by Sarah Morgan
“We’re all set for Saturday. I hope you’re going to stop by and spend a fortune. All in a good cause, the local animal shelter.” She released Fliss. “I feel guilty asking for more support from you, Dr. Carlyle, given all that you already do.”
Suddenly Seth had an idea.
Maybe it was a little unfair, but hey—if Fliss wasn’t above a little subterfuge, then neither was he.
“Harriet makes the best chocolate chip cookies you’ve ever tasted. Isn’t that right, Harriet?”
He smiled at Fliss and saw panic flash across her face.
Extract yourself from that, my beauty.
“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say they were the best—”
“Because Harriet is too modest for her own good.” He looked at Linda, whom he’d known for years. “You should talk her into making some for you.”
“Now, that is a truly excellent idea.” Linda whipped a little book out of her purse and scribbled a note to herself. “I remember the ones you made last summer. And your grandmother was boasting about what a talented cook you are. How could I have forgotten that?”
Fliss looked horrified. “Well, that’s kind of you to say so, but I’m pretty busy right now what with taking care of my grandmother and walking Matilda’s dog.”
“How is Eugenia? I heard she had a fall. If she needs anything at all, I’m here for her.”
“Well, that’s very generous—”
“And I’m sure you’ll be baking for her, seeing as she’s ill and all, so I don’t feel guilty asking you to make a few more for us to sell. Your chocolate chip cookies are famous around here. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it myself. Thank you, Seth!”
Fliss floundered and then bared her teeth in what was probably supposed to be a smile. “Sure. It will be my pleasure.”
Seth smiled inwardly.
He was sure it was going to be anything but pleasure.
He wondered how she’d handle it.
Phone Harriet? Watch a video on YouTube?
Maybe he should call the fire department and warn them to get the hoses ready.
Their coffee arrived, and Linda left them in peace.
“It was good of you to offer.”
“I didn’t volunteer. You volunteered me.” She poked at the foam on her cappuccino and sent him a furious look. “Why did you do that?”
He held her gaze. “I know how you love to cook and be part of the community, Harriet.”
And because sooner or later she was going to have to admit who she really was.
He’d rather it was sooner.
* * *
FLISS SLAMMED AROUND the kitchen, sweating. The table and the floor were dusted with flour, and the first batch of cookies lay in a charred heap on a plate. The second batch was piled next to them. Not burned, but flat and greasy. She planned to bury the evidence later, after her next attempt. She should probably put the hospital on alert before anyone actually consumed one. By baking, she was risking mass casualties.
Damn Seth. Damn Seth and his community spirit.
It would serve him right if she fed the lot to him and let him deal with the consequences.
Next to her, Charlie whined.
“Are you kidding me?” She glanced down at the dog. “Trust me, you do not want to eat this. Take one bite and you’ll end up at the vet clinic, and I won’t be taking you, so I suggest you keep your jaws clamped shut.”
Cross with herself, frustrated, she washed the bowl and started again.
Why had he volunteered her to do this?
Because he believed she was Harriet.
And whose fault was that?
Hers.
Never, under any circumstances, would she pretend to be Harriet ever again. She wasn’t Harriet, and she never would be.
She checked the recipe again, trying to work out where she’d gone wrong the first time.
She could do this. She was smart. Capable. She should be able to make a batch of damn cookies without poisoning anyone or setting the house on fire.
“Do you need help?” Her grandmother spoke from the doorway, and Fliss gave a start of guilt. Given that there was no hiding the evidence of her incompetence, she had little choice but to brazen it out.
“You’re supposed to be resting with your feet up.” It was the reason she’d chosen this moment to bake. “What woke you?”
“I’m not sure. It could have been the clattering and muttering, or it could have been the smell of burning.”
“Seth volunteered me to make cookies for the charity bake off.” Fliss felt herself flush. Deceiving Seth was one thing, but deceiving her grandmother was something different entirely. “Sorry about the noise. And the mess. I’m not feeling myself today.”
“You haven’t been yourself since you arrived here,” her grandmother said mildly. “You’ve been Harriet. Which, I understand, must be something of a challenge given that you’re Fliss.”
“You know?” Fliss stared at her, embarrassed. “How long have you known?”
“That you’re Fliss? From the beginning, of course.”
She felt a spasm of guilt. The spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered into the bowl. “How did you know? Because I can’t cook?”
“I knew from the moment I saw you in the hospital parking lot.”
“Was it the red car? I should have picked something more sensible.”
“It wasn’t the car.” Her grandmother leaned down and brushed specks of flour from Charlie’s fur. “You’re my granddaughter. You think I don’t know my own granddaughter?”
Fliss felt like a fool. “But if you knew, why didn’t you say something?”
“I assumed you had a good reason for pretending to be your sister.” She settled herself down in the chair. “And I’m assuming that good reason is tall, dark and too handsome for his own good.”
Fliss retrieved the spoon. “I didn’t intend to pretend to be Harriet. That wasn’t the plan. When you called that morning—that was me on the phone, not Harry.”
“I know. What I don’t know, is why you pretended to me. Why not just say who you were?”
“Because I needed to get away from Manhattan. Seth was working in the practice we use, practically around the corner from us. I didn’t want to see him. When you called, it seemed like the excuse I’d been looking for.”
“So why not tell me that when I called?”
“Because you didn’t want me. You wanted Harriet.”
Her grandmother studied her over the top of her glasses. “Is that really what you think?”
Fliss shrugged. “You called Harriet.”
“I called her number first. I could just as easily have called yours.”
“But you didn’t. You wouldn’t.” Fliss pushed the bowl away from her. “And I don’t blame you for that. Everyone wants Harriet. She’s the kind, nurturing one. I’m the bad twin.” She saw her grandmother’s mouth tighten.
“That’s your father talking. The first time I heard him call you that, I wanted to throw him out of my house and close the door behind him. I would have done it, except it would have been your mother who suffered.”
Fliss froze. She wished she’d never made cookies. At least then, they could have kept up the pretense instead of having the last conversation on earth she wanted to have.
Her parents’ relationship and their father’s behavior were topics that’d always been ignored, swept aside like dust under a rug.
Fliss wanted to run for the door, but her feet wouldn’t move. “He called me that because it was true.”
“Do you really believe that?”
Fliss stared at the table, seeing the scars, remembering the scenes at the dinner table. She remembered her father shouting until his face took on a strange red tinge, somewhere between beetroot and tomato. There had been moments when she’d thought he might actually have a heart attack, and a few moments when she’d half hoped that would happen. And then it had, and it hadn’t made any difference. In books something lik
e that brought families back together. There were regrets and reconciliation. Real life hadn’t happened that way. At least, not for her. “I should probably finish making these cookies. Or maybe I should just give up and buy a batch from Cookies and Cream. Or maybe I should confess to my sins.”
“I never thought you were a quitter.”
Fliss breathed and looked at her grandmother. “I’m not, but cooking and I don’t mix. In fact it’s the mix that’s the problem.”
“I don’t think the cookies are the problem here at all. And anyway, they can wait.”
“They can’t. Thanks to my impulsive nature, I’m supposed to produce a batch for the sale this weekend. It’s going to take me that long to figure it out.” And suddenly baking cookies seemed appealing. Anything was more appealing than talking about her past.
“You’re not the bad twin, Fliss.”
She didn’t want to talk about this. She absolutely didn’t want to.
“Do you think I used too much flour? They’re kind of sticky.” She gave the mixture a desperate prod, but her grandmother wasn’t about to be deflected.
“Maybe that’s how it seemed to someone looking on the surface. Someone who didn’t know any better. But I saw how things were. It was hard for you all, and it was hard for me, too. She’s my daughter. It didn’t sit well with me knowing the love in that marriage was one-sided.”
Jeez, this was too personal. It was as if her grandmother was poking around a locked door with a random key, hoping it would fit.
And Fliss had no intention of opening that door.
She made a desperate attempt to change the subject. “I don’t pretend to be an expert on love. I’m good with numbers and difficult dogs. Emotions—they’re not really my thing.” But she should make more of an effort, shouldn’t she? Particularly as her grandmother was clearly determined to have the conversation. She was about to scoot away from it again but then decided that, as her grandmother had apparently forgiven her for the deception, the least she could do was offer her something back. “You’re right. My dad didn’t love her enough. Or if he did, he had a weird way of showing it.” And it must have been hard for her mother, too. Fliss could all too easily imagine how hard. She thought about Seth and immediately pushed the thought away.
She didn’t want to think about Seth. And she certainly didn’t want to dwell on his feelings for her.
She wasn’t going there.
Her grandmother removed her glasses slowly. Her hair was snowy white, emphasizing the livid bruises on her skin. “That’s how you saw it?”
“How else?” Of course her mother had loved her father. Otherwise why would she have tried so hard to please him? “She was always trying to keep him happy. She had this voice that she only ever used around him, like a cross between melted honey and sugar syrup. And it annoyed him. He used to say ‘stop trying to placate me,’ and she’d say, ‘I just want you to be happy, Robert.’ But he was never happy. Didn’t matter what she did, he was never happy.” And she’d often wondered whether he’d always been like that. Had he been an angry child? Difficult? His parents had died when he was in his teens, so she’d never had anyone she could ask. “You spent time with them. You must have seen that, too.”
Her grandmother picked up her glasses. “Yes. I saw that.”
Then why was her grandmother giving her that strange look?
Fliss had the distinct feeling she was missing something.
“I know they got married quickly because Mom was pregnant with Daniel.” Was that what her grandmother was hinting at? Her mother had always been quite open about it. “I know it was a whole whirlwind thing. Romantic and a little crazy.”
Her grandmother gave her a long look and then gave her a smile that was more than a little strained. “Yes, it was all very quick.”
“Maybe my dad thought she trapped him or something. Maybe that was why he was always so angry with us. Me in particular. I always assumed he didn’t want kids.”
“That wasn’t the case at all.”
Fliss shrugged. “That was how he acted.”
“Fliss—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re not even in touch. He made it clear he didn’t want to see me anymore.”
What she didn’t tell her grandmother was how he’d made it clear. She’d never told anyone about that time, after his first heart attack a few years ago, that she’d visited him in the hospital.
She’d gone on her own, lied to everyone, even her twin. Taken a train and a bus and arrived at the hospital soaked through because it had been raining so hard. It was as if the weather had been mirroring her mood.
She’d pushed open the door of her father’s room, seen beeping machines and her father, frail and vulnerable in the bed. Her coat had clung to her, the rain dripping onto the floor like tears.
He’d turned his head and for a moment they’d just stared at each other. And then he’d said four words. Not, “I love you, Fliss,” or “Good to see you,” but “What do you want?”
That had been it.
What do you want?
And she hadn’t been able to tell him what she wanted because she hadn’t known. She hadn’t understood why she’d come in the first place, to visit a man who had always seemed to find her existence close to intolerable. And she hadn’t understood how his indifference could still crush her after all this time.
What had she wanted?
Had she honestly thought he’d open his arms and embrace her? When had he ever done that?
She’d retreated from the room without saying anything at all and returned home quietly, relieved she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. Because of her secrecy, she’d been spared uncomfortable questions. Like the ones her grandmother was asking now.
“I really need to make these cookies. And I don’t know how I’m going to do it.”
Her grandmother rose to her feet, her hands closing over the edge of the table as she steadied herself. “I always find a problem is halved when it’s shared.”
Was her grandmother making a point? If so, Fliss chose to ignore it.
“Depends on who you’re sharing it with and what the problem is. If you tried to share a cooking problem with me, it would be doubled, not halved.”
“In this case you’re the one sharing the cooking problem with me. We’ll do it together.”
“You’re supposed to be resting.”
“You think a few bruises are going to stop me from baking?”
“If I thought that, I would have bashed myself on the skull a few hundred times with a wooden spoon.”
Her grandmother laughed. “You’re not getting away with it that easily. Move over. You can follow instructions, can’t you?”
“I suppose so. Unfortunately this cookie dough didn’t. I said to it turn into a cookie, and look what happened.” Fliss stared doubtfully at the mixture. “You think we can make this work?”
Her grandmother took the bowl. “No. I don’t think we can make this work. It’s a mess. But when you’ve made a mess you put it aside and start again.”
Another metaphor, Fliss thought. The day seemed to be full of them.
She looked at her grandmother, knowing her help was more than she deserved. “I didn’t mean to switch identities. I was going to tell you right away, but then Seth showed up at the hospital—”
“And you didn’t want to face him as yourself.”
“Because I’m a coward.”
“You’re many things, but I don’t think a coward is one of them. I’m sure you have your reasons. If you’d like to share them, then I think you’ll find I’m a good listener. If you’d rather bake, let’s bake.”
Fliss had a sudden urge to tell her grandmother how she was feeling, and the urge surprised her. She was so used to keeping everything inside. And that was the way she preferred it.
She felt a rush of guilt. “I’m sorry I lied to you.”
“I understand. You got yourself in a state over Seth and you decided it wa
s easier to run from your problems than face them. I don’t suppose there are many people who haven’t done that at some point in their lives.” Her grandmother picked up the bowl again. “On second thought, I think we might be able to rescue this. Your dough is too soft, that’s all. Did you weigh the flour?”
“Vaguely. Some of it went on the floor. A lot more went on the dog.”
“Fetch me the flour.”
“If Harriet was here, she wouldn’t need help. She’s a better cook. No, scratch that. She’s better at everything. Cooking, caring for other people, caring for herself if it comes to that—” Fliss stared miserably into the bowl. “In fact the only thing I’m better at is math and messing up.”
“They do classes in messing up? Education has changed since my day.”
Fliss managed a smile. “I never needed classes. I was always a natural. If there was a bad decision to be made, I made it.”
Her grandmother measured the flour and added it to the bowl. “You think Seth was a bad decision?”
Fliss felt her eyes sting. Damn. What was happening to her? And it wasn’t as if they were chopping onions or anything. There was nothing she could blame. “Of course it was a bad decision.”
“Why? You didn’t love him?”
Double damn. How did she answer that? She decided her grandmother deserved a little honesty from her after so many lies. “I loved him.”
“So why was it a bad decision?”
“Because I ruined his life.” And she’d lied to him, too.
“So if you ruined his life, why is he hanging around?”
“He isn’t hanging around. He lives here. He can’t exactly avoid me. And anyway, he thinks I’m Harriet. Come to think of it, he’d be better off with Harriet. She’s a better person than I am.”
Her grandmother shot out her hand and gripped Fliss’s arm. “Oh no, honey, you’ve got it all wrong. She’s not better. She’s just different, that’s all.”
“Different in a better way.”
“It’s your father who made you think that. He played the two of you off each other. Messed with your heads. You’re a smart girl. I could never understand how you couldn’t see that. Now move over. We have a ton of cookies to make, and they’re not going to make themselves.”