My skin prickles as I near the outskirts of town, like a nest of ants has taken up residence under the dermis and are crawling all over me. I resist the urge to scratch because I know the feeling is psychosomatic, my body’s way of saying run while you still can.
Instead, I press my foot to the accelerator and floor it past the ‘Welcome to Martino Bay’ sign, depicting oranges and a clifftop against an aqua background. Two hours north of LA, I’d never seen an orange grove anywhere near town. The cliffs, I’d rather forget. Rugged and terrifying, they are legendary for their beauty, and their danger.
Our house sits atop one of those towering cliffs that wend their way along the Californian coastline and growing up we knew the hazards. But as kids we found them tempting and mesmerizing. As teens we’d hang out in groups, joking about being daredevils and who’d BASE jump first. It wasn’t until later I realized how menacing they could be.
I’ve spent the last decade running from this town and the memory of what happened eleven years ago.
The night that changed everything.
Emotion tightens my throat, regret mingling with retribution. I’ve lived with the guilt for so long it has become as natural to me as breathing. Returning home will make it worse, I know this, but it’s time.
Freya is getting married and I wouldn’t return to this hellhole for anyone other than my sister. We were close once. We shared everything. Being eleven months apart made for an unbreakable bond. Our relationship has never been easy but I love her, and the fact she reached out to me means she’s as ready as I am to reconnect.
Though Freya isn’t the only reason I’m back in town. My cousin Lizzie’s email about Aunt Alice’s deteriorating health made my ever-present guilt for staying away so long flare. I can’t comprehend the strong woman who loved me like her own daughter being so ill she’s confined to her room, and I have to see her. My aunt has always been there for me, and my affection for the woman who raised me has a lot to do with me gunning the engine of my beat-up Chevy as I head down the highway for another mile leading into town. I ignore the speed limit. The faster I get to Freya’s the better.
The town passes in a blur, with its trendy cafés and boutiques. I bought my prom dress in one of them; Cheri’s, a treasure trove of silks and chiffons, frequented by seniors and their moms alike. Eli and I had been prom king and queen, the golden couple of Martino Bay High. Everyone had loved us.
When that love turned to hate I’d had no choice but to leave. Aunt Alice had taken care of everything. She’d been there for me and now I need to return the favor. Lizzie’s worried about her mom; she thinks the dementia is worsening. Aunt Alice has started to ramble about secrets and nothing’s making sense. If pragmatic Lizzie is concerned, there has to be something going on.
I’ve been selfish, staying away for so long. But my aunt is tied up in memories of a time I’d rather forget and forgoing contact was a way to help me heal. She reminds me of what I’ve lost. Even now the hollow ache hasn’t gone away and I’m scared seeing my aunt again will bring it all back.
I spy the crimson roadside letterbox two hundred feet ahead and my heart races. I drag in deep, calming breaths as I indicate and pull onto the dirt road beside the letterbox. Filling my lungs with air doesn’t help. I’m still breathless, my pulse thundering in my ears, as I glimpse the house at the end of a twisty driveway, a single-story stucco in terracotta that looks like it has been transported direct from south of the border. I’d loved living here, loved the laid-back vibe, the coolness of the stone-tiled floors, the potted cacti Aunt Alice bought by the truckload. She’d created a real home for Freya and me, raising us as her own, alongside Lizzie.
Aunt Alice is the only mother I’ve ever known. She never favored Lizzie over Freya and me. We all got the same allowance, the same homemade chocolate cake for our birthdays, the same second-hand Ford for our sixteenth birthdays. She created a home filled with laughter and love. Toasted marshmallows on a small bonfire in the backyard every Sunday night, homemade pizzas if we had a bad day at school, and individual tubs of cookies ’n’ cream, buttered pecan and choc-chip cookie dough ice cream, our respective favorites, in the freezer at all times.
Not overly strict, she set clear boundaries and expected us to adhere to them. She trusted us and treated us with respect, which is why I felt comfortable in approaching her when my life imploded. She’d been supportive and practical rather than judgmental and cynical. It made me love her all the more.
I definitely owe her. It’s not her fault I’ve stayed away so long and if she’s really ill, I hope I can be there for her at a time she needs me most, like she was there for me.
Three cars, two small SUVs and a monster grey van, are parked parallel near the carport. I don’t recognize them. Then again, after almost eleven years, why would I? I reverse park away from the cars. It’s a habit, for a quicker getaway. Not that I’ve done anything bad while I’ve been away but I don’t stay long in one place. I haven’t made many friends over the years and when I do those connections don’t last long—there’s nothing about my life I want to share.
I kill the engine but grip the steering wheel so tight my knuckles stand out. I shouldn’t be this nervous. Freya loves me, despite our distance for over a decade, and she wouldn’t have invited me to her wedding otherwise. Though her invitation took me by surprise. Why initiate contact now? We haven’t spoken since I walked out of this house over ten years ago, never to return. I’d had to make a clean break out of necessity but a small part of me resents Freya for not reaching out sooner. Does she wonder why I cut all ties with home? Has she missed me at all? Like me, has she wanted to bridge the gap between us before now? Is that what this invitation is about, finally giving in because one of us had to make the first move to re-establish some kind of relationship?
I may not have been in the right headspace to reconnect back then but ten years is a long time to not speak to my sister. Then again, I shoulder some of the blame. I could’ve returned before this. Thankfully I’m stronger now and ready to face residual demons, to set the past to rest once and for all.
What seems like a lifetime later I unfurl my fingers from the steering wheel, grab my bag and open the door. I’m not surprised nobody’s come out to greet me. They’ll be congregated in the sunroom at the back of the house, like we always used to at this time of day. I can never taste homemade lemonade or smell oatmeal cookies without thinking of home.
I follow the flagstone path around the back, my flip-flops making a loud slapping in the eerie silence. As I round the corner of the house, I see them. Freya, her dark brown hair a stark contrast to my strawberry blonde, glowing in the waning sunlight. Her face is leaner, her cheekbones starker, and she’s lost a bit of weight, but inherently she’s the same. She’s poring over a bridal magazine, a small smile of contentment curving her lips.
Lizzie is sitting beside her, her thumbs tapping at her cell. She’s gnawing on her bottom lip, a worried frown dipping her brows. For a moment they look like sisters rather than cousins and the thought saddens me. I should’ve been here all these years. I’m Freya’s sister, not Lizzie. I’ve missed out on so much.
Lizzie finishes typing and flings her cell onto the table. She glances up, sees me and her frown vanishes. Her expression is one of relief as she stands, taps Freya on the shoulder, before making her way toward me.
I smile and break into a half run, irrationally annoyed my cousin is the first to embrace me when it should be Freya. My sister seems happy enough to see me but her pace is slower as she moves toward me.
“It’s good to see you, Brooke.” Lizzie’s hug is tight and I blink back tears as her familiar patchouli fragrance tickles my nose. I hate the smell, had teased her about it endlessly growing up. Now, a wave of nostalgia swamps me, making me cling to her until Freya draws near.
When Lizzie releases me, Freya opens her arms wide. “Long time no see, Sis.”
I’m overcome for a moment as I stare into eyes as familiar as my own. We were close once and I see every emotion I’ve been bottling up—loss, regret, heartache—reflected in her tear-filled gaze. But she’s wary too, as if she can’t believe I’m here. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s circumspect. Like all sisters, we had our rough times. Freya had a jealous streak and she’d let me know about it sometimes. She could be moody and cunning and provoke me deliberately, but I put up with her foibles the same way she did mine.
I want to say so much. I’m sorry for staying away so long. I’m sorry I never told you the truth about what happened. I’m sorry for being a lousy sister the last decade. I missed you.
Instead, I manage a subdued “Yeah” as her arms envelop me and she hugs me tight. But Freya releases me quickly and I sense an undercurrent as her gaze sweeps me from head to foot, like she disapproves of my cut-off denim shorts and red tank top.
“You hungry?”
“I’m good,” I say, though I’m starving. But I’m overwhelmed and would prefer to sit and take everything in than eat.
“Mom’s going to be so happy you’re home,” Lizzie says and once again I see that flicker of disapproval in Freya’s eyes. “Though she seems to be getting worse every day and may not recognize you.”
I reach out and squeeze Lizzie’s hand. “I’m really sorry to hear it.”
“Thanks.” Lizzie’s smile holds a wealth of pain. “Fancy a lemonade?”
“I’d love one.”
Lizzie waves us toward the outdoor table. “You two sit, I’ll get it.”
The moment we’re left alone, Freya fixes me with a probing stare that makes me uncomfortable and for a moment I wish she’d volunteered to get the drinks. I hadn’t expected Freya to be overly effusive, it’s not her style, but she’s acting like I’m intruding, which is bizarre considering she reached out to me.
“Everything okay?”
“Just wedding stress.” Her nod is terse as she gestures at the bridal magazines on the table. “You tired?” Before I can answer, she says, “You look it.”
And just like that, I feel like I’m really home. I know this Freya, with her sly passive-aggressive jibes. She’s done this since we were little but I never let it bother me; not that I would show her, that is. It infuriated her when I wouldn’t jibe back, my feigned indifference the best comeback.
I’d assumed we’d be past this. Almost eleven years is a long time. When I glance at her, she’s smiling, but there’s no joy in it. She’s smug, like she’s lording it over me that I’ve been away so long and she’s the queen of the castle.
“Why did you invite me to your wedding?”
I ask the million-dollar question, the one I’ve lost sleep over the last few weeks while I dithered over the decision to return home. My life may have been transient for the last decade as I moved from job to job, place to place, trying to come to terms with my guilt and my grief. Volunteering with an aid organization in South America for the last five years taught me to be self-reliant but also to read people.
And right now I can’t get a read on my sister, when I once thought I knew her better than I knew myself.
“I invited you because you’re family,” she says, with a simple shrug. “And I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too.” I sling my arm across her shoulder and squeeze. “Can you believe it’s been so long?”
“Whose fault is that?” She shrugs off my arm and pokes me in the ribs like she used to; we laugh. “A small part of me is still mad at you for leaving and not coming back. And I’m sorry if I acted weird a minute ago. It’s just…”
“What?”
She gives a little shake of her head, as if she still can’t believe I’m here. “You practically look the same and seeing you stroll in here after all this time threw me.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it? Being apart so long, feeling like strangers almost.” I wave my hand between us, wanting to ease the tension. “Remember how we used to sit here all the time in summer, giving each other manicures or trying to outdo each other in those Cosmo quizzes?”
For the first time since I arrived, Freya seems to relax, her stiff posture easing as she nods. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Those were good times,” I say, feeling like I’ve made a breakthrough when Freya smiles and blinks several times, like she’s staving off tears. She always held her emotions in check better than me and I’m relieved to see this softer side to her, like she too misses what we once had.
“Anyway, there’s plenty of time to take a trip down memory lane. For now, I’m happy to be home and I’m looking forward to your wedding.”
“Me too.” This time when she hugs me she lingers and we sniffle before easing apart.
“It’s good to be home, Sis,” I say, and in that moment, I mean it.
Brooke is home.
Beautiful, bold Brooke.
Black sheep Brooke.
Badass Brooke.
Big sister Brooke.
I’ve thought of her in so many ways over the last decade. Missing her. Resenting her. Loving her. It’s the love that finally won out. It’s why I invited her to my wedding and to be part of the preparations. I can’t deny she’s part of our family, not any longer.
She’d surprised me by accepting via email. She’d given me her cell number and I could’ve called but I didn’t want our first words to each other after all this time to be via the phone, so I’d waited.
Now she’s here I don’t know how to behave. I acted like an idiot earlier, too standoffish, when all I wanted to do was bundle her into my arms and cling to her for a lifetime. When she’d strolled into the backyard, all long limbs, wide eyes and strawberry blonde hair tumbling around her shoulders, my heart expanded to the point of pain, all the years we’ve wasted crashing over me in a sorrowful wave.
When Brooke left, I’d yearned to pick up the phone and call just so I could hear her voice. The enormity of what she’d been through made me want to hug her tight and not let go. But I blamed her too: for leaving, for our estrangement, but ultimately that was unfair. Brooke had been a victim of circumstance and we’d all dealt with the fallout in our own way.
I’d wished she’d disappear many times when we were growing up, that when it actually happened I’d felt guilty. Lost. Bereft. Wishing things could’ve been different. I’d been angry with her for abandoning me so I removed all trace of her from the house, hiding photos away. Like that could eradicate the memories we’d created. Stupid. Nothing could make me forget my sister.
“You okay?”
Riker lays a hand on my shoulder and it instantly calms me. I place the last of the cutlery on the table and turn, not surprised to see the concern in his blue eyes. He’s intuitive and sweet despite the rugged appearance. Big, brawny, with an unruly beard and hair the color of burnt toffee skimming his shoulders. He’s beautiful and most days I can’t believe he’s mine.
“Yeah, just nervous.”
“I’m sure your sister is feeling the same way, first dinner at home and all that.” His hand shifts from my shoulder to the nook of my neck, where his thumb brushes my skin and sends a shudder of longing through me. “Or are you nervous because she’s meeting me for the first time?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I slide my arms around his waist. “She’ll love you.”
A pang of fear, a fleeting memory of the past, makes me grip him tighter. Brooke always had any guy she wanted. Eleven months older than me, she was always more noticeable, more popular, just more. She and Eli had been the golden couple of our high school. Everyone wanted to be them. Brooke is beautiful in a way I can never be and I hope Riker doesn’t love her too much.
“I hope so,” he says, before pressing his lips to mine. “But you know what your sister thinks of me is irrelevant because I’m marrying you regardless.”
“I can’t wait.” I touch his cheek, marveling that this amazing man is mine. “By the way, it’s only going to be you, me and Brooke for dinner tonight.”
His eyebrows rise. “Why?”
“Because I want to reconnect with my sister, and I want her to get to know you. Time enough for her to catch up with the rest later.” While I do want Brooke to like Riker, a small part of me wants to show him off too and it’ll be easier with just the three of us. “She should be here any second. Can you uncork the wine, please?”
“Sure.” He bends down to kiss me again and I allow myself the luxury of sinking into it.
I’ve never been into public displays of affection but Riker is demonstrative and I don’t care who sees it when we’re out. In fact, I relish the townsfolk of Martino Bay seeing me with him. They don’t talk about the ‘poor Stuart sisters’ any longer. These days, I’m an admired and recognized member of the community: a nurse at the local nursing home, a volunteer for many causes, always willing to help out. Having Brooke back won’t change that.
“I’ll get the wine,” Riker says and pads to the kitchen, his bare feet not making a sound on the oak boards. He’s wearing faded jeans artfully torn at the knees, a black T-shirt and a camel suede vest, looking every inch the artist. He’s as renowned in this town as I am, his metal sculptures sought by many.
That’s how we’d met. He’d been selling his art, trying to build his business, at the local market. The animals he created out of metal had intrigued me, and I’d stopped to admire his work. We’d started chatting and there’d been something about him, something in the way he looked at me. So I’d let him wax lyrical about his art for a while and when he’d asked me out, I’d accepted. We’ve been a couple ever since.
“Something smells good,” Brooke says from behind me and I turn.
Her smile’s tentative as she pats her stomach. “I’m starving.”
She’s surprisingly pale, but she’s showered and changed into a flowing paisley mini kaftan, and with her hair swept into a loose topknot with a few tendrils framing her face she looks like a waif.
For a moment I feel like the clumsy giant I used to be next to her: too tall, too strong, too oafish. Little wonder all the boys used to favor her over me. But then I hear a muttered curse from the kitchen and I’m empowered again. I have Riker. He chose me. I don’t need to feel inferior to Brooke.
However, all that changes when Riker enters the dining room, holding an open bottle of cab sav. Because I see the exact moment he lays eyes on Brooke and his widen in recognition.
I quickly glance at Brooke and she’s wearing the same shell-shocked expression he is.
My fiancé and my sister know each other.
THEN
“How do I look, Sis?”
Diana twirls in front of me, the full skirt of her satin cocktail dress flaring at the hem, creating a soft swish.
I roll my eyes. “Perfect as usual.”
It wouldn’t matter if she wore a hessian sack, Diana will be the most beautiful girl at the party tonight. I love my sister, I really do, but having mousy-brown hair next to her reddish-blonde, brown eyes compared to her vivid blue, and a stick-thin figure alongside her curves means she gets the attention of all the boys. But it’s more than that. She’s vivacious and sweet, and people are naturally drawn to her, whereas I’m the introvert who fades into the background. Even our mom favors her. Not overtly, but I always get the sense I’m being compared to Diana.
Even though I finished high school a year earlier and can afford better clothes and make-up, I know my eighteen-year-old sister will dazzle tonight.
“You look great too,” Diana says, her envious gaze narrowing slightly as she stares at my little black dress that had cost a week’s wages. “Boring school is done so I can’t wait to find a job and start working too.” She smooths out the skirt of the vintage gown she picked up for twenty bucks online. “I can’t wait to be able to afford better than this.”
“You should be going to college.”
Her nose crinkles. “Don’t you start. I’ve already coerced Mom into letting me have a gap year, now all I have to do is work on Dad.”
“Good luck with that.”
Not only does Diana have the looks in the family, she got the brains too. Our folks didn’t care when I finished school and started doing clerical work at a small accountancy firm because they pinned all their hopes on brilliant, gorgeous Diana bringing pride to the Shomack name as the first to attend college.
She has as much hope of ditching college in the coming year as I do of winning a beauty contest between the two of us.
“Anyone I should take particular note of at this party tonight?” Diana winks. “Any special guys in your life, Sis?”
I feel heat flush my cheeks. “I’m weighing up my options.”
She laughs and pats my back. “You mumble some guy’s name I can’t catch in your sleep often enough that I can’t wait to meet your friends.”
The heat intensifies and I elbow her away. “There’s a group of us that like hanging out and I’m only taking you under sufferance.”
Her crimson-glossed lips pout in a way that can convince any guy to do anything. “I’m finally free, Sis. The least you can do the week after I finish high school is take me to a grown-up party.”
I snort. “The fact you call it a grown-up party indicates you are nowhere near ready to come with me, but Mom and Dad made me.”
“Mom and Dad made me,” she mimics in a perfect imitation of my snarky tone and I can’t help but laugh.
“Come on, we’re already fashionably late.”
The drive from our home on the outskirts of Verdant, a town that’s anything but in the Nevada Desert, to Cam’s house takes fifteen minutes. My palms are slick with sweat and I’m grateful for Diana’s endless prattle.
Tonight’s the night.
I’m going to tell Cam how I feel.
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Diana snaps her fingers in my face as I park. “I’ve never seen you so spaced out. This guy must be something.”
“Shut up,” I snap, getting out of the car and slamming the door. “And once we’re in there, you’re on your own.”
“I can take care of myself.” Diana slips the black wrap off and squares her shoulders. She fills out the midnight blue satin fifties-style dress better than any film siren from the same era. “Don’t worry about me.”
I won’t. I have more important things to worry about, like how to get Cam alone and tell him everything.
I sat behind Cameron Stuart in every class since second grade and have crushed on him since then. He’s quiet and studious and has always exuded a peace that attracted me, considering my tumultuous home life. It isn’t that my parents don’t care about Di and me, it’s just they’re so absorbed in each other their kids come a distant second.
As we grow older, Diana and I hate their overt displays of affection as much as the size of our tiny house with the paper-thin walls that allow us to hear too much. Unfortunately, their passion isn’t only reserved for the bedroom and they indulge in rip-roaring fights that terrify me. Little wonder Cam’s calmness draws me in.
Surprisingly, he hadn’t left Verdant for college either, despite his grades. Instead, he works at his family’s business, a wind farm that produces power. Because there aren’t many of us who didn’t escape Verdant, we hang out together a fair bit and lately I’ve seen something in his eyes, a glint of interest I hope means. . .
We hope you are enjoying the book so far. To continue reading...
Copyright © 2024 All Rights Reserved
Please log in to recommend or discuss...
