My Sister's Husband

by Marsh, Nicola

  “I know you have questions, Brooke, but maybe we could leave some for tomorrow?”

  She has the grace to blush. “Sorry, just catching up. It’s been a long time.”

  “And whose fault is that?” I snap, immediately regretting my outburst. I don’t want her first night home in over a decade to end with us arguing. First Riker, then Hope, nothing has gone to plan tonight. “I’m sorry too. We’ve been apart a long time. I guess it’s going to take longer than a few hours together for us to feel comfortable in each other’s company again.”

  She nods and I pretend not to hear her muttered, “Were we ever?”

  It’s the first time either of us has acknowledged out loud that our relationship hasn’t always been rosy and, in a way, I’m relieved. I want things to be good between us; I don’t want to revert to the way we used to be.

  But it’s early days. We have a lot of catching up to do. I’m sure we’ll be back to normal before the wedding.

  Seven

  Brooke

  I expected to feel disjointed coming home but as I lie in my old bed, staring at the unchanged ceiling covered in glow stars, I can’t begin to describe how utterly adrift I am.

  The window above my bed is partially open and I can hear the waves crashing against the rocks at the base of the cliffs. A soothing sound as a child, but now it only serves to remind me of a past I’d rather forget.

  I used to love curling up in bed, reading the latest paranormal novel and scaring myself silly. Ironic, that real life ended up being far more terrifying than any vampire in the pages of a book.

  On a clear night, I could see the moon through my window if I wedged my pillow into the corner of my bed just right. I used to wonder what was out there, beyond Martino Bay. Turns out, it’s not so great and coming home is what I’ve yearned for.

  The ceiling stars aren’t the only unchanged things in my room. Everything is the same, from the colorful gel pens scattered across the desk, to the glitter eye shadow stacked in tiny tubs. From the novels spilling out of the bookcase to the ancient troll doll I’d won at a fair hanging off the knob on the wonky wardrobe door that never quite closed. So many memories and my chest aches with the pressure of keeping the tears at bay.

  Everything is the same yet different.

  Freya seems so happy. She’s a mom, a fiancée, a woman going places.

  I could’ve handled it all—Alice’s deterioration, learning Riker is her fiancé, being part of their wedding—but it’s Hope that has thrown me the most.

  I’m an aunt and I never knew. All these years I’d see mothers with their kids and feel that deep-seated tug. I want to be a mom too. I have so much love to lavish on a child.

  Will Aunt Alice remember me when I see her tomorrow? Will she remember taking care of me when I learned the awful truth after Eli’s death? Will she remember giving me the freedom to leave when I couldn’t return home because I was shattered?

  Will she remember any of it? For her sake I hope not. I’ve spent the last decade trying to forget.

  I’m not afraid of running into old friends in town. Martino Bay has grown in size and isn’t as insular as it once was. Back then, it felt like everyone at school blamed me for what happened to Eli. They’d stare and whisper and judge. Rumors circulated: I’d broken up with him that night and he’d leapt to his death. We’d argued and he’d jumped off the cliff right in front of me. Even the more outlandish, that we’d fought and I’d pushed him.

  Nobody knew the truth and they never would.

  Some things were better left unsaid.

  Besides, they were partially right. What I’d confessed to Eli that night had driven him to jump, I know it. Sweet, steady, Eli. My boyfriend. My first love. My everything.

  Until the party that changed our lives irrevocably.

  Classmates were already talking about me and pointing fingers after his suicide, which is why Alice took me away. She’d planned it all. I would travel, work, whatever, giving the rumor mill time to settle. But the repercussions of what I’d done haunted me and I hadn’t wanted to come back. Too many memories, too many ghosts. I’d drifted from job to job, town to town, glad of the monetary safety net Aunt Alice had provided me but needing her support more. I’d missed her, missed Freya, mourning the loss of the only family I’d ever known as much as the loss of Eli.

  A lone tear seeps out of the corner of my eye, followed by another, and another, until I’m lying there, staring up at the ceiling, silent tears cascading down my cheeks and dripping onto the pillow. I don’t cry much these days; regret and sorrow are stupid, wasted emotions. But lying in my childhood bed, I allow myself to grieve for all I lost: Eli, my home, my family, my town.

  Being back here is going to be harder than I anticipated.

  * * *

  “I was grateful when Riker converted this wing to keep Mom safe,” Lizzie says, as we sit outside the locked door to Aunt Alice’s room, in a reading nook I favored as a kid. “He’s been a godsend around here.”

  I want to quiz Lizzie on Freya’s engagement but now isn’t the time, not when I’m about to come face to face with the aunt I once adored for the first time in over a decade. “Freya seems happy.”

  “Yeah, she’s much better these days.” Lizzie’s unable to meet my eyes and I can see I’ve made her uncomfortable. “When I finished college and returned home, I think she was still missing you. But she had Hope and that gorgeous girl is enough to brighten anyone’s day.”

  I wouldn’t know and once again sorrow tightens my chest for all I’ve missed out on.

  “I can’t believe Riker’s only been on the scene such a short time. It feels like he’s been here forever. He’s good for her.” Lizzie hesitates, before giving a shrug. “You better than anyone knows how Freya gets sometimes and he grounds her.”

  I love my sister but I know what she’s implying. Growing up, Freya could be moody and irrational and prone to jealousy. I’d learned to deal with her but during those times Lizzie preferred avoidance.

  “How long have they been together?”

  “Six months.”

  My eyebrows rise. “Wow, that’s a speedy engagement.”

  The unasked question must be obvious in my eyes because Lizzie smirks. “No pregnancy. They just clicked and I’m happy for them.”

  “Me too.”

  But I’m puzzled. Freya didn’t have a boyfriend when we were growing up. She always seemed awkward around boys and preferred to hang out in groups. Having Hope so young must’ve put a serious dent in her dating life, so I hope she’s not rushing into this marriage with Riker—he could very well be the only boyfriend she’s ever had.

  “Freya mentioned to me this morning that you and Riker know each other?”

  I wave away my cousin’s curiosity. “Ancient history. We met at a party once as kids, said hi, that was about it.”

  “Uh-huh,” Lizzie says, and I know she’s not convinced.

  So I rush in with, “Sitting in this nook reminds me of our diaries and how Aunt Alice got us hooked on journaling. She did hers online and we got hard copies.”

  “Yeah, Mom’s obsessed with keeping a diary. Has been doing it for years until recently…”

  I hate the sadness clouding Lizzie’s eyes, so I say, “Remember how the three of us used to hide our diaries under the cushions here?”

  Shared memories soften the sorrow in her eyes. “Yeah, we used to fight over this nook. Who’d get to tuck into it with legs out, rather than having to squeeze into it together.”

  She chuckles. “Freya always won because we wouldn’t want to precipitate one of her moods.”

  “I can’t believe we never snuck peeks at each other’s diaries. At least, I didn’t.”

  “Me either,” Lizzie echoes, but her gaze shifts, furtive.

  “Liar.” I laugh, and poke her in the ribs.

  She smiles and holds up her hands. “Okay, you got me. But I only read Freya’s because Mom asked me to.”

  “Why?”

>   “I think she was worried about her. You were popular and Mom worried Freya might be feeling second-best, and a bit resentful.”

  A bit? There were times I remember Freya glaring at me like she wanted to throttle me, but my sister would calm down and we’d move past it. I’d witnessed some of the fights between my friends and their siblings at school, and had been grateful the worst Freya ever did was shoot me death glares.

  “Did you find anything juicy?”

  Lizzie shakes her head. “Nothing. I reckon she didn’t write anything in there that she didn’t want us to read.”

  “Smart girl. Me, on the other hand? Every crush I ever had on a boy was scrawled across those pages.” I wrinkle my nose.

  Lizzie laughs. “Damn, I should’ve read yours instead.”

  We share a smile, happiness making me reach over and impulsively hug Lizzie. “I’m so glad I came home.”

  She hugs me back and I expect her to ask what kept me away, but Lizzie has always been intuitive and she settles for squeezing me extra tight before releasing me.

  “I’m glad too, Cuz, we’ve missed you.” She touches my hand. “I think you broke Mom’s heart when you left. She became really insular afterwards. I didn’t see it, because I wasn’t around, but Freya told me. She said Mom helped with Hope a lot and never judged her for being a pregnant teen, but when I got home a few years later I could see she’d changed too.”

  Great, just what I need, more guilt before I see my aunt. But Lizzie isn’t deliberately trying to make me feel bad. She’s too warm, too genuine, for that. She’s trying to fill me in on what I’ve missed out on, trying to make me feel a part of this family again. Little does she know it’s tearing me up inside.

  “Anyway, enough about the past,” Lizzie says, taking my hand. “You’re here now and it means the world to all of us.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, tears pricking my eyes. “Shall we go in? I really want to see her.”

  Lizzie squeezes my hand before releasing it. “Mornings are often her best time, she deteriorates as the day progresses. You sure you’re ready for this?”

  I’ll never be ready to see the aunt I love locked in a room for her own safety, but I nod. I’d rather stay tucked into the reading nook, comforted by my favorite spot in the house. Instead, I’m close behind Lizzie as she opens the bedroom door and steps in. “Hey Mom, I’ve brought you a visitor.”

  I hear a muttered “Go away” before I follow Lizzie into the room. Pity floods me and I struggle to hide it as I catch my first glimpse of the strong, vital aunt who raised me.

  She’s in bed, half-propped by a stack of pillows, but her gauntness stuns me. She’s thin to the point of emaciated, a pretty pink nightgown hanging off her shoulders, her once shiny brown hair dull and lank, her eyes clouded with confusion.

  How can this be the same vibrant woman who’d taught me how to bake apple pie, who’d spend hours in the garden tending to her veggie patch, who’d clothed and fed and loved me? Aunt Alice had always had a quiet inner strength and it hadn’t surprised me she’d been practical and supportive of me when my life imploded, rather than judgmental. She’d been my rock and while I loved my sister and cousin, I’d missed her the most the last ten years.

  The guilt is back, stronger than ever. Why had I stayed away so long? Why had I distanced myself from the only family I have? I’d come to grip with my nightmares over the years, yet I know the recurrent horror of what I’d been through influenced my decision to stay away. I never sought professional help. I should have. But it’s too late now and I’m doing the best I can. I just hope I can be here for Aunt Alice when she needs me most, like she did for me.

  I swallow my sorrow and step closer to the bed. “Hi, Aunt Alice.”

  When she continues to stare at me, uncomprehending, I add, “It’s Brooke.”

  “Brooke,” she repeats, her unfocused gaze roaming over my face as if searching for answers I have no hope of giving. “Bad sisters,” she says, lifting a hand to wave between Lizzie and me. “Birthdays. Secrets. Silly.”

  Her hand falls limply to her side and she turns her head away to stare out the window. A sob wells up inside me; sensing my distress Lizzie steps closer and slides an arm around my waist.

  I don’t know how long we stand there but I’m reluctant to leave, because despite my aunt’s catatonic state, despite her frailty, I finally feel some sense of peace in seeing her after all this time.

  After I compose myself, I mouth “Thank you” at Lizzie before slipping out of her arm. I reach out and touch Aunt Alice’s hand, relieved when she doesn’t jerk away. She turns her head toward me and I slip my hand into hers.

  “I’m home, Auntie, and I love you.”

  She grips my hand with a surprising firmness and her eyes clear for a moment as they bore into mine.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, sadness down-turning her mouth. “For everything.”

  Eight

  Alice

  THEN

  I only got to spend six months with Mom before she died.

  The doc said she contracted lung cancer from years of smoking but she insisted her grief over losing Dad caused it. I never understood their obsessive love that often manifested into screaming matches, but watching Mom languish in her grief made me wonder if I’d misjudged the depth of their bond. Mom’s diagnosis gutted me, and caring for her as she fell further into decline broke my heart.

  I sourced organic chicken and vegetables to cook her broth, the only thing she could keep down once the drugs kicked in. I fed her, I helped her bathe and when that got too hard I’d give her sponge baths in bed, making sure she turned regularly to avoid pressure sores. I read to her, inane celebrity gossip in online magazines that she once devoured. I tried to engage her in cards, as one of the few good memories I had of my parents being calm was watching them play poker together, neither blinking or giving away a winning hand. But she wasn’t interested in playing poker with me and soon she took to staring at me in stoic silence. She wouldn’t hear of going into palliative care so I sat by her bed when she took her final breath, when she finally reached out to clutch my hand, her gaze filled with love as she passed.

  Cam stood by me through it all. He’s my rock and I’ve fallen deeper in love with him. We’re close and while our relationship hasn’t taken the ultimate step yet, I’m hopeful. He’ll comfort me now that Mom’s gone, I’ll cling to him, and he’ll realize I’m alone. I need him and I’m confident he’ll do the right thing and embrace me into his world.

  Then Diana comes home and everything changes.

  “Why are you having a memorial and not a proper funeral?” A deep frown grooves her brow as her pink-glossed lips purse in disapproval. The lipstick is inappropriate on this day of mourning, though at least she’s worn black. It should make her look washed out, but somehow it doesn’t.

  “Because we can’t afford it,” I snap, hating that she’s been back in Verdant five minutes and she’s already judging me. Hating her for not coming home earlier to help me nurse Mom. Hating her for everything.

  Her huff of exasperation riles me further, like I’ve disappointed her in some way.

  “Are you heading back to Long Island after the service?”

  Her gaze slides away, evasive, as she shakes her head. “No. I’m home for good.”

  Shock renders me speechless for a moment before I gather my wits. “What? Why? You’ve only been away seven months. You can’t drop out.”

  She squares her shoulders, a familiar determination lighting her eyes as she refocuses on me. “I’m not going back, Sis. I’m staying. This is where I belong. With Mom gone you’re the only family I have left and I don’t want to waste my time being with people who don’t matter to me. Life’s too short.”

  I should be happy my sister cares enough about me to want to give up her studies to come home. But dread creeps through me. I know the bond I’ve built with Cam, the camaraderie I hope will develop into something more now Mom’s gone, will amount to noth
ing.

  Diana is back and I’ll lose him.

  I want to kill her in that moment. I want to wrap my hands around her throat and squeeze the life out of her. A rage unlike anything I’ve ever experienced sweeps through me and I start to tremble with it.

  She must see something in my eyes because she takes a step back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  Because I hate you.

  Because I resent you for escaping and not being witness to Mom being ravaged by that awful disease.

  Because you’re never around when I need you.

  But I say none of it. Instead, I turn my back on her and head for the door. “Let’s go say goodbye to Mom.”

  * * *

  There’s a small crowd gathered around the plaque on a grassy knoll set in the back corner of the cemetery. Our family isn’t particularly well known in Verdant. My parents didn’t have a lot of friends. They never entertained and we didn’t visit other families. Diana was my best friend and despite her being popular at school she didn’t accept a lot of social invitations. I knew why; probably too ashamed to invite kids back to our place when it was her turn to reciprocate.

  So I recognize most of the ten-strong crowd. Our elderly neighbors who’d babysat Di and me when we were younger, Mom’s boss, and a few co-workers from the supermarket where she’d managed the deli for years, and Cam.

  I see the exact moment he catches sight of Diana, the moment my heart splinters into a million pieces. His eyes light up in a way they never have for me and he’s moving toward her, oblivious to everyone but her. I glance over my shoulder to see her eyes fill with tears as she presses a hand to her mouth and half runs toward him.

  I want to yell at the injustice of this.

  Instead, I watch the man I love embrace the woman he loves.

  And it’s not me.

  It will never be me.