But Meghann knew better.
She’d lived here long enough to know how cruel these nice-looking people could be to a girl who ran with the wrong crowd. Sure, a small town could comfort a person; it could also turn cold fast. When you’d been raised by a stripper and grown up in a trailer on the wrong side of town, you couldn’t move to Mayberry and fit in.
At least, Meghann hadn’t been able to. Claire had been a different story.
Meghann came to the one and only stoplight. When it turned green, she hit the gas and sped through town.
A few miles later she came to the sign.
River’s Edge Resort. Next Left.
She turned onto the gravel road. The trees on either side were gigantic. Salal and Volkswagen-size ferns grew in their immense shadows.
At the first driveway, she slowed again. A cute mailbox, painted to look like a killer whale, read: C. Cavenaugh.
The once-wild yard had been tamed, trimmed, and planted; it now looked like an English country garden. The house was Martha Stewart perfect—pale, butter-yellow clapboard siding and glossy white trim, a pretty white wraparound porch decorated with hanging pots of geraniums and lobelia.
Meg had been here only once, after Ali was born. All she remembered about that day was sitting on a shabby sofa, trying to make conversation with her sister. Then the Bluesers had descended—Claire’s friends—they’d swarmed into the house like locusts, chattering and buzzing.
For an endless hour, Meg had sat there, sipping weak lemonade, thinking about a deposition that had gone badly. Finally, she’d made some idiotic excuse and slipped away. She hadn’t been back since.
Now she parked and got out of the car. Lugging gifts, she walked up to the front door and knocked.
No one answered.
After a long wait, she walked back to the car and drove the five hundred or so yards to the campground’s main office.
She walked past the swimming pool, where kids were playing Marco Polo, toward the long, narrow log building that served as the registration office. A bell tinkled overhead as she opened the door.
Sam Cavenaugh stood behind the desk. At her entrance, he looked up. His ready smile faded slowly, then reinforced itself. “Hey, Meg. It’s good to see you. It’s been too damn long.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you missed me.” As always, she felt uncomfortable around Sam; angry. Harriet claimed it was because Claire had rejected Meghann in favor of him, but that wasn’t right. She still remembered the day he told her, Go, just leave. He’d thought she was a bad influence on his daughter. But what she’d really hated, the one that stayed with her was just like your damn mother.
They stared at each other. Thankfully, he kept his distance.
“You look good,” he said at last.
“You, too.” Meghann glanced down at her watch. The last thing she wanted to do was stand around not talking with Sam.
“Claire told me to watch out for you. She’s running a little late. The Ford family, over in campsite seventeen, had a little emergency with their stove. She had to go help them out, but she should be back any minute.”
“Good. I’ll wait for her at the house, then.”
“She should be there any minute.”
“You just said that.”
“You’re still tough, aren’t you, Meghann?” he said, his voice soft, a little tired even.
“I had to be, Sam. You know that better than anyone.”
“I didn’t kick you out, Meghann, I—”
She turned and walked away, let the door slam shut behind her. She was halfway to the car when she heard his voice again.
“She’s happy, you know. With this fella,” he said.
Meghann slowly turned around. “If I remember correctly, you were happy when you married Mama. I was happy when I married Eric.”
Sam walked toward her. “Your mama is a piece of work, that’s for sure, and I was mad at her for a lot of years, but I’m glad I married her.”
“You must be on drugs.”
“Claire” was all he said.
“Oh.” Meghann felt a pinch of jealousy. There it was again—the Claire father-daughter thing. It pissed her off. She ought to be long past that.
“Be careful with her,” he said. “You’re her sister.”
“I know I’m her sister.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.” Once again, she walked away. She strolled through the campground, surprised at the number of guests who were there. All of them seemed to be having a good time. The place was well maintained and perfectly situated. Every view was a picture postcard of mountain, trees, and water. Finally, she returned to her car and drove to Claire’s house.
This time when she knocked on the front door, she heard the patter of feet come from inside. The door burst open.
Alison stood there, dressed in daisy-festooned denim overalls and a pretty yellow eyelet blouse.
“You can’t be Alison Katherine Cavenaugh. She’s a baby.”
Ali beamed at that. “I’m a big girl now.”
“Yes, you are.”
Alison frowned up at her. “Your hair is longer and there’s gray in it.”
“Why, thank you for noticing. Can you give your Aunt Meg a hug?”
“You look like you’re breathing okay.”
Meg had no idea what the child meant by that. “I am.”
Alison moved forward and gave her a lukewarm hug. When she stepped back, Meg said, “I brought you a present.”
“Let me guess.” Claire emerged from the shadows at the end of the hallway. “You thought every five year old needs a Swiss Army Knife.”
“No. A BB gun.”
“You didn’t.”
Meghann laughed. “I went into the bowels of Hell—a toy store at Northgate—and found the dullest-looking salesperson. She recommended this instead.” She handed Alison a brightly wrapped box.
Ali ripped it open. “It’s a Groovy Girl, Mommy. A Groovy Girl!” She flung herself at Meghann, this time hugging for real. She showed the doll to Claire, then ran upstairs.
Meghann handed Claire a bottle of wine—Far Niente 1997. “This is one of my favorites.”
“Thank you.”
They stared at each other. Their last meeting had been a year ago, when Mama was in town for the Fan-ference. Mama had taken Claire and Ali to the zoo, then later, Meghann had joined them at the Seattle Center. They’d spent most of their time taking Alison for rides in the Fun Forest. That way, they didn’t need to talk.
Finally Claire surged forward, pulled Meghann into a quickie hug, then let her go.
Meghann stumbled back, too surprised by the gesture to respond. Afterward, she wished she’d hugged Claire in return. “Dinner smells good, but you didn’t have to cook. I wanted to take you out.”
“The Chuck Wagon smorgasbord isn’t exactly your style. I didn’t want to hear about it.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, come in. It’s been too long since you were here.”
“You’ve never been to my place.”
Claire looked at her. “It’s called small talk, Meg. I wasn’t picking a fight.”
“Oh,” Meghann said again, feeling like an idiot.
She followed Claire to the sofa and sat down beside her. She couldn’t help noticing the ridiculous engagement ring—a band of tinfoil, for God’s sake. It was good she’d come up here. There was no point in putting it off. “Claire, I think—”
Then he walked into the room. Meghann knew instantly why her sister had fallen so hard. Bobby might be a loser as a singer, but he was a winner in the looks department. He was tall and lean, but broad-shouldered, with blond hair that fell almost to his shoulders. When he smiled, it was with his whole face.
A man like this didn’t just sweep you off your feet; he twirled you into the air so far and fast there was nowhere to go but down.
He and Claire exchanged a look that radiated love. Meg was reminded of The Way We Were, that paean to the bittersweet tru
th that sometimes the wrong man could look so good he took your breath away.
But sooner or later a woman had to breathe.
“I’m Bobby Austin,” he said, smiling.
Meghann rose to her feet and shook his hand. “Meghann Dontess.”
“Claire says folks call you Meg.”
“My friends do, yes.”
He smiled. “I’m judging by that bite-on-a-lemon look of yours that you’d like me to stick with Miz Dontess.”
“I imagine those mountain girls in Arkansas think you’re charming.”
“The Texas girls sure did.” He put an arm around Claire. “But those days are behind me now. I’ve found the girl I want to grow old with.” He kissed Claire lightly on the cheek and squeezed her hand, then he took the wine bottle and walked into the kitchen.
In the few moments he was gone, Meghann stood there, staring at her sister, trying to choose her words with care, but nothing seemed quite right.
Bobby returned with two glasses of wine and handed one to Meghann. “I imagine you have some questions for me,” he said, sitting down.
His forthrightness threw Meghann off. Slowly, feeling a little uncertain, she sat down in the chair opposite the sofa. They were separate entities now: Bobby and Claire versus Meghann. “Tell me about yourself.”
“I love Claire.”
“Something substantive.”
“You’re a facts-and-figures, gal, huh? I’m thirty-seven years old. Graduated from Oklahoma State. Degree in music appreciation. Rodeo scholarship. I was a calf roper. Which is why my knees are gone. I’ve … been married.”
Meghann leaned forward, on alert. “How many times?”
He glanced at Claire. “Three.”
“Oh, shit.” Meghann looked at Claire. “You’ve got to be kidding. If marriages were felonies, he’d be in prison for life.”
He scooted forward. “I married Suellen when we were eighteen years old. She was pregnant, and where I come from—”
“You’ve got kids?”
“No.” His voice grew soft. “Miscarriage. After that, there wasn’t much reason to stay married. We lasted less than three months. I’m a slow learner, though. I got married again at twenty-one. Unfortunately, it turned out that she wanted a different life than I did. Nice cars, nice jewelry. I got arrested when they busted her for selling cocaine out of our house. I lived with her for two years and never noticed it. I just thought she was moody as hell. Nobody believed I wasn’t a part of it. Laura was the only one who counted. She was—is—a pediatrician who loves country music. We were married for ten years. It broke up about a year ago. I could tell you why, but it’s none of your business. Claire knows everything, though.”
A three-time loser and a felon.
Perfect.
And now the bad sister had to break the good sister’s heart.
How?
That was the $64,000 question. How did you say the things that needed to be said at a time like this? Especially with Mr. Better-Looking Than God sitting there? Harriet had been right about one thing: Meghann and Claire had been poised on a cliff of politeness and pretense for years. The wrong approach could send them over the edge.
Claire got off the sofa, moved toward her. She sat on the carved Chinese chest that served as a coffee table.
“I know you can’t be happy for me, Meg.”
“I want to be.” It was the truth. “It’s just that—”
“I know. He wouldn’t get a platinum rating. I know. And you handle divorces for a living. I know that, too. Most of all, I know that you grew up in Mama’s house.” She leaned forward. “I know, Meg.”
Meghann felt the weight of those few words. Her sister had thought of all the same reasons, had seen all the possible outcomes. There wasn’t anything Meghann could say that Claire didn’t already know.
“It won’t ever make sense and I know it’s crazy and risky and—worst of all—Mama-like. I don’t need you to tell me these things. What I need is for you to trust me.”
Trust. Exactly what Harriet had predicted. But Meghann had forgotten long ago how to trust people. If she’d ever known.
“It’s hard for you, I know. The leader of the pack never makes a good follower. But it would mean a lot to me if you’d let this go. Maybe hug me and say you’re happy for me. Even if it’s a lie.”
Meghann looked into her sister’s pale green eyes. Claire looked frightened right now; expectant, too. She was obviously preparing herself to be wounded by Meghann’s response, but a slim part of her couldn’t help believing.…
It reminded Meghann of their childhood. Whenever Mama had brought a new “friend” home, Claire had let herself believe that finally there would be a daddy in her life. Meghann had tried to protect Claire from her own optimism, but she’d never succeeded, and so, each stepfather had broken a tiny piece of Claire’s heart. And yet, when the next man arrived, her sister found a way to believe again.
Of course Claire believed in Bobby Austin.
There was no way Meghann would change her sister’s mind, or—more important—her heart. Thus, she had two choices: pretend to give her blessing or stick to her guns. The first choice allowed her and Claire to remain the almost sisters they were. The second choice risked even that tenuous relationship.
“I trust you, Claire,” Meghann said at last. She was rewarded with a small, uncertain smile. “If you say Bobby Austin is the man you love, that’s good enough for me.”
Claire released a sharp breath. “Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy for you.” She leaned forward and hugged Meghann, who was too surprised by it to hug her back.
Claire drew back and stood up. She went over to the sofa and sat down by Bobby, who immediately put an arm around her and pulled her in close.
Meghann tried to think of what to say in the awkward silence that followed. “So, what’s the wedding plan? Justice of the peace? I have a friend who’s a judge.…”
“No way.” Claire laughed. “I waited thirty-five years for this. I’m having the whole enchilada. White dress. Formal church wedding. Cake. Reception with dancing. All of it.”
Meghann didn’t know why she was surprised. Claire had been one of those children who played bride endlessly. “There’s a consultant in my building. I think she planned Bill Gates’s wedding.”
“This is Hayden, not Seattle. I’ll rent the VFW hall and everyone will pitch in with potluck. The Bon Marché has a bridal department now. It’ll be great. You’ll see.”
“Potluck? Potluck?” Meghann got to her feet. Apparently there was something of her mother in her after all. She wasn’t going to let her sister have a Wal-Mart wedding. “I’ll organize the wedding and reception,” she said impulsively. Once she’d offered, she felt steady again. In control of something.
Claire’s smile faded. “You?”
“I’m not a social moron. I can do this.”
“But … but … your job is so hectic. I couldn’t ask you to take time out of your busy schedule for this.”
“You didn’t ask. I offered. And it so happens that I find myself … underutilized at work.” The idea seized hold of her. Maybe it could bring them together. “This would be perfect, really. I’d like to do this for you, Claire.”
“Oh.” Claire sounded underwhelmed. Meghann knew what her sister was thinking—Meghann was a bull in a small-town china shop.
“I’ll listen to you and do what you want. It’ll be your wedding. I promise.”
“I think it sounds great,” Bobby said, smiling broadly. “You’re very generous, Meghann.”
Claire frowned at Meghann. “Why am I seeing Father of the Bride playing in my head? You never do anything in a small way, Meg.”
Meghann felt awkward suddenly, vulnerable. She wasn’t certain why she wanted this so badly. “I will this time. Honest.”
“Okay,” Claire said finally. “You can help me plan my wedding.”
Meghann grinned and clapped her hands. “Good. Now, I better get started. Where’s a
local phone book? And what’s the date again—the twenty-third? Next Saturday? That’s not much time to pull this together.” She headed for the kitchen, where she found a scrap of paper and began a to-do list.
“Oh, man,” she heard her sister say. “I’ve created a monster.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
By the second night in his sister’s house, Joe felt as if he were suffocating. Everywhere he looked he saw glimpses of his old life. He didn’t know how he was going to go forward, but he knew he couldn’t stay here.
He waited until Gina left to go grocery shopping, then crammed his things—including several framed photographs of Diana that he’d taken from the house—into the old backpack and headed for the door. He left a note on the kitchen counter.
Can’t stay here. Sorry. Hurts too much.
I know this is a rough time for you, so
I won’t go far. Will call soon. Love you.
Thank you.
J.
He walked the few miles back to town. By the time he reached Hayden, it felt as if he were slogging through mud. He was tired again, weary.
He didn’t want to run away, didn’t want to hunker down in some shitty little motel room and gnaw on the old guilt.
He looked up and saw a sign for the Mountain View Cemetery. A shiver passed through him. The last time he’d been there it had been pouring rain. There had been two policemen beside him, shadowing his every move. The mourners had kept their distance. He’d felt their condemnation, heard their whispers.
He’d tried to walk away during the ceremony, but the police yanked him back in line. He’d whispered, I can’t watch this in a broken voice. One of his guards had said, Too bad and held him in place.
He should go there now, to the cemetery. But he couldn’t do it, couldn’t kneel on the sweet green grass in front of her headstone.
Besides, he wouldn’t find her at the cemetery. There was more of her in his heart than beneath any gray stone.
He skirted town and hiked across an empty field toward the river. The soft, gurgling sounds sparked a dozen memories of their youth. Days they’d picnicked along the water’s edge and nights they’d parked there, making love in the dark interior of the Dodge Charger he’d once owned.
Kristin Hannah's Family Matters 4-Book Bundle: Angel Falls, Between Sisters, The Things We Do for Love, Magic Hour Page 41