by Zoe Carter
“And Warwick still treats you like...” She trails off, twisting her fingers again.
“A whore. It’s okay, you can say it.” Envisioning my husband’s rage the night before, my blood boils. Some day he will pay for how he’s treated me. “As bad as the business was, at least I had my freedom. At least I got paid. It was a job. Now it’s become my life.”
My sister scowls. “I want to kill him.”
“If you confront him you’ll only make things worse. As difficult as it sounds, you have to keep acting like everything is fine.” I walk over to hug her in an attempt to cheer her up. “If you think about it, we got tons of practice when we were kids. No wonder you were such a good actress.”
She resists my weak attempt at humor. “You can’t live like this. Kids are smart, they pick up on things. Do you want Elliot to learn how to treat women by watching how Warwick treats you?” Maisey punches the wall with the side of her hand. “It pisses me off that he thinks he can get away with it. And his mother, what a troll. She’s almost as bad as he is.”
“Can’t argue with you there. She’s never warmed to me.”
“That woman couldn’t warm to a sauna. Seriously, Sarah. You deserve so much better.”
“I appreciate what you’re saying, I do.” I can’t remember the last time someone expressed this much concern for me. “But this is the life I chose. I can’t run from it. Warwick will calm down after the christening. He’s on edge because Caleb is here, that’s all. He’s not normally this bad.” But do I really believe that now? I’ve seen a side of Warwick I never knew existed. Can we honestly go back to the way things were?
My little sister is quiet for a moment, and I can almost see the wheels turning. She has that same look she used to get when she was younger and needed to concentrate. “I’ve got it,” she says, grabbing my hand. “I’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out?”
“Do you think you could act normal, prevent Warwick from noticing anything is different, until after the christening?”
I gently remove my hand from hers. “Maisey, nothing is different. I’d never risk losing my son.”
“I know, I know. Hear me out.” My sister begins to pace. “We’ll get through the christening. You’ll make Warwick happy, pretend to take the pills, keep your distance from Mother.”
She pauses, waiting for a response.
“Okay.” That was pretty much my plan, anyway.
“Then you and Elliot will leave with me.” Maisey’s color is high, her eyes sparkling. “We’ll figure out the perfect timing. I know somewhere we can go where no one would ever find you. You’d be happy there.”
I picture myself living in some hut in Southeast Asia, sweating in the excruciating humidity. Elliot’s skin is splotched, covered with heat rash. He screams and I bounce him on my knee, feeling faint. “I don’t know...”
She puts both hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes. “Say yes. I’ll take care of you and Elliot, I swear. Warwick won’t be able to hurt you ever again.”
“You sound just like you did when we planned to run away from Peter.” And look how well that turned out.
“Promise me. Promise me you’ll try. I’ll never let him hurt either of you again. You have to trust me.”
Elliot cries, and I go to him, thinking about her plan in spite of myself. The idea of starting over is tempting, but it would never work. Warwick is too wealthy, too persistent. He would never give up. He would search for us forever, simply out of spite.
“Promise me,” she says again. “Promise you’ll come with me. For Elliot’s sake, if not for yours.”
As I cuddle my son to me, patting his back, I understand there’s no point arguing with her. She’s wearing that stubborn expression again. In the ten years since I’d last seen her, she hadn’t changed much.
Still the same idealistic Maisey, believing things will work out for the best.
But sometimes they don’t.
Apparently only one of us had learned that.
Pretending to give her idea some serious thought, I wait for a minute before responding. “Okay,” I say, making sure I sound resolved. “I’ll do it.”
“Good.” She walks to the door. “You won’t regret this. You’re doing the right thing.”
I nod.
I am, even though she doesn’t realize it yet.
Maisey
I watched as the preacher poured the water over Elliot’s head. Right on cue, my nephew started bawling. My lips quirked. He definitely wasn’t afraid of expressing himself. I remember when Sarah used to be like that. My gaze flicked to my sister.
She was dressed in a prim-looking soft-pink skirt and jacket, a white silk blouse beneath. She looked so proper, so virtuous, standing to the side of the baptismal font. Despite the sweltering heat inside the church, Sarah looked cool. Composed. There was no indication in her expression that there was anything wrong between her and Warwick, that her husband abused her or that she’d agreed to run away with me. Or that the woman standing next to the altar had once been an escort.
And everyone thinks you’re the actress, Lucy said dryly. Your sister does a spectacular job of fooling everybody.
Because she has to. She’s protecting herself.
I couldn’t blame her. The stress was getting to me. I had to force myself to eat. I couldn’t sleep, and I was having more moments where I’d lost time. Sarah, though, looked great.
I couldn’t begin to imagine what her life had been like, sleeping with all those men, being used by them. By Warwick... I glanced at my brother-in-law. He was dressed in a navy suit and pink tie that matched Sarah’s ensemble. He smiled as Elliot wailed, his arm snaking around my sister’s waist. They presented themselves as the picture-perfect couple.
Alice sniffled into her hankie. “It’s so beautiful,” she murmured. “I’m so glad we have another baby in the family.”
I glanced at my mother. Her words from the picnic still haunted me, but I’d managed to distract myself with Sarah’s situation, with our escape. My mother had seen me pick up Frankie from the pool. My eyes narrowed. What if Sarah was wrong? What if my mother was Truth Seeker?
A movement caught my eye, and my gaze lifted to meet Caleb’s over my mother’s head. The look he gave me was serious, intent. He’d heard Alice’s remark. I smiled and turned back toward the howling baby at the front of the church.
Caleb didn’t know. Did he? He wasn’t home when Frankie died.
He had a key. He could have been there.
I shook my head at Lucy’s preposterous suggestion. No. Caleb wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t hide in the house and not reveal his presence, not if a baby was dying. Besides, he was direct, honest. He wouldn’t be hiding behind this Truth Seeker persona. He’d come straight out and ask, if he had any doubts.
I watched as my sister and Warwick, along with Elliot’s godparents—from Warwick’s side of the family—promised to love and protect my nephew, and bring him up in the church.
I silently repeated that vow. Never again would something bad happen to a baby in my family. Never again.
* * *
I glanced around the conservatory at the oh-so-beautiful people. Edward and Eleanor had what I’d call the quintessential East Hamptons home. Multigabled roofs, loads of windows, yet still with a traditional style that was breathtaking when you had the chance to step back and really look at it.
The rest of Elliot’s christening had been gorgeous—if a little stifling in the church. Elliott had eventually settled in his mother’s arms. Warwick and his parents had stood so tall and proud, gathered around the grandson as the congregation had left the church.
Now, though, things were a little different. The day’s heat was uncomfortable, but inside the beachside mansion with the A/C going full blast, it was s
lightly chilly. I sipped from my glass of champagne as I idly walked through the throng. The conservatory opened onto a deck, and then a garden, and a few guests spilled out of the house to smoke, their chic outfits showing dark sweat patches. Many of the women had styled long locks into loose waves and curls that were drooping with the heat. Even the men, in their expensive linen suits, were wiping at brows with handkerchiefs to mop up the perspiration. I was glad I wasn’t a smoker.
I eyed the beautiful people around me. They were oblivious to what was really going on. I shook my head, still grappling with what I’d learned. An escort. Good God. All these years I’d assumed Sarah was living the life she wanted. She’d managed to escape our home. She was the brave one, the adult one, able to seize her opportunity, and make good for herself. An escort. I was trying to push past my shock, to focus on getting her out of the hell she was living in. I glanced around the gathering, my lips tightening. I don’t know how Sarah managed to keep her act together. Sleep-deprived, with a manipulative husband, and now someone threatening to reveal our part in our brother’s death, all the while plotting her escape with me.
I wanted to crawl into a dark place and hide for a while.
You can’t. I’m already in here. Go find your own hidey-hole.
I don’t think I can do this, Lucy.
Sure you can. Be strong.
But Truth Seeker—
You let me worry about Truth Seeker. You concentrate on getting your sister out of this mess.
I glanced around the crowd. Who were these people? Did any of them actually care about Sarah? About Elliot? Was there an honest-to-God friend in the mix at all? I didn’t think so. It seemed to me that perhaps I was the first person—the only person—she’d talked to about her current situation, and the very real risk of losing her child if she should ever try to leave her cruel husband. And to me, it was clear that Warwick was cruel. He might like to present himself as some sort of hero for saving Sarah from a hard life, but in my books, holding your son as a virtual hostage—that wasn’t heroic material. I wasn’t sure what was heroic material—I hadn’t really seen much of it in my own life experience—but I knew what wasn’t, and Warwick was no hero for what he’d done to my sister.
Right now, though, I was trying to figure out a way for Sarah to escape this nightmare of a marriage.
She has a point about the Taylor-Coxes, Lucy murmured. I nodded as I stared at the partygoers, and ignored the strange looks I received in return.
Yeah. I can’t see them letting go of Sarah, of their grandson, without a fight. Although I hadn’t seen Eleanor or Edward cuddle or engage with baby Elliot—unless it was to show him off to someone. The fact that Warwick was using Sarah’s past to manipulate her to stay made me angry. And sad. I can’t imagine what life had been like for Sarah as an escort, but I couldn’t see this current situation as an improvement.
A movement caught my eye, and I turned to watch Sarah as she started to pack up the mountain of stuff a baby travels with into the stroller. I couldn’t believe a tiny baby like Elliot needed so many things, while I could get by with everything in my trusty backpack.
Sarah put her hand on the top of the stroller, but Warwick grasped her arm, and he yanked her back to his side. He spoke to my sister, his lips barely moving as he muttered something to her, his eyes on their guests, and then he smiled and nodded at some guy whose business shirt stuck to the damp spots on his back as he walked past. I sidled up to them, ready to insert myself between them, if necessary, when Alice approached from the opposite direction.
“Oh, is Elliot going home?” Alice asked, a flare of disappointment in her eyes.
Sarah nodded, smiling weakly. “Yes, he’s fussing a bit with all of the excitement, and he’s exhausted. He hasn’t napped since the christening, so we’re hoping he’ll get a proper sleep back at the house.” Her voice trailed off, and her gaze darted briefly to meet Warwick’s, then slid away just as quickly.
“I’ve told Sarah Elliot is fine.” Warwick’s interjection was smooth and unruffled. “She’s always fussing after the baby. I’ve told her she needs an evening off mommy duty.”
Alice stroked Elliot’s cheek, and for a moment I was caught by her display of tenderness, of love. How many times had I wanted that from her? How many times had I wished she’d reach out for me and touch me with her love? Ever since she’d been released from prison, she’d been closed off.
“Why don’t I go back with him?” my mother suggested, her eyes never leaving Elliot’s. Admittedly, my nephew stopped howling for a moment, and gazed up at his grandmother. Alice glanced up at my sister. “I mean, if it will make you feel better knowing he’s got family with him...? I don’t mind, really.” My mother glanced around the party, and I could see her discomfort with this crowd. If I could see it, I knew Sarah could, too. Mom found social situations difficult, especially since her release from prison. It was either give her this out, or watch her consume her body weight in liquor as she tried to find some Dutch courage at the bottom of a bottle.
Sarah hesitated, looking over at me. That lullaby was reverberating through my memory, as I’m sure it was through Sarah’s. Could she trust Elliot with Mom? Would I trust my nephew with my mother? Alice did seem a little spacey at times, and despite the truth behind Frankie’s death, I was a little hesitant entrusting Alice with a baby. I couldn’t imagine how Sarah felt. I glanced away, realized Caleb was watching us from by the door.
“Sarah, Elliot will be fine,” Warwick muttered, not hiding his annoyance. He gave Alice a small smile. “Alice, if you want to stay and enjoy the party, that’s fine, but if you do want to go with Elliot, I know Sarah and I would appreciate that, thank you. Knowing his grandmother is looking after him should be enough to let Sarah relax.” His eyes glittered beneath his cool smile as he glared at his wife for a moment before stalking away.
Funny. Sarah looked anything but relaxed. Her mouth was drawn, her eyes dark, her shoulders raised as though warding off some imaginary blow. Then she changed. I hoped she was still pretending to take the medication Warwick was trying to feed her and this was part of the act. Alice stepped away to find a spot to put her empty glass down, and I faced my sister.
“What’s wrong?” I asked quietly.
Sarah’s gaze flitted around the room, and she stepped closer to me. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, pulled up her email app and then showed me the screen. Her hand was shaking. I scanned the email unobtrusively, swallowing as I read the single line.
When the wind blows, the cradle will rock...
I folded my arms, still holding the phone, and bent over a little as my stomach cramped. Oh, God. I shook my head. No, please, no. I took a deep, shaky breath and straightened. I handed the phone back to her. Sarah exhaled slowly, then inhaled, staring at me meaningfully, and I nodded as I took her cue, trying to calm myself, although I must have started to give a Lamaze-class impression because my sister reached for my arm, clutching it in warning.
For God’s sake, calm down before you pass out, Lucy snapped inside my head.
I inhaled, held my breath and then exhaled. Okay. That worked. Those little white stars in the corner of my vision dissipated.
How could my sister be so in control? I marveled she wasn’t racing away, screaming. Unless... Could Sarah be responsible for the email? I pulled out my own phone. Oh, fuck. I’d got one, too.
Down will come baby, cradle and all.
Sarah took a deep shuddering breath. Our gazes locked briefly. It was the first time the baby had been mentioned. My sister tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear with trembling fingers. She was so close to losing control, so on edge...all she needed was the tiniest push to make her snap. I frowned, concerned. I’d never seen her so anxious, so petrified.
“Ah, sorry, it took a while to find a waiter,” Alice commented, beaming as she walked up to us. “I’ll go
with Elliot, spend some time with my grandson—that’s okay with you, dear, isn’t it?”
My mother looked at Sarah politely, although she was already heading toward the door with the stroller.
I opened my mouth to offer to go with her, when a muscular arm slid around my waist, and I felt myself pulled to the side of a very hard, fit body. I glanced up in surprise, then smiled.
Caleb.
God, he’s gorgeous.
For once, I completely agreed with Lucy. Tall, toned and handsome, Caleb wore a cream suit that was perfect for the East Hamptons crowd, and a pale blue shirt that brought out the color of his eyes.
I glanced back at my mother, about to disappear out the door with my nephew. I should go. I should say something, offer to accompany her...
No. This is Caleb, the guy we’ve always had a not-so-secret crush on, Lucy argued.
How long had it been since I was touched, really touched, by someone who cared for me, who knew the real me... Didn’t I deserve some measure of happiness? Some genuine love and care? How long had I craved to be held in someone’s arms, someone who loved me despite all my faults, who wouldn’t get hurt by my occasional mind-snaps, but who understood me and would soldier on with me? Someone like Caleb.
You deserve to be happy, Maisey. We deserve to be happy.
Thanks, Lucy. If it hadn’t been for Sarah driving him away, who knows what could have happened between us, so long ago? My life would have been so different, having Caleb by my side. My gaze flitted around the glassed-in conservatory. We might not have a place like this, and it was reassuring that Caleb, too, found it over the top. But we could have had our place. It could be our baby’s christening we were celebrating, instead of Sarah’s. Lucy flashed up the fantasy of my and Caleb’s life together—she was too good at knowing exactly what I wanted, what I desperately needed.