by Sarah Morgan
When three generations of women are brought together by crisis, they learn over the course of one hot summer the power of family to support, nourish and surprise
Lauren has the perfect life...if she ignores the fact it’s a fragile house of cards, and that her daughter Mack has just had a teenage personality transplant.
Jenna is desperate to start a family with her husband, but it’s... Just. Not. Happening. Her heart is breaking, but she’s determined to keep her trademark smile on her face.
Nancy knows she hasn’t been the best mother, but how can she ever tell Lauren and Jenna the reason why?
Then life changes in an instant, and Lauren, Mack, Jenna and Nancy are thrown together for a summer on Martha’s Vineyard. Somehow, these very different women must relearn how to be a family. And while unraveling their secrets might be their biggest challege, the rewards could be infinite...
Heartwarming and fresh, Sarah Morgan’s brilliant new novel is a witty and deeply uplifting look at the power of a family of women.
Praise for Sarah Morgan’s acclaimed series
From Manhattan with Love
“Snappy dialogue, well-developed characters mix with sweet romantic tension.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sleepless in Manhattan
“Morgan’s latest is a sensational chick-lit romance—a beautiful love letter to New York City.”
—RT Book Reviews on Sleepless in Manhattan (Top Pick)
“Morgan’s novel delivers the classic sweep-you-off-your-feet romantic experience.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sunset in Central Park
“Sweet, sexy and funny.”
—Library Journal on Holiday in the Hamptons
“An amazing, unforgettable second chance romance.”
—RT Book Reviews on Holiday in the Hamptons (Top Pick)
“Morgan brings us another delightful, romantic, and sexy tale.”
—Booklist on Moonlight Over Manhattan (starred review)
“The perfect must-read on a cold winter’s night.”
—RT Book Reviews on Moonlight Over Manhattan (Top Pick)
“There’s a dash of action, a sprinkle of cheer, and a lot of love to warm up this sweet, sexy wintertime tale.”
—Publishers Weekly on Moonlight Over Manhattan (starred review)
Puffin Island
”Morgan begins a new series with a sweet, sexy and emotionally layered story... Touching, sensual and warmly inviting.”
—Kirkus Reviews on First Time in Forever
“A delightful small-town romance, which is a little sweet and a lot sexy.”
—Booklist on First Time in Forever
The O’Neil Brothers
“Uplifting, sexy and warm, Sarah Morgan’s O’Neil Brothers series is perfection.”
—Jill Shalvis, New York Times bestselling author
“This touching Christmas tale will draw tears of sorrow and joy, remaining a reader favorite for years to come.”
—Publishers Weekly on Sleigh Bells in the Snow (starred review)
“Sharp humor, snappy dialog, and memorable characters.”
—Library Journal on Maybe This Christmas
Also available from Sarah Morgan
From Manhattan with Love
Moonlight Over Manhattan
Holiday in the Hamptons
New York, Actually
Miracle on 5th Avenue
Sunset in Central Park
Sleepless in Manhattan
Puffin Island
One Enchanted Moment
Some Kind of Wonderful
First Time in Forever
The O’Neil Brothers
Suddenly Last Summer
Maybe This Christmas
Sleigh Bells in the Snow
For a full list of books by Sarah Morgan, please visit www.sarahmorgan.com.
Sarah Morgan
How to Keep a Secret
For my sister (from whom I have no secrets!)
If I could have chosen my sister, I would have chosen you.
Contents
Quote
Prologue
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Part Two
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Acknowledgments
For there is no friend like a sister
In calm or stormy weather;
To cheer one on the tedious way,
To fetch one if one goes astray,
To lift one if one totters down,
To strengthen whilst one stands.
CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI
PROLOGUE
Sisters
“What are we going to do? We shouldn’t even be here.” I tugged at my sister’s skirt to pull her away from the window. “If we’re caught, we’re going to be in big trouble.”
I wasn’t about to wait around for that to happen.
My sister was taking those big gulping breaths that always preceded a fit of crying.
Giving her a final tug, I dropped to my hands and knees and scurried back along the path the way we’d come, grateful for the protective shadow of darkness. I wanted to stand up and run, but if we did that we’d be seen, so I stayed low, crawling like a fugitive. It had been a long, hot summer and the earth was dry and crumbly. It was only when I felt a cooling splash on the backs of my hands that I realized I was crying, too. Small stones bit into my palms and knees, and I clamped my teeth together to stop myself making a sound. I brushed past the jungle of honeysuckle and the sweet cloying smell almost choked me. There was nothing sweet about what we’d seen and I knew that when I was grown up and had a house of my own I’d never have honeysuckle in the garden.
There was a rustling sound behind me. I hoped it was my sister and not some nocturnal creature with sharp teeth and an appetite.
I couldn’t see the gate, but I knew it was there. Beyond the gate was the footpath. If we made it that far, we’d be protected by the high hedge. Through the panicked pumping of blood in my ears I could hear the rhythmic crash of the sea. It sounded closer than usual, louder, as if the tide was colluding, helping to drown the sounds of our escape. The salt breeze dried my cheeks and cooled my skin.
Finally I reached the gate and slid through the gap, ignoring the twigs that stabbed my back. There, right in front of me, was the path. Leaning against the hedge were our bikes, right where we’d left them. I wanted to grab mine and pedal hard into the night without looking back, but there was no way I was leaving my sister.
I’d never leave my sister.
There was another rustle
and she emerged through the gate, her hair wild from our frantic retreat.
Now that safety was within reach, anger burst through the anxiety.
“It was your idea to come here tonight.” I almost choked on the emotion that had built up inside. “Why do you always have to do what you’re not supposed to do?”
“Because the things I’m not supposed to do always seem like more fun.” The wobble in her voice reminded us both that this hadn’t been fun at all.
I felt her hand creep into mine and instantly I forgave her. We stood like that for a moment, clinging for comfort.
My sister moved closer. “If I could have chosen my sister, I would have chosen you.”
I would have chosen her, too, although right then I wished there was a way of curbing her adventurous spirit.
“I wish we hadn’t looked.”
“Me, too.” For once my sister sounded subdued. “We can’t ever tell anyone. Remember what happened to Meredith?”
Of course I remembered. Meredith was a cautionary tale.
“I hate keeping secrets.”
“It’s a small secret, that’s all. You can keep a small secret.”
I swallowed, my throat so dry it hurt. We both knew that this was a lot bigger than the other secrets we kept. This wasn’t sneaking out after dark to play on the beach, stealing flowers from Mrs. Hill’s garden or raiding Mrs. Maxwell’s strawberry patch. This was something different. What we’d seen felt like a weight crushing me. Deep down I knew we should tell, but if we told, everything would change. We’d left our childhood back at that window and there was no going back to get it.
“I won’t tell. I’ll protect you. We’re sisters. Sisters always stick together. I made a promise.”
Of course most people who made a promise like that, I thought, didn’t have a sister like mine.
Part One
1
Lauren
Premonition: a feeling that something is going
to happen, often something unpleasant
You couldn’t really blame the party for what happened, although later Lauren wished she hadn’t organized such an elaborate affair. If she hadn’t been so wrapped up in the small details, she might have noticed something was wrong. Or would she? To notice something was wrong you had to be looking, and she hadn’t been looking. She’d been focused on the moment and the excitement of the big day.
And the day started early.
Waking before the alarm, she rolled over in the bed and kissed Ed. “Happy birthday.”
Should she say the word forty? How did he feel about it? How did she feel about it?
She still had five years to go before she hit that number which seemed far enough away not to be worth worrying about. And forty wasn’t old, was it?
Maybe not, but when she’d taken delivery of the birthday cake the day before and looked at the forty candles waiting to be added, she’d thought, We’re going to need a bigger cake.
Ed was still dozing so Lauren lay for a moment, cocooned by the peaceful calm of their bedroom. This had been the first room she’d decorated when they’d moved in. She’d designed it as a sanctuary, a peaceful haven of white with accents of gray and silver. In summer the room was flooded with sunlight and she slept with the window open so she could hear the birds. Now, in January and with London in the grip of a cold snap, the windows were firmly closed. Their house, in an exclusive and sought-after crescent in fashionable Notting Hill, backed on to private gardens. Every morning for the past week the trees had been coated with frost. The cold air slapped you in the face the moment you opened the door, as if daring people to leave the comfort of their homes.
Lauren, who had been raised on Martha’s Vineyard, a small island off the coast of Massachusetts, wasn’t afraid of bad weather.
She peeled back the covers and ran her fingers through his hair. “Not a single gray hair. If it’s any consolation, you don’t look a day over sixty.” There was no reaction and she leaned forward and kissed him again. “I’m kidding. You don’t even look forty.” Except lately, at certain times of the day and when the sun was bright and harsh. Then he looked every day of forty. Working too hard? Ed had always worked long hours, but recently he’d been coming home later and later and seemed unusually tired. She’d subtly planted the idea that he might visit the doctor, but he’d ignored all hints. It was easier to persuade a toddler to eat broccoli than to get Ed to the doctor.
Her phone told her it was past six o’clock, and he showed no sign of moving.
Lauren gave him a gentle nudge. Her day was planned to the minute, and it all kicked off at precisely six fifteen.
She heard the sound of clomping on the stairs. “Mack’s awake. How can one teenager sound like a herd of elephants?”
She wondered if Mack was coming upstairs to the bedroom, but then the sound of footsteps faded and she heard the kitchen door slam.
Why wasn’t Mack at least putting her head round the door to wish her father happy birthday?
Anxiety gnawed at the edges of her happiness. It wasn’t that long ago that Mack would have come charging into the bedroom proudly carrying the birthday card she’d made herself. She would have leaped into the middle of the bed and the three of them would have snuggled together. Even when she’d hit the teenage years, Mack had been easygoing.
All that had changed a month before. Overnight she’d transformed into a sullen, moody caricature of a teenager and Lauren couldn’t put her finger on why.
The Christmas holidays had been stressful. Ed, who rarely took time off, had reacted badly to the tension and Lauren had taken on the role of peacekeeper. As a result, she’d spent most of the festive period with tight knots in her stomach.
“Do you think it’s a phase, or is this it?”
Ed stirred. “Is this what?”
The way she’s going to be for the rest of her life.
She didn’t voice her thoughts.
Today was Ed’s birthday, and she had a party to run.
Thinking of everything she had to do to make it perfect made her fidget.
This being Friday, she was meeting her friends Ruth and Helen at ten o’clock in their favorite coffee shop, which happened to be exactly thirty-five steps from the hairdresser where Lauren had an appointment exactly forty-five minutes later. By eleven thirty she’d be at the florist and after a fifteen-minute walk home—ticking the boxes for both steps and sunshine—the rest of the day was devoted to making final preparations for the party.
“Ed—” She nudged him again. “Wake up, honey. I need to give you your gift before I head downstairs. I have the whole day planned out to the minute.”
Ed finally opened his eyes. “When have you ever not had the whole day planned out to the minute? If I ever invent an organization app, I’m calling it The Lauren.”
Was that a criticism?
“It’s important to take control, otherwise time drifts.”
Lauren had other reasons for keeping control on life, but she and Ed never talked about that. Sometimes she wondered if he remembered. Time had a way of fading events until they were distant and indistinct. It was like hanging a painting in sunlight. Lines blurred and colors lost some of their sharpness.
Occasionally her mind drifted there, but mostly she managed to keep herself in the present.
Hoping to stir him into action, she threw back the covers and stood up. Usually she started with a few yoga stretches, but today she was distracted by the thought of Mack downstairs in the kitchen.
Why was she up so early?
Perhaps she was making a surprise birthday breakfast for Ed.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Lauren walked to the window and glanced into the street.
With luck today would be one of those perfect sunny winter days, but this being London it was unlikely. As long as th
eir guests didn’t have to battle snow, she wasn’t going to complain. England, she’d discovered years before, didn’t cope well with snow. Ten large flakes were all that was required to send the country into a screaming panic.
Ed finally heaved himself out of bed, too.
Lauren turned and studied his hunched form. “Are you okay?”
He turned his head to look at her, distracted. “What?”
“You look tired.”
“I am tired. I could lie in bed for a month and not move.”
She decided the time for subtlety had passed. “You should see a doctor.” Why was it men needed to be told that?
“For being tired? The advice will be ‘Go to bed earlier.’ I can’t afford the time to hear him state the obvious.”
“Her.”
“Excuse me?”
“Our doctor is a woman,” Lauren said. “Eleanor Baxter. If you won’t see her, at least slow down a little. Leave the office earlier.”
“Slow down? Lauren, do you have any fucking idea what my job is like?” He closed his eyes and ran his hand across his jaw. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean—forgive me. I’m not feeling great.”
“It’s fine.” But it wasn’t fine, was it? Ed never swore, at least not in her presence. He was always polite and courteous—to friends, to the teachers at their daughter’s school, even to the mailman if they happened to bump into each other. It was his even temper and unshakable calm that had drawn her to him. He was dependable. With Ed she’d never felt swept away or out of control. She’d never had to worry that her heart might fracture or her breathing might stop altogether. If there had ever been a part of her that craved something different, it was now a mere speck in her past, barely visible to the naked eye. “I know you’re busy, but it’s not like you to be this tense.”
Ed was a whiz kid financier who had made a fortune with a big hedge fund in the city before leaving to manage his own portfolio. James, an old college friend who rented office space with him, said Ed was a financial genius. Lauren had no reason to doubt it.
This house, Mackenzie’s school, their perfect life—all of it was paid for by Ed’s brutally long hours in the office.
