The Sunset Sisters: An utterly gripping and emotional page-turner (The Sisterhood Series)

by Cecilia Lyra

  I nod. “He was there with a friend, but his friend flaked out after the first day, so he began sitting next to me. He was friendly, but I kept my distance. He was a former patient after all.”

  “Were you attracted to him?”

  “Yes and no. I thought he was handsome, but I didn’t think of him like that. Like I said: he was a former patient. I don’t really know how it began, to be honest. The wine helped. Not because it gave me a buzz, but because he loves wine as much as I do. So we enjoyed learning together. We only saw each other in class. At first, anyway.”

  “Did you know he was still married?”

  “I never asked. He hadn’t mentioned Tatiana, not once. I assumed they weren’t because he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring and because he was taking a class by himself. But then one day I heard him on the phone with her. They were arguing, but I could tell from the conversation that they were still together.”

  “Were you disappointed?”

  “Yes.” A pause. “But also relieved. He was fun to be around, but I also wasn’t looking for a relationship. Especially not with a former patient. And definitely not with one who was still married.”

  “What made you change your mind?”

  “On the last day of the course he asked me out to dinner. As friends. I agreed.”

  “Weren’t you worried that somebody would recognize you?” she asks.

  “Like in public? God, no. It’s not like I’m a host on The View. Besides, it was just dinner. I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”

  “Plus, you look really different on TV.”

  “I know,” I laugh. “You wouldn’t believe the amount of prep that goes into a ten-minute segment.”

  “So, you went out on a date and fell in love?”

  “Not exactly. But I did have a lot of fun. He’s easy to talk to. We have a lot in common. And he didn’t make a move on me or anything. I actually thought he wanted to be just friends. It felt…easy. Being with him felt easy.” I smile, remembering the night we went out for Italian food in the North End. We didn’t kiss or hold hands, but it felt so intimate.

  “Did he talk about Tatiana?”

  “Never. He did talk about his kids a lot. He’s a great dad. A few months into our friendship, I started noticing that he looked at me differently. At first, I thought I was being self-absorbed. You know, conflating friendship with romance. But then he flat out told me he had feelings for me.” I still remember everything he said, word for word.

  “And you?”

  “I told him I was flattered, but that I didn’t date. We agreed to stay friends.”

  “Until?” She inches closer to me, her eyes widening in expectation.

  “Until one day we were grabbing dinner and it started raining. Pouring, actually. He wouldn’t let me take the T back home, insisted on dropping me off. When we got to my building, I thanked him and was about to race out of his car so I wouldn’t be too soaked. But he got out through his side at the same time. And when I opened the door, I accidentally slammed it on his face.”

  “Ouch!” Julie laughs.

  “I felt horrible. He was soaked and his nose was bleeding. I thought I’d broken it or something. Anyway, I invited him inside so I could at least have a look at the damage I caused.”

  “And then you kissed?” She has that dreamy expression in her eyes.

  “We did,” I say. My cheeks are warm. “It was clumsy and awkward, but it was also kind of perfect. I knew I loved him. I’d loved him for some time, but I chose to ignore it.”

  “You felt he was the one,” Julie says.

  “I knew he was the one,” I say. And I still do.

  Which is why I’m terrified. Because while I know that Daniel loves me, he still hasn’t left Tatiana. I think back to brunch at Babette’s with Christina and Rachel. I’d been completely and unequivocally sure that Daniel would be packing his things within the week.

  But that hasn’t happened yet. He’s still at home, living with his wife.

  Forty-Seven

  Cassie

  Friday, July 20th

  I tell Daniel everything—it’s how our relationship works. But now, I’m holding back. I’m beating around the bush, discussing Julie’s marriage when I should be asking him about his.

  “He sounds like a sociopath,” Daniel says, in a hushed tone. He scoops popcorn with his right hand.

  “Julie is at Craig’s,” I say, pinching his arm playfully. “You don’t have to whisper.”

  We’re on the porch, splayed on the canopy daybed, drinking Prosecco (a Nino Franco Grave di Stecca brut) and eating junk food (popcorn, Twizzlers, Reese’s peanut butter cups). Daniel has assured me he’s been eating healthy all week, so I’m OK with a little indulgence. Daniel took the day off work so we could have the weekend together—or part of it, anyway. Tomorrow morning, he’ll head over to Bella’s to spend time with Angie and Sam, who’ve been back at their aunt’s since yesterday. It’s drizzling outside, but it isn’t cold. The perfect day to stay in. Except a question is rattling inside my mind, one that I can’t seem to work up the courage to ask him—Why hasn’t Daniel left his wife?

  “And I doubt it,” I continue. “Actual sociopaths are rare.”

  “But she seems really unhappy?”

  “She does.” An understatement. Julie seems woeful, miserable. “When she talks about him, it’s like she’s recounting a traumatic experience.”

  “So why is she still with him?”

  The perfect segue. I take a deep breath. “You tell me. Why are you still with Tatiana?” My voice quivers at the end, betraying my nerves.

  He frowns. “Where’s this coming from?”

  “You said you’d leave.”

  “I did,” he says, rubbing his finger on my chin. “I will. But you know it’s complicated, right? It’s different when you have kids.”

  A silence falls between us, one that does not feel comfortable.

  “I was going to wait until tonight to talk to you about this,” he says, looking down. Is he averting my eyes? “But Tatiana and I talked about our situation. About telling Angie.”

  “You did?” I feel my stomach lurch. “How did that go?”

  “Really well, actually.” A pause. “I think we reached a compromise. She agrees it’s best to wait until Angie is older to tell her I’m not her biological father.”

  This I did not expect. Daniel’s communication with Tatiana oscillates between hostile and non-existent. I think back to the day I saw her at the hospital, how belligerent she acted towards me. It’s strange to imagine Tatiana being reasonable, conciliatory. Especially now that Daniel is leaving her.

  “That’s great,” I say.

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “I was relieved. Angie is still too young to understand. Tatiana also agreed to joint custody.”

  Now I’m shocked. It’s possible my jaw is on the floor.

  “But there’s a catch,” he continues, his smile slipping. He meets my gaze. “She wants us to stay married a little while longer.”

  “No.” A knee-jerk reaction. But one I do not regret. “You told her no, right?”

  “Hear me out,” he says. “Remember Ava?”

  I do—by name only. Ava is their next-door neighbor and Tatiana’s best friend. Or at least that’s how Tatiana used to refer to her during our sessions. Their relationship didn’t seem friendly at all. It seemed toxic and competitive, one always trying to show up the other.

  “Ava’s having a party in Nantucket on Labor Day. Tatiana wants us to go with the kids, as a family unit. It’s the first time Ava’s asked her to help plan the party. You know what a big deal that is for her.”

  “And you agreed?” I ask. “To go with her?”

  “It’s just a party, Cass. After that, I can leave.”

  “Why can’t you leave now and still go to the party?”

  “Tatiana doesn’t want Ava to know we’re splitting until after the party. You know how she is.”

  This is the most challenging aspect
of my relationship with Daniel: I do know how she is. And I hate that I know.

  “The way I see it, it’s a small price to pay to keep Angie feeling safe and happy.”

  “This is a stunt, Daniel.” I narrow my eyes at him. “She’s manipulating you. Trying to buy time.”

  “Cass, come on.” He squeezes my hand. I pull it away. I’ve never done this before. Not that I remember. “I don’t think that’s what this is. Why would she want to keep me around? She doesn’t love me. She hasn’t loved me for a very long time.”

  This is something I’ve said before. To Rachel, to Christina. Recently, to Julie. Most of all, to myself. Tatiana does not love Daniel. I repeat the words like a mantra, an incantation. I told myself that, if Tatiana actually loved Daniel, I’d know it. She used to be my patient, after all. And I remember confronting her at the hospital, assuring her that all she had to do was tell me she loved him, and I’d step aside. She didn’t. To me, that was one more piece of evidence to support my theory.

  Except now I’m not so sure.

  Tatiana is status-obsessed. I can see how a party at Ava’s would trigger a certain kind of anxiety in her. She’ll want everything go to smoothly, to project a certain image. Having Daniel by her side would certainly help. Married women in her world have more social cache than unmarried ones—the patriarchy has kept that bias alive and well. Still, this is too much. The lengths to which she is going to stay in this marriage are extreme. Even for Tatiana.

  A thought occurs to me. One that Julie pointed out. I was telling her about Tatiana, specifically about how she knows about me—and doesn’t seem to care. And Julie asked me if I was certain of her indifference. Sometimes people hide their feelings from everyone, including themselves. Sophie was like that.

  What if Tatiana’s indifference is an act? What if she’s still in love with him—and is too proud to admit it?

  I feel a sense of panic spreading inside me like spilled oil. With it, comes questions. A sense of insecurity, of doubt. I’m not good at doubt. I never have been.

  I know that my situation with Daniel is complicated. But I never thought I was being fooled—whether by him or by myself. Or by Tatiana. I’ve prided myself on maintaining a clear-eyed perspective on our circumstances, on the parts that make up our relationship. And, to me, a huge chunk of it was this: Daniel and I love each other. We’ve been together for nearly a year and a half and in this time, I’ve never had any reason to doubt his love for me—and only me. But now, I’m not so sure.

  Because the facts remain as follows: I’ve asked him to leave her—and he hasn’t. Which means there’s something I’m overlooking. Something I’m not seeing.

  The question is: what?

  Forty-Eight

  Julie

  Saturday, July 21st

  I bring an extra beer back to the couch. This turns out to be a grave mistake.

  “Do you prefer wine?” I ask. Disgust is written across Cassie’s face. Like beer is revolting, offensive. “If you do, you need to be specific. I’m clueless when it comes to wine.” What pairs well with tears?

  Cassie shakes her head, sniffling. The box of tissues next to her is almost empty. Only yesterday it was full.

  I’m trying not to let it show, but I’m freaked out. Cassie isn’t a crier. I am—crying is a cathartic experience for me, a way of weeding out undesirable emotions. But Cassie’s default reaction is anger. It’s always been anger. Her tears scare me.

  I’m reminded of the day she lost her mother.

  A long time ago, the Fire Princess was under a salty, lachrymating waterfall. On that day, the heavens covered all the land with a gray veil. The woodlands became a fog forest, the evergreen became a savannah, and the mountains bowed before the Fire Princess, in respect for her mourning.

  “Can I make you something to eat?” I take a seat on the end of the couch.

  “I can’t even think about food,” she says, hugging one of the pillows.

  I hear a knock on the front door. It’s the same pudgy man who stopped by on the first week, coming to check on us. I want to tell him to leave us alone. Can’t they can check their fancy GPS system instead of bothering us?

  “I’ll deal with him,” I say.

  “If he needs to see me, tell him to come inside. I’m not getting up.”

  “OK, Rudolph,” I say, squeezing her nose.

  In two minutes, I take care of business: yes, Cassie and I are home. Yes, we’re adhering to the terms of the will. Kindly get lost because my sister is crying. I don’t actually say this last part, of course. But the man does see Cassie curled up on the couch sniffling and quickly mumbles something about not needing to come in to do an inspection.

  “I’m here. You can let it all out,” I say, when I plop back on the couch.

  “I’m just feeling insecure.” She sniffles and rests her head on my lap. I stroke her hair, thinking of all the times I saw Sophie crying over my dad. “I convinced myself that Daniel loves me for real. That what we have is different. That it’s not like every other affair.” She pauses, sighing. “It’s life’s biggest trap: thinking that we’re the exception. And I fell for it. I thought he loved me.”

  “That may very well be true.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  I believe it’s possible. Not all affairs are created equal. But I can’t possibly know if she and Daniel are the real thing or not. I barely know him—and I’m also not the best person to ask. Seeing Sophie with Dad scarred me. Not to mention that my own marriage is a disaster. I’m in no position to give anyone love advice.

  “From what you’ve told me, you two have a solid relationship,” I say.

  “I’ve always thought so.”

  Could she think he’s leading her on? I’m afraid to even posit this question. But I know I have to. It’s the difference between a sister and a friend: a sister goes there. Sisters are each other’s keepers. “Do you think he still loves her?” It’s the question that used to torment Sophie.

  “I have no idea what to think anymore. I was so sure, Jul. So sure.” She blinks rapidly. “But I need to be logical about this. He hasn’t left her and he’s buying into some stupid story about staying with her for a party? Come on. That makes no sense.”

  “Do you trust him?” I ask.

  “I do.” She nods quickly. An unthinking reaction. “I’ve been turning it over in my mind. Considering all angles. But when I tune everything out and listen to my gut, the answer is yes, I trust him. One hundred percent. Maybe that makes me an idiot, but I do. I really do.” She looks at me, the crease between her eyes deepening. “But something doesn’t add up. Something’s fishy about this whole thing. I don’t know what, which means it could be anything, which means that I’m going to overthink this thing to the death.”

  “I’m sorry, Cass.”

  We’re both quiet for a while. I stroke her flaming hair. She’s stopped crying. Her brain is working overtime. I can tell. I can see the wheels turning.

  “Nine times out of ten, cheating isn’t about the other person,” she says. “It’s about the main relationship.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning it’s a symptom of a larger problem within the marriage. The other person is just a stand-in. A way to scratch the itch but not the cause of the itch.”

  I’m quiet for a moment. I can’t argue with what she’s saying. In my experience, affairs do end badly for the other woman.

  I jump when the phone rings. It’s such a foreign sound, the actual ring of a landline.

  Cassie looks at me quizzically. Nana’s number hasn’t rung a single time since we’ve been here. I assumed it was disconnected, actually.

  I stretch my arm, not wanting to move from the couch since Cassie is resting her head on my lap.

  “Hello?” I say, holding the white, cordless phone to my ear.

  “Is this Cassie Meyers?” The voice is chilling, steely.

  “No, this is her sister.”

  “Could you put Cas
sie on?”

  “May I ask who’s calling?” I feel a frown bury its way into my forehead.

  “Tell her it’s Tatiana.”

  My free hand flies to my mouth to conceal a gasp. Cassie picks up on my shock, lifts her head. She looks at me quizzically.

  “It’s Tatiana,” I mouth.

  Cassie blinks repeatedly, her expression now panicked. Then she reaches for the phone, swallowing. “Hello?”

  I search the phone for a speaker button but find none. I’ll have to wait.

  “How did you get this number?” Cassie asks. A pause, and then: “What do you want, Tatiana?” Her tone is impatient. Another stretch of silence. “I already knew that. If that’s why you’re calling, then—” She stops. I’m pretty sure she’s now holding her breath. “What are you talking about?”

  Anxiety is building up inside me. My mind is trying to escape, to wander into a fairy tale. But I concentrate on staying present. Cassie needs me.

  “Tatiana, do me a favor and don’t call me anymore,” Cassie says in a firm tone.

  Cassie slams the phone down. It’s a tactile experience that’s missing with cell phones, being able to hang up on the other person with actual force. A button is no substitute.

  “What did she want?” I ask.

  Cassie lowers her head. For a moment, I worry she doesn’t want to tell me. But then she looks up, brushing her red hair out of her face. She’s crying—again.

  “She told me that Daniel is seeing someone else.” A pause. “Another woman.”

  Forty-Nine

  Cassie

  Saturday, July 21st

  The smart thing to do is nothing—for now. Impulse control is what prevents bad decisions. I need to take a step back, assess the situation. Tatiana is likely lying. She has to be. Still, her voice lurks in my mind like a bad dream.