Alice
THEN
I watch Roger drive away, my heart breaking for Eli’s dad, for my darling girl. As if on cue, Brooke screams, an ear-shattering, piercing screech that has me turning to see her crumple. She heard the news. Her boyfriend is dead and rather than me breaking it to her gently, she’s been privy to Eli’s father’s pain.
I rush toward her and spy Freya a few feet behind Brooke. Freya’s indifferent stare flickers between us before she walks away, leaving me to comfort Brooke. I’m not sure if it’s because she knows Brooke needs me more in this moment or if she’s apathetic to her sister’s pain, but whatever her rationale I’m glad. Brooke needs me.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart.” I bundle her into my arms and rock her side to side, my tears not a patch on hers. She wails so loud and long I fear she’ll pass out. If I thought her sobs last night were bad, this is so much worse.
She’s lost the love of her life, like I did.
And like me, she’s had an inadvertent hand in it.
I’m empathic but I can’t tell her why I understand so I settle for holding her until she’s ready to talk. What seems like an eternity later, she’s wriggling out of my arms, her face blotchy, her eyes swollen.
“He died because of me.”
“You can’t blame yourself.” I reach for her again but she scuttles backward. “Couples break up all the time, it doesn’t mean…”
I don’t want to say the words. Eli killed himself. It’s a shocking tragedy and will haunt my poor girl for the rest of her life. I should know. What I did to Cam without meaning to has resulted in chronic insomnia to this day.
“Everyone’s going to blame me for his suicide,” she whispers, the tears starting again. “They’ll say it’s my fault.”
“How can they, when only the two of you know you broke up with him? You said you left him at the beach?”
She gnaws on her bottom lip so hard I see a speck of blood. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well then, nobody knows you broke up. Not that it makes it any easier, but please don’t worry about shouldering the blame on top of your grief.”
But I’m wrong.
The first abusive text pings on Brooke’s cell about five hours later. Freya’s nowhere to be found and while I love that girl like my own, Brooke has to be my priority right now.
The first horrid text, U R A MURDERER, is followed up by a slew more along the same lines, some a lot worse. I end up giving Brooke a sedative because she’s distraught to the point of passing out and I confiscate her cell. She doesn’t need the vitriol of narrow-minded kids on top of everything else.
How did they find out Brooke broke up with Eli?
Freya strolls through the back door ten minutes later. She’s wearing all black—jeans, hoodie, scarf—and looks like a ninja skulking inside. She’s been crying: her eyes are bloodshot and her nose is red, and her hand shakes as she swipes it over her face. It does little to wipe the distraught expression from her face.
“Freya, can I get you anything?” She shakes her head and when I open my arms to her in comfort, her gaze skitters away as if she can’t meet my eyes.
That’s when it hits me. Has she done the unthinkable and spread awful rumors about her sister? Is this her version of the ultimate payback for Brooke?
“Did you know Brooke broke up with Eli last night?”
She considers lying for a second; I see it in her quick glance toward the door, like she’d rather be anywhere than here. But then she finally meets my gaze and nods. “Yeah. They left the party but then he came back and he was a total wreck, raving about Brooke dumping him. Everyone felt sorry for him.”
I feel disloyal for suspecting she’d told everyone about Brooke dumping Eli. Then again, it wouldn’t be the first time she’s wanted to hurt her sister.
“He kept rambling about the break-up but he wouldn’t say much more than that…” She shakes her head, sadness clouding her eyes. “He was pretty drunk when they left, then he started drinking again when he came back. I tried to comfort him, I really did.”
Devastation twists her mouth. “I just wanted to make his pain go away, you know? I hated seeing him like that…”
Tears fill her eyes. “I was there for him when he needed me most. But then he left. Some of the guys wanted to go with him. Heck, I did too, but he wouldn’t let us…”
She blinks rapidly, but it does little to stave off the tears spilling over. “I should’ve gone with him. I can’t believe he’s dead…”
That’s when Freya falls apart, running across the kitchen to hurl herself into my arms.
“I loved him,” she murmurs between sobs. “He was so special. I really loved him and he never knew and now he never will and it feels like my heart is split in two.”
I comfort her as I did for her sister hours earlier and somehow Freya’s grief feels more intense. I know what she’s going through, having to hide her love for her sister’s boyfriend, having to mute her grief so others don’t pick up on her forbidden feelings.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this, my beautiful girl.” I placate her with soft reassurances until her sobs fade to hiccups.
When she eases out of my arms, her expression is so bereft I feel like bawling all over again.
“I’ll always love him,” she whispers. “I’ll never forget how this heartbreak feels.”
She won’t. I haven’t.
We love the same way, Freya and me. We feel intensely and I’ll do whatever it takes to make things better for her.
Sixty
Freya
After Brooke interrogating me earlier, I’m on edge. Damn Helena for opening her big mouth and telling Brooke I’d been with Eli the night he died. If I’d known about the bridal shower I would’ve vetted the guest list to avoid this very thing but either Lizzie or Brooke have gone through my contacts on the family computer and invited everyone.
Regardless, it’s too late now. The damage has been done. I think I managed to convince Brooke there was nothing going on between Eli and me but I can’t be sure, and that has me worried. She can’t learn the truth. It will have devastating consequences for all of us.
I need a distraction so while everyone else is still asleep I open my presents from the bridal shower. I appreciate the thoughtful gift vouchers for spa days, pampering packs, and scented candles. But it’s Brooke’s gift I’m interested in. Maybe if I see tangible proof of how much my sister cares about me, I won’t give in to the irrational urge to smash it to pieces.
I heard her walking around last night. I’m a light sleeper, always have been, so when I heard footsteps down the hallway that paused outside my bedroom I pretended to be asleep. It could only be Brooke because Hope has a much lighter tread and I’ve known the sound of it since my baby could walk.
At the time I had no idea why Brooke would be creeping around my house at two in the morning so I gave a few fake snores, waited until she moved on, before slipping out of bed to see what she was up to.
I didn’t like what I saw.
When she left the house she made a beeline for Riker’s cottage. I’d heard him come home; his clunky old van has a noisy engine in need of a service. Despite my exhaustion and relief at having a bed to myself for the night, I’d been tempted to go see him. He grounds me like nobody else.
So what the hell was my sister doing visiting him in the middle of the night?
I dithered, unsure whether to barge over there and confront them or quash my paranoia. I didn’t have time to decide because Brooke was only inside for a few minutes, five max. Definitely not enough time for a booty call or whatever other unsavory thoughts crowded my head.
But it’s the third time I’ve caught them together and I don’t like it. No matter the time frame, having her seek him out in the middle of the night when he’d barely got home doesn’t bode well. There’s something going on and I will find out what it is.
The thing is, when we have rare family meals together, I’ve never
picked up on the slightest vibe between them. I’ve watched for it because that’s who I am; time hasn’t eroded my self-esteem issues when it comes to my vibrant sister.
Not that Brooke is anything like the girl I once knew. She’s quieter, introverted, a muted version of the upbeat sister she’d once been. Eli’s death shattered her and despite the years that have passed, it looks like she hasn’t recovered.
I saw the vitriolic texts she received in the weeks after Eli’s death; nasty, abusive accusations laying the blame for his suicide squarely on her. If it had been me, I would’ve left town earlier than she had, and I don’t blame her for staying away so long.
A small part of me had been glad to see the back of her. I’ve never admitted that to anyone, but I think Aunt Alice knew. She lavished me with more love, more attention, and that spilled over into her care for Hope too. I felt bad for what Brooke went through and how it severed her relationship with our family, but I’d also reveled in the freedom of not being under my sister’s shadow anymore.
Neither Aunt Alice nor I tried to lure Brooke home. Lizzie mentioned it a few times over the years, but I was content to let Aunt Alice take the lead, and she’d always say Brooke had been through enough and it was her choice whether she wanted to come home. I never wanted to revisit the past and I assume Brooke felt the same.
But I’ve missed her more than I thought and having her home reinforces that. I’m glad I reached out and invited her to my wedding. So the thought she may be conspiring with Riker behind my back irks. It could be another surprise, like the bridal shower, but why seek him out in the middle of the night?
Hating my traitorous thoughts, I find Brooke’s gift. It’s rectangular, thin, wrapped in pale gold embossed paper with an ivory ribbon curled to perfection. I remember she loved doing this for parties when we were kids. ‘Presentation is everything, Sis,’ she used to say, and that mantra spilled into all areas of her life. I’ve never seen any woman who can take a cheap cotton sundress and bargain sandals and make the outfit look like haute couture. While most teens, like me, were gauche and awkward and trying to find our place in the world, Brooke had been a beacon of style and panache, confident in her skin and likeability. Of course kids flocked to her. Of course Eli found her irresistible.
I may have resented her back then but that doesn’t mean I should let residual animosity taint what we’ve re-established now. Life’s too short. I wrench the ribbon off and tear the paper. My breath catches as sentimentality swamps me. It’s a photo of the two of us when we were young teenagers, our arms slung across our shoulders, grinning inanely. We look happy, innocent, close. I’ve never seen it before. One of the few mementos she must’ve kept all these years and it makes me treasure it all the more. The frame looks expensive: heavy, wrought iron, with elegant filigree edging. It’s a thoughtful gift and typically Brooke.
With fumbling fingers I flick the tabs at the back to release the photo. I peer at it, wondering how different our lives could’ve been if I’d made the right choices. Would we be closer? Would we have the kind of relationship that invites confidences?
I’ll never know because I can’t change the past and as I press the photo to my heart, the frame slips and crashes to the floor. The glass shatters and the metal twists in one corner, damaged beyond repair.
Like me.
I swallow back sobs as I run to my room. Poor Brooke; even when she does something nice for me I ruin it. This time had been an accident.
What would she think of me if she knew about those other times?
Sixty-One
Brooke
I sleep poorly. Riker didn’t give me the answers I’d hoped for and I’m still annoyed Freya has never mentioned speaking to Eli the night he died.
The light in my room is brighter than usual, meaning I’ve slept longer for the first time since I got home. When I glance at my cell I’m surprised to see it’s after nine. The last few Sundays Hope has rushed into my room around eight, eager for us to plan a jam-packed day, but Freya must’ve told her to let me sleep in.
The house is silent as I make my way to the kitchen. There’s a note propped up on the island bench.
GONE FOR PANCAKES WITH HOPE AND RIKER.
No sign-off. Freya always thought she didn’t need one, her bold block letters enough of a statement. I pour myself an orange juice and wander into the sunroom, where I see Freya has unwrapped her gifts. I check them out, admiring a giant pamper pack filled with lux body lotions, hand creams and bath bombs in a coconut and lemongrass fragrance. I can’t see my gift until I reach the table. It’s ruined, the glass cracked, with several loose shards askew, the iron frame bent in a corner. It’s been dropped and the photo is missing.
Did Freya do this? It looks like the frame has been dropped accidentally but with my sister, I never know. When I found the photo in Aunt Alice’s album I thought it would make the perfect gift. I remember the day the photo was taken, a particularly good day when Aunt Alice had taken the three of us into town to our favorite ice creamery. We’d gorged ourselves on pecan sundaes and talked about our plans for the school year ahead. Freya was about to start high school and couldn’t wait. She hated that I’d started a year earlier. I’d been secretly glad because it meant I didn’t have her tagging after me for an entire twelve months.
When we’d got home afterward, Aunt Alice had wanted to take photos. She’d said her girls were growing up too fast and the three of us pulled faces but agreed. Lizzie had been in some of them but Freya was in every photo with me, trying to outdo me with the biggest grin.
The broken frame must be an accident. Unless… I don’t want to believe she’d do this on purpose. Our relationship has come so far since I’ve been back, but a small part of me can’t forget the way Freya behaved in the past when things didn’t go her way.
“You saw that, huh?” Lizzie wanders into the kitchen and grimaces as she points at the broken frame. “What happened?”
“Don’t know. Looks like it’s been accidentally dropped.”
“Maybe.” Lizzie grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a bite.
“You think Freya did this on purpose?”
“No, I don’t. You two are closer than close lately, and it’s great, but…” She lowers the apple and fixes me with a serious stare. “Remember that jacket you loved as a kid, the gaudy pink one?”
“Yeah.”
“I had to hide something in the trash one day.” A blush flushes her cheeks. “One of the boys at school had given me this really smutty book and I wanted to get rid of it, so I tried to push it to the bottom of the trash. That’s when I saw it.”
I know what she’s going to say before she says it. Freya must’ve thrown out my beloved jacket in jealousy; if she couldn’t have it I couldn’t either.
“The jacket?”
She nods but something shifts in her eyes. “I recognized it because of the color even through two plastic bags, so I dug it out. When I took it out of the bags, it had been ripped to shreds. Slashed a billion times with a knife or scissors or something.”
“Wow. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I saw the way Freya idolized you and I didn’t want to cause trouble between you two.” She shrugs. “It was just a jacket.”
“Yeah, like this was just a gift.” I point at the frame and shake my head. “Does she have anger issues?”
“Maybe it’s her way of coping with having you back here after all this time?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “You’re defending her?”
She takes another bite of apple and chews it before responding. “I’ve lived in the same house as her or nearby most of my life and while we saw how she lost her cool after finding out about my parentage, I think she’s changed a lot. I can’t see her doing something like this deliberately, despite the jacket incident.”
Lizzie’s right. Freya has changed and I can’t see her doing this on purpose, even if she had seen me heading to Riker’s last night.
“I know
I wasn’t around when you left, but Alice told me Freya missed you terribly,” Lizzie says.
It’s still odd to hear Lizzie call Aunt Alice by her name rather than Mom, but I guess there’s no going back now we know the truth.
“She would’ve had her hands full with Hope to miss me much.”
Lizzie tosses her half-eaten apple in the trash and rests a hand on my shoulder. “I know it looks like I’m playing peacekeeper, but I’d hate to see you two at loggerheads when you’ve finally reconnected after all this time.”
I mumble, “I guess,” and Lizzie leaves it at that.
But as I glimpse a piece of glass underneath the table, my doubts resurface. Does my sister harbor resentment toward me? And if so, why?
Sixty-Two
Alice
THEN
The last eight weeks have been a living hell.
I hate seeing my girls fall apart and supporting Brooke and Freya through their grieving breaks my heart. Their mutual love for Eli is evident in every teary outburst, in their lack of appetite, in their turning inward and hiding away in their rooms. I don’t know what Brooke thinks of Freya’s grief; she probably thinks her sister is devastated for her. Then again, I don’t think Brooke notices anything as she drifts through the house like a zombie, her arms wrapped around her middle, ashen and listless.
The funeral had been horrific, with Eli’s entire high school class as well as kids in lower grades attending, along with most of the town. Brooke had been inconsolable, Freya stoic, and the accusatory glares cast Brooke’s way from her classmates had been awful. Kids can be incredibly judgmental and those who’d been privy to Brooke breaking up with Eli at that party appeared to blame her. They should know better, that teens break up and reunite all the time. But they stared at Brooke like she’d physically pushed Eli off that cliff and she had to deal with her classmates’ judgment on top of her sorrow.
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