about five minutes ago. He’s probably tired but I don’t care. I won’t sleep unless I discover if he knows anything about what went down after I left the party that night. He’d been there after we’d hooked up, because I’d seen him drinking with his friends, his eyes following me as I did my best to ignore him and pretend he hadn’t had his hands all over me.
I tiptoe down the hallway, only stopping to press my ear against Freya’s door. She’s snoring in the same way she used to as a kid, soft, snuffling noises. I let myself out the back door and pull it shut behind me, and follow the path to Riker’s cottage. I exhale in relief when I see a light still on, casting a golden glow across the yard.
The wind is strong tonight, the sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs louder than usual. I shudder and wrap my arms around my body. I used to love listening to the waves, until I imagined Eli’s battered body lying at the bottom of a cliff. Tears burn my eyes but I blink them away. This isn’t the time to cry. I need answers and I hope Riker can provide them.
When I reach his door I knock softly, glancing over my shoulder to ensure the main house is in darkness. If Freya freaked out over a few questions, what would she do if she caught me in her fiancé’s cottage in the wee hours?
The door opens and Riker’s standing there, shirtless, with a towel draped around his neck and wearing low-slung denim. He’s lean, every muscle on his abdomen clearly delineated, his chest broad, his pecs defined.
My mouth goes dry. I’m staring but I can’t help it. I haven’t had a lot of sex over the last five years; being tired and grimy in a place with a water shortage didn’t lend itself to getting down and dirty with a fellow volunteer, no matter how cute.
And I would never, ever, cross the line with Riker but for that brief, suspended moment in time I give in to the pleasure of admiring a stunningly beautiful male.
“It’s late,” he says, sounding more surprised than annoyed. “What’s up?”
“This won’t take long. Can we talk?”
A slight frown mars his forehead. “It can’t wait till the morning?”
“I wouldn’t be here if it could.”
His frown deepens but he opens the door wider to let me pass. He closes the door, leaving me all too aware it’s just the two of us in his cozy cottage, a lone lamp casting everything in shadows.
“What’s going on, Brooke?”
His tone’s abrupt and I square my shoulders. “The night of the party when we… got together…” Heat flushes my cheeks but I’m not some blushing teen any longer and I need to get this out. “How long did you stick around after I left?”
His eyebrows rise. “Where’s this coming from?”
“It’s important, just answer the question.”
“I was there for about an hour after you left.”
“Did you see Freya that night?”
He shakes his head. “It’s pretty freaky to think she was at that party too, but no. And even if I did it was dark and I wouldn’t have recognized her.”
I have no idea how much he knows and I’ll have to tell him more than he needs to know if he’s to give me the answers I want.
“That night we hooked up, I had a boyfriend.”
“Shit, I didn’t know.” He scrubs a hand over his face as if to erase bad memories. “I wouldn’t have touched you if I’d known.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you…” I shake my head. “What happened that night was all on me.” The blush returns, scorching my cheeks. “I told him afterward and he freaked. We had a massive argument and I broke up with him.”
His eyebrows are so high now his forehead is a canvas of wrinkles.
“He killed himself by jumping off a cliff that night.”
“Fuck.” Riker takes a step toward me before thinking better of it. “That’s awful.”
I nod. “I’ve lived with the guilt ever since, how what I said that night drove him to it. But at the bridal shower I learned he went back to the party and Freya talked to him.” I release a long sigh. “If you saw anything or if she’s ever mentioned anything to you, please tell me. I know your loyalties lie with her but it will help give me closure.”
He screws up his eyes, thinking, before he finally says, “I remember this guy, tall, dark curly hair, stumbling around the lawn like a madman. He was making a real ass of himself
and someone said the prom king had been dumped. There was a girl with him for a while, but then he left. Alone.”
Riker had seen Eli. The girl could possibly have been Freya, or maybe not. It could’ve been someone else who was the last person to speak to him.
“How does this change anything, Brooke?”
“It doesn’t,” I murmur, emotion tightening my throat. “I don’t know why I got so wound up over this, but when I heard I wasn’t the last person to speak to him I was hoping for… answers, perhaps, as to his state of mind.”
Regardless of who it was, Eli had left that party by himself and had been distraught enough to end his life.
And I will continue to live with that for the rest of mine.
Riker grimaces. “Considering what he did, I’d say that’s pretty obvious.”
“I know.” Unease tiptoes across the back of my neck and I give a little shake to get me out of this funk. “I honestly don’t know what I’m hoping to hear after all these years, but I guess I’m so haunted the slightest mention of anything to do with that night turns me into this.” I gesture at myself, imagining how deranged I must look, turning up on his doorstep at two in the morning. “Sorry to bother you.”
I rush past him but he reaches out and snags my arm. “Hey, it’s okay, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry you’ve had to live with this for so long.”
“Thanks,” I mumble, making the mistake of glancing up, the compassion in his eyes a beacon for my weary soul. I want to hurl myself against him and have him wrap his strong arms around me. I crave comfort and warmth.
But it can’t be from him so I wrench my arm free and make a beeline for the door.
“Brooke?”
I pause and glance over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“If you ever need an impartial listener, I’m here.”
“Thanks.” I manage a wan smile before I’m out of there. I close the door and lean against it, a small irrational part of me wishing he’d come after me.
Fifty-Nine
My Sister's Husband Page 21
