Reason to Breathe

by Deborah Raney

  Britt and Jo watched Phee with wary eyes, waiting for her to spill.

  “So, you seriously think Mom was married before?” Jo looked skeptical.

  “Dad admitted it. Why would he lie about something like that?” Phee glanced at the clock on the living room wall. It was after eleven, and she and her sisters were on their second cups of tea. Caffeinated. They’d taken off their shoes and were curled up in their stockinged feet on the love seats. Phee and Britt shared a sofa, and Jo sat across from them with Melvin curled up on her lap, his purr a reassuring cadence.

  Jo shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”

  Phee wasn’t surprised her sister was in denial. She had been too, after all. But there was no denying any of it now.

  “I had a feeling that’s what we were going to find out.” Britt seemed to be taking the news in stride. “It just didn’t make sense that she would have hidden the ring and the other stuff if it wasn’t a real wedding picture.”

  Jo shook her head, her eyes reflecting Phee’s confusion. “So, what was his name?”

  “Whose name?”

  “The guy Mom was married to? Did you try googling it?”

  “I didn’t even think to ask. And Dad didn’t say.” She couldn’t tell them that she’d been dealing with more startling discoveries.

  Joanna fished her phone out of her purse and started typing. “Mom lived in Jeff City when she and Dad met, right?”

  “I think so.” Phee winced. “If they were telling the truth about that.”

  “Phee …” Britt’s voice was scolding.

  “Well, how do we know what to believe anymore?” If her sisters only knew.

  “Oh, wow.” Joanna frowned at her phone. “Do you know how many Myra Claytons there are in this world?”

  “Did you put in her middle name?” Phee grabbed her own phone and entered Mom’s full maiden name.

  “Yes, but all that’s coming up is Mom’s obituary.”

  “Same here.” Phee laid her phone down. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  “Maybe we can look up the marriage and divorce records at the courthouse and find out something.” Joanna was in lawyer mode again.

  Phee shook her head. “But wouldn’t we have to go to Jefferson City for that? And for all we know, they got married somewhere else. Or eloped in Cancún.”

  Jo shook her head. “No, Mom and Dad got married in Chicago.”

  “So they said.” Phee huffed. “I mean where Mom’s first marriage happened. And the divorce. But how are we supposed to believe anything they ever told us now?” If Joanna went digging for information, what might she uncover? Yet as much as Phee wanted to know the truth, she wasn’t ready for her sisters to learn that they might not even share the same father.

  “They wouldn’t have lied about that. Would they?” Britt twirled a strand of hair through her fingers.

  “I don’t know.” Joanna released a sigh and slumped deeper into the sofa. “Is it getting to you guys that ever since Mom died, it seems like we don’t even know who our parents are anymore?

  “Or who they were,” Britt added.

  Phee nodded. “It’s getting to me.” Joanna had no idea how close to home her words hit.

  Britt nodded, tearing up.

  “It kind of makes you wonder if everything in our childhood was … a mirage.” Jo looked near tears too. “It just makes me so sad.”

  “I wish it made me sad,” Phee admitted. “Right now it just makes me furious. And afraid of what else we might find out.” Her sisters didn’t know her worst fears. And she couldn’t bring herself to even speak of what she was starting to suspect.

  A little sob rose in Britt’s throat. “Do you think that’s why Dad got with Karleen so soon after Mom …?”

  Her sister’s tears broke Phee’s heart. She scooted closer to put an arm around Britt’s shoulders. “What do you mean?”

  “Like … did he do it out of spite? Toward Mom?”

  “No, Britt.” Jo could be more of a mother hen than Phee. “It’s not like this would hurt Mom.”

  “I don’t think Dad would do that. When we talked on the phone, he just said he and Karleen are ‘taking a break’ …whatever that means.”

  “Then why doesn’t he come home?” Britt’s voice rose on the last word.

  Joanna shook her head. “And why is he still selling the house? Our house.”

  “Did Dad say whose idea the breakup was?” Britt’s voice went airy like a little girl’s.

  “He said it was mutual. But … I don’t know. When I think about how Karleen acted in the flower shop … She seemed worried about Dad, and I think it kind of threw her off when I told her I hadn’t talked to him for a while.”

  “So maybe he’s the one who broke it off?” Jo’s tone turned hopeful.

  “I honestly don’t know. All he said was that they were taking a break and that it was mutual.”

  “I’m worried about him.” Jo nudged Melvin off her lap, pulled her legs up, and hugged her knees. “It doesn’t make sense that he wouldn’t come home if she’s not in the picture anymore.”

  Britt’s chin trembled. “Do you think he’s depressed?”

  “He’s just lost his wife. And now his … girlfriend.” Jo said it as if the word had gone sour in her mouth.

  Phee shook her head. “He actually sounded better than he has in a while.” She didn’t want to give false hope, but what she’d said was true.

  “Are you sure you didn’t just imagine that because you were so relieved to hear he and Karleen broke up?” Jo wrinkled her nose. “You know how you sometimes have a tendency to project.”

  Phee tensed her jaw and prayed for strength to guard her tongue. Her sisters didn’t know the possibilities she was wrestling with.

  “Guys … don’t fight.” Britt played mediator the way she had when they were teenagers.

  “It’s okay, sis.” And it was. Phee knew Jo didn’t mean to attack her or accuse her—even if it felt that way. Joanna was just being her usual thorough, analytical self.

  Finally, Phee found words that didn’t have the potential to start an argument. “I let Dad know we really want to see him. I practically begged him to come home, even if just for a visit.”

  “And did he say he would?”

  “He said he’d try. At least he didn’t hang up on me this time.” She gave Jo a sidewise glance. “I really do think he seemed more like himself.”

  “Okay. I’m glad.” Jo’s tone held unspoken apology. “It would be nice if he’d call Britt or me and let us know he’s alive.”

  “Don’t take it personally. I think I’m supposed to be the spokesperson. Or mediator or whatever. Privilege of the oldest, don’t you know. And he asked about you guys.” Phee couldn’t remember if he actually had. The “old” Dad would have, but she wasn’t sure she knew the man she called “Dad” at all anymore.

  “I might just give him a call myself.” Jo rose from the sofa, yawning.

  “You should.” Phee stretched. “It’s really late, you guys. It’s probably not a good idea to be having hard conversations this time of night.”

  “Good point.” Jo straightened the throw pillows and Britt tidied the coffee table.

  They started toward the entry hall, and as Jo buttoned up her coat, she regarded Britt. “You okay to stay here tonight? You and Melvin?”

  “I’ve been staying every night.” It came out defensive, but she smiled. “I’ll be fine. But I will be glad when we all move out to the cottages.”

  “So, what’s stopping us?” Jo said. “Let’s do it.”

  Britt’s eyes widened. “Tonight?”

  “Huh-uh, not tonight,” Phee protested. “I’m going to need toothpicks to prop my eyes open for the drive home.”

  Britt put a hand on her arm. “Don’t you fall asleep.”

  “I won’t. I’m fine.”

  “This weekend then?” Jo looked from Phee to Britt.

  “I thought the open house was this weekend,�
� Britt said. “I better not have done all that cleaning for nothing.”

  Phee managed a laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s Sunday afternoon. And I’m going to pick up some flowers at work to take by Dad’s house so everything will look perfect. But they don’t want us there Sunday anyway. In fact, we’ll need to get Melvin out of the house.”

  Joanna tapped a note into her phone. “Let’s plan to move our beds and whatever else we can from our apartments and the house on Saturday.”

  “The apartments, yes. But remember, the real estate agent wants us to leave the furniture in Dad’s house until after the open house.”

  “Then Sunday night, we can move whatever we still want from this house. Will that work?” Britt looked relieved.

  “I don’t see why not,” Jo said.

  “It’s a date then,” Phee said.

  Britt gave a little cheer and reached down to pick up Melvin, who’d followed them to the door. “You hear that, Melvin? We’re moving to the country.”

  Phee felt a strange rush of relief. Moving to the cottages would offer a blessed distraction from the troubling secrets she’d unearthed tonight.

  Chapter 17

  Pull harder, Jo!”

  “I am pulling! What are you doing?”

  “I’m pushing. Like you told me.” Phee set down her end of the box spring and wiped her brow with the sleeve of her jacket—despite the fact that it was only thirty-six degrees outside. Sometimes she hated how out of shape she’d gotten since college. She’d run track in high school and had managed to stay in shape in college, since she had easy access to the university track while she lived on campus. She weighed the same now as she had at twenty, but the toned muscles from those days were a distant memory. She gripped her end of the box spring again. “Why don’t they put handles on these things?”

  “They do … see?” Joanna pulled up a flimsy strip of webbing attached to the side. “But you’d have to be Gumby to get a grip on any two of them at the same time.”

  A Mozart concerto playing on Phee’s laptop swelled to a crescendo as if fortifying them for the task ahead.

  Jo gave a little growl. “Can we please turn that music off?”

  “I got it!” Britt hustled to close the lid on the laptop.

  Phee bit her tongue. They were going to have to make some rules about things like music and noise.

  “Why didn’t we hire somebody to help?” Jo groaned.

  “Because we’re cheap, remember?”

  “Speak for yourself, sister,” Jo shot back.

  Phee gripped the edge of the box spring and hoisted her end again. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be.”

  “You got the door, Britt?”

  “Right here.”

  “Okay. One, two—”

  “Three!” Jo picked up her end and yanked it over the threshold and through the doorway.

  A cheer went up from all three of them. Upended, the box spring slid easily on the wood floors until soon they had it in place.

  “One down, four to go.” Jo blew out a stream of air that ruffled her bangs.

  “Thanks for the encouraging words, sis.”

  “Any time.”

  They’d borrowed a pickup from a guy Joanna worked with and had moved some of the apartment furniture, along with Phee’s beloved bookcases. She’d spent a blissful afternoon yesterday in her little office-bedroom, arranging her ever-growing collection of books and longing for the day when she’d have the time—and focus—to read again.

  This morning, they’d managed to load the queen-size beds from Jo’s and Phee’s apartments as well as the daybed Britt slept on at the house in Langhorne. If they could just get beds set up tonight, they could worry about everything else tomorrow.

  But with the beds all here, they were committed to sleeping at the cottage tonight. It was either that or go back to Dad’s house and mess up beds and pillows that were all made and fluffed to perfection for the open house tomorrow.

  And one glance out the window in the bedroom that would be Jo’s told Phee it would be dark in twenty minutes. She did not want to be wrestling mattresses across the rocky driveway and over the porch railing in the dark.

  Joanna sighed, apparently feeling Phee’s impatience. “Well, here we are.”

  “Yep, no turning back now.” Britt sounded positively gleeful.

  Jo tossed a bed pillow at her. “You’re just happy you don’t have to stay alone overnight anymore.”

  “Right. Until you guys run off and get married, and then I’ll be staying out here with the mice and the monsters.” Britt pulled a face that made her sisters laugh.

  Joanna rolled her eyes. “I don’t think you have to worry about that anytime soon. We’ll probably go down in history as the three old maids of Poplar Brook Road.”

  “We will not.” Phee tossed her head. “Well, I might. But you two aren’t anywhere near spinsterhood.” She winced. Spinster. That was Mom’s word.

  “Twenty-nine isn’t exactly headed for the nursing home either, Phee.”

  She knew that. And it wasn’t as if she was desperate to get married or anything, but it had broken her heart when Dad told her a few days before Mom had passed away, that one of Mom’s biggest regrets was that her illness had made “spinsters” of all her daughters, since they’d put their lives on hold to take care of her. Mom had always dreamed of helping her three girls plan their weddings. Phee had always thought it was because Mom had never had a real wedding of her own. So much for that theory.

  Joanna had dated a guy for almost a year before breaking up with him. Ben was a great guy, but he’d told Jo he just wasn’t ready to be tied down. But maybe his reasons had more to do with Mom’s illness than he admitted. For all three of them—and probably her parents too—as Mom’s illness progressed, their friends had drifted away. She understood. People had their own lives to live, and it was depressing being in a house where cancer lived.

  Phee brushed away the thoughts, hating it when she turned so introspective. She grabbed two moving boxes they’d emptied and thrust one at each sister. “Let’s take these to the truck and get this over with.”

  As they entered the living room, a light flashed outside the window. Car headlights painted a slow swath of yellow across the trees at the edge of the woods. Phee stopped in her tracks. “Shh. Someone’s here.”

  “Who?” Britt looked alarmed.

  “I didn’t see the vehicle. Just the headlights. Are you guys expecting anyone?”

  Jo and Britt shook their heads.

  Without speaking, they abandoned the boxes against a wall and crept into the hallway. Someone knocked quietly, then opened the door to the outer porch.

  With her sisters each clutching one of her arms, Phee peered around the doorway into the living room. She could see a shadow behind the glass. They’d left the front door unlocked and partially ajar, so there was nothing to keep someone from barging in.

  “Who is it?” She tried to make her voice assertive.

  The door opened a crack, and a man’s voice shouted, “Hello? Anyone home?”

  “Who is it?” Phee repeated, her heart racing.

  “It’s me. Quinn.” The door went shut with him still on the other side of it.

  Phee laughed, relieved to recognize his voice. “Come in, Quinn.”

  He opened it again and poked his head in, looking sheepish.

  Breathing sighs of relief, the sisters congregated around him in the living room.

  “A little mouse told me you—”

  “Don’t say mouse!” Britt squealed.

  Quinn laughed. “Sorry. A little bird told me you might be moving in this weekend. I went by your dad’s to see if you needed any help, but nobody was home, so I thought I’d find you out here. Looks like I’m too late though.” He looked around the room. “Looks as if you’ve lived here forever.”

  Phee beamed at the compliment. Just last night, the three of them had stayed late decorating the mantel and arranging Mom’s painti
ngs on the walls on either side of the fireplace. They’d played with pillows and throws and mirrors and art until they came up with something they unanimously declared perfect.

  “Thanks,” Joanna told Quinn. “But you are not too late at all. We were just saying we needed some muscle to help us get the mattresses in here. Weren’t we, sisters?”

  “We were, indeed.” Britt winked at Phee.

  Quinn flexed a bicep with a comical expression. “I don’t know about muscle, but another set of hands and feet is always good when you’re moving. Where do we start?”

  Phee could have kissed him.

  “Follow me.” Jo and Phylicia led the way out to the pickup, and Britt stayed behind to hold the doors for them.

  Quinn hoped they wouldn’t ask him to manhandle an armoire or something that weighed more than he did. But Turner Chandler’s daughters had proven they weren’t afraid of a little hard work. The real test would come with renovating the smaller cottages, but he still couldn’t get over the transformation they’d wrought on this place. He was no expert on decorating, but he’d been in the construction business long enough to know the look of a well-appointed room. The sisters had this living room looking like something straight out of a magazine.

  They got the rest of the beds and a box spring moved in and placed on bed frames the girls had already set up. When they brought in the last mattress—a small one for a daybed—he brushed off his hands and watched, amused, as the sisters scurried through the house like the maids on Downton Abbey. They shook out sheets and blankets, stuffing pillows into cases like so many sausages, and arguing good-naturedly about who had dibs on which sheets—apparently something called thread count was a thing. Who knew?

  In the midst of it all, Phylicia and Britt struck a deal that Britt would get one of the bedrooms and Phylicia would take the daybed in what they were calling the “office” off the living room. Judging by Phylicia’s smug grin after they shook on the barter, she thought she’d gotten the better end of the deal. But Britt practically skipped back to get settled into her new room.