LOVE IS SERIES #3
“…love does not envy…” 1 Corinthians: 13:4
GREENER GRASSES
Julie B. Cosgrove
Copyright 2016 Julie B. Cosgrove
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Cover Art by Joan Alley
Edited by Susan M. Baganz
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are the product of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means without the permission of Prism Book Group. Please purchase only authorized editions and do not participate in the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Published by Prism Book Group
ISBN-10: 1-943104-38-7
ISBN-13: 978-1-943104-38-3
First Edition, 2016
Published in the United States of America
Contact info: [email protected]
http://www.prismbookgroup.com
TABLE OF CONTENTS
GREENER GRASSES
TABLE OF CONTENTS
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
DEDICATION
To my sister, Anne.
Though not my twin, she is entwined in my heart.
Thanks for your love, support, and advice over the years.
CHAPTER ONE
Church bells tolled their arrival. Already a stream of cars dotted the parking spaces like soldiers lined for battle. For Erin Ballinger Duncan it seemed appropriate. Today she’d combat an overwhelming struggle of the heart. Well, perhaps it could involve skirmish for territory as well—in a strange sort of way. But she pushed away the thought.
Erin stepped out of the mortuary’s limousine with her husband, John, and their two fifteen-year-old sons, Travis and Austin. She shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight, a total dichotomy from the darkness brewing in her emotions. She scanned the church driveway and scoffed. Yep, her sister emerged from the limo behind them. “The ‘perfect family’ has arrived. What no trumpets?”
John rolled his eyes. “Don’t start, Erin. Not now.”
“Whatever. She still makes me want to puke. Perfect life, perfect kids, perfect husband…”
“Stop, okay?” John spoke in her ear with a hiss. “Can’t you two get along for three hours? For your mom’s sake, and mine, by the way.”
A residual hurt sounded in his tone. Once again she’d compared him to her sister’s spouse. Erin bit her lip and turned away.
Her twin sister, Ellen, sauntered towards them in her black linen three-piece ensemble, which probably cost more than Erin’s monthly grocery bill. Not to mention the onyx and pearl earrings with matching necklace set against her country club tanned skin, or her perfectly curled coiffure. Erin ran a hand over her own short curls, still slightly warm from the hotel hairdryer. When did Ellen find the time to book a hairdresser? They only heard news of their mother’s death three days ago.
Ellen’s husband, Robert—never called Bob because that would be too gauche and informal—followed in what appeared to be a custom tailored suit accented by a designer tie. Their three girls, Brittany, Elena, and Jade, slithered out next, all without a wrinkle in their dresses. Miniatures of their mother. Each carried herself with shoulders back and spine straight as if the pavement to the sanctuary was a style show catwalk. Most likely the posh, private girls’ school they attended made them strut with rulers on their heads in order to maintain proper posture.
She felt John’s firm hand press the small of her back. She knew the gesture reiterated his demand she behave civilly today. He stood poised in case feminine claws emerged. Erin huffed through her cheeks. “Okay, John. I’ll try. But if one snarky remark escapes from her surgically sculptured ruby lips, it won’t end up pretty.”
Ellen brushed past them with a nod, her brood and hubby in tow like peacocks on parade. Erin stretched her mouth in a tight smile as the sisters made brief eye contact. Then, with a slam of the limo door, she gathered her boys around her and nudged them ahead. Friends, acquaintances, and distant family silently trudged up the steps to the sanctuary doors. Most dressed in black with heads down or glassy eyes set straight ahead above clenched jaws. Typical funeral protocol.
As the families mounted the concrete stairs to the entry, Erin’s gaze panned her sister’s slim-legged length that ended in a pair of five-inch stilettos, most likely Christian Louboutin. Yep, red soles. How much did those cost?
With each stride, Erin pressed her high-heeled sore feet to the pavement so she wouldn’t wobble. How did high society women wear these all day? Ballet flats or sneakers were more her style as a discount store floor manager.
A blast of too cold air conditioning and organ music hit her senses as the ushers opened the doors for the family to walk down a separate side aisle. Combatting tears, Erin sucked in a lungful of air and marched chin up—not so much in imitation of her twin but to refrain from noticing the sympathetic faces of those already seated. Her mother always told her daughters to never cry in public.
“Ellen. Robert.” John whispered their names and nodded for them and their girls to enter the reserved pew first. They shot him a terse half-smile and proceeded to herd their pristine princesses while John held his two slightly crumpled boys at bay with a firm grasp on their jacket collars.
The “perfect family” scooted sideways and sat down, which left Erin to sit in front of the post. She leaned into her husband to peer around to the altar. With a hiss she verbalized her complaint. “Thanks, John. Of course Ellen gets the aisle view. No matter.”
John pulled a deep breath through his nose and let it out in an elongated sigh as he snapped open the pew bulletin.
His irritation pierced Erin’s already punctured heart. John, whose best friends were also his brothers, never understood the strained relationship between the twin sisters. Actually, Erin didn’t either. Twins were supposed to have a special bond. Some even had a secret language they shared. Not her and Ellen. No way.
She blinked back dampness from her lashes, partially over the loss of her mother, but also because of the deep-seated anger and jealousy for Ellen who constantly claimed the limelight. She always had. Second-born by six minutes and seventeen seconds, Erin felt destined to follow her more successful, rich, and stylish sibling. Ellen had always commanded attention while Erin shrunk to the corners.
A booming voice echoed off the mahogany rafters of the two hundred-year-old nave. “I am the Resurrection and the Life…”
All heads turned as the pallbearers wheeled the draped casket down the center aisle, the minister following as he finished reading the passage from the Book of Revelation. A slight squeak emitted from one of the casters as the funeral procession passed. Travis spewed a nervous giggle. John gave him a brushing bop across his head. Ellen swirled her torso, raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow and snarled to Erin. “For goodness sake. Can’t you teach your kids to behave in church?”
Can’t you guard your tongue in the House of the Lord? Erin bit hers to keep from replying out loud. Not that the occasion stopped her. She never could talk back to Ellen, especially when Ellen made her feel like scum on a frog’s underbel
ly—a skill her sister developed by their teenage years. It remained the main reason Erin avoided being with Ellen for more than one hour, even on holidays. She’d shared space with her for seventeen and a half years, and that had been enough for two lifetimes. Her mother hated when her daughters staggered their visits in order to avoid each other. Well, Mom finally got her wish. Today, they were together in the same place for at least three hours of funeral, gravesite committal, and reception.
Pastor Mike turned a soulful glance to the family. “On this day, let us not mourn the passing of our sister, Marilyn Edwards Ballinger, but celebrate her new life in Heaven at the side of Jesus.”
Erin muffled a cough into her hankie as she swallowed the tear-clogged boulder from her throat. Why can’t I cry over you, Mom? I miss you already. I wish I had been there. Oh, why didn’t we visit you more often?
John laid a hand on her shoulder, but Erin jerked it away. She eyed the creases of his off-the-rack jacket. How pitiful compared to Robert’s tailored one. But there weren’t funds in the account to buy him anything decent, much less her a nice dress. The credit cards were maxed out, used to pay for the kids’ orthodontics, the car repairs, and the fridge that conked out…
Erin sighed. How she despised money problems. Okay, maybe it wasn’t John’s fault that he never finished college. After all, she’d become pregnant within four months of their nuptials. He had to drop out to support his new family. If only they’d waited until they had their degrees. But one passionate night after three margaritas to celebrate midterms being over and, bam! Twin boys.
Still, deep down, Erin hated that John remained an underpaid blue collar worker subject to being laid off each time the economy turned. He’d lost the gumption to pursue his engineering degree a decade ago. Now he sloughed through life with no ambition or goals other than making enough to have one hundred and fifty dollars left over each month so they never wrote a hot check.
Ellen, on the other hand, a Phi Beta Kappa sorority girl, postponed marriage and family until she’d earned her master’s in English Literature. Then she snared a successful investment banker from a prominent family and didn’t have to work another day in her life. Their three girls had been strategically birthed four years apart to avoid double diaper duty in the beginning and, no doubt, dual college tuitions later on. Her elder sister never did anything without plotting it out first.
Hot tears dripped down Erin’s not-often rouged cheeks. Sorry, Mom. But I have a right to cry. It is your funeral, after all. She brushed them away with her fingers, checking for mascara smudges. Out of the corner of her vision she caught John’s stern glare. He nodded as the pastor continued.
“Marilyn’s legacy is witnessed by this fully packed church. Her Christian charity touched many lives, and for that we should praise God. She would not want us to be sorrowful, but to raise our hands in hallelujahs that she is finally walking the streets of gold, free of the pain, suffering, and heartaches of this dark and fallen world on which she once trod.”
Erin’s stomach felt as if Boy Scouts practiced their knotting skills in it. How could she rejoice? She and Ellen were now orphans. Dad had been killed in a car wreck five years prior. They had no other siblings. No more buffers lay between the twins’ tendency to squabble. How would she face Ellen the rest of the day with a plastered smile? Could she survive the sharp verbal pricks and superior, disapproving glances unscathed? Deep down, she admitted to the ugly, forbidden thought. Erin not only hated her sister for being born first, she despised her mother for bearing twins.
The thought made her bite the inside of her lip. She bowed her head and prayed John wouldn’t make a social faux pas in conversation or her boys eat with the wrong fork at the reception. And Lord, please keep me from dribbling anything on this blouse. It’s the only good one I own.
*
Ellen pushed an elongated sigh through her upturned nose as they exited the limo. She ran a scrutinizing scan over her twin’s family. With a slight bob of her head, she strutted past, chin held high. Barely above a whisper, she scowled. “Can’t they afford some appropriate clothes? Their twins are wearing navy, not black. At least Erin could have worn a dress and John a good suit. It’s Mom’s funeral, after all.”
Robert hushed her. “And because it is, you will not say a thing about it. Understood?”
She jutted her chin. “Don’t get cocky with me, Robert Longstrum. I’m hardly in the mood.”
Her husband muttered deeper under his breath. “Lately, you never are.”
“Humph.” She darted him a daggered glare. With clenched teeth she lobbied back his volley. “And your secretary always is, right?” She pushed past him through the church door the usher held open. The girls, ages four, eight, and twelve, paraded by as well, each avoiding him. They didn’t catch the conversation but their mother’s tone indicated he’d displeased her again.
Why her sister didn’t make an effort to better herself puzzled Ellen. They only had two boys, and boys were half as expensive to raise than girls, or so her social friends claimed in conversations around the bridge table. John should land a more lucrative job, if he had that capability. From the little contact they’d shared over the years the man seemed intelligent enough.
Even so, she couldn’t help but notice John’s arm slip around Erin’s waist. Even though he dressed like a country bumpkin, he obviously loved her. Perhaps Erin hadn’t chosen so poorly after all. Ellen gulped down a sob, hoping everyone would think it because of her mother’s passing. No dirty laundry would ever be exposed to the public. For appearances’ sake, as well as Robert’s reputation in the community, they had to represent the perfect family. Right. How many other society couples attempted the same feat?
She adjusted her jacket and entered the church fully aware that every eye landed on her. She had become more than accustomed to it. Because of their social standing, limelight scowls were her natural domain.
Truth be told, she maintained their lofty status, not Robert. Sure, he had a knack for numbers. His sharp mind and photographic memory served well when it came to advising others on their investments. But his social skills landed in the pathetic category. Hadn’t his mother observed the very same thing a few Christmases ago at their annual charity function organized and hosted by Erin? “His father and I admit he chose well. You are the wind beneath his sails, my dear. I said as much to the women’s club at bridge just the other day.”
She scooted into the pew, her daughters following behind. Promoting Robert Baxter Longstrum, III, financial and estate advisor, took a 24/7 endeavor. No wonder she flopped into bed each night too tired to cater to his whims. How little he appreciated her efforts. It’s a miracle they had three girls.
As the casket rolled by she heard one of Erin’s boys giggle. How dare he? Their mother, had she not been a shell of a body tucked inside the white satin lining, would have been devastated by the incongruent noise. Ellen raised an eyebrow, until she caught Erin’s sharp stare.
Why did her younger sister hate her so much? She shouldn’t be jealous. Except for money, Erin had it all—a loving husband, twins to carry on the family lineage, and no social pressures to live up to a certain set of standards. Oh, what Ellen would give for a simpler life, swimming in the murky waters of the middle class versus her pristine-at-all-times society fishbowl. If she hadn’t been born first she wouldn’t have felt the pressure from her parents, from her teachers, and now her high-society crowd, to succeed. Why had she emerged from her mother’s womb first?
CHAPTER TWO
The service blended into a white noise. Erin stood when everyone else did, sat when they sat, and knelt as soon as she heard the rustle of clothes around her. But the whole time she half-focused on the white brocade humped over the coffin. How could her mom truly be inside? It didn’t make sense.
Three weeks prior, they’d gone shopping for Easter outfits for the twins. Her mother had insisted on purchasing navy. So much smarter and modern than black, her mother told her. How ironic.
The boys were to don the suits to celebrate Jesus’ resurrection. Instead, they wore them to their grandmother’s funeral.
She squeezed her husband’s arm. Above all else she needed to feel the sturdy muscles in his biceps, a symbol of his support and strength. With a pat John released her grasp and whispered into her ear. “Be strong, Erin. No tears. She’s in Heaven, so you should rejoice as Pastor Mike said.”
Her eyes shimmered as she whipped her face towards him. How dare he? Other people in the pews sniffled. Why couldn’t she? The heck with his pious posturing and her mother’s demanded decorum. The Bible said Jesus wept over his friend Lazarus, right?
Erin glanced at her sister with her jaw set and then focused straight ahead. Wait…did Ellen’s throat wobble in a hard swallow? Was she on the verge of tears as well? Wow, the ice princess had a sliver of feelings. Who knew?
The organ music sounded a crescendo and people rose to their feet. The casket backed down the aisle, escorted by six pallbearers, close friends of her parents. Ellen and Robert flicked a sharp stare towards Erin and John’s direction. Ellen mouthed, “Now?” and motioned with her head it was time to exit.
John jerked Erin’s elbow. “Come on. The service is over.”
“Right, so let’s go.” Erin thrust past him and the boys. As she clicked her heels over the hardwood floors of the sanctuary and out to the waiting limos, the breakfast she’d attempted to swallow two hours earlier edged into her throat.
“Mom, do we have to watch them put Grandmother in the ground? It’s starting to rain.” Travis caught up with her as he punched letters and numbers on his cell phone.
“Yes, dear. It’s all part of it.” She yanked the device from his hand. “Text your friends later, okay?”
John flipped an umbrella open and hovered it over his family. Austin pocketed his phone as he clunked alongside. “I hate funerals.”
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