“I’d miss the ocean too much,” he said with a shake of his head. “I get to see them a few times a year. They’re usually in Portland at least once, and sometimes I make it there for Christmas or over the summer. Anyway, I got used to being away.”
“You’re not visiting them for Thanksgiving?” I left the implication hanging between us. The holiday was this coming week, and we’d yet to discuss plans. I hadn’t found the nerve.
“No, not this year. Are you doing anything?”
I tried not to think about how Dad and I would’ve spent the day together, roasted a chicken before treating ourselves to his homemade pumpkin pie. Would Lewis have come with me? Would Dad have whispered, Good choice, Freckles, good choice, after meeting him, because there was no doubt they’d have got along.
My heart ached, and I shook my head before quietly saying, “Nothing special.”
“Would spending the weekend with me be special enough...?”
The pain in my chest eased as I took in his green eyes, the curve of his mouth. Yes, I wanted to spend the weekend with him, and the one after, and each one after, that, too. The thought of letting him into my heart this quickly terrified me, but I couldn’t help it. “As long as we don’t eat turkey, and I can hide from all the Black Friday madness.”
Lewis pulled me closer, the warmth of his body spreading across mine. “Deal.”
I’d let him hold me, my head nestled on his chest, relishing the thought of his hands and tongue on my body, the sound of his voice calling out my name. It was more than sex. I felt comfortable with Lewis, I felt safe. While it was something I’d long convinced myself I didn’t need, it was also something I’d never thought I’d want, and part of me tried to resist and fight the sensation. I never had any intention of relinquishing my independence for anyone. And yet, with Lewis, I felt it was okay to not always be wary, because I trusted him.
Resurfacing from last night’s memories, I fired up my laptop, preparing to finish the corrections on Victoria’s website. Once she’d signed off on the final photographs and given me the edits for the text we’d drafted together, we’d almost be finished. Would it be the right opportunity to tell her who I was? I’d still be working for Hugh—we’d estimated until around Christmas—although he’d hinted there could be a longer contract in the works.
I couldn’t decide what to do. If I followed my gut, stopped lying and told her I’d known all along we were related, her trust would disappear. Once she spoke to Stan and he filled her in on my prior visits and conversations, she would refuse to see me again, and I couldn’t imagine not having Victoria in my life anymore.
One alternative stretched out before me. Maybe I could convince Stan to call a truce. Perhaps we could agree I’d never say anything to anybody about who I was, so Victoria would keep both of us in her life, although it was doubtful he’d agree. Funny how I’d started off on this journey wanting to get back at Stan, and subsequently Victoria. Now I wanted to stay close to her and had to figure out how to do so without causing any damage to everyone around me, even if it meant sparing my coldhearted biological father.
I found myself wishing for Dad, to be able to call him, hear him say, “Jeez, Freckles, you’re in a bit of a pickle,” and help me figure it out.
I let myself sit with the grief, felt it clamp around my heart for a while until I shook my head and forced myself to get back to work. Once done, I made myself a tea and sat at the table with the hospital invoice I’d steadily ignored in front of me. I’d had a message from Accounts Payable already, and I knew I’d have to settle the amount before the matter went further. I fished out my checkbook, preparing to make a partial payment, but as I was about to scribble the date, I paused.
Heart pounding, I grabbed my phone, brought up the calendar and flipped through it. Back and forth. Back and forth. Counting and recounting the days, my mind a jumble.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no.”
I checked again and, once more, found the same result each time I swiped. With everything else going on, I hadn’t noticed—or paid enough attention—to the Due entry at the beginning of last week. Surely I couldn’t be...
But of course I could. The first time Lewis and I had slept together, we’d been so caught up in everything, we’d been more than a little lax about protection. We’d used condoms ever since, but still... I tried to reassure myself my almost always reliable period was a few days late because I was overworked, overstressed, with way too much going on in my head. Yes, that was it. It had to be. The alternative was too petrifying.
I got up, stumbled to the bathroom and fumbled around the cabinet. When Tony and I split up, my period had been a day late and I’d bought a double pack of tests in a panic. The first one had been negative. I’d never needed the other. With shaking hands, I yanked it from the wrapper and went to the toilet, my fingers trembling so hard I couldn’t aim straight, let alone put the cap back on securely. Somehow I managed to do both and sat on the edge of the tub, clutching the small plastic object, which held infinite, life-changing power, in my hand.
Tick, tock, tick, tock...
I urged the next three minutes to move at quadruple the speed but time seemed to pass more slowly. It didn’t matter. Within sixty seconds there was no longer a single blue line, but a second one, too, growing stronger and stronger, filling the plastic window, mocking me, taunting me.
I was pregnant. Pregnant! There was a baby, a tiny human being, growing inside me.
Lewis’s child.
No idea how long I sat there with my heart racing, the pregnancy test clenched between my fingers, cold sweat collecting under my arms. I couldn’t get up. Couldn’t move.
This wasn’t part of my plan. I was broke, could barely keep a roof over my own head, let alone be responsible for a child. And as for Lewis... The bed upstairs was still warm from where we’d lain, and whenever we were apart, I ached for his touch, longed to hear his voice. But we’d dated for weeks, not months or years, we weren’t ready for any kind of commitment. This would be our first Thanksgiving together, and the other morning I’d wondered if we should exchange Christmas gifts or whether it would be too much, too soon. Now I was poised to present him with the biggest surprise of all.
Because, despite all the reasons why not to, I already knew having this child was my only option. My mother hadn’t wanted me. Stan had pushed me away. There was no way I could get rid of this baby and look myself in the mirror the rest of my life or make it through unscathed.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
I’D BARELY MOVED FROM my perch on the tub—barely moved at all—when the doorbell rang an hour later, and while my first instinct was to ignore it, whoever it was rang again and then a third time. I didn’t think it was Lewis and assumed it was Mrs. Winchester, so I threw the test in the garbage can and quickly washed my hands. But when I opened the door, it was Victoria. She wore head-to-toe workout gear, her impossibly long, toned legs disappearing underneath her jacket, her cheeks flush from the cold.
“Hey. Lewis gave me your address. I thought I’d stop by so we can look at the website,” she said, and when I gulped, she frowned. “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”
“Headache,” I whispered. “You saw Lewis?”
“Yeah, we worked out this morning.” She smiled brightly. “I woke up super early and decided to stop by Audaz. What a place. I signed up on the spot. It’s fantastic, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t been yet.”
She looked at me, eyes wide. “Oh, you...you don’t mind, do you? Have I upset you?”
“No, it’s not—”
“I know you said you might go, but with the work Hugh and I have piled on you—”
“That’s not it,” I snapped.
Victoria looked at me. Without another word, she stepped inside the apartment and closed the door, led me over to the sofa and, very gently, push
ed me down onto it. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“I’m not leaving until you tell me. Is it Lewis? Is something wrong?”
I looked at her, wanted to explain but couldn’t, not yet. “No, sorry. It’s just my head.”
She narrowed her eyes but nodded in an apparent sign of acquiescence. “I’m not sure I believe you, but when you’re ready to talk, I’m here, okay? You can tell me anything.”
“Okay,” I whispered. “But I’ll be fine, honest.”
Victoria smiled and looked around. “So this is where you do your website magic. It’s—”
“Sparse?” I said with a forced laugh, imagining seeing my apartment through her eyes.
“I was going to say efficient,” she answered with another smile. “It’s bijou.”
“Now I’m not sure I believe you,” I said, my shoulders dropping, vowing to pretend everything was normal. “Want some coffee?”
“No, thanks, working out gave me enough of a buzz.” She retrieved a lip balm from her bag and as she was putting it back, glanced at the papers on my coffee table. She pointed at one of them. “Jesus, is that the hospital bill? Five grand? That’s insane. You have insurance, right?”
I waved a hand. “I have kidneys. Maybe they’ll take one of those.”
She looked at me, furrowed her brow. “I don’t want to intrude or be rude or anything,” she said slowly, “and feel free to tell me to get lost, but do you... Would it help if I paid the other half of your invoice now?”
“No, it’s fine.” The prospect of scrimping until she paid me, and I got the first check from Bell Hops, not to mention—I shivered—what was happening inside me all felt exhausting, but I still couldn’t push away my pride. “I’m okay, thanks for the offer, though.”
“Do you have a pen?” she said, fishing around in her bag until I got one from the drawer. She pulled out her checkbook, filled one in and handed it to me.
“What’s this for?” I said.
“I haven’t dated it, so you cash it when you want to, okay?”
“I can’t—”
“It’s not a gift, Eleanor. Consider it a buffer and now you don’t have to ask. If you don’t need it, tear it up and throw it away.” She smiled as I stared, incapable of speaking. “Anyway, how about we look at the website? And can I use the bathroom first?”
I remained speechless as I started up my laptop and went to the kitchen for glasses of water. As I was filling up the second, Victoria walked in, holding something in her hand.
“You’re pregnant?” she said.
The test. When I’d put it in the garbage, I hadn’t covered it up. I wanted to lie, tell her a friend had come over or fabricate some other story, but I couldn’t bring myself to.
“Is it Lewis’s?”
I nodded, my bottom lip quivering. “Yes.”
“Does he know?” she said, and I shook my head. “How far along are you?”
“I’m not sure. I’m about a week late.”
“You’re five weeks then.”
“What? But I can’t be, we only had sex a couple of weeks—”
“You start counting the first day of your last period,” she said with half a smile, but I could tell it was forced. I hadn’t forgotten her comment at the spa about her friends getting pregnant easily, how desperate she was, and more guilt coiled around my gut, squeezing hard.
“I’m sorry... I don’t know what to do, I—” I let out a sob as the tears came, and Victoria rushed to put her arms around me. She held me forever, whispering everything would be okay, she was there for me, before leading me to the sofa and fetching one of the glasses of water, encouraging me to take small sips until I calmed down.
“When will you tell him?” she said, taking my glass and setting it on the table.
“God, I don’t know. I haven’t got that far yet. I’m terrified.”
“He thinks you’re awesome. He kept talking about you, how smart you are—”
“Not smart enough to use contraception properly.”
“It takes two to make a baby,” she said sternly. “Don’t you go blaming yourself, you hear me? And Lewis is a gem, incredibly buff and handsome, obviously, but he’s so kind and...I don’t know...honorable. I can’t imagine it’s the kind of situation he’d run from, whatever you choose to do.”
“I already know,” I said. “I’m keeping the baby, with or without Lewis around.”
Victoria grabbed my hand. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I said, surprised at the determination in my voice. “Yes, I am.”
“I’ll help you. Whatever you need. Time, support, money, stuff. I’m here.”
There it was again, the connection between us, getting stronger each time we were together. I considered coming out with the truth, spilling my guts right there on the sofa, but I couldn’t. The bond between us was still fragile and easily broken. I wouldn’t risk her walking away, not now. I needed her. More than ever.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know you and Hugh are having trouble, and I’m such a—”
“Please, don’t.”
“But it’s not fair, and it’ll happen for you soon, I know it—”
“It’s okay—”
“—and you’ll make an awesome mom, Victoria—”
“I don’t think—”
“—far better than me, and—”
“Stop it!” she yelled, making me flinch and stop talking at the same time. She took a few shallow breaths before closing her eyes and whispering, “I know why I can’t get pregnant...”
“What do you mean? Did you have more tests?”
She looked at me for a long time before shaking her head and saying, “No...it’s...it’s because of what happened to my sister.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
A THOUSAND THOUGHTS TORE THROUGH me at once, one of them aiming for the center of my brain. She had to be talking about me. There’d been no mention of any other sibling, anywhere.
“You have a sister?” I said, trying to think three moves ahead, plan how I’d respond, and what to tell her, but coming up with nothing but panic.
“She...she died,” Victoria whispered, and her words and the distress in her eyes almost made my heart stop beating. “My sweet little Angeline died.”
“Oh, my God, that’s awful,” I said. “I didn’t know. I had no idea.”
“We never discuss it,” Victoria said. “My parents are extremely private about her.” She hesitated, as if trying to decide how much to tell me and whether breaking the family silence would be worth it. “She was almost seven years younger than me,” she continued. “My mother had trouble conceiving. I guess it runs in the family. Anyway, they called her their little miracle, and she was the cutest thing you’d ever seen. Blond curls and big blue eyes... She looked like a doll.” She studied my face. “In a way she reminds me of you.”
My heart pumped so hard, I thought it might break. “You don’t have to—”
“It happened the day before my eighth birthday...” Her voice was so low, I leaned in to make out what she’d say next, but instead of speaking again, a sob escaped her lips. She shut her eyes, shook her head.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I said, reaching over. “If it’s too difficult, you don’t have to—”
“It’s all such a blur...” Victoria didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks. “She’d started walking, toddling around on her wobbly legs. One afternoon we were in our bedrooms. Angeline was napping while I drew a picture or something, but I got bored, so I sneaked down to the kitchen to look for my birthday cake, and...and...she fell down the stairs.”
“Jesus—”
“Mom kept telling me how dangerous they were. It’s why they’d put up the stairgates. Everyone assumed Angeline climbed over the one at the top of the st
airs because she’d started getting out of her crib.”
I looked at her, unsure whether to ask my next question, deciding I should because I could feel she needed me to. “You don’t think that’s what happened?”
“I know it isn’t,” she whispered, the words tumbling out thick and fast, barely leaving enough time for me to process them. “I forgot to close the stairgate. It was all my fault. My baby sister...my darling Angeline died because of me. I killed her.”
“But it was an accident. Or maybe you don’t remember it properly? Perhaps—”
“You don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “I heard her fall, and when I found her at the bottom of the stairs and saw the stairgate open at the top... I—I ran up and...I closed it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! And I’ve never told anyone. I feel so guilty—”
“But you didn’t mean—”
“I never told,” she said, almost yelling now. “I let them think Angeline climbed over it when it was my fault. I left it open. What kind of a person does that, Eleanor? What kind of a person keeps secrets from their family?”
“I don’t think—”
“I’ll tell you. An awful, despicable, horrible one.” She gulped in a lungful of air. “People get punished when they tell lies. What if I’m not meant to have children because of what I did? What if having a miscarriage was only the beginning?”
“That’s not how it works,” I said gently. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t mean to hurt her. What if you talked to your parents? They—”
“My parents? No, no. I couldn’t—”
“But maybe they’d—”
“No. You won’t say anything to them, or Hugh, will you? Do you promise?”
“I won’t say a thing, I swear.”
“I shouldn’t have told you. You’ve got enough to worry about.” She exhaled deeply and covered her throat with her hand. “Could I have a glass of water, too, please? Really cold, with ice, if you have it? My throat feels so raw.”
Sister Dear Page 25
