Girls of Summer (Shelter Rock Cove - Book #2)

by Barbara Bretton

  Like Cy, Billy O’Brien had never owned a house, either. He had never owned anything in his life except his music and the clothes on his back. Billy lived the classic life of the traveling minstrel of Irish legend, never staying long enough in any one place to leave a mark behind. Deirdre and Mary Pat’s mother had brought up her children in a series of small apartments in a series of cities and towns and done it well with little help from her wandering husband.

  She wondered if her own mother had ever dreamed of a home in the suburbs. Maybe a split level in Westchester County or an elegant colonial in one of the Five Towns on Long Island. She knew so little about her mother. Sharon Cooper Markowitz never spoke about her past, never talked about a future. As far as she could tell, her mother’s life had begun the day she slipped into a white dress and married Cy beneath the chuppa.

  She tried to imagine her mother as a woman of sixty but couldn’t. Sharon was forever thirty-six, a beautiful woman who would always be just out of her daughter’s reach.

  What she wouldn’t give now to be able to rest her head in her mother’s lap and pour out her worries. This afternoon she had found herself envying Tori Dietrich. Amanda might be a bit of a flake, but she loved her daughter deeply. Tori might not always make the right decision, but there was no doubt that Amanda would be in her corner come what may.

  Deirdre and Mary Pat had been lucky that way, too. Their mother had been fierce in her defense of her daughters, doing everything she possibly could to protect them from their father’s wandering eye. Jeannie O’Brien had been cheerleader, guardian, and role model all wrapped up in a tiny five-foot-two-inch package of fierce maternal love. She had met Jeannie only once when the woman came to fetch Mary Pat early from one of Billy’s summer holidays with his three girls. Billy’s wife had been excruciatingly polite to Ellen, but her true feelings had been abundantly clear just the same. Ellen was the outsider, the enemy, the one who didn’t belong.

  The one who just bought a house but was still looking for a home.

  * * *

  “Oh, no,” Deirdre said as she fiddled with the staple gun. “I think I hear Ellen’s car.”

  “Almost finished,” he said, stretching the screen taut across the window. “I want you to put two staples right down there in the left-hand corner.”

  She positioned the staple gun. “There?”

  “About a quarter-inch to the right... okay... right there!”

  She squeezed the trigger. “Wow! That thing has some kickback.”

  He gave her a look over his shoulder. “If you can lug that harp around, you can handle a staple gun. I need two more over there near my left thumb... Hey, not too close... Okay, right next to each other... There you go.”

  It wasn’t rocket science, but Deirdre felt a sense of accomplishment just the same. At least now the first thing Ellen saw when she climbed out of her Cruiser wouldn’t be a broken window courtesy of Stanley, the escape artist. The break-in had turned out to be a break-out instead. Apparently Stanley had thrown his weight against the garage window and landed in the hydrangea bushes. They followed the trail of broken blossoms down across the driveway to the steps that led down to the beach, where they found Stanley cavorting in the surf. At the moment Stanley was sitting in the driver’s seat of Scott’s truck, probably contemplating a getaway.

  “She’s pulling into the driveway,” Scott said. “Want me to take off?”

  ‘“No! I want you to protect me.”

  “She has a temper?”

  “We’ll find out.”

  She heard the sound of Ellen’s footsteps crunching across the gravel.

  Then silence.

  Then the sound of her footsteps walking away.

  She darted off after her sister. “Ellen! Ellen, wait! I can explain.”

  The woman walked faster than Deirdre could run.

  “Was I robbed?” Ellen called over her shoulder.

  “No, you weren’t robbed.”

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “We’re fine.”

  “And Stanley’s okay?”

  “Stanley’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ellen dashed up the front steps. A second later the door clicked shut behind her.

  “She’s mad?” Scott appeared behind Deirdre.

  “I have no idea.” Her voice broke on the last word. “Oh, damn. How stupid is this.” A broken screen and a curt sister shouldn’t bring a grown woman to tears.

  “You two don’t really know each other very well, do you?”

  She sniffled and shook her head. “It shows, does it?”

  “Go in and talk to her.”

  “You heard her. She said she’ll see me in the morning.”

  “I have four sisters,” Scott said. “She doesn’t mean it. Trust me.”

  “And I have another sister you’ve never met and believe me, if she said it, she’d mean it.”

  They walked back down the driveway to his truck and opened the door so Stanley could come out.

  “C’mon, Stan,” Deirdre said, stifling a yawn. “We’ve all had enough excitement for one night.”

  Stanley’s tail thumped against the upholstery. He didn’t move an inch.

  “Okay, pal,” Scott said, scratching the dog behind the left ear. “Fun’s over for tonight. You’d better do what she says.”

  Stanley studied Scott for a moment, then leaped from the truck, tail wagging wildly.

  “Thank you for everything,” Deirdre said as she clutched Stanley’s collar to keep him from running back down to the beach. “I doubt if you expected to spend your evening repairing a window for a total stranger.”

  “Glad I could help.”

  She was almost used to the awkward silence that seemed to blossom between them every time they said goodbye. She had the crazy urge to fling herself in his arms and plant a big kiss on his mouth. That would loosen him up and get them over these uncomfortable leave-takings. A few years ago she would have done it with no regard for the consequences. His reaction would have been secondary to the momentary buzz that came with doing the unexpected, to seeing the look of surprise on his face when she broke the rules.

  She could still do it. He wouldn’t stop her. He might even like it. Maybe he would kiss her back, pulling her closer to him so she could feel the heat rising from his body.

  And then what? That one perfect moment would be followed by moments so utterly imperfect that you ended up wishing you had never set the whole damn thing in motion.

  She settled instead for good night.

  Chapter Twelve

  Ellen was still awake when Deirdre came to bed. She had been lying there listening to Stanley’s snoring, wondering how on earth her life could have changed so completely in such a short span of time. If somebody had told her last week that in the space of three nights she would share beds with Hall Talbot, her younger sister, and a one-hundred-fifteen-pound dog of dubious origin, she would have calculated the odds as significantly higher than her chances of winning the lottery.

  And she would have been wrong.

  “You don’t have to tiptoe around, Deirdre,” she said into the moonswept room. “I’m awake.”

  “Sorry,” Deirdre said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  She angled herself up on one elbow and pushed her hair off her face. “You didn’t. I can’t sleep.”

  Deirdre stripped off her floaty top and tossed it onto the bed where it drifted across the sleeping Stanley. “Did you try warm milk?” she asked as she skimmed off her faded jeans.

  “I’d rather stay awake for the next ten years.”

  Deirdre stripped down to her skin, then shimmied into the enormous T-shirt she liked to sleep in. “Scott fixed the window,” she said, stilling a yawn. “It’s good as new.”

  “Do I want to know how it happened?”

  “No, but I might as well tell you: Stanley made a jail break.”

  “Through the garage window?”

  �
��Impressive, huh?”

  “I’m not sure that’s the word I’d use.”

  “I know you’re probably wondering how you’ll be able to keep him safe while I’m up in Bar Harbor, but I swear to you I’ll figure something out.”

  She could almost see her nerves shredding, one by one. “You’re telling me Stanley’s going to keep breaking out?”

  Deirdre sat on the foot of the bed next to the sleeping dog. “Sounds like this might be the right time for a little creative obfuscation.”

  “Yes or no.”

  “Yes, probably, but I’ll get it all worked out before I leave on Friday, I swear to you.”

  Classic Deirdre. Her sister had never been able to see beyond the boundaries of her own immediate needs. “You know what? Stanley is your problem.”

  “You don’t mean that,” Deirdre said finally. “You love Stanley.”

  “I’m fond of him,” Ellen said, “but I’m not the one who adopted him.”

  “I told you how that happened.”

  “Right,” said Ellen. “You saved his life and that’s a great thing, but now what?”

  Deirdre stroked the dog behind his left ear and he sighed blissfully. “And now he’s my dog.”

  “Your responsibility,” Ellen said. “You seem to have forgotten that part of the equation.” She was only six months older than Deirdre. Why did it feel like six lifetimes?

  “If you don’t want to watch him while I’m in Bar Harbor, why didn’t you just say so when I still had time to find somebody else?”

  “Because I didn’t think it through, either. I can’t stay home with him all day, Deirdre, and apparently he’s not going to be too happy being alone.”

  “Well, I can’t take him with me.”

  Again, classic Deirdre. Or was it classic Billy O’Brien she was hearing? Their father had never met an impulse he didn’t embrace wholeheartedly, damn the consequences. Okay, so maybe she would have done the same thing in Deirdre’s shoes. That wasn’t the case. But at least she wouldn’t have expected other people to work out the details. Deirdre’s desire to save Stanley from being put to sleep was admirable, but Ellen couldn’t help wishing her sister had projected herself ahead a week or two before she claimed him as her own.

  Stanley sighed another one of his big doggy sighs of pleasure and Ellen’s heart melted.

  “Maybe he could stay in the yard. God knows it’s big enough.”

  “What if it rains?”

  Ellen considered the question. “How about a doghouse? I saw a few for sale at the lumber yard. They might have one big enough for Stanley.”

  “You wouldn’t make him spend the night outside, would you?”

  “No, I won’t make him spend the night outside. I’ll sleep in the doghouse and he can have my bed. How’s that sound?”

  “Like you wish you were an only child again.”

  “The thought has passed through my mind.”

  “Hey, it’s not like I blame you or anything. I know you didn’t ask to run a hotel for wayward harpers and their delinquent dogs.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Dee. I’m even glad Stanley is here. But I have obligations to my patients, and they come before anything and everything else.” That had been complaint number eight on Bryan’s list of reasons why he was breaking their engagement. You’re obsessed with your work, Ellen.... You might as well give up your apartment and live at the hospital.

  Maybe that was why she had no furniture to speak of, no drapes, no curtains, no little tchotchkes on the shelves or plants on the windowsills. Her real life was lived at the office, in the delivery room, in the hallway between the OR and the lounge. Home was where she went when she had no other place to go.

  Deirdre looked chastened, which wasn’t at all what Ellen had intended. Or maybe it was. She was so tired she could barely remember her own name.

  “I should have asked before,” Deirdre said. “I hope your patient’s okay.”

  Ellen explained the procedure she had performed on Patsy Wheeler. “We’re trying to help her maintain the pregnancy as long as possible, but there are no guarantees.”

  “She has to stay in bed for the next five months?”

  “That’s the plan right now.”

  “God.”

  That familiar silence fell between them. Look at us, she thought as Deirdre smoothed her hand down Stanley’s muscular back. We share the same father and we don’t even know how to talk to each other. A weekend in Boston every few years and the occasional phone call didn’t add up to very much.

  “Don’t be angry, Elly, but when I think of your work, all I come up with are a pair of stirrups and a nursery filled with those big smiling babies you see in television commercials.”

  “Right,” said Ellen. “Add a bunny and Bambi and it’s a Disney extravaganza.”

  “See? There you go getting all touchy. I’m not criticizing. I’m just telling you how effortless you make it look.” She poked Ellen with one bare foot. “That’s a compliment. I wish I’d had a doctor like you when I—” She shook her head and fell silent.

  Ellen leaned forward. “When you what?”

  “It’s no big deal. Forget it.”

  “Were you sick, Deirdre? Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I had an abortion last year,” Deirdre said. Her dark blue eyes suddenly filled with tears. “Like I said, it’s over. No big deal.”

  “Oh, honey.” Ellen scrambled down toward the foot of the bed and placed a hand on Deirdre’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry you had to make that decision alone.”

  “I wasn’t exactly alone,” Deirdre said. “Antonio had at least a small part in it.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I know, I know. I thought so, too. But he showed up one day all full of apologies and—” Her shrug told the story. “I thought maybe the second time around would be the charm. Shows you how smart I am.” They had talked about traveling down to South America together or maybe sailing to the Bahamas. Then Deirdre missed a period and the house of cards came tumbling down. “I wasn’t looking to get pregnant, but when I first realized I was late I felt... I don’t know... a combination of shocked and scared and happy. I don’t think I’d ever felt that happy before. I mean, Antonio had come back into my life and we were talking about a future together and for the first time in my life I thought maybe I was going to get it right. I had all these stupid dreams about what Antonio would say when I told him we were going to have a baby....” She quickly wiped her eyes with the back of her hand while she talked. “You know the kind, where the guy stares at you for a minute like he doesn’t know the language and then his face goes all soft and his eyes begin to sparkle like Ricky Ricardo when Lucy tells him she’s expecting. He’s singing that stupid song about having a baby and scanning the crowd for the lucky woman and all the time it’s Lucy sitting there right in front of him.”

  “We used to love that episode,” Ellen said, smoothing her sister’s hair off her face. “I remember yelling at the screen, ‘It’s Lucy, you idiot! It’s Lucy!’”

  “That’s the one. When Ricky looks at her and she nods and it doesn’t register and then he looks at her again and—” Her voice caught and she coughed to cover it. “I thought it was the most romantic moment I’d ever seen.”

  “Don’t laugh, but that scene pushed me toward obstetrics over oncology,” Ellen said. “I wanted to experience that same feeling every day of my life.”

  Deirdre looked at her. “I’ll spare you the details, but let’s just say things were a little different when I told Antonio.”

  “He wasn’t supportive?”

  “He was gone before I finished the sentence. Turns out he has a wife and two children in Florida.”

  “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it.”

  She hadn’t meant to say it, but a lifetime of memories lurked behind those words. Was that what you did when my mother told you she was pregnant, Billy? Did you run back home to Massachusetts and hide behind your wife and dau
ghter? It was hardly a coincidence that Deirdre showed up six months after Ellen was born.

  Deirdre flinched slightly, but she offered up no defense for either Billy or Antonio.

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Ellen asked. “I could have helped you.” Maybe they weren’t the closest family in the world, but she was a doctor. An obstetrician, for God’s sake. She would have been able to tell Deirdre everything she needed to know about the choices out there for her. Adoption, abortion, choosing to raise the baby as a single parent—she could have helped guide Deirdre through the maze. She did it every day of her life for other people. If only she could have been there to do it for her sister.

  “Thanks,” Deirdre said. “I managed.”

  “Did you tell Mary Pat?”

  “And risk excommunication from the family? Not on your life.”

  “I wish you’d come to me.”

  Deirdre turned her attention back to Stanley. “Maybe I didn’t want you to know I’d screwed up.”

  “Everyone screws up.”

  “You don’t.”

  “I told you I slept with Hall.”

  “So?”

  “So I screwed up.”

  “You made a mistake, but you didn’t screw up. If you’d slept with him and didn’t use protection, then I’d say you screwed up.”

  “Like I said...”

  “Very funny.”

  “Not funny at all.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “As a home pregnancy test.”

  Deirdre peered at Ellen through the darkness. “Do you think you’re—”