By the end of the hour, Andi’s muscles were exhausted and a little shaky. She staggered to her feet and walked toward the cubbies.
“You’re doing great,” Marlie said, falling into step with her. “I see lots of improvement.”
“Thanks. I’m feeling better. Stronger.”
“I’m doing a demo in the park in two weeks. There’s a whole fitness program. My demo is from eleven to eleven-thirty. I was wondering if you’d be one of my students. There will be four of you. Just basic moves—all things you know how to do.” Marlie pulled a business card out of her tote. “Here’s my email address. Think about it and let me know if you’d be interested and are available.”
“I should be free,” Andi said. “But I don’t understand. A lot of your other clients are way better than me.”
Marlie laughed. “You’re my star beginner student. I like to have all different levels. When I tell people you’ve been doing Pilates a couple of months, they’ll be less intimidated by the classes.”
“I’m hoping there’s a compliment in there somewhere.”
“There is. I promise.”
Andi took the offered business card. “Let me double-check my calendar and I’ll let you know if I’m available. I’m pretty sure I don’t have to work.”
“Great. I’d love to have you.”
Andi nodded and left. As she walked to her car, she told herself this was how people started fitting into a community. One person at a time, one day at a time. Taking it slow, making connections. There were times when she missed her life in Seattle, but not that many. Since her breakup with Matt, she’d discovered that a lot of friends were more couple friends than girlfriends. Despite her invitations, no one seemed to want to visit the island.
She’d made the decision to start over in a moment of panic and impulse, but she was beginning to see that she’d been right about the island all along. She was making a home for herself here. Making friends, finding out the best way to belong.
As she walked toward her car, she glanced up to the three houses perched on the hill. The three sisters, she thought. She, Deanna and Boston weren’t sisters, but they were well on their way to being friends. And wasn’t that just as good?
* * *
Boston finished dressing after her afternoon shower. She was exhausted, but in a good way. She’d made good progress on the mural the whole week. She’d already sketched in her design on the two main walls of the waiting area. Now she was trailing a smaller version of the jungle scene down the hall. She would sketch different animals in the various examination rooms, then start painting.
Wade had offered the services of their best painter to help her. Hal would fill in the background while she worked on the animals, bugs and foliage. The good news was Andi didn’t plan to open her offices until late August, giving Boston plenty of time to finish the mural. The bad news was she hadn’t worked with a deadline in nearly a year and was feeling the pressure. Still, it was good to have a goal. It gave her purpose. She didn’t want to let Andi down.
She glanced at the clock and saw it was nearly five. Zeke should be home by now. She made her way to the kitchen to see if he’d left a message on the landline. She’d barely reached the counter when she heard a crash from the back of the house. What on earth?
She hurried down the hallway and walked into her studio. Zeke stood there, his arms at his sides, his fingers splayed. Her easel lay smashed on the floor.
“What happened?” she demanded. “When did you get home?”
“A few minutes ago.” His face was white, his eyes hard. He looked at her with a combination of anger and disgust. “Look at this. Look!”
She glanced around her studio, not sure what he was talking about. It wasn’t any messier than it usually was. She’d pinned up the various animals she was going to paint. There were different versions of the monkeys and jaguars. She’d wanted to get the positions right. She’d also played with colors in the butterfly wings.
“What are you talking about?” she asked, bewildered by his obvious emotion.
“Goddammit, Boston. Stop. You have to stop.”
He picked up a drawing of Liam. One she’d done recently. Before she realized what he was going to do, he ripped it in half.
She gasped. “Zeke, no.”
“This is wrong. It’s been too long. Wade said you were working on the mural. He said you were doing well and I believed him. But look at this.” He waved toward an oil painting she’d started the other day and then pushed the stack of sketches of their baby to the floor. Black-and-white images of Liam fluttered down.
“How many are there?” he asked, his voice thick with anger and maybe pain. “How many?”
Now she saw what he saw. Yes, there were a few pictures for the mural, but everywhere else, on every surface and inch of wall, were detailed drawings, paintings and quick sketches of their baby. Sleeping, awake, laughing, sitting. Liam in her arms, Liam in his bed, on the grass, by the fireplace.
“Hundreds,” she whispered, not bothering to count. “Hundreds.”
He picked up an oil painting and threw it across the room. Another stack of sketches went flying. He crumbled and tore and tossed, destroying her studio.
She stood by the door and let him. Not because he frightened her but because his anger was the first part of anything alive they’d shared since their son died. And maybe because she knew she needed this, too.
When he finished, he turned toward her. His chest rose and fell with each gasping breath. He radiated pain. His fingers curled into fists and she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes.
Deep inside her, emotion struggled to get out of the hard shell of her denial. It fought like a newborn chick, pecking for life. She took a step toward Zeke, wanting him to hold her. Wanting to cry with him. For them to share the pain. They’d started this journey together, and the only way to finish it was with each other.
He turned to her. “This is your fault.”
She stared at him. “What?”
“It’s your fault. You were there. You should have done something. You should have saved him. You let him die, Boston.”
The accusations, the assumption, tore at her. She felt herself being ripped into pieces and had to hang on to the back of a chair to keep standing.
“No.”
She tried to speak the word, but couldn’t make the sound. Couldn’t do anything but shake her head. He couldn’t believe that. Couldn’t.
“The doctors said...” she began. “It wasn’t...”
His expression was as hard as his words. As unforgiving. And then she knew. What was wrong between them had little to do with the actual death of their son and everything to do with blame.
Logic didn’t matter. Zeke knew in his head that Liam’s death had been a cruel twist of fate. He’d been taken because his heart wasn’t strong enough. But what he thought and what he felt were two different things. Maybe that’s why she’d gotten lost in her art. Maybe she’d always sensed what he’d been unable to tell her until now.
“I can’t be sorry for something I didn’t do,” she told him.
She saw it then—the chasm that opened up between them. It was as if they were on opposite sides of a canyon. There was no bridge, no way across. Only space and distance separating them. It was as if he looked at her from a thousand miles away.
“Zeke,” she began.
He shook his head; then he walked away.
He’d left so many times, after so many fights. He’d gotten frustrated, he’d used her as an excuse to go. But this was different. This was quiet. Deliberate.
She stayed where she was, aware that this time he might not come back.
When the room was silent and she was sure the house was empty, she carefully lowered herself onto the chair. There were paintings and sketches everywhere.
Brushes and paints lay scattered on the floor. But in front of her, a pad sat on the table. Next to it, a piece of chalk.
She picked up the latter and made the first stroke. The curve of a baby’s head appeared and she began to breathe again.
Chapter Twenty-One
DEANNA STARED OUT her front window. It was nearly eight, and Zeke’s truck was nowhere to be seen. While she didn’t generally spend her life spying on her neighbors, she knew enough about the comings and goings of their lives to be aware that something was wrong.
She walked into Colin’s study. It was rare for him to be home midweek, but he had a series of meetings in the office and hadn’t traveled in several days. For all they talked, he could already have taken the office job and not bothered to tell her.
She paused in the doorway and waited until he looked up from his computer.
“Zeke hasn’t been home in a couple of days,” she said. “I want to go check on Boston. Make sure she’s okay.”
Blond eyebrows rose. “I didn’t know the two of you were friends.”
She shrugged. “I shouldn’t be very long.”
“All right.”
She thought about reminding him to make sure the twins took their baths and that Audrey might need help with a craft project. But she didn’t say any of it. Audrey was perfectly comfortable coming to her dad for help, and if the twins didn’t get a bath, the earth’s rotation would hardly shift.
She moved through the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine from the rack in the pantry, then walked out the front door. On a whim, she stopped at Andi’s place and rang the bell.
She waited, knowing Andi would have to climb down two flights of stairs to get to the front door. When it opened, Deanna held up the wine.
“I haven’t seen Zeke’s truck in a couple of days. I want to make sure Boston’s okay. Want to join me?”
“Sure.” Andi joined her on the porch. “Now that you mention it, I haven’t seen the truck, either. But I didn’t put it together. You don’t think anything happened, do you?”
“Wade would have told you if there was an accident.”
“That’s true.”
Deanna glanced at her. “You’re still talking to him.”
Andi grinned. “Among other things. We’ve been on two real dates in the past couple of weeks and had a lovely sleepover this past weekend.”
“You look happy.”
“I am. The things that man can do in bed.”
“So you’re in it for his body?”
“I think focusing on the physical aspects of our relationship keeps me from wondering why he hasn’t proposed, so yes. For now.”
They reached Boston’s front porch, and Andi rang the bell.
“I’ve never been someone who drops in,” Deanna muttered. “I’m turning into a very needy neighbor.”
Boston opened the door. She looked only a little surprised to see her neighbors.
“Hi. What’s up?”
Deanna hesitated, not sure how to delicately ask if everything was all right. She’d never been very good at the friendship thing. All her energies always went into the impossible goal of perfection.
Fortunately, Andi took the lead. “We’re worried. Zeke’s truck hasn’t been here, so we came by to see if you’re okay. Are you okay? Do you want to talk? Deanna brought wine, which makes her a better person than me.”
Boston bit her lower lip. “We had a fight and he’s been gone ever since. I know he’s staying with Wade, so it’s not like he’s roaming the streets, but it’s tough.”
Deanna felt the first flutterings of panic. Now what? What did that information mean? Were they supposed to try to help? Make her feel better? Leave?
Once again, Andi took charge. She stepped forward and hugged Boston. “Come on. We’ll drink wine and tell lies about boys. How’s that?”
“It sounds great.”
Deanna followed the two of them into the living room. The eclectic colors and funky furniture couldn’t have been more different than the perfect period pieces she had in her place. She’d always thought Boston was a hippie wannabe with delusions of grandeur. Now as she took in the bright colors and fairy painting, she wondered if maybe she’d been too judgmental. Deanna’s living room wasn’t a place anyone felt comfortable in. In Boston’s living room, she could imagine kicking off her shoes or burning sage in celebration of the summer solstice, or whatever it was people did to celebrate that sort of thing.
“The wine opener is in the dining room hutch,” Boston called. “I’m going to grab glasses and snacks.”
Deanna followed Andi into the dining room and offered the bottle to her. “I’ll help Boston carry everything,” she said.
She walked into the kitchen to find her neighbor loading brownies onto a plate. She’d already piled on several kinds of cookies and had set three wineglasses on the counter.
“I never used to stress-eat,” Boston admitted. “It’s my new thing. If I get any bigger, I won’t fit in my house and I honest-to-God don’t care.”
Deanna took in the dark red streaks in the other woman’s hair, the feather earrings, the flowing tunic top and smiled. “You look beautiful.”
“You’re sweet and lying, but I’ll take it.”
They walked back into the living room and found Andi had already opened the wine. The merlot was poured and glasses passed around; then the three of them settled onto the sofa and chairs.
“Zeke and I are still dealing with Liam’s death,” Boston said, holding her wineglass in both hands. “He blames me for what happened. Or not being able to save him.”
“No,” Andi breathed. “He can’t. You couldn’t have saved him. No one could.”
“I think he knows that, but he doesn’t want to believe it. Or maybe he’s just angry because I won’t cry.” She looked at them both. “I don’t cry. I can’t. I’ve tried. I don’t feel much of anything these days. It’s like my heart is in ice. Or stone.”
“Grief manifests differently in different people. We all get through things in our own time.”
“Maybe,” she said dully. “He’s drinking. Do I have to worry that he’s an alcoholic?”
Andi blinked, then turned to Deanna, as if to ask. Her mouth opened, then closed and she turned away.
Because Andi didn’t know how much Boston knew and didn’t want to spill secrets, Deanna thought, grateful for the kindness.
“If he can get through most of the day without drinking, then he’s not an alcoholic,” she said with a shrug. “Was he drinking much before you lost Liam?”
“Just a couple of beers in the evening. Or wine. Neither of us drank while I was pregnant.”
“Then I wouldn’t worry. Well, except for how he’s making this harder than it needs to be.”
“Thanks,” Boston said with a sigh. She shook her head. “What if he’s right about me? What if I’m not getting through it? What if I’m hiding?”
“You can’t hide forever,” Andi said. “One day your grief will find you.”
Boston didn’t look convinced. “I’m afraid that will happen too late. That I’ll have already lost Zeke.” She paused. “You’d think that would be enough to terrify me into sobbing, wouldn’t you? But it doesn’t.”
“He’s not going anywhere,” Deanna said before she could stop herself. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. That man loves you so much. I don’t think Colin ever looked at me like that.” She gave a strangled laugh. “I’m seriously jealous.”
&nb
sp; Jealous and maybe a little bitter, she thought. “Colin hates me. No, that’s wrong. Hate would be better because at least there would be feeling left. He doesn’t think anything about me. Zeke will be back because he can’t live without you. Trust me. I’ve seen indifference, and he’s not living it.”
She felt her eyes burn. She cleared her throat. “I’ll cry for both of us,” she told Boston. “How’s that?”
“I wish it worked.”
“Me, too. Because I can’t stop crying. I’ve screwed up everything and I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to tell my family that I love them. I’ve lost Colin and Madison. Audrey and Lucy are probably next. And it’s not like the twins need me. They have each other.” Tears filled her eyes. “I’m a complete mess.”
“Is the OCD worse?” Andi asked quietly.
Deanna stared at her, then glanced down at her raw hands. “You know?”
“I guessed. Your hands are always chapped, and for a few days you wore long sleeves, even though it was warm.”
Boston looked confused. “I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
“When I get stressed I wash my hands compulsively. To the point where the skin bleeds. I can trace all the reasons back to my childhood. It’s a way of feeling in control.”
“I eat,” Boston said. “I saw my ass the other day and nearly had a heart attack.” She shook her head. “Is yours really bad?”
“Sometimes.”
“There are medications,” Andi said gently. “Therapy. I can get you some names, if you’re interested.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I’m not exactly trusting. Spilling my guts to a stranger seems an odd way to get help.” Deanna looked at Andi. “What do you do when you get stressed?”
“I obsess. I bury myself in work. I impulsively buy houses on islands and then have to figure out how to fit into a brand-new life. My mother would tell you I have impulse control issues.”
Three Sisters Page 21
