by Zoe Carter
I had no idea how my sister had managed to function, let alone become the success that she was. I couldn’t function—
“Maisey.” Caleb’s voice was firm, and I realized he’d been speaking to me. His eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
So many things were going through my mind. Frankie, facedown in the pool, that stupid glass of water, my mother’s bruised and battered body, Sarah shushing me, the surfer coughing on the beach... I blinked, looking for Lucy, but she was one of those things swirling around in my head too fast to latch on to.
“I don’t know how long Frankie was in the pool...” I said, shaking my head. “It didn’t seem that long.”
Caleb put his hand on my arm, and we halted. His concerned frown was now tinged with confusion. “Maisey, our little brother was in the pool for ages. The neighbor fished him out, remember?”
My breathing stilled for a moment, and my mind quieted at the impact of his words. What had I done? What had I said? What had I revealed? I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have just played dumb, like usual. The mantle slid over me as Lucy stepped in. I tilted my head back, and Lucy’s smile curved my lips as I rolled my eyes in realization.
“Of course.” I tapped my temple, an exasperated expression on my face as Lucy covered my slip with aplomb. “Obviously I need coffee to get my brain functioning again.” I nodded, another one of those self-deprecating eye rolls as I huffed. “Huh. Yeah, sure, he was in the pool. Ages.”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at me, and his head tilted to the side, his wet brown hair curling over his forehead. “Do you want me to go get Sarah for you?”
Lucy laughed, the sound tinged with surprise and just a little mockery. “Please, no,” I scoffed, and Lucy waved casually, dismissing the idea. “No, Sarah and I aren’t really close. Not anymore.”
Caleb shook his head, perplexed. “Really? You guys were so tight. I can’t believe it.”
I sighed, and Lucy gave this casual shrug that was the perfect mix of regret and acceptance. She was so good at this stuff. “We haven’t actually seen each other in years.” Lucy leaned forward, her voice dipping low as she revealed a secret. “I didn’t even know she’d had a baby until I got the invite to the christening.”
His eyes widened in shock, and he glanced up at the house for a moment, then turned back to me. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. He hesitated, then continued. “Was it because of Frankie? His death, I mean?”
Lucy nodded, content to let him believe that, and we started walking again.
“You know,” Caleb began, his tone cautious, “sometimes tragedy can bring people closer together...”
I shrugged. And sometimes it ripped them apart, like billiard balls colliding on a table with a sharp crack, only to spin off in different directions.
Lucy lifted her chin, giving a jaunty smile and the clear message that we were moving on from this conversation. We ignored the curiosity in Caleb’s eyes. It was plain he wanted to know more.
But we don’t always get what we want, do we?
Sarah
When Bridget drifts past with the Chablis, I touch her elbow, holding up my wineglass, which until now had held only water. The evening had been so successful, I feel like celebrating.
Hallelujah! We’ve actually pulled it off, a normal family dinner. Who knew such a thing was possible? Caleb has somehow managed to charm my husband, and they’re discussing the country’s role in overseas conflicts. Astonishingly, their conversation has remained civil.
Edward is grilling Maisey about her experiences working in Southeast Asia, and although she seems disappointed to have been seated so far away from Caleb, she’s warming to my father-in-law.
Even my mother has behaved herself. After the turmoil in the garden, she’s honed in on the one thing Eleanor Taylor-Cox will never grow weary of discussing—roses. And Alice, who has been known to kill cacti, is doing remarkably well posing as a gardening enthusiast. I guess Maisey came by her talent for theatrics naturally.
I deserve a glass of wine. Hell, I deserve a bottle of wine.
Bridget pours the golden liquid in my glass and I inhale deeply, savoring the Chablis’s notes of cinnamon and vanilla. Warwick holds himself responsible for expanding my education in the pleasures of the grape, but I haven’t had a single sip in over a year. Swirling the wine, I’ve lifted the glass to my nose again when a hand comes down on my shoulder, making me jump. Droplets of Chablis splash my dress.
“You’re drinking? What about the baby?” A nerve twitches in Eleanor’s cheek. She keeps her voice low, trying her best not to attract attention, but Alice watches us closely, her smile fading.
I’m about to snap that a glass of wine isn’t going to impede my ability to care for Elliot, who is already down for the night, the heat and excitement of the day too much for him. Then it dawns on me.
She still thinks I’m nursing.
“It’s okay.” I lower my own voice, hoping my woman-to-woman act will appease her, make her feel like she has an active role in Elliot’s care. “I’ll pump this before I feed him and dump it down the sink. It’ll be fine.”
Eleanor appears to consider this before finally nodding. She scrutinizes me with her usual icy appraisal. “You’re looking quite well. The weight seems to be coming off.”
I’m staggered at the compliment. When was the last time she said something to me that wasn’t an insult? “Thank you.”
“Warwick tells me he’s been taking Elliot so you can exercise those last few pounds away.” Her gaze lingers on my hips, which no longer strain the confines of my dress. “It’s obviously working.”
Not as much as starving myself, I think, but I know what she expects to hear, so I go into my grateful-wife act. “Yes, he’s been wonderful. I’m fortunate to have such a supportive husband.”
Eleanor’s features soften as she gazes across the table at Warwick. “He’s a good boy,” she says, blissfully unaware of how hysterical that is. A good boy? If she had any idea what her son is actually like, she’d have a heart attack right here and now.
“Mmm-hmm. I’m very lucky.”
Lucky, lucky, lucky.
As stressful as this little family reunion has been, it’s also cathartic. For years I’ve envied Maisey her no-strings-attached lifestyle, gallivanting all over the globe without a care in the world. However, now that I’ve talked to her, I see my impression of her life has been the opposite of reality. My sister is every bit as haunted by our past as I am. Which is the last thing I’d wanted—I’d hoped Maisey had found happiness—but at least it makes me feel like less of a freak. I just wish we were close enough to work through some of this stuff together.
Poor sad Alice certainly didn’t get off easy, either. Or Caleb, with the war wounds that have left hidden scars upon his psyche. He never married; he has no children, and from the wistfulness in his voice when he cornered me in the nursery, I’m willing to bet it’s not by choice. Every one of us has our scars.
My stepbrother interrupts my reverie. “Wow, check that out.”
Emily has appeared with dessert—a stunningly gorgeous pavlova, topped with fresh summer fruit, the palest lemon curd and mint from the garden. She blushes at Caleb’s applause, which the rest of our guests echo, and I’m pleased for her. Aside from the weekly dinners with Warwick’s family, she rarely has the opportunity to show off her skills, and Eleanor is much too jaded to be awed.
As Emily cuts into the meringue crust, distributing generous slices, the baby monitor next to my chair crackles with indistinct murmuring. I don’t pay any attention initially. It’s not uncommon for the monitor to pick up all sorts of things, including phone calls.
I freeze when I realize the murmurs aren’t a conversation, but a song.
Hush little baby, don’t say a word.
My fork falls to my plate, making such a loud clatter that my guests stop gushing over dessert to gawk at me.
“Sarah? Are you okay?” Caleb asks.
I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Anxiety surges through my body, paralyzing me, trapping me in my chair. They all gape at me with their dull, stupid faces. Don’t they know? Don’t they get the danger we’re in?
“This isn’t funny,” I say, glaring at them. “Who’s doing that?”
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.
Maisey wrinkles her nose. “Doing what? What are you talking about?”
And if that mockingbird don’t sing...
“Oh, my God, can’t any of you hear it?”
Fear for my infant son breaks my paralysis, and I push away from the table, sprinting for the nursery. I hear my chair hit the floor behind me but I don’t care.
Warwick is hard on my heels, Maisey and Alice close behind. “What’s going on? What are you doing?”
“It’s Elliot,” I yell over my shoulder, but I can’t wait for him. I don’t dare. “Something’s wrong with Elliot.”
Oh, God, please don’t let anyone hurt my baby.
Bursting into the room, I go weak with relief when I see Elliot is still in the crib where I left him.
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
My son’s little face lights up when he sees me, but he wails as I seize him from the crib and clasp him tightly against my chest. I spin around, searching for the culprit.
And if that diamond ring turns brass...
It’s a CD player perched in the chair where I’ve spent so many sleepless nights. I rush toward it, but Warwick beats me to it, hitting it with his fist. The music comes to an abrupt end. Elliot shrieks and I hold him tighter, hushing him.
“What in the hell is going on?” my husband hollers. “Are you crazy? What were you thinking, running off like that? You scared us to death.”
My sister intercedes, stepping between us. “It’s not her fault. It’s that song, Warwick. It has some...bad memories for us.”
Warwick rolls his eyes. “Jesus H. Christ. It’s a fricking song. It’s not like it can hurt him. You really need to get a grip, Sarah. You’ve been acting like a lunatic lately. Bad enough you won’t let anyone near the baby anymore, but now you’re causing a scene over a lullaby? What’s wrong with you?”
I edge to the corner of the room, turning my shoulder so Warwick can’t grab our son out of my arms. At the moment, I don’t trust anyone.
“You don’t understand. It’s a really bad song,” Maisey says, and from the sympathy in her voice, I know she gets the reason for my panic. It’s a relief that at least she doesn’t think I’m crazy. Rocking Elliot in my arms, I do my best to comfort him, worried Warwick will insist on taking the baby away from me. I couldn’t bear that right now. “Would you mind giving us a moment alone? Everything will be fine, I promise.”
He looks furious, but at last he shrugs. He can’t do anything to me without Maisey making a scene, which is probably what decides it for him. “Okay, but don’t take too long. Seriously, Sarah—if you do anything weird like this again, we’re going to the doctor. Enough is enough.”
He brushes past my mother, who’s peeking in the door, seemingly too afraid to enter. She shies away from my husband as if he’s going to belt her, but he doesn’t even acknowledge her. Thank God the christening is tomorrow. No one will be able to stand each other for much longer.
“Girls, what happened?” She starts toward Elliot and me but then hesitates, wringing her hands. “Is the baby okay?”
Maisey takes over. “He’s fine. Sarah heard something on the baby monitor that spooked her.” Elliot has calmed down again, resting his head on my heart, which is going a million miles a minute. “We’re going to stay here for a bit, but you should head downstairs with the others. You don’t want to miss dessert.”
“He wasn’t sleeping well earlier. That’s why I played the lullaby.”
We both turn on my mother. “You played that song?” my sister asks, at the same time I demand to know where it came from. Alice retreats to the door, looking uncertainly from Maisey to me and back again.
“What’s the problem? You girls used to love that song.” She lifts her voice, singing in a wavery falsetto, an odd faraway expression on her face.
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word.
“Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird.
“And if that mockingbird don’t sing.
“Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.
“And if that diamond ring turns brass.
“Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass.”
She stops then, challenging us with her eyes. “See? It’s a beautiful song. Every baby loves that song.”
“We never liked it, Mom,” Maisey says. “It was Frankie’s song, remember? Frankie’s song, not ours.”
“So? What’s wrong with that?” Alice removes a tissue from her pocket and wipes her nose. “It’s beautiful. Frankie loved it and my grandson does, too.”
Hearing her connect my son with my ill-fated brother gives me chills. “I don’t want you to sing that for Elliot ever again.”
Mother blanches as if I’d slapped her. Tears spill over her lids.
“It has bad memories attached to it, that’s all, Mom,” Maisey hurries to explain. “It’s time for a new song, don’t you think?”
“There’s nothing wrong with remembering Frankie. He may be dead, but he’s still your brother.”
She stumbles out of the room, sobbing. Maisey starts to go after her, but I shake my head. “Let her go. She needs to calm down. If you try to talk to her now, she’ll lash out at you.”
My sister sighs, removing the CD player from the rocking chair so she can sit down. “What a mess.”
I close the door, locking it behind me. There’s no way I can deal with Warwick or his mother right now.
Maisey chews on her thumb, her eyes wide. “Do you think she—?”
Holding a finger to my lips, I gesture at the baby monitor and shut it off before answering. “No, she was passed out, remember? She wouldn’t have seen a thing.” But part of me wonders if I’m attempting to convince Maisey or myself.
My sister is pale, but surprisingly calm. I’ve been wrong to keep thinking of her as a little girl. She’s a woman—a woman who’s used to remaining calm in the midst of chaos. There’s nothing I can throw at her that she won’t be able to handle.
I need to tell her about the emails. After all, they concern her, too. Maybe Maisey will know what to do.
Holding Elliot close, I take a deep breath. “Maisey, there’s something I need to tell you.”
Before I can continue, there’s a knock at the door, startling us both. “Is everything all right in there?” The knob rattles. “Can I come in, please? Sarah? Sarah, let me in.”
Shit. Maisey nods, and I open the door. Caleb is standing there, looking confused. He gives me a hug. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I had a bad scare, but everything’s fine now. Sorry if I ruined dinner.”
“Well...” His lips quirk in that endearing half smile that used to make me melt. “I wouldn’t say you ruined it, but things definitely got more interesting. I don’t think your mother-in-law is too happy, though.”
“Pfft. So what else is new?”
“I’m more concerned about Alice. What did you two say to her? She’s devastated. I can hear her sobbing in her room, but she won’t let me in. She won’t even talk to me.”
I exchange glances with Maisey. We have to tell Caleb something, or he’ll never leave, and I really need to talk to my sister alone.
“It’s a long story,” she says, running her hands through her hair. She looks exhausted. “Kind of an in-joke between the three of us,
except not the slightest bit funny.”
“Don’t you think you’re being too harsh?” While his words might be meant for both of us, his eyes never leave mine. “You’ve been hard on her ever since she got here. I get that she’s a bit loopy, but she’s your mother. Don’t you think she deserves some respect?”
Rather than shame me, his words make me feel like laughing. Alice, worthy of respect? Hardly.
“No offense, Caleb, but you don’t understand what’s going on. Sarah has every right to be upset. In this case, Mom is overreacting,” Maisey says, and I’m thrilled my sister is sticking up for me.
“Of course I don’t understand, especially since you two won’t tell me anything anymore. Remember the good old days, when you used to confide in me? I just want to help. I’m your brother.”
“Stepbrother,” Maisey and I say in unison. Even though I’m still upset, it makes me smile.
“Stepbrother, then. Does it really make that much of a difference? What I mean is, we’re family, aren’t we?”
Maisey walks over and kisses him on the cheek. Her hand lingers on his arm. “Of course we’re family. But we haven’t quite processed this ourselves yet. We need some time to talk, and then we can fill you in.”
He raises an eyebrow at her. “I’m getting the bum’s rush, aren’t I?”
“I wouldn’t put it like that, but it would be great if you could check on Mom. Maybe she’s calmed down enough to talk to you by now. You’re right—we were too hard on her, and she can be a bit...sensitive.” Maisey looks at me, as if for reassurance she’s doing the right thing, and I nod. “Would you mind smoothing this over for us with her? We’ll be down in a few minutes.”
“Well...okay, but only because you asked nicely.” He hesitates in the doorway. “Sarah, are you sure everything is all right?”
No.
“Sure.” I summon my chirpy Stepford persona. “Everything’s fine.”