Three Sisters

by Susan Mallery

  They’d been together ever since. Married when she was twenty and he was twenty-two. Their love had never wavered and they’d been so happy together that they’d put off starting a family. She had her career to establish, and he’d been busy with his business. There had been the world to see. Their lives had been perfect.

  “Hey, babe,” Zeke called as he walked in the kitchen door. “Our neighbor moved in.”

  “I saw.”

  He came out of the kitchen and walked toward her, his brown eyes affectionate, as always, but now also wary. Because in the past six months, they’d seemed to stumble more than they got it right.

  It all came down to blame, she thought, tightening her hold on her mug of tea. In their heads they knew neither was at fault, but in their hearts... Well, she couldn’t speak to his heart, but hers had turned into a void. Lately she’d started to wonder if it was possible for love to live in a black hole.

  “Her remodeling is going to have a serious effect on our bottom line this year,” Zeke said. “You be friendly, you hear?”

  She smiled. “I’m always friendly.”

  “I’m just saying you might want to put off talking about the power that flows from the earth until we cash the checks.”

  Boston rolled her eyes. “I only celebrated the summer solstice once and that was just to be nice to my friend from the art class I was teaching.”

  “You can be plenty weird without blaming other people.”

  “Redneck.”

  “Flake.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Let me go get my stuff.”

  He walked back outside to his truck. Boston glanced at the clock and saw it was too early to start dinner. With the weather so nice, she was thinking they would just barbecue burgers. Their first of the season. Zeke had pulled out the high-tech stainless monstrosity the previous weekend and was itching to fire it up.

  She could make a salad, she thought. Maybe invite Andi over. She had to be exhausted after a hard day of moving, and Boston knew there wasn’t anything remotely close to a working kitchen in her house.

  Zeke returned, his arms full of plans and contracts. He had his lunch box in one hand and a small box in another.

  She smiled. “Is that for me?”

  “I don’t know. I bought it for the most beautiful girl in the world. Is that you?”

  Whatever else might go wrong, Zeke always tried, she thought. He was a thoughtful guy, regularly bringing her little presents.

  The gifts themselves weren’t expensive. A new paintbrush, a single flower, an antique pin for her hair. For all the years they’d been married, he’d always gone out of his way to let her know he was thinking of her. That she was important to him. It was part of the glue that held their marriage together.

  She reached for the box, but he turned, keeping it out of reach. “Not so fast, young lady.”

  He put his paperwork down, then slowly held out the box. She took it, letting the anticipation build.

  “Diamonds?” she asked, knowing they weren’t something either of them would be interested in.

  “Darn it. Did you want diamonds? Because it’s a new truck.”

  Despite the tease, something in his voice sounded different. When she looked up, she saw the hesitation in his eyes. Boston opened the box slowly. Her gaze settled on the tiny pink booties.

  They had been knit in the finest gauge, with a little crocheted lace trim and delicate ties. Lovely and girly. Staring at them made her chest tighten. She couldn’t breathe. Her body went cold and the box with the booties slipped from her grasp.

  “How could you?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. Pain shot through her, slicing and cleaving. She turned away, determined to keep the monster that was her pain firmly in its cage.

  Zeke grabbed her arm. “Boston, don’t block me out. Don’t turn way. Give me something, hon. We have to talk about it. It’s been six months. We could still have a family. Another baby.”

  She jerked her arm free and glared at him. “Our son died.”

  “You think I don’t know that?”

  “You’re not acting like it. You say six months like it’s a lifetime. Well, it’s not. It’s nothing. I will never get over him, you hear me? Never.”

  She watched the affection fade from her husband’s eyes as something much darker took its place. “You keep doing this,” he told her. “Shutting me out. We have to move on.”

  “You move on,” she told him, the familiar numbness settling over her. “I’m staying right where I am.”

  Resignation settled into the lines around his mouth. “Like always,” he said. “Fine. You want more of the same, you can have it. I’m leaving. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

  He hesitated before turning, as if waiting for her to ask him not to go. She pressed her lips tightly together, wanting, no, needing to be alone. He was off to get drunk and she was fine with that. She got lost in her painting and he got lost in his bottle. It was how they got through the pain.

  He shook his head and stalked out. A few seconds later she heard his truck start up.

  When the sound of the engine had faded away, she walked back to her studio. As she stepped inside, she didn’t see the light spilling in through tall windows, the hand-built shelves, carefully constructed to her specifications, the easels and empty canvases awaiting their destiny. Instead her gaze fell on the pictures of Liam. Her son.

  Tiny sketches and life-size portraits. Drawings and watercolors. She’d used every material, every medium. She had created hundreds of pictures, maybe thousands. Since they’d buried him, he was all she could draw. All she wanted to create.

  Now, her heart still pounding, her body still cold, she picked up a sketchpad and a pencil. Then she settled onto her favorite stool and began to draw.

  Chapter Three

  DEANNA SAT IN her car in the parking lot. Spring had come to the Pacific Northwest. New leaves reflected sunlight and buds covered the bushes. The municipal park had soft green grass that had yet to be trampled by the children who would soon come to play.

  She reached for her take-out coffee, only to realize she was shaking too hard to hold it, let alone guide it to her mouth. She’d spent the past two days shaking. Shaking and not eating and trying to figure out how to salvage the shattered remains of her once perfect life. She’d alternated between blaming herself and wanting to kill Colin. She’d cried, screamed and when the children were around, pretended absolutely nothing was wrong. Then she’d come up with a plan.

  On the passenger seat next to her were several sheets of paper. Notes she’d made, phone numbers and statistics. She had all the girls’ paperwork and copies of her and Colin’s joint bank statements.

  Her options were limited. The bottom line was, she didn’t want a divorce. Being married was part of her identity, part of what she’d always wanted, and Colin wasn’t going to take that from her, too. So she was going to explain that while she might forgive, she wasn’t planning on forgetting. That he would have some serious work to do if he planned to win her back.

  She had several weapons she was willing to use. The girls, of course. His standing in the community. Colin loved the island, but if he didn’t come around, he would find himself ostracized.

  In the back of her mind, a voice whispered that maybe he didn’t want to give up the other woman. Maybe he wasn’t interested in his family anymore. And by family, she knew the voice meant her because no one could doubt Colin’s love for his girls.

  She ignored the voice, knowing it came from a weaker part of herself. Strength was required, and she would be strong. She knew how. She’d survived so much worse than this.

  She drew in a breath and steadied herself enough to pick up her coffee and take a sip. Once Colin agreed to end the affair, she was going to insist on couple’s therapy. She would casually mention th
at she had the names of several good lawyers. Lawyers who weren’t sure a straying father deserved much time with their children.

  The house wasn’t an issue, thank God. It was in her name and would be until the day she died. A few times over the years, she’d thought about putting his name on the deed, but never had done it. Now she was grateful.

  She glanced at her watch. About an hour ago, when she’d known he was close to home, she’d sent Colin a text saying that she knew about the other woman and telling him to meet her at the park. This conversation needed to be conducted in private, and with five girls in the house, privacy was rare. Madison was with a friend, and Deanna had hired a sitter to stay with the other four.

  Colin’s battered sedan pulled next to her SUV. Deanna put down the coffee and reached for the folders. As her fingers closed around the door handle, anger flooded her. Cold, thick fury that made her want to lash out, to cut and wound. How dare he? She’d spent her life in service to her family and this was what he did to her?

  She sucked in a breath, trying to calm herself. She had to keep her mind clear. She had to be able to think. She had to stay in control.

  Colin got out of his car and looked at her across the roof. He was still in his blue suit, although he’d changed his shirt and tie. Buoyed by the righteousness of her position, she opened her door.

  “Hello, Deanna.”

  Hello? Not “I’m sorry”? She pressed her lips together and nodded, then led the way to a bench on the grass. She sat on the side with a view of the sound. It would give her something to stare at as he groveled.

  He sat across from her. His blue gaze settled on her face. She waited, prepared for the explanation, the apologies. She hoped to see a little fear in his eyes. No, she thought grimly. A lot of fear.

  But it wasn’t there. If anything, he looked as he always did. Tired from his trip, of course. If she had to pick a second emotion, it would be resignation. She would almost say he looked determined, but that didn’t make sense.

  He nodded at the folders she held. “You came prepared.”

  “I did.”

  He leaned toward her, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not having an affair. I’ve never had an affair.”

  “I saw the picture.”

  “You saw a picture.”

  She drew back and squared her shoulders. “If you’re going to play word games, we’re not having this conversation.”

  “I’m saying you saw a picture of me with a coworker. The whole office was celebrating. Val had just gotten engaged. A few weeks ago, her boyfriend was acting strange. She thought he was trying to end things, but I told her to hang in there. It turns out he was preparing a romantic weekend away so he could propose. The picture is her thanking me.”

  “With a kiss?”

  “On the cheek, Deanna. She’s a kid. I’m not cheating.”

  She saw the truth in his eyes. Colin had never been much of a liar. A good quality in a husband, she thought, as relief replaced fear. The folders she held suddenly felt heavy and obvious.

  “You could have said something,” she murmured, aware she owed him an apology.

  “So could you.” He straightened and studied her. “I’m sorry you think I’m the kind of man who would cheat on you.”

  “I didn’t know what else it could be,” she admitted, uncomfortable being in the wrong. “Your work life is separate from us. You were kissing another woman and you’re gone all the time.”

  “Your misinterpretation isn’t my responsibility,” he told her.

  “I know.”

  She was an idiot, she thought. She had to explain and admit fault. It’s how these things went. “I just...” The words stuck in her throat.

  “No,” Colin said suddenly when she didn’t continue. He stared at her. “No, that’s not good enough.”

  “What?”

  “You not apologizing. Again.”

  She stiffened. “Colin!”

  “I’m sick of it. Of you, of us. I’m not happy with our marriage. I haven’t been for a long time.”

  She blinked, the words hitting her directly in the chest. Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t think of anything to say.

  His expression tightened. “I’m tired, Deanna. I’m tired of dealing with you. You don’t care about me or our relationship. I’m not sure you care about anything except getting your way and how things look to other people. You sure as hell don’t seem to want me around. You want my paycheck and then you want me to get out of your way.”

  Heat burned on her cheeks even as fear froze her chest and made it impossible to breathe.

  “You think I don’t notice how impatient you are with me every time I try to do something with the girls? You make all of us feel like unwelcome visitors in our own home. Nothing is good enough for you. We certainly aren’t. You’re constantly riding the girls and you can’t stay off my ass. The house is your domain and you make it damn clear I’m not welcome there.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she whispered, battered by the unexpected attack. “None of that is true.”

  “Really? You actually believe that? Then we have a bigger problem than I thought.” He was quiet for a moment. “I thought it would get better. That you’d see what you were doing. But you haven’t and you won’t. Maybe I’ve been afraid of the consequences, I don’t know. Regardless, I’m done waiting.”

  He stood and looked down at her. “I’m sure you’ve got all kinds of information in your folders there, Deanna. I don’t know if you planned to try to scare the crap out of me or tell me to get out. So my bottom line won’t have the same details as yours, but here goes anyway. I want a real marriage. I want to feel like I’m welcome in my own home. I’m tired of you calling all the shots and treating our daughters like they’re dogs to be housebroken rather than children to be nurtured. Things are going to change, starting now, or our marriage is over.”

  He might have said more. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that she was cold and couldn’t breathe and her stomach hurt. She tried to stand and couldn’t. The folders fell onto the ground. Papers scattered everywhere.

  He was wrong. He was wrong! The words repeated over and over again. Wrong and cruel. She hated him, hated this.

  She managed to stand. Once she’d stepped out from the bench, she turned to tell him that, but he was already gone, his car driving away. She watched him disappear around a curve, and then she was alone.

  * * *

  Boston plunged her hands into the cool soil and moved her fingers through the loose dirt. Seedlings lined up beside her, delicate wisps that would grow into sturdy plants. While she planted most of her garden directly with seeds, the past few years she’d been experimenting with starting a few vegetables as seedlings. Zeke had built her a small greenhouse just for that purpose. Last year she’d had success with her tomatoes. This year she was adding broccoli and cabbage to the mix.

  She reached for the first plant, then sat back on her heels when she heard a truck pull into the driveway. Not her husband, she thought. Her brother-in-law, Wade. Most likely here to plead Zeke’s case. Once a big brother, always a big brother. Wade could no more help himself from stepping between Zeke and trouble than he could change his eye color or height.

  She shifted so she was sitting cross-legged on the grass and waited. About thirty seconds later, Wade walked around the corner of the house and spotted her.

  “I figured you’d be in your garden,” he said as he approached.

  Boston stared up at him. The brothers were around the same height, six-two, with dark hair and eyes. They were strong, easygoing and loyal to a fault. They were also driven by demons neither would admit to and shared a passion for sports that she had never understood. All she knew was that she held a small private celebration every year when football season was finally o
ver.

  Wade settled next to her, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He had on jeans and worn work boots, a plaid shirt. No jacket. The King brothers were tough and barely bothered with any kind of outerwear until it hit near freezing.

  She’d known Wade nearly as long as she’d known his brother. If she remembered correctly, Zeke had taken her home to meet his family after their second date. Over salad and spaghetti he’d announced he was going to marry her one day. She had to give his parents credit. Neither had blinked at the statement. Probably because they’d assumed that young love didn’t have much of a shelf life.

  “He thinks you’re pissed,” Wade said, his tone conversational.

  “Shouldn’t he be having this conversation with me?” she asked.

  “You know Zeke hates confrontation.”

  “And you don’t?”

  Wade gave her a familiar grin. “You like me too much to yell at me. Besides, I’m the innocent bystander.”

  “I love Zeke and I’m very comfortable yelling at him.”

  “Sure, which is why I’m here instead of him. He doesn’t know how to reach you. He says it’s like you’re not even there some days.”

  An accurate assessment, she thought, knowing that every spare corner of her heart was filled with pain. There was so much of it, she couldn’t feel anything else. And because the pain consumed her, she deliberately chose to feel nothing at all.

  She missed her beautiful baby boy in perfect solitude, in an emotional vacuum, where he was always smiling and happy and only slightly out of reach.

  She poked at the turned earth. “This isn’t your fight, Wade.”

  “Tell me he can go home. I’m tired of him sleeping on my couch.”

  “He never had to leave.”

  Wade raised his left eyebrow.

  She sighed. “It’s not my fault he’d rather run than fight. I’m willing to take him on.”

  “Are you? He says the problem is you don’t fight.” Concern darkened his eyes. “You already lost Liam. Don’t lose each other.”