Having exposed all this information about my family secrets now made me feel self-conscious and raw. I wished I hadn’t opened up, needed to be alone so I could try to stuff it all into another box inside my head and label it Do Not Open.
“I should get back to work,” I said, gesturing to my laptop.
“Yes, sure. Okay,” Lewis said. “I suppose I should get going, too. Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You keep saying that,” Lewis said as he got up. “You know, I can’t help thinking life’s really short. You said you don’t get along with Amy... Maybe you could approach Victoria when the time feels right? I mean, her father is a dick, but doesn’t she deserve to know about you so she can make up her own mind instead of you doing it for her? Besides—” delicate lines formed next to his eyes as he smiled “—you’re an awesome person. How can she not like you?” When I let out a small laugh, he looked at me. “You are. Really. Think about it, okay?”
* * *
I spent an hour calling potential new clients, circling back with existing ones and going through job postings offered on four contractor-for-hire sites. The amounts people were willing to pay were paltry, less than minimum wage, but I couldn’t be picky or my business would fail, and I’d promised Dad I wouldn’t let that happen. If I did, I knew it would only be more evidence about the kind of person my mother said I was.
A while later, curiosity whispered in my ear, making Lewis’s comment about Victoria rattle around my head, and my daydreams about us becoming close friends drained the rest of my focus.
As far as I could tell, Victoria was an only child. No postings about siblings or mention of a brother or sister in any of the articles I’d read. There were numerous Instagram photos of her and someone called Charlotte, who I’d gathered was her cousin, and they seemed close. Perhaps Lewis was right; maybe I should approach Victoria, but I couldn’t do so the way I’d contacted Stan. If—and it was still a big if—I wanted to meet her, I’d do it slowly, gently, and I didn’t want Stan or my mother to know, at least not for now.
I looked through Victoria’s social media accounts, saw she’d checked into a spinning class thirty minutes earlier, adding a bicycle and biceps emoji to her post. The studio was a local one I recognized, and a short walk from my apartment, so I gathered my things and hurried outside. While I had no intention of joining the class, I often visited the arts and crafts store directly across the street, which I knew offered the perfect vantage point.
I meandered around the store for a while, checked out the on-sale graphite sticks and sketchbooks, while keeping one eye on the fitness studio’s front door. Twenty-five minutes later, Victoria emerged, accompanied by another woman I didn’t recognize from any of the photos I’d seen. They were both dressed in similar outfits, multicolored spandex pants showing off their mile-long legs, and colorful hoodies underneath their thick jackets.
I grabbed my Nikon and snapped pictures of Victoria and her friend until the store clerk gave me a funny look and walked toward me. Not wanting to draw more attention to myself than I already had, I shoved the camera back in my bag and headed outside. I crossed the road, trying to get close enough to hear the conversation without my eavesdropping becoming obvious, and made sure I stood in the opposite direction to Victoria’s apartment, so when she headed home, we couldn’t cross paths.
My plan backfired. Before I was able to make out their words, Victoria hugged the woman, turned and walked directly at me. I panicked, thinking she knew who I was, she’d recognized me from our brief encounter outside Gallinger Properties, or Stan had showed her my picture and told her all about me. She was coming to confront me, ask me why I was following her, taking pictures of her. I wanted to move, but my feet had become heavy as blocks of ice, frozen to the ground, forcing her to sidestep me. I stood, mouth agape, as she walked past, didn’t move until a rush of pure relief flooded my veins. She had no idea who I was. Not the tiniest of inklings.
“Sorry,” I mumbled but Victoria didn’t respond and kept walking, and for a split second I imagined shouting I’m your sister! but managed to keep quiet, cursing myself for being so stupid. If this was my idea of a soft approach, then God help me.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
ENSURING I LEFT A steady thirty-foot gap between us, I walked behind Victoria, watched her silky ponytail swish-swishing against the back of her coat. I relaxed as I kept moving, repeating to myself she had no clue who I was, had no more than glanced at me and there’d been no flicker of recognition. I was safe.
Two blocks later Victoria walked up the steps of a gastropub called Le Médaillon, where she pushed open the ten-foot door and disappeared from sight. I stood outside for a good five minutes, taking a couple of pictures of the building before deciding my behavior was ridiculous at best, and it was time to go home.
I half turned before looking up at the restaurant again. It was new and there’d been a lot of buzz on social media about it. The food was said to be delicious, albeit too expensive for my budget, but the mere thought of a proper meal almost made my stomach turn on itself from hunger and offset the potential discomfort of eating in front of others. There was no reason I couldn’t go inside, was there? I wouldn’t order much, and it wasn’t like I was doing anything wrong.
The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to know who Victoria was meeting. What did my half sister do after spin class? Hang out with friends? Her husband? What if she was cheating on him and meeting a lover? Like father, like daughter, perhaps?
The apple-cheeked hostess smiled when I got inside. If she was fazed by my jeans, scuffed boots and tatty jacket, she didn’t show it. “Table for...?” she said.
“One, please,” I answered, scanning the restaurant. I didn’t spot Victoria and suspected she’d gone to the back, obscured from view. “Somewhere quiet? I’ve got a bit of work to do.”
“Of course, follow me.”
We made our way to the rear of the restaurant, past the chunky maple tables and the funky mix of multicolored, upholstered chairs. The place was busy but not packed, the ambient lounge-type music at a volume where you could still hold a conversation without raising your voice. Servers with long black aprons walked past, carrying plates piled high with thick-cut fries and pan-seared fish smelling of tarragon.
My mouth watered and my stomach grumbled again. It was almost nine. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch. Binge punishment was still on the menu, and I hadn’t found the time or energy to go grocery shopping. Come to think of it, for the first time in forever, stocking up the fridge hadn’t even occurred to me. Maybe it was an illusion, but my jeans didn’t seem to pinch my middle quite as much, either.
“How’s this?” the hostess said, gesturing to a smaller table tucked away in a corner.
I quickly looked around, stumbling when I spotted Victoria sitting with two other women in a horseshoe-shaped booth across the room. I recognized both of them—blond bob, long neck—unmistakably Madeleine. The other had dimpled cheeks and long red hair—Charlotte, Victoria’s cousin I’d seen in the multiple Instagram posts.
I hesitated. I’d bumped into Victoria twice now, what if she realized I was following her? But I needn’t have worried because none of them glanced our way; they were too engrossed in conversation.
Funny how fear can be replaced by courage in an instant. I pointed at the empty booth next to them. “Can I sit there? It would give me more room for my stuff.” I didn’t have “stuff” with me, save for my camera and sketchbook in my bag, but the latter would suffice to help with the charade of keeping myself busy.
The hostess gave me another smile and guided me over, handed me a rolled-up parchment paper menu. “Trinity will be right with you. Enjoy.”
I sat with my back to Victoria’s table, hoping to home in on their conversation as I scanned the menu, immediately identifying the prices of the entrees as more than two times o
ut of my reach. When Trinity bounded over—her hair a mass of corkscrew curls, her eyes the color of amber—I decided to go for the cheapest thing; a bowl of tomato and red pepper soup and a glass of tap water. When she asked if I wanted garlic bread, I opened my mouth to request a double helping before imagining Victoria sitting behind me. No doubt she’d chosen a tiny salad with the dressing on the side. Her cheekbones sat high and proud—not hidden beneath a puffy layer of skin like mine.
“No, thank you,” I said to Trinity, smiling when my stomach growled again, protesting my refusal of the habitual buttery, carb-loaded treat.
After she left, I pulled out my sketchbook and pencils to keep up the pretense of looking like I was doing something other than prying, and leaned back while I doodled, pressing my spine against the seat, wishing the trio behind me would speak a fraction louder.
“You’re such a hoot, Charlotte,” Madeleine said, her voice husky, her French accent transforming the words into an oot. “I can’t believe you told Malcolm that.”
“Well, you know me,” another voice said. Charlotte’s, I presumed. “He had it coming, don’t you think?” As the laughter erupted, I wanted to join them at their table, find out who Malcolm was and what, exactly, Charlotte had told him. I longed to share their inside jokes instead of skulking around on the sidelines.
“How’s Dad?” The third voice had to belong to Victoria. It was low and sultry, sexy, and I straightened my back and sat completely still, waiting for the answer.
“Oh, he’s wonderful,” Madeleine said. “Busy, busy, busy, as usual.”
“I popped in to see him the other day,” Victoria said. “He seemed a bit upset.”
“Your father was upset you stopped by?” Madeleine said.
“No, I don’t think that’s what it was,” Victoria said.
“Was this on Monday?” Madeleine asked.
“Uh, let’s see... Yes, it was. After you’d had lunch with him, I think,” Victoria said. “But don’t worry. I didn’t take it personally. You know what he can be like with work.”
Madeleine laughed. “Oh, yes, I certainly do. Actually, I remember him coming home that day. Mon dieu, he was a bear with a migraine. He calmed down over dinner, then got worked up after he’d taken Zeus out for a walk. He was gone for almost an hour.”
“I thought Zeus collapsed after twenty minutes,” Charlotte said.
“Exactly,” Madeleine said. “When he came back, he was muttering about people not respecting business deals, so I gave him a whiskey, went to bed and left him to it.”
“We all know how serious Dad is about people respecting terms,” Victoria said. “Remember the agreement about minimum achievements when I started high school?”
“Yes, I do.” Madeleine laughed. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
“Yeah, well, speaking of contracts,” Victoria said, her voice filling with excitement, “he took me to the Commercial Street location. I loved it. Not too big, not too small, it was—”
“Goldilocks,” Charlotte said, and they all chuckled.
“This is the one,” Victoria added. “It’ll be perfect for my new business.”
While Charlotte and Madeleine expressed their approval in varying degrees of appreciative noises, I made a mental note to find out what business they were talking about. As far as my research had revealed, Victoria worked as an interior designer for a company called King, had been there for the past four years and specialized in transforming upscale houses. Her LinkedIn profile was full of recommendations, compliments and praise. Apparently she was as successful in her professional life as in her private one, although I couldn’t help thinking it had to be easy when you started off a few rungs up the privilege ladder.
“Hugh must be so proud,” Charlotte said, sounding equally so.
“I couldn’t do this without him,” Victoria said.
“I know, darling,” Madeleine said. “Have you settled on a name yet? My favorite is still Victoria by Design. It has such a wonderful ring to it.”
“Why don’t you call it Gallinger Designs?” Charlotte said. “I mean, everybody knows Gallinger Properties and—”
“Exactly,” Victoria said. “Which makes it pretentious, so—”
“You think our name’s pretentious?” Madeleine said.
“Of course not, Mom,” Victoria said. “And don’t take this the wrong way, either, but I don’t want something as recognizable. I really, really want to make my own mark. Be successful in my own right.”
“You already are, ma chérie,” Madeleine said. “Remember, there’s nothing wrong with taking advantage of who you are. But you’re the boss. Besides, you know your father’s rules. If you bid on any of his projects, you won’t get any special treatment.”
“Of course he says that,” Charlotte said with a click of her tongue, “and it may be true, but you’ll have the edge, Victoria. You know exactly what he’s looking for, how he works, what his expectations are. You’ll win those bids in a heartbeat.”
Victoria laughed. “How about I get this company off the ground without too much nepotism, okay? Anyway, I need more than the name. There’s the logo, the marketing, the—”
“Customers.” Charlotte giggled. “Don’t forget the customers.”
“Yes, those, too,” Victoria said. “Let’s hope there are lots of them.”
“My neighbor could help with the marketing bit,” Charlotte said. “He did some stuff for the flower shop, it looks really good.”
“Great,” Victoria said, and, without seeing her face, I could tell she didn’t mean it. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready and you can put us in touch.”
Trinity brought me my soup and I took a few mouthfuls as I processed every scrap and morsel of information I’d learned. Victoria needed marketing for her new business. Did it include a website? I doodled as I ate and continued listening to them chat about her new venture before moving on to Madeleine and Stan’s upcoming trip to the British Virgin Islands. Not a cross word was spoken between them, they offered one another nothing but encouragement and support. They were the same with Trinity, too, complimenting her on her hair, asking where she’d got her silver bracelets from. They were so kind, so thoughtful and sweet, it made me feel as if I was rolling around in a tub of glitter while watching an episode of Strawberry Shortcake.
By now I needed the bathroom, and after waiting as long as I could, I tore myself away from the conversation, headed to the restrooms and darted to the back stall. When I was about to flush the toilet, I heard the main bathroom door open. Madeleine’s and Victoria’s now-familiar voices rang out. I lowered the seat without making a sound and sat down, pulling my feet up and out of sight, deciding to wait until they’d gone.
A minute later, as they were washing their hands, Madeleine said, “Charlotte has no idea, does she? She’d have said something if she did.”
“I still can’t believe Malcolm’s cheating on her,” Victoria said, and I spied through the crack in the door, making out a sliver of my half sister. She’d dried her hands and was looking at a selection of creams in the wicker basket on the counter. “Are you sure?”
“I told you, one of my friends saw him having dinner with another woman in Cape Elizabeth.” Madeleine shook her head. “What was he thinking? Really, if you’re going to cheat, you may want to make more of an effort to hide it.”
“But she could’ve been a work colleague, couldn’t she?” Victoria said. “I mean, he—”
“Had his hand halfway up her skirt, which looked more like a belt, according to Geneviève,” Madeleine said. “Apparently she was barely legal.”
“What are we going to do?” Victoria said. “Should we tell Charlotte?”
“I don’t think we can. Imagine what it’ll do to her. She’s barely over her postnatal depression and that took her years. It’ll devastate her. It could send her right back to squar
e one.”
“But we can’t do nothing, Mom. That bastard—”
“Who said we’d do nothing? I’ll speak to Malcolm.”
“And say what?”
“I’ll put the fear of God in him. Or the fear of the Gallingers, anyway.”
Victoria shook her head. “Either way, it’s horrible. I can’t imagine being in her shoes.”
“First of all, she doesn’t know she’s in them. And second, you’ll never have anything to worry about.” Madeleine patted her shoulder. “Hugh worships you. He’d do anything for you. Which is exactly how it should be. Exactly how I taught you, remember, darling? You call the shots, even if he thinks he does.”
As they left the bathroom, I stood up, my legs shaking so hard I had to steady myself by holding the wall. I didn’t know what to do with the news of the affair, or whether it was of any relevance or importance to me. Regardless, I stored it in the back of my mind, in the virtual file marked Gallinger, which had started taking up an awful lot of space.
I washed my hands, walked over to the lotion basket, picked up the lavender one I’d seen Victoria use and opened the tube. It smelled divine, calm and comforting as a summer breeze, and I rubbed some into my hands and elbows. When I put the tube back, a glint of something caught the corner of my eye. An engagement ring—a platinum-and-diamond one by the look of it—carefully placed on a hand towel.
Sister Dear Page 11
