Three Sisters

by Susan Mallery

  They stared at each other. One of the guys called from the base of the stairs.

  “I have to go,” Wade told her.

  She nodded, hoping he would say they would talk about this later, but he didn’t.

  * * *

  “That was a disaster,” Boston said.

  Deanna looked at her friend. “I’m sorry things didn’t go better with Zeke.”

  “He didn’t want to talk. He barely looked at me.”

  Deanna wanted to say that wasn’t true, but it had been obvious from the first second he’d walked into the backyard that Zeke wasn’t there to make friends. He’d kept to himself, sitting under one of the trees, steadily drinking beer. Deanna had kept herself on the fringes, so she’d been in a position to notice things like that.

  “He looked at you when you weren’t watching,” Andi said. “He’s in a lot of pain.” She reached out and squeezed Boston’s hand. “I know you are, too.”

  The three of them sat in Boston’s backyard, the remains of the barbecue around them. The trash can was full, the cooler empty except for water and a few sturdy ice cubes. Bottles filled the recycling bin. Pickles sat on a nearby chair, washing his face.

  “Poor Wade,” Boston said, leaning her head back in her chair. “He wanted to make things right.”

  “I wouldn’t spend too much time worried about Wade,” Andi said.

  Deanna nodded. “He put his foot in it, for sure.”

  “Men are stupid,” Andi said. “And I’m even more stupid. Why did I think he’d be different? He’s not.”

  Boston nodded. “I want to defend him, but I can’t. Telling Carrie not to get attached is idiotic. What did he think would happen when you found out?”

  “He didn’t think I would. Damn, I wish the sex weren’t so good.”

  Deanna surprised herself by laughing. “Seriously?”

  “Okay, maybe I don’t wish that, although it would make things easier.” Andi sighed. “I know it’s early. I know that because of Matt, I’m more sensitive to any signs of him not being committed. I accept that I have unreasonable expectations, but he didn’t even try to convince me. A little groveling would have gone a long way.” She sipped her beer, then turned to Deanna. “You’re doing better. You seem less tense.”

  “I’m trying. The therapist helped and I’m taking the medication she prescribed. So far I’m not feeling any different, but it’s only been a few days.”

  “Hope gets you through,” Boston said.

  A theory Deanna was willing to hang on to with both hands. “She told me that if Colin wanted to leave, he would already be gone.”

  “He was friendly tonight,” Andi said. “He sat next to you.”

  Deanna had noticed that, as well. “I don’t want to assume anything. I don’t think there were any other places to sit.”

  “It was a picnic,” Boston told her gently. “He could have sat on the ground with the kids.”

  “She’s right.” Andi raised her beer bottle. “But he sat next to you on the bench. Run with it.”

  “I’m not ready to run. I’ll just sit here and breathe it in.” She looked at the other two women. “Thank you for getting me through this. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t been here for me.”

  “I’m glad to help,” Boston said. “I need to help. It gets me out of my head.” She grinned. “So thanks for being a mess. The timing is perfect.”

  Deanna laughed. “You’re welcome. My mental illness is always here to serve.”

  * * *

  Andi and Deanna left sometime after midnight. They’d both helped with the cleanup, so there was little left for Boston to do but make sure the doors and windows were locked, then head upstairs. She wasn’t tired and doubted she would sleep, but she had to at least go through the motions. Maybe she would get lucky and doze off for a couple of hours.

  She was halfway up the stairs when her cell phone rang. She hurried down and pulled it out of her purse. Her heart pounded as she fumbled with the talk button. No call at this hour was good news.

  “Hello? Zeke? Are you okay?”

  “Mrs. King?”

  The voice was male and unfamiliar. “Yes.”

  “I’m Deputy Sam Anders. Zeke’s been helping me with a remodeling on a house I’m buying. I’m getting married in a few months. Anyway, I know him and, well, I brought him in about a half hour ago. He was driving drunk, ma’am. He ran his truck into a tree.”

  Boston sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. “Is he all right? Did he hurt anyone?”

  “It was a single-vehicle accident. He’s a little banged up, but he says he’ll be fine. The truck’s in bad shape.”

  “I don’t care about the truck. So he’s in jail?”

  “I didn’t arrest him, ma’am.”

  Right. Because the island was a small town and everyone knew everyone else. Which was why the deputy had told her the seemingly insignificant detail of Zeke working on his house.

  “You can come get him and drive him home, if you’d like.”

  Home? Zeke didn’t live here anymore. He didn’t want her. He blamed her for the death of their son.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She got her purse and drove to the sheriff’s station. At this time of night, there were only a couple of people on duty. The deputy led her to a small room where Zeke waited.

  Her husband sat in front of a table. He had a couple of bruises on his jaw and what looked like the beginning of a black eye. She could tell he was still fighting the effects of the alcohol.

  The deputy closed the door behind her, leaving them alone.

  “I guess you can’t ignore me now,” she said into the quiet.

  Zeke looked up. His dark eyes were expressionless, his mouth a firm line. Although everything about him was exactly as she remembered, it was as if he were a stranger. She felt the distance between them. The sadness.

  On the drive over, she’d planned what she was going to say. How she was going to tell him that there was no way she would enable his drinking. That he had to stop and if he couldn’t stop on his own, he had to get help. But even though she had her speech prepared, what she said instead was, “If you really think I’m responsible for Liam’s death, we’re done. Because you can’t forgive me for something I didn’t do and had no control over.”

  Zeke continued to stare at her. Emotions chased across his face, none staying long enough to be named.

  “Is this what it took?” he asked.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’ve been waiting all this time. Waiting for you to call me on what I said. Waiting for you to stand up for yourself. For us. Is this what it took?”

  Disbelief stole her breath. “This was a game?” she asked. “You were pretending to blame me?”

  “I was trying to get your attention.”

  She didn’t want to get any closer, didn’t want to be near him, but she was having trouble standing. Her legs trembled and she seemed to be losing her balance. She crossed to the second chair and pulled it out from the table. After positioning it as far from Zeke as possible, she sank down. Betrayal coiled around her like a snake, squeezing tighter until it was impossible to breathe.

  How could he have done this to her? Tried to manipulate her? Lied to her in such a hurtful way?

  “No,” he roared, coming to his feet. “No. I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “And I am?”

  “No. Don’t you see? I h
ad to do something. I had to get through to you.” He paced across the room, then turned. “You’re gone, Boston. You’ve been gone since Liam died. I can’t get anywhere near you. I’ve tried and tried and you’re simply not there. I didn’t just lose my son that day. I lost my wife, too. You’re right in front of me and I can’t touch you.”

  “You’re not making any sense. I’m right here.”

  “No, you’re not. I don’t know what you think or what you feel. Does our marriage mean anything to you?”

  “How can you ask that?” She fought tears. “I’ve loved you nearly all my life.”

  “You used to love me. I believe that. Do you feel anything now? You think I drink because I don’t miss my son? I drink because I can’t stop missing him. Because the pain is too big. I don’t know where to put it, and when I try to talk to you about it, you disappear into that damn studio of yours and paint.”

  “It’s how I deal with what happened,” she snapped.

  “No. It’s how you hide from it. It’s how you feel nothing. I’m in this alone. I’ve been alone since the day we buried our son. I reached for you and you were gone. I don’t think you’re coming back.”

  She stood and glared at him. Anger gave her strength. “You’re saying all this because I haven’t cried. How I deal with my loss is my decision. You don’t get to say what’s right.”

  He shrugged. “Fine. Have you dealt with your loss? Would you say you’re doing better? Moving forward?”

  “I’m painting other things. I’m working on Andi’s mural. That’s progress. I’m showing up every day, Zeke. You’re the one who’s not home. You’re the one not participating in our marriage.”

  She waited for him to yell at her. To tell her she was wrong, but instead his expression turned sad. The kind of sad that came from the loss of hope.

  “You don’t need me, Boston. You never have. You’ve loved me, I’ll give you that. You’re a brilliant artist. You have clients begging you to start painting their fabrics again. You have that house and your friends. You don’t need me for anything.”

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “What have I done that’s so wrong? Why are you doing this? Why don’t we make love anymore?”

  His expression hardened. “We haven’t made love because you’re not there. You’re a shell. You look the same and you can say the words, but you won’t let me in. I still love you, Boston. I’ll always love you. But I won’t be a part of this...denial.”

  He blamed her? He was judging her?

  “Right. You’re too busy driving drunk. You could have killed someone.”

  “I know. I was stupid. It won’t happen again.”

  She gave an angry laugh. “Sure. Just like that. You’ll stop drinking.”

  “Alcohol isn’t the problem.”

  “Because I am? You’re blaming me for everything. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t kill him.”

  The words came out in a scream. They echoed in the small room, then grew silent.

  She looked at Zeke. In their brief conversation, he’d become a stranger. She felt coldness inside. A wall of ice forming around her heart.

  “You’re right,” she told him. “I don’t need you. There’s no reason for you to come home now, is there?”

  She clutched her purse tightly to her chest and walked out. She made her way to her car and climbed inside. Once she was there, she waited for the enormity of what she’d done to crash in on her. She waited for the tears because now, surely now she could cry.

  But there was nothing. No tears, no panic, not much of anything. Just the chill of the ice and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same again.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  DEANNA PLACED FORKS and spoons on the table as she told herself she was going to be fine. She didn’t believe the words, of course, but saying them over and over provided a certain level of comfort. Or maybe the illusion of comfort. At this point, she would take what was offered.

  Darrelyn had told her to simply observe her children. To listen without judgment. That was her homework for this week. To take her medication, to count to ten before allowing herself to wash her hands and to listen. Which had all sounded so easy in the privacy of her therapist’s calm office. In real life, it was a bitch of an assignment.

  She glanced at the clock and realized that dinner would be delivered shortly. The table was set and she’d already put out the money by the front door. She’d taken care of all the details. She could go off duty for the evening and simply pay attention to what was going on around her. Easy, she told herself. Doable.

  The doorbell rang.

  She answered it and collected the two large paper bags filled with containers and paid the guy.

  “Keep the change,” she told him, then closed the front door with her hip and yelled up the stairs, “Dinner is here, girls.”

  Audrey appeared at the top of the stairs. “Here? What do you mean?”

  “We’re having Chinese. The guy just delivered it.”

  The twins joined their sisters. Lucy followed. All four of them stared down at her with varying expressions of disbelief.

  “Chinese?” Sydney asked. “From China?”

  Deanna laughed. “No. From the new Chinese restaurant in town. I thought it would be fun to try.”

  “You didn’t cook dinner?” Lucy asked cautiously.

  “I thought this would be a nice change.”

  The girls moved as one, racing down the stairs. Audrey paused to call up the stairs, “Hurry, Madison. We’re having Chinese.”

  They split up, the twins heading for the kitchen, the two older girls going into the downstairs bathroom, and washed their hands. Deanna set out the food, then waited until her children were seated at the big table in the kitchen before pouring drinks. Madison joined them last, obviously reluctant and sullen.

  Observe, Deanna reminded herself. She wouldn’t get on her oldest for anything tonight. She would watch and listen.

  “I’ve never had Chinese,” Lucy admitted, staring at the take-out containers.

  “Me, either,” Savannah said.

  “It’s no big deal.” Madison sounded bored.

  “I’m excited,” Sydney told Deanna. “What does it taste like?”

  “There are different dishes.” Deanna started opening the containers. “This one is moo goo gai pan. Chicken and vegetables, mostly. We have sweet-and-sour chicken, beef with broccoli, fried rice and egg rolls.”

  Savannah turned to her. “Eggs for dinner?”

  “They’re not eggs. To be honest, I’m not sure how they got their names. Why don’t you try a little bit of everything and figure out what you like? Then you can have more of that.”

  The twins nodded. Lucy and Audrey waited for her to help them, as well. Deanna smiled at her oldest. “I’m sure you already know what you’d prefer.”

  Madison shrugged and reached for the rice.

  It took a few minutes to get everyone served. Deanna snagged an egg roll on her way back to her seat and took a bite. She realized her four youngest were watching as she chewed.

  “It’s good,” she said with a smile. “Try it.”

  They all picked up their egg rolls and took tiny bites. One by one, they started to nod.

  Sydney speared a piece of chicken and stuck it in her mouth. “This is good,” she mumbled over the food.

  Deanna started to remind her to chew with her mouth closed, but then remembered she was to observe, not
judge. “I’m glad you like it,” she said.

  “We have to pick a country for camp,” Sydney told her.

  “We should pick China,” her twin added.

  “We could talk about the food!”

  “That would be fun,” Deanna said. “I could speak to your counselor about bringing in samples. I’m sure the restaurant could make up little pieces for the campers to eat.”

  “Mom, we’re going horseback riding next week,” Audrey said. “Can you sign my permission slip?”

  “Sure. Where are the horses?”

  “Marysville. There’s a ranch out there. Alison’s been riding before and says even though we’re up really high, it’s not scary.”

  “You’re athletic,” Deanna told her daughter. “I think you’re going to do really well. The horses they’ll use will be gentle. You’ll have fun.”

  Audrey smiled with obvious relief. “I think so, too.”

  Lucy reached for the sweet-and-sour chicken. “Emma and I are going to the library on Saturday. For the reading hour. There’s a sign that says in August an author is coming to speak!”

  Madison frowned at her. “No author would come to Blackberry Island.”

  “The sign says,” Lucy told her sister. “I want to go listen to her.”

  “Me, too,” Deanna said. “Meeting an author would be very exciting.”

  “Mommy, can I have more rice?” Sydney asked.

  “Sure.” Deanna walked around the table and helped her. She checked on the other girls, then resumed her seat.

  The dinner progressed. She kept reminding herself to listen without judgment. To ask questions and let her girls answer. As conversation flowed around her, she was reminded that Lucy was more earnest than her sisters and that Audrey had a shy sense of humor. That the twins finished each other’s sentences and that Madison nearly boiled with suppressed rage.

  Nothing for her to deal with right now, she told herself. That was for a later homework assignment.