by Lori Wilde
Willowy, graceful, Darynda dropped her arms. “It’s so wonderful to have you home, Maddie.”
“Thanks,” Madison mumbled, not knowing what else to say, and hitched her purse up on her shoulder. She was out of place on the hospital sidewalk of the coastal beach town in her white Ralph Lauren silk suit and Manolo Blahniks, her Louis Vuitton carry-on beside her. She’d come straight from the set of Madison’s Mark without going home to change, instead sending her assistant to her apartment to pack her bag while she wrapped up shooting.
Luckily, the morning show would go on summer hiatus in two weeks, and until then, her producer had coaxed a popular, retired talk-show host to fill in for her. But if things went well with Grammy’s surgery, Madison hoped to return to New York by next week at the latest.
And if things don’t go well?
Madison moistened her lips. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it. She met Darynda’s gaze. “Grammy?”
“Still in surgery.”
Alarm sent fresh pounding through her head. “It’s been hours!”
“Eight and counting. It could go even longer.” Darynda’s voice turned husky and tears shimmered in her sharp blue eyes.
“What happened?”
“About three weeks ago, Helen started having dizzy spells, and she fell a few times. I insisted she go to the doctor. She’s got brain cancer. Grade IV glioblastoma.”
Fear spread heat throughout Madison’s body. She didn’t know what that meant, but it sounded bad. “What’s her prognosis?”
Darynda briefly closed her eyes, wobbled her head. “Not good.”
“She’ll make it.”
Darynda didn’t respond.
“She will make it.” Madison injected steel into her tone.
“I don’t pussyfoot around,” Darynda said, in a let’s-get-something-straight voice. “The cancer will kill her, but the surgery and radiation will give her time.”
Madison gasped. The truth, and Darynda’s blunt delivery, was a stake through her heart. Too much to process, even with Xanax. “But she’s fine. She jogs three miles a day. She runs a B&B at seventy-six. She’s iron woman.”
“Madison”—Darynda pulled no punches—“those days are over.”
She did not run from responsibility, or the truth. If Grammy was dying, then she was dying. That’s what her mind said, anyway. Her heart rolled over, kicked and screamed, She’s wrong, Grammy’s strong, she’s not going anywhere.
“How long does she have?”
“Fifteen months, give or take.”
Horrified, Madison palmed her mouth. “Why didn’t she call us before now?”
“She didn’t want you to worry. There were tests and consultations.”
“We’ve lost time with her.” Madison glared at Darynda. “Why didn’t you call us?”
“I had to honor her wishes. This is Helen’s life. She’s in control. Not you.”
Not you. A judgment. Criticism. Who was Darynda to issue edicts?
Get to Grammy. Fix this. The words were part of the pounding in her brain, merging with the throb of the migraine.
“Dammit, Darynda.” Madison smacked her fist into her open palm. “You know this isn’t right.”
“No, it’s not.” Her eyes and tone softened, and Darynda looked as if she wanted to touch her.
Madison stepped back, bottom lip trembling. She bit down hard to keep from crying. She would not break down. “Where’s Gia?”
“In the waiting room.”
“Shelley?”
Darynda shook her head.
“Shelley’s not coming?” Madison blew out her breath, relieved, yet feeling strangely like a boxer who’d geared up for a much-touted grudge match only to learn her opponent was a no-show.
“We don’t know. Gia didn’t speak to her directly. She left a message at the last place where your grandmother knew Shelley was staying, but she hasn’t called back.”
Madison snapped her mouth closed before she said something regrettable. Don’t stir that pot.
“What if Shelley doesn’t come?” Madison’s head hammered so hard it was all she could do to keep her eyes open.
“Give her time, Madison.”
“She’s had five years.”
Darynda angled her head toward the emergency room doors. “Let’s go inside.”
“I can’t believe this.” Madison brought an index finger to her mouth and almost chewed her fingernail.
When she and her sisters first came to live in Moonglow Cove with Grammy, she’d chewed all ten fingernails to the quick. Even though the sunlight fueled her migraine, she wasn’t ready to go into the hospital. Not just yet. She needed time to collect herself before she saw Gia. Maddie was the oldest. The pacesetter.
“Are you all right?” Darynda put a hand to Madison’s forearm. “You’re shaking.”
“Just a headache.” Madison itched to pull away but didn’t.
“Little wonder. Have you eaten?”
Food was the last thing on her mind and she didn’t need Darynda turning maternal. “I’m fine.”
“You need to eat something.”
Past the black drumming in her head, she stared at Darynda. “When did you last eat?” Her words came out too harsh, but apologizing would draw attention to her rudeness.
Darynda dropped her hand to her side and tucked her lips around her teeth. “I see your point.”
A man shuffled outside, lounged against the building, and lit up a cigarette. He blew a cloud of smoke.
Madison wrinkled her nose, stifled a cough.
“We should go inside.” Darynda stuck out a hand as if to usher her. But Madison hardened her scowl and Darynda quickly dropped her hand.
Why was she being so touchy? It’s the headache, her mind offered as an excuse. But honestly, was it? She could lay her irritability at the feet of what caused the migraines.
Family tension.
Secrets.
Lies.
Self-deception.
“I’m scared,” Madison blurted, startling herself with the truth.
“It’ll be okay,” Darynda soothed.
“Will it?”
“It can be okay,” Darynda corrected, but underneath the steel of her conviction, Madison heard a catch in her voice. “If you can forgive.”
Darynda made it sound so simple. As if there wasn’t a stone wall entombing Madison’s heart, as if everyone she’d ever loved hadn’t betrayed her. Madison put a hand to her belly. She thought of the paper in her purse and let out a soft sigh. Sometimes, no matter how badly you wanted to let go, you simply couldn’t.
The wheels of her suitcase clattered as she followed Darynda through the hospital to the elevators. People turned to stare and whisper as she went past. Madison didn’t know if it was because of the noisy luggage wheels or if people recognized her from TV. In New York, where celebrity sightings were an everyday occurrence, she didn’t worry much about being approached by fans.
But this was Moonglow Cove. As they waited for the elevator, two thirtysomethings, giggling like teenagers, sidled over, pen and notebook in hand.
“May we get your autograph?” drawled the boldest one, dressed in hospital scrubs. She wore an ID badge twisted backward so Madison couldn’t see her name. “We watch your show every morning and we’re your number one fans!”
“Number one fans,” the other woman repeated.
Ahh, the price of fame. Madison heard Grammy’s laughter in her head. Suck it up, buttercup. You wanted this.
Soldiering past the migraine, Madison turned “on.” Shifting into her celebrity persona, she took the pen and notepad they offered. “Thank you so much for watching. I appreciate you more than you can know. Who should I make it out to?”
“May June,” the woman said, turning her badge around so she could read it. May June Barton, certified nursing assistant. She was tall and stocky and had a tattoo on her wrist that said House Boss, the name of Madison’s old YouTube show.
Holy crap. In her
head, she flashed to Kathy Bates in Misery, spouting I am your number one fan as she crippled James Caan with a sledgehammer.
Then she heard Shelley’s witty voice in her mind whisper, Stalker adjacent. Did Shelley still love the word adjacent?
May June chattered like a spider monkey. “The hospital said I was born at eleven fifty-nine P.M. on May thirty-first, but my daddy’s watch said it was midnight, June first, and my daddy, who never admits he’s wrong, insisted his watch was right and the hospital screwed up. Hence the double name.” May June lowered her voice to a whisper. “My mama always gives me a secret present on May thirty-first, before my June first birthday party.”
“How creative of your parents,” Madison said. “And you’ll be having a birthday soon. Congrats.”
“Creativity runs in our family. That’s why we love the Create It Yourself Network,” she said. “And we love your show most of all.”
“I love the network too,” said the second woman, dressed in various shades of pink from head to toe, including a mauve beret, a blush-colored blouse, a Barbie DreamHouse–pink miniskirt, and bubble-gum-colored pumps. “Especially your show. The program on year-round door wreaths literally changed my life.” Pinky clasped her hands together in front of her heart. “I mean totally changed . . . My. Life.”
“Um . . . you’re so welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
Pinky twirled her finger at the notebook May June had given Madison. “Could you just tear a page out of her book and sign it for me, too?”
Madison almost wrote to “Pinky” but stopped herself in the nick of time. “What’s your name?”
“Blenda.”
“My goodness. What another brilliantly creative name. It’s no wonder you two are such good friends,” Madison flattered.
“Blenda’s not as creative as May June. My dad’s named Brent and my mom is Glenda. Mash ’em together and you get Blenda. Like in a blender.” She giggled.
“Imagine if your dad’s name had been Spike,” Madison said.
May June’s eyes got wide, and she poked Blenda in the ribs with her elbow with a loud laugh. “Oh, oh, you’d be Splenda!”
“Aren’t you just the wittiest thing!” Pinky . . . Blenda . . . enthused, clutching the autographed paper to her chest.
“I’m glad you ladies got to meet Madison,” Darynda intervened. “But we have a family member upstairs we need to check on. If you’ll excuse us . . .”
“Are you her manager?” May June stepped across the threshold of the elevator to keep the door from closing as Madison and Darynda got in.
“No,” Darynda said. “Just a family friend. I’m sure you ladies understand that Madison needs her—”
“Who’s sick?” Blenda asked. “Is it one of your sisters?”
May June splayed her hand over her chest. “Is it Shelley? Is she back? Did you guys make up? Does she have some terrible disease?”
“Don’t tell me it’s Gia!” Blenda did the prayer hands again. “I’d planned to hire her to teach kiteflying for my son’s fifth birthday party next month.”
Startled, Madison tossed Darynda a how-do-they-know-this-stuff expression.
Darynda shrugged. “Small-town gossip.”
“We’re not gossips,” May June said, as the elevator door bumped her in the butt and then retracted. “We won’t tell a soul. Promise.”
“It’s my grandmother,” Madison said. “She’s got brain cancer, and she’s dying. Happy now?”
That wiped the salacious look right off their faces; they mumbled apologies and words of sympathy and May June got out of the way fast, and Blenda did prayer hands and bowed as the elevator door shut tight.
Madison sank against the wall, closed her eyes.
“I don’t think the snark earned you any brownie points with your number one fans.” Darynda punched the elevator button for the third floor.
“Not even sympathy points for a dying grandmother?” Madison pried one eye open.
“You embarrassed them.”
“If the shoe fits . . .”
Darynda shook her head and murmured in a disappointed voice, “You know, Madison, sometimes you remind me exactly of your mother.”
Chapter Four
Gia
UNBALANCED BORDERS: Borders of different widths resulting in an asymmetrical look.
IN THE PACKED waiting room, Gia sat in a corner chair mindlessly playing Candy Crush on her cell phone. Her vision blurred by tears and memories, she didn’t really see the vivid candies dropping in columns.
After sitting in silence for hours like some noble monk, Darynda had gone to stretch her legs, leaving Gia alone to fret.
Grammy’s letter, spelling out Gia’s monumental task, was still tucked into the cover-up that she’d tossed over the loose, sleeveless, white cotton shift dress printed with flower bouquets she’d changed into at the inn. Not having enough room in her small apartment, she still kept the clothes she had before college stuffed into the dresser in the bedroom that she and her sisters had once shared.
Finish the quilt. Repair the rift.
Gia scratched her cheek as she one-handed the on-screen jelly beans. Dear Grammy, thanks so much for Mission: Impossible. Immediately, she felt ashamed for thinking that way.
Her fingers flew over the tiny keyboard, manipulating the falling candies and feeling like a female David facing two Goliaths. Flying pigs. How would she get her sisters to finish the quilt, much less mend the family?
“I’m not Wonder Woman,” she mumbled, wishing she had some candy right now. Pure junk. Laffy Taffy or Skittles or Starburst. She needed a sugar rush.
Gia lost the game, tossed her phone in her tote, and looked up.
Madison, with Darynda trailing behind her like a ghost, looked chic and smart in her white designer suit and contrasting black silk blouse. She marched right across the waiting room. As always, tough, smart, and in control; her spine touch-me-not straight.
Joy eclipsed fear. Forgiveness brushed aside hurt. Love crowded out anger.
“Maddie!” Gia squealed, launching herself off the chair and running to her big sister with her arms outstretched.
Madison’s hug was perfunctory, an obligation, like Memorial Day visits to the cemetery of long-dead relatives whose faces you couldn’t recall. She took a moment to melt into Gia’s embrace. But the stubborn little sister she was, Gia held on, until she felt Maddie’s stiff limbs loosen and heard her sigh against Gia’s hair.
“Maddie.”
“Shh, s’okay.”
She squeezed her sister like the scared three-year-old she’d been their first night at Moonglow Inn when she crawled into Maddie’s bed for comfort.
“I can’t believe—”
“I’m here. I’ll fix this.”
Those words that had once reassured her now sounded arthritic and impotent. Madison was not stronger than cancer.
Gia pulled back and peered into her sister’s face. “You look wiped out.”
Madison kneaded her temple. “And you’re wearing my dress.”
“Oops, sorry; I didn’t know it was yours. I’d dropped by the inn for my Monday morning breakfast with Grammy when Darynda called and told me what was happening. I was wearing a bikini and grabbed the first thing in the dresser. Should I go home and change?”
“No, of course not.”
“But you brought it up, so it must be eating at you.”
“I shouldn’t have brought it up. Petty of me, I know, but you and Shelley were always ransacking my closet.”
“That’s because you had the best stuff.” Gia fished out her most cajoling grin. “You have such good taste.”
Madison snorted.
Flattery would not work.
Her sister moved her hand from her temple to her chin, the gold bracelet at her wrist catching the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Twenty-four karat, no doubt. No more gold-plated for Madison. Not since she hit the big time.
Can you blame her? She worked her butt off to get
to the top.
Gia pulled the corner of her bottom lip up between her teeth and fingered the woven bracelet at her wrist. It was made from strands of colored strings braided together. Years ago, she and Madison and Shelley had made matching bracelets from a kit—a celebration of their sisterhood—and they’d vowed never to take them off.
Only Gia had kept her promise. Madison had symbolically burned her bracelet after The Incident with Raoul while Shelley had flung hers into the ocean.
Their sisterhood irrevocably broken.
Except on Gia’s wrist.
Gia gulped. Regret tasted like burnt pennies in her mouth, and her throat clotted thick with the salty taste of grief. Was she the lone idiot for holding on to her bracelet? Or was she, like Grammy claimed in her letter, the only one who could rebuild what they’d lost?
Peacemaker.
Guilty as charged, but not happy about it. She’d much rather be a warrior like Madison or a swashbuckler like Shelley. Peacemaker. Boring as white cotton panties.
Madison’s gaze tracked Gia’s movements to her wrist, but her expression didn’t change. Did she remember the significance of the bracelet? “Have you heard from Shelley?”
Shelley.
The name fell from Madison’s lips like hailstones pinging the earth.
That pissed Gia off. She wasn’t quick to anger, but dammit, Grammy was in surgery for brain cancer and Maddie still clung to that stupid grudge.
Get out the slingshot, Davida. Find some rocks. Time to shine.
“We need to talk—”
Madison held up a palm. “Not here. Not now.”
Gia gritted her teeth. Her sister’s anger was justified. Shelley had screwed her over. But five freaking years had passed. Maddie lived an amazing life because of what Shelley had done. It was time she got over herself.
But telling off her big sister wasn’t easy. “I haven’t heard from Shell,” Gia murmured.
“Typical,” Maddie muttered.
“You’ve got to stop—”
Again, with the damn stop sign palm, Madison silenced Gia before she got started. Gia curled her hands into fists.
Maddie closed her eyes, rubbed her temple. Her skin blanched white.