Her Sister's Shoes

by Ashley Farley

  “And I’ll buy you a great big house on the water to go with it. We’ll wake up every morning with our two children and our golden retriever and stare out across the creek. We’ll swing open the french doors and breathe in the healthy salt air.”

  “I want more than two children. And Labs make better hunting dogs.”

  “We can have all the children you want, but we’ll have to discuss the breed. Retrievers are equally as good hunters.”

  “But this is my big chance. How can I possibly say no to one of the top design firms in New York?”

  “At least try it on.” He removed the ring from the box, and she held out her hand while he slid it on her finger. “Do you like it? The stone was my grandmother’s. I had it reset.”

  She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The ring was a perfect fit, a two-carat symbol of his everlasting love for her.

  In that moment, Jackie had forgotten about everything else. Her career. New York. She’d given everything up. For him.

  She leaned her head back against the park bench and closed her eyes, savoring the warmth of the sun streaming through the trees onto her face. She imagined Lilly’s father, tall and handsome with blonde curls cropped close to his head, arriving home from work with a bottle of wine in one hand and a bouquet of pink lilies in the other, kissing his wife on the lips and his daughter on her forehead before going outside to throw the baseball with his son.

  For Lilly’s family’s sake, Jackie hoped her father never lost that look of adoration for her mother.

  Jackie tugged off her engagement ring and wedding band and dropped them in her bag. “Never trust a man, Lilly,” she said out loud to the little girl across the street who couldn’t hear her.

  Ten

  Samantha

  Throngs of beachgoers arrived at Sweeney’s first thing on Saturday morning. They came in their Suburbans, packed to the roof with floats and grills and beach chairs. A few of them complimented the remodeling. Most of them seemed impressed with the selection of prepared foods. All of them were relieved to see the high quality of fresh seafood had returned.

  With the exception of Curtis, whose services were no longer needed, and Jamie, who couldn’t be cajoled away from the television, all hands were on deck. Lovie seemed her old self in every way. She worked the fish counter all morning, welcoming their patrons and offering to share her latest recipe—lemongrass and ginger grilled shrimp.

  Sam couldn’t have kept her mom away from Sweeney’s even if she wanted to. Lovie was still the sole proprietor, even though she took only enough money out of the business to support her modest living. Faith and Sam were her employees, salaried workers with pay grades based on their responsibilities. Sam managed the personnel and the purchasing while Faith looked after the books. Sam worked the storefront more than Faith, giving her the flexibility to attend to Bitsy’s needs.

  “We’ve run out of the little crab cakes, Sam. Do you want me to get some off the shelf?” Faith gestured toward the plastic containers stacked high in their refrigerated section.

  “Why don’t we try something different? Maybe a dollop of tuna salad on a cracker?”

  “Good thing we’re closed on Sundays,” Faith whispered.

  Sam nodded. “It’ll give Roberto a chance to catch up before Monday.”

  “I appreciate the business from the beachgoers, but I haven’t seen one local person all day.”

  The moment the words slid off Faith’s tongue, the front door swung open and Prospect’s Prima Donnas—Donna Bennett and Donna Berry–sashayed in, followed by Julia Motte. As they entered, Bitsy offered to pour them a cup of lemonade. With barely a glance in the child’s direction, Donna Bennett dismissed the offer with a rude flick of her hand.

  How could Jackie consider these tacky women her friends?

  As much as Sam wanted to backhand the smug look off Donna Bennett’s face, she knew it would mean suicide, the death of Sweeney’s. Donna Bennett’s family ran the only local paper—the Prospect Weekly—which offered fishing reports and news from the high school sports teams, the general goings-on of Prospect’s citizens. The townsfolk used to wait in anticipation for the Monday paper to arrive in their mailbox, but since Donna’s father passed away three years ago, the quality of newsworthy items had diminished.

  “Those weren’t the locals I had in mind,” Faith said under her breath.

  “Be nice. Remember we need their support if we want to survive the winter.” Sam pointed at their mom, who was leering at the Prima Donnas from behind the fish counter. “That goes for you too.”

  “I don’t know what Jackie sees in them.” Faith grabbed a pint of tuna salad from the cold case and scurried off to prepare her samples.

  “Afternoon, ladies.” Sam greeted the man-eating lionesses with a forced smile. “Nice of you to stop by.”

  Donna Bennett glanced around the empty showroom. “From the looks of things, I’d say you are desperate for our business.”

  “Actually, this is the first lull we’ve had all day,” Sam said. “The beachgoers have been lined up waiting to get in the front door for most of the morning.”

  “We’re not planning to buy anything, of course.” Donna Berry’s wicked grin revealed a smudge of red lipstick on her front tooth. “We just stopped in to have a look around.”

  “Help yourselves. We’ve run out of our bite-size crab cakes, but Faith should be out with tuna samples soon.”

  Placing a hand across her chest, Donna Bennett sucked in her breath. “We’re hardly the sampling kind of gals.”

  “But thanks anyway.” Julia smiled at Sam, her apology for her ill-mannered friends.

  The three women wandered around the store, careful not to touch anything as if fearful of contamination.

  Donna Bennett pointed at a container of shrimp scampi. “That just looks gross.”

  “Looks like the Key Lime Pie they sell in the freezer section at Harris Teeter,” Donna Berry said about their display of pies.

  When the Donnas burst into laughter, Julia’s face turned pink. “The place looks nice, Samantha. I understand from Jacqueline that the design was mostly yours.”

  Donna Bennett elbowed Julia in the ribs. “You didn’t tell me that. What do you call this design, warehouse chic?”

  Donna Berry whispered to Julia, loud enough for Sam to overhear, “I can’t believe your mother put her pristine reputation on the line for this project.”

  “What choice did she have?” Donna Bennett whispered in the same loud tone. “She could hardly say no to Jacqueline considering Samantha is her sister.”

  Julia turned her back on her friends, but she did not come to Jackie’s defense.

  “Speak of the devil, where is Jacqueline?” Donna Bennett wandered to the back of the market and stuck her head in the kitchen pass-through. “Is she hiding out back here, too embarrassed to face the public?”

  Sam glanced over at her mother. Lovie’s face was flushed red with anger, irritated as much by her daughter’s rude friends as she was disappointed that Jackie had been a no-show for the ribbon cutting ceremony. Sam understood her sister’s need to lick her wounds in private, like an injured animal, but answering their mother’s endless questions about Jackie’s whereabouts was growing tiresome.

  Donna Berry pointed at the ceiling. “Oh look, Samantha. They forgot to finish your ceiling.”

  Sam’s temper boiled. She gave her mother the nod. Sound the bells. Let the fight begin. To hell with Donna Bennett’s tacky tabloid. If she wanted to give Sweeney’s a bad review, then bring it on.

  Lovie came out from behind the fish counter, and Bitsy scampered across the showroom and darted behind the produce cart.

  “Girls. I’m so pleased you approve of our new look.” Lovie’s voice was full of sarcasm. She turned her attention to Donna Bennett. “Warehouse chic, I believe you called it?”

  An angry scowl settled on Donna Bennett’s face.

  “Chic, as in elegant and stylish,” Lovie said. “And to think
Sam and Jackie managed it all on their own, without any help from Mimi.”

  All eyes turned to Julia. “Oh no. It wasn’t like that at all,” Julia said, appearing flustered. “Mimi would’ve helped them if they’d needed it. They seemed to know what they were doing.”

  Donna Bennett started in again, “Mrs. Sweeney, you must be so proud of Sam for moving on with her life so soon after the accident. Poor Caroline is having the hardest time getting over Corey’s death.”

  “I don’t imagine you ever get over losing a child,” Sam said.

  “No, I don’t suppose you do.” Donna Bennett shook her head in feigned sorrow. “Lucky for you, your son was spared.”

  “You’re right, Donna. I thank God every day my son is alive. But I wouldn’t go so far as to say he was spared. He’s in a wheelchair, but I’m pretty sure you already know that.”

  Donna Bennett nodded. “I can’t imagine how he lives with the guilt of knowing he caused the accident that killed—”

  Lovie wagged her finger in Donna’s face. “Now you listen here. My grandson is mourning the loss of his best friend. Even if Jamie is able to walk again one day, his life will never be the same.”

  Faith arrived on the scene, holding a tray of tuna salad samples out to their guests. She sniffed. “Something smells fishy, Sammie. The tuna is fresh, so it must be the company.”

  “Well, I never,” said Donna Bennett, placing her hand over her chest.

  A crowd of beachgoers entered noisily through the front door, bringing with them a wave of hot air. “Please excuse us while we help the customers who can afford to pay,” Sam said and turned her back on the Prima Donnas.

  “You are finished in this town, Samantha Sweeney.” Donna Bennett spun around and stalked off in a huff with Donna Berry and Julia on her heels.

  As Faith approached the new customers with her tray of samples, Bitsy crawled out from her hiding place under the produce cart. She sprinted over to Sam, who lifted the little girl into her arms and hugged her tight. “Did those mean old ladies scare you?” Sam whispered.

  “Yes,” Bitsy said, burrowing her face in Sam’s neck. She could feel her niece’s heart pounding against her chest.

  Faith returned with an empty tray. “Don’t you pay any attention to them,” she whispered to her daughter. “They’re nothing but a bunch of old windbags.”

  Bitsy giggled, her breath tickling Sam’s neck.

  “You forget that one of those windbags rules this town with her newspaper,” Sam said. “We’ll be lucky to get any local business after that cat fight.”

  Lovie snorted. “Let her print whatever she wants. No one takes that girl seriously since her father died.”

  “I’ll remind you of that when she destroys us in Monday’s paper,” Sam said.

  Eleven

  Samantha

  When Jackie called early Monday morning and insisted the three sisters meet at noon for lunch at the Pelican’s RoostAngler, Sam assumed she wanted to break the news about her divorce. No one had heard from Jackie since her birthday party—no calls or texts to congratulate them on a successful grand reopening, or to check on their mother’s health. While she knew her sister needed time to adjust to the changes in her life, Sam was tired of covering for her.

  “Shall I bring Mom?” Sam asked.

  “No! Let’s just keep this between us.” Her response was quick and curt. Too quick and curt.

  The Pelican’s Roost sat atop the Inlet View Marina store, offering panoramic views in all directions. Sam and Faith requested a table overlooking the parking lot, so they could keep an eye on the market across the street. Irritated at her sister for keeping them waiting, Sam was ready to walk out of the restaurant when Jackie arrived.

  “You are twenty minutes late, Jackie. We don’t have all day. We have a business to run, remember?”

  “I’m sorry. I got tied up on the phone,” Jackie said as she sat next to Faith.

  Sam leered at her. “That excuse became obsolete when they invented cell phones.”

  “We should probably go ahead and order.” Faith signaled the old gray-haired waitress who’d worked at the Pelican’s Roost for years.

  Sam and Faith ordered grilled chicken sandwiches and sweet potato fries, while Jackie asked for a small mixed green salad with vinaigrette dressing on the side. Then she turned to her sisters.

  “We need to talk about finding a retirement home for Mom.”

  Sam nearly choked on her diet Coke, sending carbonation bubbles up her nose. “Mom doesn’t need a nursing home, Jackie,” she said, wiping her nose with a napkin. “The doctor granted her a clean bill of health. If you’d taken the time to call her, you’d know that already.”

  “I’m not talking about a nursing home, Sam. I’m talking about a retirement home.”

  “What’s the difference?” Faith asked.

  “There’s a big difference. A retirement home is for people like Mom who are capable of taking care of themselves. They live independently, in an on-site cottage or condo, with twenty-four-hour access to medical help when they need it. A nursing home provides round-the-clock care. The retirement home offers those services as well, of course, but not until their residents need them.”

  “Thanks for making the distinction,” Sam said. “But Mom doesn’t need either.”

  Jackie let out an exasperated sigh. “If you’ll just hear me out for a minute. The nicer places have long waiting lists. We need to start the process now so we will have a spot when she’s ready.”

  “And who is going to pay for this nice retirement home?” Sam asked.

  “Bill will, of course,” she said.

  Sam’s jaw dropped. Did Jackie seriously expect Bill to dish out hundreds of thousands of dollars to pay for his ex-mother-in-law’s retirement home? She studied Jackie’s face for signs of distress, swollen eyes or dark circles, but her older sister appeared as stunningly beautiful and put together as ever. Which could only mean one thing—Jackie was in denial. She would not confess her grievances until she was ready, whether in a day or a month. To confront her would only send her deeper underground.

  “I don’t think Mama will go for that,” Faith said in the soft voice she used when tiptoeing around Jackie’s temper. “You know how stubborn she is about paying her own way.”

  “That’s why we’re not going to give her a choice in the matter,” Jackie said.

  An image of Jackie dragging their mother by the hair, kicking and screaming, into a retirement home flashed through Sam’s mind. “Good luck with that.”

  “It’s all in the way you handle her, Samantha. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

  “Okay.” Sam placed her hands on the table, palms down, fingers splayed. “Let’s assume for a minute that you coerce Mom into going into a retirement home. Where exactly are you planning to find a place like that? All the nursing homes around here are dumps.”

  “There are several to choose from in Charleston,” Jackie said.

  “Charleston? Mama doesn’t even know anyone in Charleston. She won’t be happy that far away from home,” Faith said.

  “It’s a forty-five-minute drive, Faith. I wouldn’t exactly call that a long way from home.”

  Sam patted Faith’s hand. “Don’t worry. Jackie is getting way ahead of herself. The test results—”

  Jackie struck the table with her fist, causing her sisters to flinch. “The test results are inconclusive. I don’t need a doctor to tell me something’s wrong with Mom. She hasn’t been herself in weeks.”

  Sam took a deep breath and silently counted to ten. Consider her feelings, she reminded herself. She’s volatile right now.

  “Listen, Jackie,” Sam said in a calm voice. “Mom has been staying with me since she got out of the hospital. She seems totally fine. In fact she’s manning the market as we speak.”

  “You left her over there alone?” Jackie pushed her chair away from the table, preparing to get up. “She might slip and fall carrying one of those heavy trays
you let her carry.”

  Sam grabbed Jackie’s wrist and pulled her back down to her chair. “First of all, we purchased carts to replace those trays. Secondly, she’s not alone. Roberto is with her. Thirdly, we’re right across the street if something happens. Lastly, and sadly, business has been slow all morning.” Sam pointed out the window. “I’m keeping an eye on things. If a mob of customers suddenly appears, I’ll run across the street and help her.”

  Jackie jerked her hand away. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. She could just as easily trip over a cart. Women her age don’t always recover from broken hips. And I’m still not convinced she’s in her right mind.”

  “Well I am,” Sam said. “If you’re so convinced otherwise, feel free to take her to MUSC for a full psychological exam.”

  “Can I say something, please?” Faith raised her hand like an elementary school student vying for her teacher’s attention. “I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I’m pretty sure I know what Mama’s problem is.”

  “By all means.” Sam held her hands wide open.

  “Well …” Faith took a deep breath. “Mama doesn’t play bridge or belong to any prayer groups at church. She doesn’t knit or do any type of needlework. Her life has always revolved around the seafood market.”

  “She likes to cook,” Sam reminded her.

  “True, but she can’t cook all the time, especially when she’s only cooking for one,” Jackie said.

  “Let me finish, please.” Her sisters quieted down, and Faith continued, “When we closed for remodeling, Mama didn’t know what to do with all that free time, with no workplace to go to during the day. My guess is, she went a little nutty trying to keep herself busy.”

  Jackie gave a reluctant nod. “You may be on to something, Faith.”

  “Now that the market has reopened, things should get back to normal for her,” Faith said.

  “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to keep a close eye on her,” Jackie said.