by Jea Hawkins
If You Only Knew
Title Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Thirteen
About the Author
If You Only Knew
By Jea Hawkins
Copyright © 2018 Jea Hawkins
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used, reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
© Cover Art by RebelX
For more information:
www.jeahawkins.com
Jea’s Newsletter
Dedicated to my uncle, lost in the disaster of the Marine Electric, February 12, 1983.
And with thanks to Dar Williams for her song, “The Ocean,” which always reminds me of home.
Chapter One
Notes of Italian dark roast filled her senses, drawing Sabrina Covell out of bed. Her sister’s signature coffee smelled amazing, but Sabrina already knew how it would taste. Bitter, like her sister’s outlook on life and treatment of the people around her.
Must be nice to be rich, famous, and feared. Sabrina groaned as she stretched, loosening the tautness of sleep. Her older sister could cut people down with mere words but, fortunately for Sabrina, she’d learned not to care. If Miranda was here, at least Sabrina had home field advantage.
She tossed back the covers and squared her shoulders, ready to do battle. No doubt Miranda was fresh off her latest conquest, perhaps a bit smug and disheveled after booting the young lady out the front door. Of course, all the ladies fawned over Miranda. Not only was she Boston’s highest paid anchorwoman. She also managed to look perfect no matter what, every silver hair falling straight and into place, regardless of wind or rain, heat or cold.
Sabrina, on the other hand, had to shove back her unruly mop of coppery-brown corkscrew curls to reveal her slightly freckled face. Both women had different standards to live up to. Miranda’s were far more stringent and demanding, while Sabrina’s remained loose and fluid. Being a literary novelist had its advantages, including never-ending intellectual discourse with her friends and peers, and an expectation that Sabrina would be… eccentric, to say the least. With their night and day differences, it was no wonder Miranda loved to cause trouble for Sabrina. Not that it made Sabrina want to elevate herself to meet her big sister’s standards.
The only thing she did to tidy her appearance was smooth down the front of her plain white t-shirt, which barely grazed the waistband of her boxer shorts. Let Miranda say something snarky about that, and Sabrina would toss her out on her ass.
Sunlight poured into the open, modern kitchen. She’d felt no shame in updating the 200-year-old house while retaining its 19th century character and façade. Miranda still pursed her lips whenever she walked in, no longer vocal in her objections to the renovation. “But it’s been in our family since the whaling days,” Miranda used to argue. “How can you destroy it?”
How could she? Very easily. No one in their right mind wanted to live in a house built to 1820 standards, regardless of the prestige it might convey. Besides, the house was Sabrina’s inheritance, while Miranda resided in the family’s palatial Boston townhome that better suited her hectic lifestyle. If she wanted to keep gas lighting and creaky floorboards in her own home, then good for Miranda. Of course, she hadn’t, but the pot did love to call the kettle black.
Sabrina breezed into the kitchen, guns blazing. “You could at least keep up your end of the bargain. Where’s my Dunkies?”
That was their deal. Miranda could drop by unexpectedly – even bring a woman to spend the night – but she had to deliver a large French Vanilla coffee (iced in summers), extra sweet, extra light, and a garlic bagel to Sabrina to make up for the inconvenience. This wasn’t where they went to visit their grandparents anymore, after all. It was Sabrina’s home.
“The ice coffee is in the fridge.” The voice that responded lacked Miranda’s smoky tenor and mild, newscaster inflection.
Sabrina bit back her knee-jerk response as she peered at the person sitting at the breakfast bar, a person who was decidedly not Miranda. Blinking back at her was a young woman with long, blonde hair, slightly freckled porcelain-toned skin, and blue eyes. She perched on one of the four bar stools pulled up to the breakfast bar, a cup of coffee in front of her.
“Miranda left you a bagel, too.”
Left that, among other things, it seemed…
Sabrina nodded and extended her hand, hoping she didn’t look surprised. She wouldn’t let her racing heart keep her from using her good New England manners. “Thank you. I’m sorry, but I don’t know you. I’m Sabrina, Miranda’s little sister.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Blythe Jansen, her one-month stand.”
Sabrina couldn’t help but guffaw and she wondered if Miranda was lurking around the corner, listening. “Ouch. That’s blunt.”
Blythe looked down at the cup of coffee and slid her finger along the rim. “But it’s true. A month is more than most of them last, so I guess I can’t complain.”
Sabrina supposed Blythe was right. Her sister was a love ‘em and leave ‘em type of woman. Unfortunately, that hadn’t prepared her to find a stranger in her home. Miranda usually had the courtesy to stay, maybe to flaunt her latest conquest in a not-so-subtle dig at Sabrina’s enduring singlehood, if she hadn’t already sent them packing.
It wasn’t that Sabrina couldn’t get a woman. She simply chose not to at this point in her life. Between work and, well, more work, she didn’t need a distraction. In her experience, romance resulted in more bad than good. She’d never found that partner who supported and complemented her. Instead, the women who threw themselves in her path were usually social climbers looking for the attention that hanging off her arm could bring them.
Even worse were the ones that were trying to catch her sister’s eye. Once Sabrina figured out what those women wanted, that was the end. Miranda didn’t do leftovers, anyway, and after a couple bad experiences, neither did Sabrina.
Sabrina offered Blythe a smile. In a way, the two of them were in the same boat, left adrift by Miranda’s thoughtless actions. But she still felt little sympathy for the young woman who was probably just another fame chaser.
She had to do something while waiting for Miranda to get out of bed. There was no sense in standing around awkwardly, even though everything about the moment made her limbs tingle. She wanted to flee. Instead, she retreated into small talk. “Do you live far from the Cape?”
Blythe half-shrugged. “You could say yes and no.”
Great. A response like that could go either way – an invitation to ask more questions or a warning to back off.
“This is the worst time of year to brave the island,” Sabrina observed. She turned, opened the refrigerator, and picked up the clear Dunkin Donuts cup with its distinctive pink and orange logo. One sip had her grimacing. The ice was melted, watering down the coffee. Miranda could be so thoughtless sometimes, that Sabrina wondered why she let her keep a
key to the place.
When she turned back around, she saw another lift of one slender shoulder from Blythe. “It’s not so bad. I like the people. In the winter, the island seems kind of forlorn without them, but beautiful at the same time. Does that even make sense?”
What was this – deep thoughts? That was a first for one of Miranda’s girls and, despite herself, Sabrina smiled. “Yeah, I think that, too. There’s something lovely in the loneliness of Martha’s Vineyard in the winter. Not a lot of people see that. You get the millionaires who visit their summer homes from Memorial Day to Labor Day, and then they’re gone, like this place doesn’t exist at all.”
“That whole summer colony mentality.” Blythe sounded like she knew what she was talking about, and Sabrina wanted to pursue the initial question of where she lived. Instead, she went to the refrigerator and took out a pitcher of iced coffee.
At least the bagel waiting on the counter was perfect, soft and ready for toasting. Sabrina had been smart enough to ask her sister to bring them untoasted, so she could do it herself. She could always go out later and get a coffee if she really wanted something other than what she’d brewed at home.
“Don’t you care for this?” Blythe gestured at the coffeemaker and the cup between her palms. Sabrina tried not to stare at the stranger’s hands. They were small with delicate fingers and moved gracefully. She could see why Miranda had taken a liking to her. Those looked like fingers that knew how to move deftly, find all the right places to stroke.
Sabrina cleared her throat and turned to the cabinets for a small plate. There went her imagination again, bringing her mind places it shouldn’t go. Not that she could blame herself after a few years of self-imposed celibacy. Sometimes, a lady just needed to entertain a few taboo thoughts. “No, thank you, but drink all you want. Is Miranda still asleep or did she go to run an errand?”
The only thing that punctuated the moment of silence was a gentle sipping noise, Blythe sucking in a bit of air as she took in what was probably too-hot coffee. When Sabrina turned back to her, the young woman lowered her mug to the countertop and her lips quirked up into a half-smile. Did Blythe do everything so nonchalantly?
“She went back to Boston.”
“I-I’m sorry. She did what?” Sabrina banged the plate down and braced her hands on either side of it, teeth gritted. Now the fresh coffee smelled too strong and she held her breath. Even that couldn’t stop the rush of fury that filled her. “Are you telling me she came here to spend the night with you and left first thing in the morning?”
Blythe nodded, lips pursed softly. She didn’t look at all uncomfortable and that only pissed Sabrina off more.
“Did she say when she’s coming back?”
“Maybe next week, maybe the week after. Maybe September. She said she can’t stand summers on the island. Too many people with nowhere to go and nothing to do.”
Sabrina sputtered and rapped her knuckles against the counter, the only thing stopping her from picking up the phone and giving her sister a well-deserved earful. “I’ll bet she did.” So that was that. Miranda had brought some woman to her house, spent a night having hot sex, and then gone back to Boston? Nice. Real nice.
“Not to make things worse, but she also left you this.” Blythe reached for the bar stool next to her and offered Sabrina a manila envelope. It bent under her thumb and Sabrina drew in a breath so sharp, it stung her nose and the back of her throat. Whatever this was, she supposed there was no sense reading it in private. This person, Blythe, was already here and probably in on Miranda’s cruel little joke, whatever it was. Sabrina was certain she was holding the punchline in her hand.
She lifted the flap and withdrew a glossy publication. A well-known magazine with Miranda looking serene, yet confident on the cover. The pink Post-it sticking up from between the pages clearly indicated what Miranda wanted her to see. Sabrina opened the magazine to the page. An arrow was drawn in thin red marker on the Post-it and pointed at a paragraph in the middle column.
“Well, of course I adore my little sister. She’s amazingly talented, but she can be… eccentric, you know.” Miranda laughs in that soft, inviting way of hers before confiding in me, “She’s sworn off love.”
I can’t help but say, “That’s kind of sad. Why do you think she avoids relationships?”
“Maybe because she’s afraid of losing her heart. Isn’t that how most women end up as reclusive spinsters? But I think it’s better to experience love than go through life avoiding it.”
As always, Miranda makes an excellent point. Never one to shy away from love, she is the polar opposite of her also-famous sister, with a new woman every week. Maybe Sabrina Covell can learn a lesson from Miranda’s open attitude toward life.
Every word made Sabrina cringe. Miranda would give an interview that showed her in the worst possible light. What a bitch. Even worse, this article was probably on the bedside table of every woman in America. Whenever one of them saw Sabrina’s books in a store or online, they would associate them with loneliness and fear.
Great. Fantastic publicity, especially with her next novel coming out in just over a month. Miranda knew there was a launch coming up this August and she’d chosen perfect timing to say these kinds of things in an interview? The effect it would have on Sabrina’s own personal publicity was—
Her home phone rang, cutting through the tense silence. Sabrina avoided meeting Blythe’s gaze as she picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Sabrina, please tell me this is a joke.” Jennifer Cook’s voice had a note of steel in it. The publisher’s marketing rep could be Sabrina’s best and most encouraging friend one minute, and ferocious the next. Heaven help the person who tarnished any of her authors’ images. Too bad Sabrina couldn’t sic the woman on Miranda and watch the two of them fight it out.
“Don’t tell me – Miranda also sent you a copy of the article she sent me.” She turned away from Blythe, her body cold and tight. Why did this have to play out in front of a complete stranger? Could Miranda set her up for anything more humiliating?
“You bet she did, along with a pink Post-it to mark the spot. You better rein her in.” Oh yeah, Jennifer was definitely in a foul mood, considering the fact that it sounded like she was speaking through gritted teeth, but how could Sabrina possibly do what she demanded?
Nobody reined Miranda in, especially not her little sister. That was what made it so bad.
Sabrina flipped idly to the next page and looked at the narrow red scrawl on the back of the Post-it sticking up from the magazine. “Take my little gift. You’ll thank me later.”
“Sabrina? Sabrina? Did you hear me? You better find a way to stop this from blowing out of proportion. Otherwise, everything leading up to the launch is going to be all about what an eccentric, lonely old spinster you are, instead of one of the most talented queer novelists of our time. Got it?”
With Jennifer’s voice ringing in her ears and Miranda’s nasty taunt in front of her eyes in black and white, what could Sabrina possibly do? She glanced over her shoulder and almost regretted it. Blythe looked back steadily with those unblinking blue eyes of hers.
Miranda’s “gift.”
“Got it. We’ll talk later.” Sabrina hung up the phone and shook out her shoulders to ease the tension before it could radiate painfully up the back of her neck. She needed to have this conversation with Blythe sooner or later. Might as well do the dirty deed now and then schedule a massage to alleviate the inevitable pain from the clenched muscles. “So, you aren’t just here because Miranda ditched you.”
“Afraid not. Sorry.”
Sabrina nodded and assessed Blythe again, wishing she had some kind of internal radar that would tell her more about a person. Anyone who slept with Miranda was, according to her own personal bias, not someone she wanted in her life. Anyone willing to sleep with both sisters was worse.
“Don’t worry. We can move on now, if this whole thing is weirding you out. I can even leave, if that’s w
hat you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it. That woman on the phone sounded like she was foaming at the mouth.” Despite her words, Blythe didn’t make a move to slide off the bar stool.
Biting back a chuckle was hard, but Sabrina managed it. Blythe had described her publicist’s demeanor perfectly. Sabrina gave herself a moment to regain her equilibrium and then asked, “So, does this recommendation come from what you just heard or something else?”
“All of it. Miranda can definitely be difficult, and it sounds like your publicist isn’t much better. Maybe your sister’s idea won’t be so bad. We fake a relationship for the sake of appearances until the book launch. You can always break up with me after that.”
“Look, I don’t want to be a jerk or anything, but I don’t know if I can do that. I’m not used to this kind of thing. I’d like to see if there’s another way to make Jennifer happy and keep the world from regarding me as… well...” Sabrina dropped the magazine on the counter and glared down at it.
Blythe finally shifted and, for the first time, Sabrina let herself really look at the woman, relieved to see that she was fully dressed. The pale blue tank top she wore was tucked into a long, black floral skirt that swirled around Blythe’s ankles.