If You Only Knew

by Jea Hawkins

  “That’s an interesting thought,” Sabrina agreed cautiously, all-too aware of how Blythe’s words resonated with her.

  Sabrina was one of the privileged few, while also being a year-rounder. Not wealthy by any means, but she enjoyed a comfortable home and the ability to pay her bills from her royalties. Art didn’t pay well, especially literary fiction about complex family dynamics. But Sabrina wouldn’t trade it for anything, even her sister’s fame and fortune. Or all the women parading around, trying to get Miranda’s attention.

  Blythe is no different than them, either, using you for her own gain. Don’t let yourself think this could turn into something. Things are never what they seem. Remember that.

  Sabrina cleared her throat, swallowing the words she wanted to blurt out, and tried to change the track her mind had chosen. “So, do you like any particular style of photography, like black and white?”

  Blythe scrunched her nose and shook her head. “I think that’s overrated, not to mention all that Instagram-filtered dreamy stuff that blurs out imperfections and things we perceive as ‘ugly,’ like freckles or blemishes or wrinkles. Real life is so much more interesting, don’t you think?”

  What Sabrina thought, as she nodded in agreement, was that she was in trouble if this beautiful, free spirit was going to stick around the entire summer.

  Chapter Three

  Despite her misgivings, Sabrina didn't mind going home with Blythe, sharing some leftover chicken salad for lunch, or even cooking dinner for two. She’d try, she told herself, to find something positive in this situation. The situation it seemed she was quietly resigning herself to without much of a fight. Why?

  She had a book launch to consider and Jennifer was right. It wasn’t an event she could allow to be haunted by negativity and gossip. Maybe finding a fellow introspective artist diminished her sister's thoughtlessness, too, at least a little bit. Sabrina still had some choice words for Miranda.

  She bit her tongue as she and Blythe watched the news together on the small TV in the kitchen. As usual, Sabrina couldn’t bring herself to say what was on her mind, except when it involved writing a book. Her characters had to do the work of speaking plainly on her behalf.

  And, of course, Miranda looked perfect and behaved in an utterly charming way while reporting the evening news. She tossed her hair and smiled at the camera, as flirtatious at fifty as she had been at twenty. That kind of behavior had never come effortlessly to Sabrina. She’d spent years relying on being in the right place at the right time to meet an interesting person. Not putting herself out there the way Miranda did.

  She couldn’t help but say, “She’s had work done, you know.” Sabrina didn’t know what compelled her to blurt it out, but she supposed it might be a lingering sense of competition with her older sister. A desire to see her taken down a few notches. Or maybe it was just resentment at Miranda for dropping off a stranger in her home and dragging her into some ridiculous fake relationship plot.

  Blythe nodded, her fork poised over the pesto Sabrina had whipped up for them. “I know. It’s pretty obvious. No fifty-year-old gets through life without at least some wrinkles. It’s actually sad. I think she would look a lot better with them. Her skin is unnaturally smooth and that just doesn’t work for me.”

  Rather than ask Blythe how she could have possibly slept with someone she didn’t find attractive, or why someone like her even found her way into Miranda’s circle of girlfriends in the first place, Sabrina asked, “What does work for you?”

  Almost immediately, she regretted the words. They came off as desperate, eager, and Blythe might infer some kind of nonexistent hope in them, maybe slant her a coquettish glance and respond, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  But Blythe chewed a mouthful of pesto before answering, as if she wanted to really think about what she would say. “I guess I’m still figuring that out. Right now, I definitely prefer older women. Especially women who are confident enough to age naturally and gracefully. Not the Mirandas of the world.”

  Sabrina chuckled and waved her hand in the air. “Aging gracefully. What does that even mean?” She wanted to know what Blythe thought she knew about it. The girl wouldn’t hit the point of “aging” for another fifteen or twenty years.

  “I suppose, for me, it means someone who doesn’t fight it. Age is supposed to happen. We’re supposed to get older, maybe even wiser if we’re lucky. Trying to hold on to something that you’re not meant to retain is sad. It means your life is full of fear because you can’t move on into the unknown.”

  Sabrina snorted. It was the exact sentiment she’d once heard from her therapist when talking about her sister. Everything Miranda did was motivated by fear and wanting things that were ultimately fleeting. That was why she made other people’s lives miserable, because it was the only way she could be happy.

  It had taken Sabrina a while to adjust to the idea that her sister possibly envied her, but she’d accepted the idea over time. What she still didn’t accept, however, was the situation she was in now. As much as she was enjoying Blythe’s company, someone had to answer for it. Everything would have been just fine if Miranda hadn’t decided to express her unwelcome opinion in such an open and cruel way.

  “So, about this whole pretend dating thing,” she started, not sure how to get it out there. They certainly couldn’t end the day without her addressing the elephant in the room.

  “If you don’t want to do it, it’s okay. I understand.” Blythe shrugged and tilted her head, smiling up at Sabrina as she did. “I never liked letting my big sister get the best of me, either.”

  Something in that statement melted Sabrina’s heart and she slouched on the bar stool. “You know what it’s like, I take it?”

  “Do I ever.” Blythe’s gaze sharpened for a moment, eyes narrowing, before that sweet smile returned. “But this isn’t about me. It’s about you. I’m sorry Miranda got your publicist in a huff and might have ruined your book launch. I don’t want to be the person who makes all of it worse.”

  Sabrina swallowed and turned away to mull over her answer. At this point, she doubted Blythe could ever make anything in anyone’s life worse.

  ****

  They’d left things unfinished. Sabrina invited Blythe to stay and assured her she would think about the dating scheme. In the morning, her decision remained out of reach, a nebulous ball of pros and cons, wanting to have her book launch go off without a hitch, and anger at her sister for instigating in the first place.

  Since she couldn’t let things go on like this, Sabrina woke up early to make the trek to Boston. Usually, she enjoyed the ferry trip to the Massachusetts mainland and taking her VW Beetle Convertible out for a drive.

  Today, though, she was a woman who’d left a stranger in her home. Sure, Blythe seemed normal and nice enough, not to mention a bit of a kindred soul, but there was no telling what would happen while she was there. What if the things she’d said yesterday were meant to downplay Blythe’s real feelings for Miranda, and now she was going through the house like some kind of crazy person, trying to find a keepsake? It’d happened before, the second time Sabrina was stupid enough to get involved with one of her sister’s ex-girlfriend’s.

  It was the night she’d asked the woman, Chelsey, to stay over for the first time. They’d gone on a few romantic dates and Sabrina had been ready to take it a step further. She’d left for only ten or fifteen minutes to pick up some take-out for the two of them. When she’d returned, Chelsey was in Miranda’s sporadically-used bedroom, going through the closet.

  In response to Sabrina’s shrill, “What the hell are you doing?” Chelsey dumped her purse full of pictures and random things of Miranda’s on the bed, fled, and never returned. Despite the heartbreak at realizing Chelsey had never been interested in her, Sabrina had been even more concerned about her sister and the kind of people her fame exposed her to every day.

  When Sabrina told her about it, Miranda laughed. “It happens all the time,” she’d s
aid. “Some crazy person somewhere has to do whatever it takes to get their rocks off.”

  Sabrina knew her concerns about leaving Blythe alone in the house were well-founded, even if Miranda would wave her off, tell her she had a wild imagination and that she needed to get over it. “That’s why you’re the writer and I’m the one on TV giving everyone the news,” she would say.

  The traffic from Woods Hole to Boston was heavy, as usual, even though it was a Wednesday. Summers turned the Cape into one big traffic jam. Crossing the Sagamore Bridge going back would suck, but Sabrina couldn’t do this over the phone. It would be too easy for Miranda to hang up or, worse, ignore her completely.

  Going to Boston worked out, anyway. She could make a few other stops after visiting the TV station. First, though, she would march in there and give Miranda a piece of her mind.

  It wouldn’t be difficult to find her sister. Every day, the news team and staff had to meet and prepare for their broadcasts, which meant Miranda was in the thick of things. Probably barking orders at some underpaid staffer, Sabrina figured as the security guard waved her into the building.

  Being her known, but less-famous sister had its advantages. No one questioned Sabrina’s presence. Thank goodness they couldn’t see what was going on inside her – the pulse pounding in her ears, making it sound like she was underwater. As much as she wanted to tell Miranda off, facing her sister rarely had the desired outcome.

  And what did Sabrina want out of this confrontation, anyway? An apology would do, since Miranda couldn’t take back her words. Maybe some kind of reassurance that she really did have Sabrina’s happiness in mind and thought Blythe was legitimately good for her.

  Seeing her sister at the end of the hall was a reminder of the stark differences between them. Miranda stood tall, looking down her nose at the people surrounding her, while Sabrina stayed off to one side waiting to be noticed. Where Miranda was slender and white-haired, only a few strands of white threaded Sabrina’s copper curls. Both refused to dye their hair, the only thing they could agree on in terms of, well, anything. Miranda looked ready to rule the world in a crisp business suit, and Sabrina felt comfortable in her jeans and loose peasant top. Each of Miranda gestures were sharp and usually never repeated. Sabrina was more fluid in her movements. The ten-year age gap between siblings couldn’t account for how different they were.

  Miranda’s gaze met hers and the grim, straight line of her mouth turned into a half smile. “Everyone, you’ll have to excuse me. My favorite sister is here.” That was Miranda. No asking for permission. This was her show and, as far as she was concerned, she ran it. Everyone scattered, leaving Miranda to stride toward her, all confidence.

  “I’m your only sister,” Sabrina pointed out and folded her arms.

  “Yes, but those idiots don’t know that.” Miranda fluffed her pale, bobbed hair and smiled even more fully. “I’m honored you left your island paradise to come all the way up here.” Her voice dripped with syrupy sweetness.

  “Oh, don’t give me that crap.” Sabrina cocked her head and met Miranda’s gaze without blinking. “How else was I going to get you to come fix this mistake you left me with?”

  “Mistake? You mean the pretty little thing I left you, all gift-wrapped and in the bedroom?”

  Was that what Miranda really thought, that she had done Sabrina a favor? “Is that what you call it?” Sabrina wished she could ignore the rage flaring inside her chest, tightening every muscle. “Jeez, Miranda, you’re a real piece of work, you know that? First of all, you say awful things about me for an interview in a magazine you know everyone is going to read.”

  Miranda chuckled. “Did your publicist get the issue I sent her? I know how she gets, all kinds of rabid about her authors’ reputations.”

  “It’s not funny,” Sabrina ground out, her hand itching to flash out and slap Miranda across the face. Too bad that wouldn’t resolve anything. But it would feel damn good. “And then you set me up with a stranger, knowing you’ve placed me in a situation where I can’t really say no without pissing off my publicist or turning my book launch into some kind of pity-fest.”

  “Book launch?” Miranda tapped her chin with the end of one manicured fingernail and feigned a thoughtful expression. “Oh dear, did you have one of those coming up?”

  Sabrina ignored the remark. It was clear that Miranda knew exactly what she was doing with this juvenile prank of hers. “And last, but not least, you refer to Blythe as a gift. Of all the things you could do to someone, that has got to be the worst. I mean, you’re talking about a human being, not a slab of meat.”

  “A very pretty young human, too, who is the perfect cure for your self-imposed celibacy.” Miranda’s gaze dropped to inspect her nails. “Honestly, you don’t have to keep her around. You could just get laid, so you have some fun little tidbit to give the newspapers for your book launch, and then kick her out. That’s what I do.”

  Just what she needed – another reminder that Miranda had gotten to Blythe first. Sabrina’s arms dropped to her sides and her trembling fingers tightened into fists. “I’m not you.”

  “Oh, right. If you were, you’d have already done it and you wouldn’t be here whining about how I just handed you the perfect woman on a silver platter, while simultaneously giving your career a boost.”

  “I can’t believe…” Sabrina stared at her sister, already regretting those three words. Of course she could believe Miranda would say that. In fact, the older Covell was practically doubled over with laughter at the unfinished statement.

  “You aren’t that naive, sis, and I’m the one who can’t believe you’re so worked up over some random chick’s honor. I can’t wait to see how all of this plays out in the end.” With that, Miranda sauntered past her, into her dressing room, and shut the door. All Sabrina could do was stare after her, gaze unfocused, and entire body shaking.

  Chapter Four

  Miranda was right that Sabrina shouldn’t have been surprised at her actions. What left her clutching the wheel and shaking as she zipped along 93 South was her own knee-jerk reaction. Not to Miranda’s lack of apology or willingness to admit that she’d done something shitty.

  Whether or not she wanted to be saddled with a random house guest became entirely beside the point once Miranda started talking about Blythe like she was nothing. Every human had a right to more dignity than Miranda afforded them. Even if they were dumped on Sabrina without explanation.

  Like it or not, she would have to figure out how to deal with the situation. She couldn’t count on Miranda for an apology, and even if she could, it wouldn’t change the fact that her sister had set her up for this in the first place. She might even change the locks. No sense in letting Miranda continue to have free rein if this was what she was going to do. Even Sabrina's generosity had its limits.

  But what to do about her publisher’s demand that she “fix” Miranda’s harsh public portrayal of her? Sabrina heaved a sigh and released every bit of tension with the loud exhale. She’d have to go with it, accept the fake relationship, if Blythe was also willing to participate. It wasn’t like Blythe was asking for some kind of compensation, other than a place to spend the summer.

  Misgivings tickled at her insides. There were so many possibilities for how this could go wrong. Blythe could be all the worst things Sabrina imagined and more.

  She could be… but it seemed unlikely. Sabrina braked at the first stoplight in Falmouth and glanced at her narrow-eyed expression in the rearview mirror. Thinking the worst of people was her default when it came to anyone associated with Miranda, but not in general. Maybe she needed to give Blythe the benefit of the doubt despite everything.

  “And if I keep overthinking it, I’m just going to end up back at square one,” she muttered to herself.

  Stopping at some favorite places cleared her head somewhat. Before long, she was back on the island and home with a half-gallon of Friendly’s ice cream, a steaming hot pizza from Papa Gino’s, and a bunch of fre
sh daisies. Not exactly what she’d planned for, but if Miranda wouldn’t apologize, someone had to. It was the right thing to do.