by Sarah Hegger
He dropped his head forward as if he were suddenly weary. “All of us have stories, Holly. All of us have good reasons for being the way we are. It’s what we do with them that defines our future.”
Never in her life had anyone dared say such things to her. Not even Grace would go so far. “Who the hell are you to be handing out the truth?”
“I’m invested in this, in you.”
“How novel.” Her laughter jangled harsh and ugly. “For the first time since Laura, you’ve stepped out behind your self-imposed martyrdom and taken a risk.”
He flinched as if she’d struck him, but Holly was way beyond caring. His words had cut deep and she wanted to carve a piece of him back. “Your father died being angry with you. Well, boo-fucking-hoo, Josh. My father left me to raise his children. My father let my mother die because he couldn’t be bothered dirtying his hands trying to save her. I will die before I let that happen to my sister. Do you hear me?”
He went dead pale and his jaw muscle worked. “Holly—”
“You had your turn.” She shoved him again. “You had your turn telling me what was wrong with me. You have your mother and your brothers and a whole host of other people who give a shit what happens to you. Portia doesn’t. She has me. I’m it for her. I’m all she fucking has. Do you get that? Do you?”
For a long moment Holly stood frozen, and then she spun on her heel, taking the stairs two at a time. His words kept jangling on in her brain.
“Holly.” The anguish in his voice almost made her turn around.
Screw him anyway.
Holly made it to the room she shared with Grace. Her hands shook and slipped against the handle as she closed the door behind her. Her ragged breathing split the dark quiet of the room. It felt as if there was a gash in the middle of her chest.
Footsteps went past and a door shut. The sound of running water followed.
She also wanted a shower. She wanted to scrub him off her skin. It was a pity no amount of water would wash away what he’d said.
Grace lay still, an unmoving lump in the bed.
Part of her wanted to wake Grace up and share. Except Grace would probably agree with Josh, and Holly couldn’t stand that right now.
Screw all of them.
His words swirled around the darkness surrounding her. He was a judgmental, self-righteous prick who’d had everything handed to him on a silver platter. How dare he look at her life and pick it apart as if it were worth nothing?
Yes, her job was boring. She worked in the dean’s office as a glorified file clerk, but it was a job. It had put food on their table and put the girls through school.
Somebody had to take care of the twins. They had their shop, which sold crystals and charms and New Age paraphernalia. It didn’t do so well, and someone needed to keep them afloat. As the oldest, it was up to her to step in and make things work. Just like it had been up to her to run the house while her mother collapsed and her father worked.
It was all very well for him to talk about choices. He had no idea what it had been like for her. Not a bloody clue.
Josh let the water drum over his head. It didn’t drown out the echo of his harsh words. Smooth, Josh. So fucking smooth you amaze me.
Her face haunted him. Holly would be horrified to know how stricken she’d looked. Her eyes had almost overwhelmed her face as she stared at him through his tirade.
Talk about repeating bad behavior. Jesus. He should take the log out of his eye, or however that went. Things had always come easy for him, especially money and relationships. He’d come from a great family, with two loving parents who supported him. He hadn’t had to deal with the stuff Holly had taken on her plate.
Tonight he’d gone and indulged in what amounted to nothing more than a tantrum because he’d had his new favorite toy ripped away from him. Damn. He snapped off the faucet and grabbed a towel. And he’d lashed out. He hurt, and he wanted to share it around until the pain eased.
He’d launched into his self-righteous lecture with the conviction of a born hypocrite. He wiped the steam off the mirror. All this time thinking he’d grown up, and it took one five-foot-two bundle of baggage and complications to show him how skin deep his maturity was.
So now what? He toweled himself dry roughly. Now he had to fix this thing. He was going to man up and make it right. He was going to stop dancing around the issue like a coward.
He was in love with Holly Partridge.
And not a little in love either. He was knock-down, drag-out, head-over-heels in love with a woman who may or may not feel the same. Deep down, he knew she had feelings for him. The trick would be getting her to admit it. She’d been hurt. She was frightened. She was hiding. It was true, but underneath was someone worth fighting for. Even if he’d taken several huge leaps backward.
Fuck, some ladies’ man. He walked through to the bedroom, debating going to find Holly to fix this thing now.
She’d reamed him out good about Laura and his dad. Close enough to the truth for him to want to throw up.
What would his dad have said?
If you love her, son, you stand by her. You be a man and stand by her side.
“I fucked up, Dad.” He spoke to the silent room, wishing some trace of his dad was still in this house and listening.
It’s not about you, son, it’s about her. A heart is a fragile thing; if she gives it to you, make sure you guard it well.
A woman stood in his room.
Portia.
Joshua froze.
She stood so still, he didn’t see her at first.
“Fuck!” He reached for the towel, but he’d left it in the bathroom. He brought his hands up to cup his junk from her view.
Except Portia didn’t even look down. Her eyes burned with a sort of unholy light as she glared through him. “How could you?” Her voice shook. “How dare you?”
“How dare I what, Portia?” Josh edged toward the door. There was an eerie stillness to her that had him wanting to run for Holly.
Portia moved swiftly, reading his intention and cutting off his exit.
Holly was down the hallway and Josh had the feeling she needed to be dealing with this and not him. Portia, with that face, scared the crap out of him. And he’d had the sheer audacity to mouth off about Portia to Holly, as if he had a clue how to deal with her. He was way out of his depth. Sunk and going down further.
“I saw you.” Portia’s eyes narrowed into slits. “In the kitchen with Holly. I saw you.”
His freaked-out brain struggled to take that in and process it.
The door shutting shook him from his paralysis.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This was bad. This was going to get so ugly it made his flesh crawl.
He edged open the door.
Portia ran down the passage toward Thomas’s old room. She slipped like vapor through the door and it shut behind her.
What now? Josh stood a moment, indecision tugging at him.
Man up, son.
He knew what his dad would have done.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Think, Emma; what did she say exactly?” Holly didn’t bother keeping her voice down. She was fucking panicking.
Josh had found her ten minutes ago with the unwelcome news that Portia had seen them. The humiliation of being caught in the act by her younger sister was almost enough to have her pulling the covers over her head and staying there. The knowledge of what this unwelcome revelation meant got her out of bed.
“I don’t know.” Emma’s eyes filled with tears. “I was asleep when she came in and I only woke up because she was making so much noise.”
Grace was all for letting her go, but Holly couldn’t. The guilt squeezed like a chokehold around her throat. She’d known all along what would happen if Portia found out about her and Josh.
A livid Grace paced the hallway outside the bedroom and swore.
Portia had made her escape in Grace’s rented car.
“Where did she go?” Grace stuck he
r head around the door.
“I don’t know,” Emma wailed, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I can’t remember.”
“Don’t be fucking pathetic,” Grace said.
Holly could slap them both silly. She swore beneath her breath as Emma imploded into a heap of misery on the edge of her bed.
Grace took a threatening step toward her.
“Don’t.” This had all the ingredients for an old-time Partridge girls fight.
Josh took Grace by the arm. “Let’s take a walk.”
“Fuck.” Grace let him turn her back into the hallway.
“Emma?” Holly crouched down beside her sister. “You must have some idea where she’s gone.”
Holly blew out a breath as Emma stopped crying and turned huge eyes on her.
“I don’t,” Emma whispered.
“I’m sure you do,” she said. “Remember the twin bond. You know where she is, Emma.”
Emma shook her head again.
A scream of frustration built in Holly’s throat. Not again. She wanted to open her mouth and yell it to anyone within hearing distance. They would have to hunt for Portia all over again. This time she had a car and there was no telling where she could get to before they caught up with her.
Emma sat up straighter. “Wait.”
Holly froze and turned to stare at the other girl. Bloody twin bond indeed, but she would take anything right now.
“I do know where she is.”
“That’s my girl.” Holly took her hand.
“At least I think I do.” Emma bit her lip and sighed. “But I’m not sure.”
“Just tell me where you think she is.”
“I asked her what was wrong.” Emma’s eyes lost focus. “And she told me she had seen you and Josh.” Emma paused and glared at her. “I told you what would happen.” She gave Holly a look loaded with reproach. “But you never listen.”
“Emma.” Holly got her back on track before she let rip with the blast of profanity bristling in her mouth. “What did Portia say then?”
“I asked her to sit and talk to me, but she said I didn’t understand. She said that only one person understood and she needed to talk to her.”
“Melissa.” Certainty exploded in Holly’s brain. “She’s gone to see Melissa.”
Josh appeared in the doorway. “She went to your mother’s grave?”
“That’s what I said.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest.
“Why would she do that?” Josh kept his attention focused on her.
“Holly won’t tell you.” Emma tossed her head. “She and Grace never want to talk about Mummy. They always change the subject whenever we do.”
Holly dropped her eyes. She didn’t want to answer the questions gathering in his eyes. “Can you take me there?”
“Yes.” He came to stand right in front of her. So close his big, strong shoulders beckoned. “Let’s go find your sister.”
“Portia came to Willow Park to find our mother,” Emma said. “She needed to make peace. Before she had the baby, Portia said she needed to make peace.”
Holly turned on her heel. She couldn’t listen to any more of this. Not with Josh standing there looking like he was putting the pieces together into a neat picture. She didn’t want to stand here dissecting the past. They had to find Portia.
Now.
Grace stood in the doorway, barring her exit and forcing Holly to stop.
“Melissa was like Portia,” Grace said.
“Like Portia how?” Josh asked from behind her.
“Melissa was bipolar.” Grace’s voice went flat. “It got worse and worse as we grew older. Here in Willow Park, it finally got the better of her.”
Holly’s spine stiffened. It was out there. She should feel relieved, but a part of her still wanted to grab up all the snippets of information her sisters tossed around and shove them back in their box.
The mystery unraveled in Josh’s mind. The final piece of the puzzle that was Holly Partridge clicked into place. The mother, Melissa, had been bipolar. All these years and Holly had carried this weight around on her delicate shoulders.
Her strength awed him and scared him at the same time. He knew she’d taken care of her sisters, but he hadn’t really got how deep that responsibility ran.
There was so much to reevaluate in light of this new information. It went racing through his memory banks. He’d been sure he had all the information. Positive he had Holly figured out.
Deep down, he’d suspected all along. The times he’d trod near the subject of Melissa, Holly had checked him instantly. She was so guarded, especially about her mother. She carried a mammoth-sized warning: Here be dragons.
His words from earlier rose up to taunt him, and he wanted to puke in self-loathing. She had called it right. He really had no idea what her life had been like and no right to judge.
He took a deep breath. “Do you know where she’s buried?”
“Oh, yes.” Emma cheered up. “We know exactly where she is.”
“I’ll get the keys to my mother’s car.”
Relief punched Holly in the gut. Only one car in the parking lot, and it looked like Grace’s rental. She guided them through the massive cemetery on autopilot.
Portia sat on the ground beside Melissa’s grave, looking as if she were on a family picnic.
Emma ran on ahead.
Holly hadn’t been here in years. Beside her walked Grace and Josh. She wanted to slip her hand into Josh’s larger one and feel the instant reassurance of his presence. She cast a quick glance up at him.
His beautiful face was set in severe lines, cold and unapproachable. It was better this way. Now Josh knew the whole ugly truth and would want to be as far away from her buggered-up family as he could. She grabbed Grace’s hand instead, and her sister’s clasp tightened.
Her and Grace against the world. Again.
There wasn’t much to mark the passing of Melissa Partridge, only a small granite square set in the ground among hundreds of others. No message from a husband and her children, just her name and the dates of her birth and death.
“She was thirty-eight.” Portia looked up as they drew near. Her eyes gleamed clear and focused from her pale face.
Holly hesitated, with no idea of the correct response.
“She wasn’t that old. In my mind, she was always older.” Portia touched her fingertips to the engraving.
“You were very young when she died.” Grace’s grip on Holly’s hand tightened.
“We were ten,” Emma said. “I don’t remember a lot about her, though. You would think I would remember more, wouldn’t you?”
“She was like a ghost,” Portia said. Her voice sounded eerie and otherworldly, and Holly’s nape prickled. She had no idea what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it.
Portia sat at their mother’s grave and chatted, as if this was the most normal occurrence in the world. “I used to think of her as a ghost in the house. Holly was the one who took care of us. And Grace.”
Holly’s world wobbled on its axis.
“Holly took care of you?” Josh asked.
“Yes.” Portia rubbed her hands over the gravestone. “She had the same disease as me, you know.”
“Yes, I know,” Josh said.
“There were bad days, like I get. Holly never said anything, but I could tell when the days were bad.”
“Come on, Portia.” Emma patted her sister’s hand. “Why don’t we get you home?”
Holly watched from outside like her life was a movie. She had this weird sort of disconnect inside her that couldn’t understand why they were talking about this. The Partridge girls never did this, and certainly not in front of someone outside the family.
Yet there was something right about Josh being there.
Wrong, shouted her mind. He should not be here. It’s because you weren’t strong enough to walk away that this is happening.
“Do you remember the bad days?” Portia turned and asked her twi
n.
Emma nodded. “I remember the bad days because those were the days when Mummy would stay in her room and Holly was in charge.”
“Dad would stay at work.” Portia nodded. “I would hear her at night, always weeping. It would go on and on for hours. There were times when I wanted to get up and yell at her to stop.”
“I don’t remember that.” Emma frowned at her sister.
Holly’s stomach churned. She was going to puke if they didn’t stop. The memories screamed at her, demanding she listen to them, let them out.
“You don’t?” Portia blinked. “We used to snuggle under our duvet and I could hear her through the walls. Holly would always go to her.”
“I remember that part,” Emma said. “I wish I remembered more about her.”
“I don’t think I want to.” Portia looked up suddenly. “I think she was bad at the end, and I don’t think I want to know.”
As if Portia’s words opened a floodgate, the memories came pouring out. Holly spent most of her adult life refusing to think about her mother. It hurt too much. As she stood there, pictures flashed rapid-fire through her mind. One after another the memories came, and she couldn’t stop them. She stopped trying and let the past wash through her and over her. She’d been trying for so long to keep it neat and confined. In the raging chaos of her childhood, she’d created a ruthless, safe order.
“She killed herself, you know?” Portia said conversationally. “In the end it was too much and she killed herself.”
Yes, Holly did know. She’d been there in that last race to the hospital, trailing the ambulance as it rushed their mother to emergency. She and Grace, hands tightly clasped, legs sticking to their plastic chairs, when the doctor had come out. She and Grace couldn’t hear what he said to their father, but they had known. Melissa had succeeded in killing herself this time. Neither of them had cried.
“I understand how she felt,” Portia said. “Sometimes I understand exactly why she did it.”
