My Sister's Husband

by Marsh, Nicola

  “Is that why you haven’t been into town since you got back? Afraid to run into people you know?”

  “Partly. I know Martino Bay’s bigger now and a lot of time has passed, but I haven’t left the house yet because I’m actually savoring being back here.” I clear my throat to ease the tightness. “I’ve moved around a lot over the last decade and I’m finally home.”

  “I get it.” She envelops me in an impulsive hug before easing away. “It’s why I’ve never left.” She grimaces. “And why I still technically live at home, even if it is in a separate cottage. Not having a father has made me appreciate the family I have more and I like being close to Mom and Hope.” She winks. “Freya at times too.”

  We laugh and I’m glad we’ve had this chance to talk. But we’re still no closer to cracking Alice’s diary password and gut instinct tells me it’s imperative we do.

  Twenty-Two

  Freya

  I’m up at five every morning. It gives me time to tend to Aunt Alice before Hope wakes and our busy day starts. I work the seven to three shift at the nursing home, which suits me perfectly, allowing me to pick up Hope from school and be a present mom rather than an absentee one.

  I often wonder what type of mother Diana would’ve been. I was six weeks old when she died and Aunt Alice is the only mom I’ve ever known. I liked how she treated Brooke and me the same as Lizzie, never favoring her biological daughter over us. Though a small part of me always thought she liked me better than Brooke. I’d catch her staring at me sometimes with this soft, faraway look in her eyes. At first I thought it was pity but on closer analysis the emotion resembled more… empathy, like she knew how I felt being second best to my gorgeous, smart sister and wanted to shield me from it.

  Later, with Hope’s arrival, she virtually proved it. From the moment I held that squalling bundle of joy in my arms Aunt Alice was there, helping me, nurturing me, urging me to be the best mother I could be. We’ve become close over the last decade. She helped me through Hope’s teething, potty training and beyond. When I fell apart on Hope’s first day of school, Aunt Alice brought me home, plied me with nachos and diet cola—my favorites—and watched reality TV with me all day, something she hates. We’d sit together most evenings after Hope had gone to bed, reading in comfortable silence or chatting about the latest instant pot recipe online.

  Aunt Alice spent a lot of time scouring the Internet for recipes and I loved recreating them with her. We had a system in the kitchen: I’d prep, she’d cook, and we’d enjoy a crisp white wine while we did it. We perfected our latest favorite recipes—fettuccini carbonara for her, honey soy chicken for me—and would try to outdo each other in the flavor stakes. As Hope grew older, she’d perch on a stool at the island bench and assist with prepping, her smiles as she watched our competitive antics making me appreciate my aunt even more.

  We didn’t talk about the past and we never mentioned Brooke. It was an unspoken agreement between us and I’m not sure if we avoided talking about my sister because we missed her so much or we were furious at her for turning her back on us.

  Whatever Brooke’s motivation for cutting all ties, I stopped mulling after a while. I liked having Aunt Alice all to myself. Even when Lizzie came home from college, I never felt our bond waver.

  Aunt Alice has been my rock for so long, which makes watching her deteriorate all the harder.

  I brace myself for the draining morning routine and unlock her door, slipping inside before locking it behind me again.

  “Good morning, Aunt Alice, it’s going to be a beautiful day.” I draw the curtains a fraction, enough to let the pale dawn light filter in, and switch on a lamp. “Ready for your medication?”

  She’s drowsy, her eyes unfocused as I perch on the side of the bed and reach for her hand. “Just need to check your pulse.”

  Her hand is limp and cold, but her eyes remain trained on me. She has the odd moment of lucidity before I administer her meds and I watch for any signs of clarity. But today is not one of her better days and she remains confused, staring at me like she can’t quite figure out who I am.

  “Your heart’s all good,” I say, releasing her hand to unlock the medicinal cabinet beside her bed. “And taking your pills will make you feel better.”

  I dispense the usual cocktail from a variety of bottles into a small white cup and re-lock the cabinet. Thankfully, she takes her meds without fuss every morning and the occasional top up at night on a particularly bad day. She’s been having more of those lately and I keep her dosage high.

  I hand her each pill individually and watch her wash them down with a sip of water. Six in all, some double strength.

  “Well done.” I pat her shoulder, startled when her hand shoots out to grip my arm so hard I wince.

  “You. Are. Bad.”

  Her eyes glitter with malice and I recoil, shrugging off her grasp.

  “It’s okay, Aunt Alice, you’ll feel better once the meds kick in.”

  I don’t know for certain that’s true but I can hope.

  Twenty-Three

  Alice

  THEN

  It’s dusk when I hear a loud knocking on the front door. The girls are settled. Thankfully Diana isn’t breastfeeding Freya so I’ve given her a bottle and fed Brooke some pre-prepared toddler veggies. The girls seem happy enough, with Brooke watching TV and Freya lying on her back under a play mobile contraption.

  They’re happy, while I churn with dread. Diana has been gone for hours and I’m worried. I want to break up her marriage but I’m wondering if she’s talked her way out of this with Cam like she has her entire life. Nobody can spin a story like my sister. Though a small part of me hopes she hasn’t done something stupid and rather than tell Cam the truth, she’s harmed herself. I want her marriage to fall apart, not to physically hurt my sister, and I’m annoyed I haven’t thought of this outcome before now.

  I’d counted on Diana’s selfishness in wanting to tell Cam the truth herself, to cajole and appease him in the way only she can. But what if she couldn’t face him? Is she hiding out somewhere like a child, hoping this will blow over?

  I doubt it. Diana is selfish but she wouldn’t leave her children, surely? Then again, she’s done it before; poor Elizabeth is proof of that.

  I open the door and my trepidation morphs into panic when I see two police officers. They radiate grimness; wearing matching deep frowns and compressed lips, but couldn’t be more different. The taller one is young and clean-shaven, the shorter one is a veteran by the weary slump to his shoulders and beady eyes that have seen too much.

  “Are you Alice Shomack?” the short officer asks and when I nod, he says, “Can we come in?”

  “Is everything all right?”

  It can’t be, considering their ominous presence, and my hands shake as I wave them inside. Has Diana done something foolish? Has she hurt herself because of what I’ve put into motion? Cam is her world and if he ends their marriage… I’m overcome with guilt I may have caused this and I drag in several deep breaths before closing the door.

  “We need to talk to you, ma’am.” The younger one takes off his hat a fraction after the shorter one. “I’m Officer Burdette and this is Officer Cowley.”

  I lead them into the lounge room and we stand in an odd circular threesome. “What can I do for you, officers? I’m minding my nieces who are in the family room, so if we can make this quick—”

  “I’m sorry to say we have some bad news.” Officer Cowley has been doing this a long time and he’s not going to stand around making chitchat. “There’s been a car accident.”

  I feel the blood drain from my face. No. It can’t be. I didn’t tamper with those brakes, no matter how much I wanted to. I’d thought about it, at length. I’d watched the video how to do it three times, memorizing the steps. But when I had my hands on the relevant parts, I couldn’t do it. Had I dislodged something inadvertently? Am I responsible for my sister being injured?

  “You’re awfully, pale, mis
s.” Officer Cowley gestures to a chair. “Why don’t you take a seat—”

  “I’m okay. You were saying something about a car accident?”

  He nods, increasingly grave. “I’m sorry, there were fatalities.”

  Shock renders me speechless as I focus on that one word.

  Fatalities.

  I scream on the inside. I didn’t want to hurt anybody. I didn’t do this. But I can’t get out of my head how close I’d been to actually fiddling with Diana’s brakes. I didn’t, but what if I messed with them just the same? I’m horrified that somehow this is my fault and not only have I killed my sister, but some poor helpless third party has become unwittingly caught up in our sibling rivalry.

  “Your sister skidded off the road and hit a tree about five miles from here, and both she and her passenger died on impact.” Officer Crowley moves toward me as I sway, an icy chill rendering me immobile.

  I’m woozy, disoriented, gasping for air.

  Passenger?

  “Neither her husband nor your sister suffered,” Officer Burdette adds, thinking his inane comment is helping, as I let out a blood-curdling wail and crumple to the floor.

  Twenty-Four

  Brooke

  I have the house to myself the next day. Someone always has to be around for Aunt Alice, considering her door is kept locked to avoid her wandering, and we can’t leave her alone in case of fire.

  Lizzie works from home usually, running an online company that sells baby paraphernalia including strollers, clothes, toys and anything else expectant and new mothers might need, but today she’s out checking an incorrect delivery. Riker took off in his van to scrounge for scrap metal early this morning, and with Freya at work and Hope at school, I’m left to check in on Aunt Alice and do my own thing.

  I’m planning a surprise bridal shower for Freya. She hates surprises but it’s something I want to do after being away for so long. Lizzie’s in on the secret and thinks it’s a great idea. I want it to be a low-key affair at home, in the backyard, where we spent so much of our time growing up. She loved the colorful fairy lights Aunt Alice used to string up on special occasions, like birthdays and Christmases, so I’ll pretty up the garden with plenty of those, maybe some lanterns and sheer chiffon draped from tree to tree. Freya also loved fancy finger food, so I’ll get a catering company to assist with menu planning, and maybe do a special cocktail. Freya has loads of friends apparently, courtesy of her job and volunteering for various causes, so Lizzie’s taking care of the guest list while I do everything else. I’m good at taking care of practicalities.

  My tenacity got me top grades at school; I wouldn’t leave any question unanswered. Teachers lauded me for it, friends were slightly jealous and Freya thought I was a kiss-ass. She hated when teachers compared her to me and being only a year behind it happened often.

  I’d been tolerant of her growing up because of the eleven-month gap between us but eventually our closeness became an issue. Any boy I liked, she liked. I wanted to be a cheerleader; she did too. I joined gaming club, she had to follow, despite thinking online games were pointless. I’d whine to Aunt Alice occasionally but she always took Freya’s side, encouraging me to be nicer to my sister because she idolized me and that’s why she wanted to be like me. But I found it suffocating at times and I wanted to find out who I was, make my own friends, my own life, which only made her hound me more. I’d hoped a boy would start dating Freya and that would distract her but unfortunately, despite a few offers, she never showed interest in any of the guys at school.

  When I started going steady with Eli in our senior year, she had no choice but to back off. He was nice to her—Eli was nice to everybody—but I wanted him to myself and tired quickly of having Freya pop up when we least expected it. He’d laugh about it but I didn’t find it so funny.

  Eli…

  It’s painful to think of him, even now. Any time I hear the ocean I think of the night we fought, the waves crashing over our ankles at the beach, the ugliness of it all as I confessed and he went berserk. He’d said some awful things, called me terrible names, and I’d lost it too. I’d dumped him, he’d stormed off and I’d let him.

  Freya had been distraught over Eli’s death and I felt bad for all those times I’d tried to ditch her when I’d been with him. She didn’t know the truth, of course, that my confession must’ve caused his suicide, but she knew how much he meant to me and she was shattered almost as much as I was.

  Thinking about the past makes me more determined than ever to discover more about my parents. Aunt Alice is obviously suffering and I’ll do anything to set her mind at ease. Since last night I’ve been mulling Aunt Alice’s password and something Lizzie said, about her having a secret crush on my father.

  I know next to nothing about my parents. Whenever I asked Aunt Alice as a kid, she’d clam up and become visibly upset—her face would flush, her hands would shake, her eyes would get this weird wild glint—so I soon gave up. Losing her only sister in a car accident must’ve been awful, and to have her brother-in-law killed in the same accident, leaving her in sole charge of Freya and me, would’ve been traumatic.

  She’d been so young at the time, only twenty-three, with a toddler of her own. Having to raise three girls under three must’ve curtailed her social life and left her with little free time. I never realized it as a kid but me badgering her for information about my parents must’ve been awful, dredging up memories of a time she’d rather forget.

  With no answers forthcoming from my aunt, I’d done some online research when I hit my teens but learned little. Two local newspapers in Nevada, where my mom and aunt are from, had articles on a car accident that killed Diana and Cameron Stuart. Speed, erratic driving and brake failure were deemed the causes of the crash, one of countless tragedies that occurred on our roads every day.

  Back then, those articles had assuaged my curiosity but now I want to know more. Precisely, I want to know about my mom, my dad, and what kind of relationship my aunt had with them both. Alice never married and growing up I can remember her going on a few dates but never having a relationship with any guy.

  I have no idea if that changed over the last decade but neither Lizzie nor Freya has mentioned anyone special in her life and no guy has come visiting since I’ve been home. Being struck down with early onset dementia at fifty would send any guy running.

  Before I delve deeper I fire off a quick text to Lizzie.

  Did your mom date anyone special since I’ve been away? Wondering who else CS could be?

  I stare at my cell, willing Lizzie’s response to come quickly and thankfully it does.

  No. She saw a few guys, locals I know. No CS.

  After answering with a Thx. Checking a few things, will let U know later I open up a fresh search engine.

  I need to know more and starting with my dad seems as good a place as any.

  I type CAMERON STUART into the search bar. I get millions of hits. Annoyingly I don’t even know his date of birth but I know the town where I was born.

  I add VERDANT, NEVADA into the search and it narrows considerably. No one had social media accounts back then—I checked during my first search as a teen—but it looks like one of their friends had a blog back then, some woman named Amy Cresswell. She posted a few pictures, most of them involving young people drinking by a pool, and one of those has my dad’s name under it. I see Mom’s name too and my heart beats a little faster.

  Aunt Alice has been a great mother and I had a good life until I screwed up at that party, but how different would my life have been if my parents were alive? Would I have more siblings? Would we still be in Nevada, not California?

  Silly to lament a past I never had, I scan the photo. I recognize Mom and Dad from the old picture I have, but this one is more revealing. Dad has his arm slung around Mom’s shoulders and is staring at her in open adoration, while Mom’s looking up at him and laughing. Their friend Amy is nearby, raising a beer in their direction and behind her, blurred and
almost indistinct, is my aunt.

  Glaring at the cozy group with stark longing.

  If Amy Cresswell knew my parents she’d be the best person to contact. It’s about all I’ve got at the moment.

  She’s on several social media sites so I join the one where she has the most friends and send her a message offline. I tell her I’m Diana and Cam’s daughter, and I’d like to chat with her about my parents. Simple. Truthful.

  I see she’s online by a tiny purple star next to her name and her response comes quickly.

  Hi Brooke,

  Nice to hear from you.

  Last time I saw you was at your first birthday party, can’t believe twenty-eight years have passed since then. I’m old!

  Anyway, I’m happy to chat about your folks anytime. Your mom was my best friend and I adored her.

  I still live in Verdant, with a family of my own. Do you want to come visit or shall we chat on the phone? Either is fine with me.

  Thanks for reaching out.

  Chat soon,

  Amy x

  Talking on the phone would be easier and I’d get my answers faster but I know from experience it’s easier to get honest responses face to face. Maybe Lizzie will come with me, so I fire back a quick reply.

  Thanks for getting back to me so quickly, Amy.

  I’d love to come visit. I’m not working at the moment so any time is fine.

  Let me know when’s convenient.

  Look forward to meeting you.

  I hit send and once again Amy answers quickly, giving me her address and a range of days and times. It should take about four hours each way to get to Verdant from here, a long trip for a potential let-down, but I have to do this.