Sea Glass Sunrise

by Donna Kauffman

  Hannah smiled, winced as it pulled bruised skin, but didn’t stop smiling. “Yeah, that might fall into the category of TMI, at least as it pertains to older brothers.” She shifted her gaze from Alex to the house, stunned all over again by just how much had been accomplished in such a relatively short time. “I meant thank you for this.” She took in the new shakes, the renovated and freshly painted frames around all the dormers inset into the roof, the siding, the porch . . . all of it. She looked to Alex. “You fixed my heart, my soul,” she said. “The house, but even more, the tower. It’s . . . majestic now. Like it should have always been. I can’t believe you did that.” She laughed a little self-consciously. “How did you do it?”

  Alex beamed with pride, clearly pleased by Hannah’s reaction, and maybe a little relieved as well. “It’s what MacFarlands do,” she said simply. “We let the lights shine again.”

  Hannah could only shake her head. “You have no idea how much that—” She paused, let out a watery laugh. “I’m not usually so emotional.”

  Alex stepped in and gave her a gentle, one-armed hug. “It’s okay. I’m loving every moment of this reaction, trust me. Makes all the hard work ten times more worthwhile.” Her smile shifted from one of beaming pride to one of simple happiness. “I know what the tower means to Logan. I mean, he’s told me . . . the whole story. About his fiancée and—”

  “He did?” Hannah shook her head. “What am I saying? He’s marrying you. Of course he told you all about his past, especially about the tower, since you’re the one in charge of restoring it.”

  “I know that the tower is a big part of all of your lives.” She grinned. “Fair warning, Logan has shared many—many—a childhood tale with me about life with his three sisters.”

  “Ah, well . . . now that we’re all going to be home again, please allow us to help balance the scales.”

  Alex’s eyes danced. “I was so hoping you’d say that.”

  Hannah laughed and felt a little silly for being so nervous. It was going to be okay. Just being there felt so good. It was an enormous relief to finally be on ground she could trust to remain solid and steady. “I hope, for Logan’s sake, our stories don’t change your mind about your future husband-to-be.”

  Alex laughed, but Hannah was more charmed by the blush that accompanied it. Alex didn’t seem the blushing type. “Nothing is going to change my mind about marrying your brother,” she said, clearly over the moon about her fiancé. “He’s the best person I know.”

  Hannah’s smile was watery—again, dammit—as she nodded. “The very, very. And if you tell him I said that before I at least have a chance to give him a hard time, I will flat-out deny it.” She swore under her breath, hoping the tear fest would stop for good, and soon. “You have to know that I am not a crier. They called me the Iron Maiden in court.” And a whole host of new things outside of court. “But now I’ve come home . . . I can’t seem to stop.” In truth, the tears had started with Tim’s betrayal, but she couldn’t—wouldn’t—go there. “I could blame your impending nuptials for making me all mushy, but I’ve decided I’m going to place the blame squarely on Calder Blue’s shoulders.” His nice, wide, manly-man shoulders, a little voice helpfully supplied. Stop that.

  “Calder Blue?” Alex asked.

  “The man who gave me these,” she said, and pointed to her black eyes, which Alex had been exceedingly kind not to stare at.

  “I thought you were in a car accident. But—someone struck you?”

  Hannah sighed, wishing now she’d never mentioned him. Why had she? “No, I did all the striking. I guess if I want to find an unwitting scapegoat, I should be blaming Beanie’s road sign.” She smiled briefly. “It was just more satisfying to blame Calder.”

  Alex’s gaze became more speculative. “Would he be the arrogant, pickup truck guy?”

  “Who called him that?”

  “I did.”

  Hannah turned to find Fiona coming down off the front porch and closing ground fast. “Why? He was the quintessential Good Samaritan.”

  Alex’s eyebrows rose a fraction at Hannah’s turnabout, but she wisely stayed out of it.

  “Did you or did you not just lay the blame at his work-booted feet?” Fiona didn’t wait for an answer. “Let me see your face.” She took Hannah’s chin gently in her hand and tipped it this way, then that. “Barbara warned me it wouldn’t be pretty.”

  “Gosh, don’t fawn and stroke my shattered ego or anything.” Hannah shifted her chin from Fi’s grasp and stood straighter. Funny how they fell back into the rhythms of their childhood, no matter how long they’d been apart. Hannah the stalwart leader, Fiona the determined caretaker. All they were missing was Kerry, the eternal troublemaker.

  Fiona didn’t falter. “What did Bonnie say?”

  “That I’ll live. Do you think you can do something to cover this, or at least reduce the Frankenstein factor for the rehearsal later?”

  “Hannah,” Alex interjected, “please don’t worry about that. I’m just thankful you’re here and that you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

  Hannah gave her a grateful look. “That is pretty much the nicest thing anyone has said to me since I got back.” Or, for that matter, since Tim’s pregnant wife showed up in my office. “You’re like the anti-bridezilla.”

  Alex gave her a crooked smile. “Then my work here is done.”

  Hannah turned back to her still-clucking younger sister. “Although I’m thinking maybe we need a second medical opinion. Psychiatric this time.” She gestured to Fiona’s outfit. Currently, her sister was swathed in a skirt made of yards—and yards and yards—of the most awful shade of mauve tulle, with big green-sequined flowers sewn quite unfortunately in far too many places all over it. The skirt of many horrors was topped with a strapless, bandeau-style sequined tube top that matched the flowers. All of this was made magnificently worse by the matching headband that sported trailing strands of . . . something that looked shredded and badly in need of recycling, topped with little green sequin flowers marching, upright, across the flat band. “Weren’t you wearing something equally psychotic at the scene of the stop-sign crime yesterday? What is that?” She wanted to look away, but it was like rubbernecking at a bad train wreck of fashion. “Are you being punished? Is this some kind of humiliation-through-community-service thing?”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. She was the sister who did that the most, too. “It’s for this afternoon’s rehearsal. Remember, I sent you a note telling you to bring the worst bridesmaid dress you owned, or could beg, borrow or steal.”

  “You had to wear that dress in an actual wedding?” Alex asked, horrified. “Complete with the head gear? Really?”

  Fiona nodded, then reached up to center the headband. “And the one yesterday. In fact, there are more.” At Hannah’s and Alex’s gaping expressions, Fi looked at Alex and added, “It’s because you get the horror of it all, and therefore would never inflict similar bridesmaid crimes on us, that you are fast becoming the best sister-in-law-to-be ever.” She turned to Hannah. “Our dresses are beautiful. Stunning. Although we might have to work on yours. Have you lost weight? And why? You’re already the tall, skinny one. Cut the relentlessly curvy sister here a break, will ya?”

  Hannah just smiled. Even Fiona’s fretting and clucking felt good. Familiar. It came from love, so she let the warmth of family seep in and soothe the aches and pains. “Hey, at least you can fill out the front of that thing without requiring David Copperfield illusion engineering.”

  Fiona stared down at her full, perfect breasts. “Yes, the booby fairy was kind to me. So very, very kind.” She smiled sweetly up at her sister.

  “So, I get why you’re dressed like that today, at least from your crazed perspective, but you still haven’t explained why you were wearing that other getup yesterday.”

  “Oh, I went to see Delia, so we could go through her closet. I brought that one with me, thinking seeing one of mine would make her feel more inclined to join in the
fun.” She grinned. “Oh my God, wait until you see the dress she decided to wear! It puts the fabulousness of this to shame.”

  “She had options? Like . . . she had to decide which one was worse? Than that?” Hannah immediately raised a hand. “Never mind. I don’t think I want to know. Am I the only one who has never been subjected to such horror? I mean, there has been the occasional too-lemony shade of yellow or unfortunate butt bustle, but . . . what kind of friends do you have, anyway?”

  Fiona was laughing now. “Hey, you should have seen that dress yesterday before she helped me fix it. Oh my God, we were laughing so hard, so I just kept it on.”

  “You . . . fixed it?” Hannah said, dubiously, trying not to recall the unnaturally shiny monstrosity her sister had had on the day before and failing. Spectacularly. Where was post-accident amnesia when she needed it? “Really? What part?”

  Fiona’s topaz eyes gleamed. “Yours is even more delicious.”

  Alex was watching the interplay between the sisters with open interest. “I can’t decide if I am hating that I was an only child, or if I owe my dad yet another debt of gratitude for stopping at just the one.”

  “Sisters rock,” Fiona said at the same time Hannah put in, “Wouldn’t trade this little shrimp boat for all the lobster rolls in Maine. Perky tits notwithstanding.”

  Fiona’s expression went all soft and mushy, and she nudged Hannah ever so gently. “You could stand to eat a few of those rolls. Just sayin’.”

  Hannah looked at Alex. “I hope you’ll come around to the idea of not being an only anymore, because you’re about to add three siblings to your family tree, whether you want to or not.”

  Alex’s smile wobbled a little. “I don’t cry either, so you need to cut that out right now.” Then Fiona opened her arms and they all found themselves in a sloppy, teary group hug.

  Which was how Logan found them. “Did somebody die?”

  Fiona looked up first, and snuffled loudly. “What? No. We’re welcoming Alex to the family fold.”

  “Please don’t leave me,” Logan said to Alex with utmost sincerity. Then he turned to Hannah and his face split wide with a grin. “Welcome home, you.”

  Hannah flew into his arms, then snuffled inelegantly all over his plaid work shirt. He was rock solid, as always. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Let me see this face,” he said, leaning back. He tipped up her chin and gently brushed the tears from her bruised cheeks, his own suspiciously bright.

  “Welcome home, indeed, right?” For the first time, she was grateful to Calder and what had happened in that intersection. It gave her a convenient excuse for the waterworks she couldn’t seem to switch back to the off position. And if everyone was busy worrying about her injuries, they wouldn’t notice her natural spark had been dimmed for entirely different reasons.

  Fiona took her sister’s arm. “Come on, let’s go see what magic we can create, then I’m going to show you the dress you’re wearing to rehearsal.”

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  Fiona eyed her without even a shred of curiosity. “You actually brought a bridesmaid dress? Let me guess. It’s tasteful, elegant, and not remotely mortifying. We’re shooting for humiliation in satin and tulle.”

  Hannah thought about trying to brazen her way through it, but then broke and said, “Yeah, I got nuthin’.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Fiona steered Hannah inside the big, rambling house, through the living room to the landing of the main stairs.

  “I can’t wear anything of yours,” Hannah protested, “unless part of the humiliation factor is a floor-length dress that hits me just below the knees.”

  “You’re not that much taller than me, Gargantua, and give me some credit. I trolled the secondhand stores. And Delia’s grandmother’s attic trunks.” She grinned and the light that twinkled to life in her dark gold eyes was nothing short of evil. “I think we found a winner.”

  Hannah groaned and followed her sister up the stairs, across the open balcony hallway to the two smaller bedrooms that had once been hers and Logan’s. He’d long since claimed the master at the top of the stairs, and Fiona, whose childhood room had been off the kitchen on the main floor below, had taken her old room as soon as she’d left for college. Logan’s old room was now the guest room Hannah stayed in when she was home. Kerry had always had a room out in one of the additions that stretched out the back of the house toward the water, which had suited her more bohemian personality . . . and kept the riotous music and higher-decibel lifestyle she enjoyed at enough of a distance as to make her sibs feel less homicidal toward her. Most of the time.

  “This wasn’t my idea,” Alex called up the stairs after them. “I’m fine with everyone just coming in jeans, T-shirt, and flip-flops.”

  Hannah glanced down over the balustrade at her. “You did ask Fiona to help with the wedding preparations, right?”

  Alex nodded. “She’s a brilliant New York interior designer and my future sister-in-law. What’s not to love about that combination?”

  “See? Thank you,” Fiona called down over the railing, beaming triumphantly.

  Hannah gave her sister a quelling look. “Public shaming in horrifying bridesmaid apparel, that’s what is not to love.” She glanced back at Alex. “So, yes, I blame you, too.”

  “Now, now, play nice,” Logan said, chuckling.

  “Oh, we are,” Fiona assured him, her smile turning to treacle. “Wait until you see the happening tuxedo jacket I found for you to wear.”

  Despite being a towering lumberjack of a man, Logan visibly blanched.

  Hannah hooted, suddenly feeling miles better. “Are you certain you know what you’re getting yourself into?” she called down to Alex as Fiona all but dragged Hannah into her bedroom.

  Alex grinned up at them. “Oh, I have a pretty fair idea. You should see what she’s making me wear tonight.”

  Hannah realized the tears had stopped. And she was smiling. Laughing. The pain of the accident forgotten, the pain of . . . everything else, shoved aside for now. Home. And family. The cure for everything. Then she had another thought and turned back to Fiona. “Did you get something for Kerry to wear? Because . . . you didn’t tell her to bring something, did you? God only knows what kind of tribal getup she’ll have found. She’s probably haggling with customs right this second over some kind of fang-covered bikini top. Or worse, they’ve already done the full-body cavity search and she’s in some small holding room somewhere. You know how she is. Has anyone heard from her? Is she still due in on Saturday?”

  Hannah closed the door behind herself and turned around to find Fiona standing in front of her, eyes swimming in tears. “Oh no! Oh my God. What happened to her, Fiona? Tell me right now. I’m an attorney. I know people, highly placed people. We’ll help her no matter what she’s done. We’ll—ooph!”

  Whatever else she might have said was squeezed out of her lungs by her sister, who had wrapped her up in a tight hug and was holding on for dear life. And, accident trauma or not, Hannah didn’t even take a whole second before wrapping her arms around Fiona’s soft shoulders and hugging her right back.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Fiona said, sniffling again, her face pressed against the annual police picnic T-shirt Barbara had given Hannah yesterday so she could get out of her Willy Wonka death-by-chocolate shirt.

  With the memory of her now-ruined silk blouse, Hannah’s thoughts went immediately to Calder Blue’s twinkling, whiskey-colored eyes as they’d shared that private joke grin. Bastard, she thought, but realized she was grinning again now, even as tears pricked at the ends of her eyelashes.

  “I have, too.”

  “It’s so good to have you home. To be home.” Finally, Fiona loosened up her death grip and noticed Hannah’s T-shirt. “Barbara?”

  Hannah nodded. “My blouse—well, you saw it. Everything happened so fast, and I guess I was more out of it than I realized. I didn’t even think about my luggage until I got to Barb�
��s last night. It was still in the back of my car. I picked it up this morning from Sal and he loaned me his nephew’s car to use.”

  “So, I saw,” Fiona said, waggling her eyebrows. “Sweet.”

  Hannah didn’t want to think about cars. Driving in general still made her feel vaguely queasy. “I haven’t had a chance to change yet.”

  “I’ll get Logan to bring your stuff in.” Fiona smiled, her eyes filled with love. “God, I feel like it’s been forever since we’ve talked. Really talked. So much has been going on and I feel awful for not keeping up with you and, well . . . I’ve missed leaning on you. I try not to be the needy little sister, I really do. You always have your act so together, and I keep thinking that will be me someday.” Fi’s smile turned sardonic. “And we both know that is so never going to happen. I mean, let’s face it. The big three-oh is officially in my rearview mirror. I’m single, no prospects, no kids, my life is upside down, my business—” She waved a hand. “See? There I go. But I do want to talk to you while you’re here . . . maybe bend your ear a little. Get some sisterly life advice.”

  Yeah. I don’t think I’m the one to talk to for life advice, Hannah thought. If Fiona only knew. Thankfully she didn’t, and she wouldn’t. Apparently she had her own life stuff going on, because, well, frankly, when did Fi not have life stuff going on? But Hannah would happily listen. Especially if it meant stuffing her own problems on a shelf for a little while longer.

  Logan was the oldest McCrae sibling, but while they’d all three turned to him for things like killing spiders, changing tires, and intimidating ex-boyfriends, he was not the one they turned to for life advice. And though Barbara had always been a sounding board of sorts for all three McCrae girls, and loved them unconditionally, her brand of advice was more along the lines of the no-nonsense wisdom passed down by grandparents and well-intentioned clan elders.

  So Hannah had, at a pretty early age, become the default mother figure for her two younger sisters. She remembered their parents, gauzy though her memories had become over time. She’d been five when they’d been killed in a car accident, the victims of a late-season, freak ice storm, but at barely three and just shy of two years old, respectively, Fiona and Kerry had only the many stories they’d been told to form their memories.