by Lian Dolan
And then there was Gray.
Maggie knew, she knew, that the whole relationship was what Tricia would call “ill-advised.” Yes, pursuing the boy who broke her sister’s heart was ill-advised, but that had been a long time ago, and look at Liza’s life now. Big house, solid husband, perfect kids, a creative and money-making career. Maggie didn’t have any of those assets; how could Liza begrudge her Gray?
Dinner the other night at Gray’s had been one long tease, like some sort of foreplay marathon with an open-ended conclusion. Gray had been charming, funny, generous with his laughter. He’d given her some lingering looks and praised her soft-shelled crabs. Maggie had felt the spread of warmth at the end of the night she usually associated with the right amount of red wine and candlelight, except there had been no wine because of Gray’s sobriety and Maggie did what she always did with men, acquire their eating and drinking habits. (When she was with the starter husband, she became a fussy cocktail and red meat fan. When she was with Darren, the controlling film director, it was all about plant-based proteins, green drinks, and vodka, the lowest-carb booze. The only exception was Roger, the ballet dancer. He didn’t drink caffeine, so Maggie tried to give up coffee but that wasn’t sustainable and neither was Roger.)
Maggie thought the evening was perfect; even the few minutes she broke down about her father didn’t faze Gray. Maggie thought everything with Gray seemed right on track for something more to happen. But nothing did. Another light kiss on the lips, another lingering look, and she was sent back to Willow Lane alone.
Maybe it was for the best. Maggie knew this wasn’t an ideal time for a new relationship, but that was usually when she plunged in anyway.
When Tim showed up with the van full of easels and paints and brushes the next day, Maggie knew exactly what to do with all her extra energy: use this pain and make her art sing. Maggie loved seeing the look of disbelief on Tricia and Liza’s faces when Tim started unloading the U-Haul like Maggie told him to do.
“Really, Mags, a dishwasher?” Liza said as the three sisters studied Tim.
“He’s a chef.”
“No, he’s not.”
“Okay, he’s a line cook. But a very, very talented line cook.”
Maggie had poured herself into finishing the two paintings she owed Liza and starting Panes of Gold. She knew Liza would want the new work for her Sunflower opening even though there wasn’t one damn sunflower in the piece. She loved these tiny victories over her sisters.
It was one of the reasons she saw Serena as an ally. Maggie knew that neither Liza nor Tricia was ready to embrace Serena, but that made it all the more appealing to Maggie. The invitation, the texts, the big hello and the hugs. If there was to be a fourth Sweeney sister, Maggie wanted her on Team Maggie. Growing up, it was Liza and Maggie who were inseparably paired, the twosome who got into trouble and had each other’s back. But more and more lately, as Tricia matured, accepted more responsibility, and acquired skills like contract law that made her contribution to the family invaluable, it was Maggie who felt like the third wheel, the one the other two sisters talked about behind her back.
Serena was a chance to even the sides. Maggie needed her.
“You made it! This is the studio. Welcome!” Maggie waved the three of them in. Liza and Tricia stepped aside at the doorway, letting Serena enter first so she could soak in the atmosphere on her own. Then, they followed her in, standing to either side of the door, observing Serena’s reaction.
“This is an amazing room. Maggie, these paintings are beautiful.” Serena wandered around the glass-enclosed conservatory, taking in the explosion of color and texture. The two commissioned works were finished and leaned up against the end of a wooden picnic table covered in paint and brushes. Both were abstract landscapes, one rich with blues, greens, and purples, the other the warmer tones of fall. The new piece was on the easel, big and bold, a shift in tone from the other paintings. “I had no idea that you were so talented, Maggie.”
“Thank you. I’ve had a good couple of days,” Maggie answered, stroking Rufus the cat. “Maybe grief is good for me. Do you find you write in bursts, depending upon what’s going on in your life?”
“No. I started as a beat reporter and I will always be that in terms of work output, getting it done every day whether I’m inspired or not!” Serena laughed and all three of the Sweeney sisters joined in.
“That’s what our father always said when he walked out to the boathouse. ‘Time to punch the clock.’ You’re like him,” Maggie offered to Serena like a gift. “I’m more like our mother, fits and starts. All in or all out. My mother would write nothing for months, then lock herself in here for a few days and turn out an entire collection of poems. She wrote Winterland during the one week in 1996 when we got all that snow. We had the whole week off from school and it was a free-for-all. Peanut butter and jelly for all three meals because she was writing.”
“Winterland?” Serena asked, although from her research into all things Sweeney, she knew it was the title of Maeve’s only published collection. Serena had even picked up a copy on Ebay for twenty-five bucks. She knew nothing about poetry, except what she had studied in high school English. But Serena had liked the poems, found them accessible and easy to read. Plus, every physical description took her back to Southport.
“That was the one poetry collection she published. I think the print run was about five hundred copies. It’s a beautiful little collection. I wish she’d had the chance . . .” Maggie’s voice fell off.
“Our mother didn’t write much after that. She sort of gave up. Too much going on here with us and my father. Then her health became her primary focus,” Liza explained when Maggie couldn’t.
“That’s a shame,” Serena said. “The world needs more poetry.”
Tricia rescued the conversation from the maudlin turn it had taken. “I remember that storm. We made those tunnels in the snowbanks. The whole street was out there for days, building and sledding. Mrs. Beamon brought us hot chocolate.”
“I remember going to school until the first of July because we had so many snow days that year. It was endless,” Liza added, realizing at that moment that she never really had loved school. “Serena, where were you that winter?”
“Here, I guess.” The room fell quiet. Serena had been right next door all along, but never a part of their world.
Maggie backtracked. “As I said, like my mother, I’m all in or all out. But to Liza’s relief, I’m all in this week.”
Serena nodded. “Whatever your process, your work is beautiful.”
Of course, Serena had seen Maggie’s work before, on a surreptitious visit to Liza’s gallery when Liza wasn’t there. And in her deep Pinterest and Instagram research, finding the occasional Maggie Sweeney popping up on a board or a feed. But better to let Maggie think that this was her first interaction with her art. Serena had already figured out that Maggie was playing a bit of one-upmanship with her sisters and she was happy to be a part of the game. “Tell me about this room.”
Liza jumped in, as the unofficial Willow Lane docent. “This was original to the house, believe it or not. Apparently, the first owners of Willow Lane were world travelers and the wife wanted a giant greenhouse where she could grow exotic plants and tomatoes in the winter. The glass ceiling and the black-and-white-checkered marble floor were her touches. My mother told us the room was little more than a storage unit when they moved in. Subsequent owners didn’t want to pay the enormous cost of heating the conservatory in the winter for a few tomatoes. My mother turned it into her studio, writing her poetry here, growing a few herbs, sewing us some truly unflattering dirndls in the late eighties. She would hang tapestries on the windows to warm it up in the cold months. We loved being in here with her. She had a craft table in the corner for us.”
“Well, only those two loved crafts. I hated them,” Tricia said. “I liked to read in the enormous chair, covered in blankets.” The chair was still there, tucked into a cozy corner, cl
early reupholstered in the recent past in blue-and-gold-striped fabric. The sisters all smiled at the recollection and Serena felt that flash of longing she’d experienced in the kitchen.
Liza continued, “Julia and I did a massive clean-out a few years ago. My twins Vivi and Fitz spend . . . spent a lot of time here and this was their magic spot. For some reason they thought it looked like the Ravenclaw Common room in Harry Potter, so I recovered a few things, bought some rugs, and had them paint their own faux crests. I think they’ll miss this place.”
The thought hadn’t really occurred to Liza before, that this place wasn’t only part of her childhood, it was part of Vivi and Fitz’s childhood, too. Please don’t let me cry, thought Liza. “Sorry. That got to me.”
Maggie stepped closer to Liza and rubbed her back while the others stood in silence. After a moment, Maggie spoke, “Now, it’s my studio. At least temporarily.”
“This is shaping up, Mags,” Tricia said, looking at Panes of Gold. “This is the view across the harbor, right, to the big houses on Sasco? Where is this vantage point?”
“From Perry Green.” Maggie lied so quickly she surprised herself. “I’m hoping to have this done for you, Liza, if you want it for the opening next week.”
“Will the paint be dry?”
“Just about,” Maggie said. “Have you told Serena about your next show? Sunflowers. Opens next week. Big Saturday night opening, but I think we can get you in.”
“I’d love to go.”
Tricia noticed Liza’s strained face. “Honestly, Liza, I can’t believe you’re taking that on after . . . everything.”
“It was on the calendar. My artists depend on me. Right, Maggie? I can’t let them down.”
Liza was giving herself a pep talk as much as answering Tricia’s question. It was obvious that her usual authentic enthusiasm was absent. Obvious to Tricia and Maggie anyway, so when Serena offered to help, it was particularly awkward. “If you need any help, I’m available. I’m finding that being unemployed really frees up my time. I can pitch in.”
Tricia cringed. She knew comments like that got under Liza’s skin, the implication that mounting a show in a gallery was akin to volunteering at a school bake sale. Tricia had witnessed interactions like this before when she was out in Southport with her big sister—random encounters at the market, on the sidelines of one of Fitz’s games—and Liza’s friends would offer their unsolicited advice to her about publicity or which wine to serve at an opening. Some volunteered, as Serena had, to work an event if their husband was out of town and they had “a free night,” as if selling art was easy-peasy and they could do Liza’s job with little or no training. It made Liza crazy. Tricia almost felt sorry for Serena in that moment.
But Liza remembered what Raj had said about surviving the truth. Liza’s life today looked so different than Liza’s life last month. The truth was she had no father, no husband, and now this new sister. Could forming a relationship with Serena be the key to survival? “That is so kind of you. Why don’t you put your number in my phone? I’ll be in touch. I’m trying to wrap my head around everything that needs to get done in the next day or two.”
It wasn’t accurate to say that Tricia gasped, but she did emit a strange sound as she watched Liza hand over her phone to Serena. What was happening here?
Maggie, also sensing a significant shift in attitude from Liza, chimed in, “As long as you’re adding things to your calendar, put the Fourth down.” She turned to Liza and Tricia. “I’m thinking we should have one last big blowout here at Willow Lane. Have a bunch of people over for a barbecue, watch the fireworks from the dock or maybe light off a few of our own. I feel like we owe that to the house. We can’t let Dad’s wake be the last party. That’s maudlin.”
It was on the tip of Tricia’s tongue to object. She had had several calls this week with Cap about the threatening emails and calls from the publisher in search of the memoir; even Lois was getting antsy about the situation. Tricia knew time was better spent on memoir recovery than entertaining. And she felt like she was losing ground in keeping Serena at bay. Clearly, Liza and Maggie were growing more comfortable with the idea of Serena as a permanent fixture. She understood Maggie’s desire for a relationship. Serena was a shiny new toy and Maggie was never one to look away from those. But Liza? Liza had been in a fog these past few days, so uncharacteristic of her usual rapid-fire existence, and she’d been complaining about exhaustion and lack of sleep. Tricia didn’t think there was any rush to embrace Serena, but clearly her sisters did.
Still, a Fourth of July barbecue was the perfect excuse to invite Raj to something after dark. She’d been trying to give him his space in the evenings, but a party in the backyard on the Fourth was an automatic invite, right? “I’m in,” she said. “You know, I was forced to take a cooking class at some bogus firm retreat last fall, but at least I know how to make potato salad now. Not the mayonnaise kind. The fancy kind.”
“Liza, is that okay with you? I know you usually go to the club.”
“Not this year. I don’t have the energy. And Whit is flying straight to Maine from Durham to see the kids at camp.” Liza tucked that detail in so smoothly, no one questioned her about why he would go alone. “One thing, I’m happy to be a guest at your party as long as you do everything. Or anything, really. Do not commit to this and invite all these people, then disappear.”
Maggie was delighted with Liza ceding control. “I got it covered.”
“Do you do a lot of barbecuing now? I don’t really think of that as your thing,” asked Tricia. As far as any of them knew, Maggie had not grilled a single thing in her entire life. Then she added because she couldn’t resist, “Maybe we can ask Tim to come back and do some cheffing. Oh, I’m sorry, line cooking.”
“Stop it. I’m sure he’s very busy,” Maggie fired back, though it wasn’t a bad idea. “And I barbecue. Darren and I grilled all the time in LA. Well, Darren did. I’m sure I can figure this out. Invite whoever you want. I’ll take care of the details. Serena, we hope you can make it.”
Serena was dying to ask about Tim and Darren, but didn’t feel like she’d earned that intimacy yet. She was quietly thrilled to be on this guest list. “I have to make an appearance at the Winthrop party, but I’ll come after. I don’t cook, either,” Serena said, turning to Tricia, “but sangria is a specialty of mine.”
“Bring lots! Now, everybody has to leave because if I don’t get to work, the gallery owner is going to kill me. She has no mercy when it comes to missing deadlines.” Maggie hugged Serena once again, a public demonstration of her enviable open heart. “I’m so glad you came over. Text me. Let’s make a coffee date.”
Tricia had a sinking feeling, as if her sisters weren’t even trying to keep some distance from this relative stranger. Serena was the new puppy that everyone in the family wanted to play with except Tricia because she was prone to hives. She needed some fresh air. “I need to get back to work, too, so I’ll say goodbye here. Looks like we’ll see you in a few days,” Tricia said, bowing formally and heading back to the boathouse.
Liza and Maggie looked at each other and then Serena. “That’s Tricia on a good day,” Maggie explained. “So warm and fuzzy.”
The more time Serena spent with the sisters, the more dissimilar she found them to be. Same parents, different personalities. As an only child, she had this fantasy that sisters were multiple versions of the same person, sharing clothes and makeup. As an adult, she’d met enough sets of sisters to know that wasn’t true. Somehow, she was going to try to figure out these Sweeneys one sister at a time.
Liza walked Serena out to her car. There were a million things she was tempted to say. Like, I’ve never had a big sister before. Or, My husband is never coming home. And, I miss my parents so much even though I’m a grown-ass woman. But not yet. It wasn’t time yet. Maybe, one day soon. Instead, she said, “I’ve been thinking. I could use an extra pair of hands and a few extra brain cells next week. I do feel a little o
verwhelmed. I haven’t gotten to editing the artists’ statements and getting out some press releases. My regular PR person is on maternity leave. I know a press release is way below your usual assignments, but if you are truly interested, I would so appreciate your help.”
Serena guessed it was one of the few times in Liza’s adult life that she had asked for help. “Whatever you need.”
“Thank you. I’ll call you.” Serena closed the car door and Liza tapped on the window. It came down. “I’m glad you came by today. Come by anytime.”
Tricia burst into the boathouse. “Hey, want to go sailing?” She needed to clear her head after what she had witnessed in the studio. An afternoon sail was the ticket.
Raj stood up from the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “That journalist is your sister.”
Tricia didn’t expect to be challenged, but she liked it. “Half-sister.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I don’t really know you.” It hurt Tricia to say that, but it was true. She’d thought about telling him a dozen times over the last few days, but couldn’t find the opening sentence. “It’s not the most natural thing in the world to bring up.”
“But you had me sign an NDA, in any case.”
“We would have had you sign that regardless.”
Raj unfolded his arms and looked at her. “Did you think I’d judge you and your family?”
“One day, I lost my father and the next, this girl across the street shows up and she’s my sister. It’s disorienting to have the fabric of your family change overnight,” Tricia said by way of explanation. Raj moved closer to Tricia. She thought he might reach for her, but he stopped short of touching her. She panicked. “But I see that Liza had no issues with filling you in.”
