Something about her birthday… or is it mine? Or the other one’s?
She’s always on my laptop like I once was. That thing was my savior after my sister died and I was responsible for her girls. I had no one to talk to. I was so lonely. No friends, no boyfriend, no family. I needed to get out all my pent-up feelings. I poured out all my thoughts, my fears, my guilt. Keeping a record in a journal kept me sane.
Is that why Brooke’s on there too?
Is her sister bad like mine?
I wish I could help her. But my thoughts are jumbled. Nothing is clear.
This is hell.
And nothing less than I deserve for what I’ve done.
Seventy-Two
Brooke
It’s a long entry but I have to start somewhere and the faster I read, hopefully I’ll get the answers I crave.
I used to laugh at Diana for keeping a journal all through high school. Every night she’d be in bed, scribbling in that thing, like she had so many important things to say. I never saw the value in it.
Until now.
Toby has just left. I met him at the supermarket of all places and I foolishly invited him into my home because he’s nice and reminded me of Cam. But the girls didn’t like him and I’m not ready. It’s too soon to let anyone into my heart, when it still belongs to Cam.
But I’m so frustrated. I have no one to talk to and if I don’t let out some of these feelings locked inside I’ll go crazy. If I’m not already.
Even now, months after I accidentally killed the love of my life, I can’t believe it. I may have hated the way Cam danced to Di’s tune, but at least when she was around he was too.
He should’ve never been in that car. Not Cam, never him.
Even to the end, she thwarted me. Bad enough I had to put up with being second best my entire life, she took the one thing I wanted most in this world.
My grief is still raw, all-consuming. Cam should be here, raising his daughters with me. That was the plan. And with time, he would’ve grown to love me. We were close once and if Di hadn’t come home after GIVING AWAY HER BABY, Cam would’ve been mine.
Now, I’m raising Brooke, Freya, and Lizzie. Cam was meant to co-parent with me but he’s gone and I’m stuck doing it alone. But I can’t begrudge him that. None of this is his fault. And I love these girls because they’re a part of him.
The investigators ruled the car accident just that. Old car, old brakes. But I hate the uncertainty that even though I didn’t follow through on my plan to tamper with Di’s brakes, I might’ve somehow inadvertently done something when I touched them. It’s a guilt I’ll have to live with, even though the one thing I wanted most—Di’s death—actually happened.
I’m rich, thanks to Cam. I sold their house to move here, to Martino Bay, and I have control of the girls’ trust funds Cam’s parents set up before they died. But all the money in the world doesn’t make up for my loss.
Cam, I love you and I always will.
I never thought I’d be a mom to your three girls at twenty-three but here I am. I promise you I’ll do my best. I’ll love them like they’re my own, because they’re yours.
You and me, Cam, forever.
I rear back from the screen, my breathing ragged. I scrub a hand across my face but it doesn’t change the print dancing before my eyes. My sweet aunt, who raised me, loved me, had an obsession for my father, hated my mother, and had tried to kill her because of it before growing a conscience.
Sadness tightens my chest and I breathe slower, waiting until I regain control to keep reading. I skim through the next week of entries, more of the same, lamenting the loss of Cam and citing every reason why she hated Diana. I can’t equate her level of vitriol with the caring aunt I know and love. It doesn’t make sense.
The entries peter out, only the occasional one for the first few years of her guardianship. She chronicles our life in Martino Bay, the odd guy she hooks up with, mundane stuff. My eyes start to ache as I speed-read each entry, until I spy a momentous date.
The day my baby died.
My breath hitches but I force myself to read.
I swear my heart stops when I see Brooke’s baby. She’s blue, unresponsive, and the midwife looks panicked. She bundles the baby and passes her to me and I allow Brooke one glance before I’m gone.
It would make life easier if the little one hadn’t lived. It will make what I’m about to do a non-issue.
I gasp as I re-read those lines over and over, my mind unable to compute one little word.
She.
Aunt Alice told me I had a boy.
Why lie?
I brace for what’s to come and continue.
I rush her into the nursery where several nurses get to work on reviving her immediately. It doesn’t take long and when I hear my great-niece’s first lusty cry I sag against the wall in relief.
I hate lying to Brooke.
It kills me, it really does.
But at no stage when she said she wanted to give up her baby did I entertain the thought.
I’m not my sister.
When I first learned the truth about Lizzie I vowed no Shomack baby would ever go through what she had.
So I lied.
I told Brooke the adoption was all arranged, but it wasn’t. I know someone who’s only too happy to have something of her sister’s. Someone who’s so like me in our mutual envy of our sisters, someone who knows what it’s like to be second best.
While Brooke is nothing like Diana, I know this is the only way to calm Freya down. She loved Eli how I loved Cam and losing him changed her irrevocably. Now, she’ll have a piece of Eli forever, just like I have Cam in his girls.
Of course Freya loved my plan.
She’ll have something of Brooke’s that is irreplaceable.
She’ll have won.
It breaks my heart to see Brooke grieving for her lost baby boy but it’s for the best. She never wants to return home and that’s fine by me. Even if she does, it won’t matter. Freya’s been living with me in LA, “having her baby” before we return to Martino Bay. No one will know the truth but us. And it has to stay that way. I can’t bear the thought of Brooke thinking badly of me. I love her, but this is for the best. She doesn’t want her baby, Freya does.
End of story.
But it’s not, and as tears spill from my eyes I stand, place the laptop on the chair, and move toward the bed.
A red mist films my eyes, blurring with the tears, making sight impossible. I’m shaking with rage, and nausea churns my gut.
Aunt Alice has fallen asleep and as I stand over her, reeling from what she’s done, I want to kill her.
Seventy-Three
Freya
I’m flummoxed, at a complete loss.
What am I going to do about Brooke?
She won’t give up on this obsession with Aunt Alice’s care. Why else would she be badgering me for the medical records? I can’t have anyone but Dr. Chilthorn treat Aunt Alice. He’s pliable and unreliable. If someone else takes her bloods and does a full screening…
I have to do something before it comes to that.
Ideally, I would up her dosage until she drifts into a permanent sleep. But those kinds of things are picked up through toxicology by a medical examiner and I’m not giving up my life before I get everything I’ve ever wanted.
I’m due to marry Riker and have the happily-ever-after Brooke always wanted.
If Aunt Alice says something to jeopardize that…
I can’t believe Lizzie and Brooke pulled that stunt by not giving her the medications. Alice has enough in her system to not have clarity from one day’s missed dosage but I’m still scared. I know I’ve acted impulsively in the past and let my anger control me but I can’t afford any slip-ups this time around.
Hope barrels into the kitchen and skids to a stop. This kid never walks, she always runs everywhere like she’s got places to be and people to see.
“Hey, Mom, I showed Auntie Brooke my
science project, she thinks it’s cool.”
“That’s because you’re cool.” I give her a quick hug, my mind still fixated on my dilemma.
“She’s not leaving after the wedding, is she?” Hope perches at the island bench and rests her chin in her hands. “Because I don’t want her to go and you should ask her to stay.”
As if. I’m counting down the days until Brooke leaves. I can’t have her meddling any further. And I feel bad for dosing up Aunt Alice. But I had no choice. The moment Lizzie mentioned emailing Brooke about her concerns for her mom, and she told Brooke about the wedding, I had to take action.
When Brooke leaves I can cut down Aunt Alice’s dosage again. I’ve been doctoring her food with a variety of sedatives since she first voiced her opinion on Brooke returning and it hadn’t been difficult getting old Doc Chilthorn to diagnose her with early onset dementia. His examinations are rudimentary at best and, as a co-worker, he’s been freely signing off on the required scripts ever since.
When I started this I didn’t want to harm Aunt Alice, just make her dopey enough she couldn’t let slip any secrets to Brooke. If she hadn’t taken her meds yesterday it had been a close call. That can’t happen again.
“You’re daydreaming, Mom.” Hope rolls her eyes. “Tell Auntie Brooke she has to stay.”
“It’s her choice, sweetie.” I manage to inject enthusiasm into my voice when I hate it every time Hope waxes lyrical about Brooke. It plays into every one of my old insecurities and I can’t contemplate they may have some invisible biological bond proving nature over nurture.
“I think she’s the best.” Hope folds her arms, the stubborn glint in her eyes so reminiscent of my sister a physical ache spreads in my chest.
I know Hope doesn’t mean it literally. My daughter loves me and has from day one. But to hear her say Brooke is the best…
I have to come up with a way to keep Aunt Alice silent until Brooke leaves.
Seventy-Four
Brooke
I don’t know how long I stand over Aunt Alice.
I lose track of time as I assimilate the shocking news I’ve just learned.
Not only did the aunt I’ve adored my whole life almost commit murder, she stole my baby and gave her to my sister.
It’s diabolical, like some ridiculously elaborate plot out of the soap operas she’d watch when we were kids. She’d always have healthy snacks waiting for us when we got home from school, and I thought they were to keep us quiet while she sat glued to the latest saga. Little did I know her life mimicked some of those crazy screenwriters’ creations.
I can’t fathom how she thought this was remotely okay. She tries to justify it in her diary by implying she’s like Freya, the slighted sister, the second-best sister, but I’m not buying it. Aunt Alice has mental issues and that’s one trait she definitely shares with my sister.
My baby.
Sweet, delightful Hope is my child.
My throat tightens and I drag in deep breaths as spots dance before my eyes. I can’t pass out. I need to keep reading. Because I now know why Freya maintains such tight control over our aunt’s care.
If Aunt Alice had an attack of guilt with me coming home after all these years and wanted to come clean, Freya’s carefully constructed life would fall apart. I know my sister. She’ll never let that happen.
Everything slides into place. Her keeping Aunt Alice under lock and key, administering a plethora of drugs, not wanting an independent assessment… I wonder if Alice has dementia at all or is Dr. Hesham correct in implying her symptoms are caused by an over-consumption of meds?
I have no idea if my conspiracy theory is correct so I need to keep reading. If Aunt Alice has mentioned anything in her diary regarding forgetfulness, new symptoms, that kind of thing, I need proof before I go making wild accusations.
Scowling, I return to the screen, trepidation making me feel sick. Entries are few and far between after Aunt Alice and Freya return to Martino Bay with my baby. Riker gets a mention when he comes on the scene. He’s obviously captured my aunt’s heart as well as Freya’s because she raves about him. There’s a few months gap until the next entry, just after Freya announces her engagement.
I’m happy for my girl. She’ll get the happily-ever-after I craved but never got. I have my doubts about what a great guy like Riker sees in someone like her. I’ve looked for signs he’s not genuine but haven’t spotted any. Yet I can’t help but sense there’s more to him wanting to marry Freya than meets the eye.
Their courtship has been speedy so why does a guy who’s spent his life moving around suddenly want to settle down? And why marry? Him moving into the cottage is commitment enough. It’s a gut feeling I have that he has an ulterior motive of some kind and I spend time with him every morning to see if he’s genuine… yet I can’t fault how he treats Freya and Hope. That’s what endears him to me the most, the way he is with my great-niece.
Seeing Freya so happy has got me thinking… it’s time for Brooke to come home. I know Freya is scared I’ll reveal the truth but I would never do that. Yes, guilt still consumes me most days for what I did. But Freya is a good mother and keeping Hope in the family rather than giving her away like Brooke wanted to do has been my goal all along.
But I feel sorry for Brooke. She deserves to be a part of this family rather than drifting the way she has for the last decade or so. She’s a good girl and deserves a lot better than the hand she was dealt.
I worry about her. I hope returning home won’t dredge up the past for her. It’s eleven years since Eli died, the town has changed, but some people have long memories. I’ll try to protect her as best I can.
But I’m worried about more than my niece’s homecoming. Lately, I haven’t been feeling well. Food has become tasteless and I’m forgetting the simplest of things. I sense Freya watching me closely. She keeps asking if I’m okay and it’s bugging the hell out of me. But she’s a good girl. She’s taken over all the cooking and serves up different meals every day. She insists I eat even though I’ve lost my appetite and it seems to be dwindling daily.
Maybe it’s a virus of some sort. Whatever is making me feel so awful I need to get over it, because Brooke is finally coming home and I can’t wait to see my girl.
I blink rapidly at my aunt’s sentiment. She seems to genuinely care about me, but I will never, ever, forgive her for what she’s done.
Interesting, that she started feeling unwell after news of my return broke. I’d been surprised to receive Lizzie’s email expressing concerns about Aunt Alice and mentioning Freya’s nuptials, closely followed by the wedding invitation, so of course I’d agreed to come home.
Maybe Freya had been hoping I wouldn’t? Would Aunt Alice still be okay if I hadn’t made the decision to return?
I need to confront Freya but I’m wary: what is she capable of? I want to shove her so hard she can’t get back up. But all I have are these diary entries and with Aunt Alice’s mind the way it is, what’s to stop Freya dismissing all this as a figment of her imagination, the ranting of a demented woman?
Hope’s birth certificate is probably doctored too, naming Freya as the mother, so even if I could locate it, that won’t prove anything.
Hope and I need to get DNA tested.
That’s the only way to have irrevocable proof Hope is mine.
And then what? The last thing I want is to traumatize my daughter. She’s a wonderful child and learning the truth about her twisted aunts isn’t going to be good. But I can’t leave her in Freya’s care. Not after this.
I also need to prove Freya’s been poisoning Aunt Alice by over-medicating. Once I have any kind of evidence, I can blackmail her into granting me full custody of Hope.
It’s a convoluted plan that depends on so much.
Or there’s a simpler way…
I know what happens when I push Freya’s buttons. She won’t like me knowing the truth. She’ll hate it. And she’ll act accordingly.
As the glimmer of an i
dea takes shape, I wonder if I can do it.
It’s risky. It’s bold. And it could have severe consequences for us all.
But Hope, my daughter, is worth it.
Seventy-Five
Freya
I feed Hope leftover lasagna for dinner. I barely fork a mouthful of mine. I have important work to do once she’s in bed, involving researching untraceable poisons. Thankfully, Brooke doesn’t appear for dinner and Lizzie’s visiting an old college buddy in Palm Springs. Riker’s working on a surprise for me, a wedding gift, and has made me promise I won’t go anywhere near his workshop.
I’m angsty, my stomach knotted with nerves, until Hope eats, has a bath, reads for the requisite thirty minutes before lights out. I’m never more grateful that she falls asleep quickly and when I hear her breathing even out I close the door.
I can’t use the computer in the den to research. Even if I clear the search history there are experts who can trace anything and if there’s any doubt surrounding Alice’s death, who knows what will be investigated in this place. But using her laptop won’t raise any red flags. Anything searched on her device can be explained away by the hallucinations of a woman with dementia.
I unlock her door, pocket the key, and enter. Surprisingly, her laptop is open but nowhere near her bed. It’s on the movable table near the TV, well out of reach.
I hear her snuffling snores as I cross the room and spin the screen around to face me. It’s in resting mode but comes alive when I touch the ‘enter’ key.
That’s the moment my life as I know it ceases to exist.
I never had any fear Lizzie or Brooke would access Aunt Alice’s online diary because it was password protected. I knew because when I heard Brooke was coming home for the wedding I checked. I tried many combinations and came up empty, so how the hell has Brooke figured it out?
My Sister's Husband Page 26
