The Secrets Sisters Keep

by Abby Drake

  He folded his hands, leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees. “You have every right.”

  They sat quietly, listening to the music that spilled from the party down to the lake. The banjo had been replaced by stringed instruments that were playing medleys of show tunes. Babe thought about how she’d stranded Wes with the guests, and how much he detested musicals.

  “I’m married now,” she said.

  “I know. I used to see your picture in the tabloids at the A&P in Katonah.”

  He didn’t mention whether he’d bought the tabloids, whether he’d read the gossip about her, the misguided, often misquoted, moments of her life.

  “Don’t believe everything you read.”

  “I don’t.”

  Outside, the music moved from Rodgers & Hammerstein to Andrew Lloyd Webber.

  “You look great,” he said. “But you must know that.”

  “It’s part of my job. What’s your excuse?”

  “What?”

  “For looking great. What’s your excuse?” She’d been trying to lighten the mood, searching for humor to quell her butterflies. But it was true, Ray looked great. He looked as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. “What about you? I haven’t seen your name in the tabloids.”

  “I’ve tried to keep a low profile.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “That’s funny.”

  He smiled. “I was married, now I’m not. I have a son who’s twelve and lives with me. His mother travels for her job. She doesn’t see him much.”

  He had a nicer scent than Wes, who usually smelled like grapefruit from the aromatherapy his masseur incorporated into his wellness program. Ray smelled like the woods and the lake on a sunny day. Once autumn arrived, he probably wore denim and flannel shirts.

  “I can’t believe I never knew,” he said.

  “I thought you dumped me. Carleen said it was for the best.”

  “Was it?”

  “I suppose. I mean, what would we have done? I was fifteen.”

  “Your folks could have had me arrested.”

  “They didn’t know. Only my sisters knew.”

  “It must have been awful for you.”

  “It was. Sometimes it still is.”

  “You have no kids?”

  “No.” She did not tell him that in order to do that she would need a surrogate and that she did not have the courage to think about that. She had the eggs: what she lacked was a place for the seed to be nurtured and grow.

  “I’m sorry, Babe.”

  “Me, too.”

  She wanted him to kiss her. She wanted to taste his lips again, to see if they were as sweet as she remembered. But then the door burst open and Carleen stood there.

  “Oh,” she said. “Excuse me. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” Babe said. “He wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” For once she didn’t spit her words at Carleen.

  “I came for the canoe. I’m going to get Edward.”

  Babe stood up. “You know where he is? Do you want me to come?”

  Carleen shook her had. “Thanks, but I need to do this alone.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Ellie helped decipher which car-for-a-day belonged to the Randalls by process of Mercedes-elimination. It helped that the Montorinis and the Cashmans and Julius Fini and his mother were leaving at the same time and two of them had rented cars that had been cloned.

  As delighted as Henry would be that people were starting to leave, Ellie realized she was not. The element of distraction had been welcome.

  Standing in the driveway saying, “Thanks for coming,” to Julius Fini and the rest, she nodded to Amanda’s husband, who had come from the backyard and announced he would help with car retrieval duty.

  Amanda’s daughter looked pleased that her father seemed to want to work alongside her boyfriend. She left the men and went over to Ellie.

  “I didn’t think we’d have a good time, but we really did,” Heather said with a smile. “It was fun hearing stories about the glorious days of Broadway, as if Broadway no longer exists. I wanted to ask if any of them have tried getting tickets lately!”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed the party,” Ellie said. “Even though the guest of honor never showed up.”

  “It was nice to meet my other aunts, too. My mom’s never said much about Carleen, except that, well, you know.”

  Yes, Ellie knew.

  “And Babe! She is so gorgeous! Her husband still looks pretty good for his age. He told Shotgun—um, Jarred—that he might be able to find him a part in one of his movies.”

  Ellie suppressed a frown. “I didn’t know your boyfriend wanted to be an actor.”

  “It’s why we cleaned up for the party—to make a good impression, you know? I want to act, too. Hasn’t Mother told you?”

  Oh, dear, Ellie thought. Amanda must detest this. “Well, you look wonderful, and, no, I didn’t know you wanted to be an actor. I don’t talk with your mother very often.”

  Don and Suzie Lyons completed the first wave of departees. Except for Julius Fini they all were quite old and commented that they had to return to the city before heavy traffic. They must have forgotten that this was Saturday, and that many weekend visitors to the city now came by plane, taking advantage of special deals. Dinner, show, Sunday brunch, round-trip transportation.

  “I’m thinking about taking a year off from college,” Heather reported. “I want to go with Jarred to L.A. Anyway, thanks for being nice to him. My mother did her usual best to embarrass me.”

  Ellie smiled. “I think she might have been a little startled by his nickname.” Startled, however, would be a mild word to describe how Amanda would react when she learned Heather’s intention to leave Wellesley.

  “He hates when I don’t call him Jarred. But I think ‘Shotgun’ is cool. His friends named him that when he was sixteen. He had a brain tumor, and after the operation he couldn’t get his driver’s license as early as the other guys. So they always saved him the front seat. Shotgun. Get it? It’s slang for the passenger seat.”

  “Your boyfriend had a brain tumor at sixteen?”

  “Yeah, it was cancer and all that, but he’s okay now. Anyway, thanks for being nice to him, Aunt Ellie.” Heather kissed her cheek and darted off toward her boyfriend, shouting, “Give me keys! I’ll help, too!”

  Ellie watched her go, stunned by what the girl had just revealed. It certainly wasn’t obvious what the young man had been through. And his parents, Ellie thought, then her mind drifted back to Amanda and the prima donna she was. It was amazing that, so far, her children were turning out fine, though Ellie believed Chandler still needed work.

  But Heather, their look-alike Carleen . . . well, in all of Heather’s nineteen years on the planet, she had not once kissed her Aunt Ellie on the cheek, had never, for that matter, called her Aunt Ellie. Ellie touched the place where Heather’s kiss had landed and smiled to herself, wondering what Amanda would think about that.

  ***

  Amanda had retreated back to the gazebo, from where she now surveyed the party’s final act as the guests at last started to funnel from the backyard toward the front.

  Many noted their annoyance that neither Edward nor his famous niece, Babe, had bothered to surface.

  Some commented that they’d had a quick flash of Carleen scurrying from the driveway past the tent down to the boathouse. They remarked that her hair was still red and hard to miss, but they seemed disappointed that she wore it in a ponytail, which made her whole appearance tamer than that of the girl they remembered.

  At least Jonathan had been polite to everyone once Amanda had pried him from Carleen and introduced him to a few people who might still matter: Stephen Barnes, one of the famed redevelopers of the Times Square district; Landry Smith, a former city councilor in District 7 who now was the mayor of a small town in the Adirondacks; Jason Banks, who was related to real Manhattan money by way of his philanthropist grandfather, who had backed man
y early Broadway productions. They were men with power and connections. If only Jonathan would stop being polite and start working what was left of the room. Start networking. All he had to do was reinforce the fact he was married to one of Edward’s nieces. It wasn’t as if he’d have to hand out his business cards or sleep with their wives.

  Not that it would be beneath him.

  Beneath him, ha, she thought, wondering if Bibiana preferred being on the bottom or the top.

  Now that the party was reduced to remnants and hangers-on, she supposed she needed to deal with having the wretched “talk” with Jonathan: did he want a divorce?

  She had no idea how it would bode with Edward. Would he loan her the money she’d need for a good attorney?

  Not likely.

  When she’d approached him after Christmas, he’d acted as if it were a game.

  “If I gave you money, I would have to write a codicil to my will,” Edward had said the day he’d come into Manhattan and they’d had lunch at a little Greek restaurant in the Village because he’d said uptown restaurants had grown costly and she might want to pay attention to that once in a while. “If I were to die before you paid me back, whatever you still owed me would have to be deducted from your share of my estate.”

  It had seemed he was ready to grant her the cash.

  Then he’d added, “Plus interest, of course. You wouldn’t want your sisters to be penalized for your irresponsibility.” He nibbled at his roasted beet and goat cheese salad as if he were enjoying this course of humiliation.

  She’d wanted to tell him to forget it. If she had been Carleen, she would have told him where to put his two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. She would have stalked from the restaurant, leaving the old man to find his own way back to the boondocks, while she went uptown, where she belonged. But she was not her sister, and she was not in a position to do anything but say, “I expect to pay interest.” He then suggested fifteen percent, as if he were a member of the Cosa Nostra.

  Still, she did not have much choice, other than to accept his money and his terms. She would be able to pay down most of her credit cards—Bergdorf, Saks, Citibank (if they still were in business)—though she would need to set aside enough for a few charity checks: a thousand here, a thousand there. Amanda knew Edward might deem such action absurd, but what would it look like if she said no to those long-standing charities? In light of a potential divorce, it would be more necessary than ever to maintain her status.

  Of course, she’d had no idea how she would pay him back. She’d never had a job and would be too embarrassed to ask anyone where to start. Lately she’d considered becoming one of those high-class hookers who led two distinctly different lives, but she wasn’t really certain she’d be very good. Sex had always seemed like such a bother, though she’d heard it was good for the complexion.

  In the end, when the crème brûlée had arrived, Edward had announced that on second thought, lending money to family was not a good idea. “I just wouldn’t feel right, taking interest from you,” he said with his leprechaun grin, as if he’d saved her from a fate worse than death.

  Death. His or hers now seemed to be the only way out of this mess.

  As Amanda pondered that option, her younger son, who’d been listlessly watching the carnie people dismember the games, ambled over to the gazebo. His cheeks were pink from not enough sunscreen: she supposed that was one more area of incompetence for which she could be rightfully slandered.

  “Mom? Can I talk to you for a second?”

  Chase was a good boy, her easy child (thank God she at least had one of those). She hated that Edward always called him Dewey, as if he were a cartoon character who did not deserve respect.

  “Of course, honey. Sit down.” She wasn’t sure she always called him “honey.” She probably should do more of that.

  He sat on the bench and sighed, as if he were Edward, or at least Edward’s age. “Mom, I can’t believe Chandler said that about Uncle Edward. In front of everyone. What a jerk.”

  At least Chase had run before his brother had informed those in attendance about her grim financial state. “It’s true? You found him?”

  The boy nodded. “He’s on the island. Wes was showing us a stunt and he capsized the canoe. We hung onto it and made it to the island, but we lost the paddles. That’s when we saw Uncle Edward. He helped us get the pine boughs to paddle back. Chandler was right: he made us promise not to tell.”

  So, Edward, indeed, was alive and well and hiding out on the island.

  “It was right for you to tell me,” she said. “We’ve been worried about him.”

  “So will he cut you out of his will? How will you pay your bills?”

  Oh. So he knew about those, too.

  At least he didn’t add, “What’s going to happen to us?” He was a kid, though, so Amanda knew that must be foremost on his mind. Self-preservation had worried her every minute when she’d been a kid, though she’d never doubted that her plumbing supply salesman father could support his family. Then again, she hadn’t known about the possibility of divorce.

  She put her arm around her son. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. I always have, haven’t I?” But in order to accomplish that, Amanda realized she needed to take drastic action. Especially since her sons now knew about her lack of cash.

  She stood up abruptly. “I have to go now. Don’t tell a soul what you’ve told me, okay?”

  His eyes grew wide and looked frightened, but he nodded anyway.

  “Is the canoe at the boathouse?”

  “Yes. We brought it back.”

  “Are the oars with it?”

  “They’re paddles, Mom. A canoe has paddles.”

  “Are they there?”

  “We lost two yesterday, but there are more hanging up in the boathouse.”

  Amanda sprinted away.

  “Mom?” Chase called out. “I’m coming, too.”

  “No!” she shouted back. “Absolutely not!”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  He asked about her movies; she asked about his life. Babe and Ray sat on the faded flower-cushioned chairs in the musty boathouse and shared “remember when’s.” For the first time in forever, she felt the sweet taste of his name and not the sting about the baby and the past.

  “All I wanted was a sixty-eight Camaro,” Ray said.

  “But you had your mother’s Rambler!” Then she laughed. “I can’t believe I remembered the name of that car!”

  “It was white.”

  “It had push buttons for drive and reverse and park.”

  “The seats went down.”

  “Oh, yes. I remember that.”

  They smiled gently at each other.

  “Remember when we went to the Tarrytown fair?” She still had the teddy bear he’d won by hitting a tall scale with a hammer. The stuffed animal had comforted her through many bad relationships and two lousy marriages, and lately she’d considered taking it out of mothballs to help her survive life with Wes.

  “We went with Carleen and her boyfriend. What was his name?”

  “Earl.”

  “Man, I didn’t like that guy. He smoked.”

  “And drank wine that came in screw-top bottles.”

  “Your sister did, too.”

  “Oh,” Babe said. “She was such an awful influence.”

  Ray smiled. “Do you still hate dandelions?” he asked, and she laughed because he remembered that.

  “I didn’t like the pouff, and they were gone, the fact that one second they are beautiful, feathery flowers, then the next second they’re not!”

  “They aren’t flowers, Babe. They’re weeds.” He said it with a smile, the way he’d always said it whenever they’d seen one and she’d cried, “Don’t touch!”

  She laughed and touched his arm.

  He quickly set his hand on top of hers and lowered his voice. “After that summer, after you had gone, I never looked at another dandelion without thinking of you.”<
br />
  She looked down at their hands, turned hers over and laced her fingers through his. “I wish I’d known.”

  “My parents never saw this place again. My dad got lung cancer and died six years ago. Nine months later my mother had a stroke and died. I was divorced by then and had custody of Kevin. I wanted him to grow up here, so I came back. By then, everything had changed. Your uncle didn’t have parties anymore. I never realized how much the lake came alive when he had one of his parties. How the music and the laughter drifted over the water and made everyone—even my father, though he’d never admit it—be in a happy mood.”

  “They were wonderful times.”

  “It’s never been the same.”

  Ray leaned down then and softly kissed her fingers. “Whenever I’ve thought about you, I picture you in your jeans and that pretty blue top that had all that elastic.”

  “It was called a tube top. It probably wasn’t fair for a teenage girl to wear one when she was with her boyfriend. Carleen bought it for me.”

  “Ah. Carleen again. Thank God for her.”

  Babe laughed, but this time Ray’s lips met hers and her laughter dissolved into a soft kiss that lingered longer than it should have, with its warmth and its memory and its sweet taste of home.

  “Oh, God,” he said, pulling away. “I am so sorry.”

  “No,” she whispered. “No, please don’t be sorry.” With that one little kiss, Ray had reawakened every part of her, the way he always had, as if it truly were only yesterday and not all these years later. “Wow,” she said. “You still have it, you know?”

  “Have what?”

  “The key to me,” she said. She’d forgotten she’d once called the spark—Ray’s spark—the key to me.

  “Shit, Babe,” he said.

  “Shit, Ray,” she said back, and then the door banged open and there was Amanda, with cheeks as red as Carleen’s hair and a wild-eyed look that said she had an agenda.

  ***

  “Amanda.” Babe spoke first in case Amanda hadn’t seen them when she’d stepped into the darkness from the bright sunshine.