Читать книгу The Secret Sister - Бренда Новак - Страница 11
ОглавлениеHER MOTHER, DRESSED in a highly tailored burnt-orange skirt and jacket with matching pumps, was expertly made up and coifed. She was even wearing lip-liner with her lipstick. But just because she appeared to be on her way to Love’s in Bloom, or somewhere even fancier, didn’t mean she’d be leaving the house. Josephine always looked as if she belonged in the pages of a fashion magazine, and she never seemed to age. She did everything she could to prevent it.
As a child, Maisey had been proud of her. When Josephine walked into a room, people noticed, especially men. And the way she carried herself, so regally, helped her win over anyone her beauty might not have captivated.
It wasn’t until Maisey grew older that she began to perceive her mother’s vanity—and the many hours she spent getting Botox and other treatments—as more desperate and self-indulgent than admirable. But she didn’t want to see through that carefully prepared veneer. She wished she could still be under Josephine’s spell, like almost everyone else.
“Hello, Mother.” She nodded respectfully as she stood at the threshold of the drawing room where her mother waited to receive them. She wished she was one of those daughters who could fall into her mother’s arms and sob out her pain, but she knew Josephine wouldn’t truly welcome her.
“You’ve arrived.” Although her mother put down the small dog she’d been holding in her lap and got to her feet, her smile was cool. “Come in. You must be hungry and tired. I’ve ordered tea.”
Maisey was grateful when her brother preceded her. She needed another moment to compose herself, another moment to prepare that aching, empty spot inside her for a fresh jolt of life as a Lazarow.
Here we go, she thought.
Focusing on the dog, which looked like a Yorkie, she gathered her courage, marched toward her mother and gave her the requisite air kiss on each cheek. She knew she’d be criticized if she didn’t perform this family ritual, although it meant nothing.
When she breathed in the scent of her mother’s perfume, the memories of her childhood began to assault her. “You look lovely, as always.”
“If only I could lose a few pounds,” her mother responded with an air of lamentation.
Josephine murmured something similar whenever she received a compliment. Not because she truly believed she needed to lose weight; she considered it gauche not to avoid the appearance of conceit.
Annoyed by the pretense, Maisey nearly grimaced. She felt as if she was playing the magic mirror in Snow White.
Magic mirror, in my hand, who’s the fairest in the land?
My queen, you are the fairest in the land.
“What a beautiful outfit,” her mother said.
Maisey was tempted to indulge in the same game her mother did by saying, “What, this old thing?” But knowing Josephine would easily figure out that she was the brunt of that joke, Maisey overrode the impulse. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Keith’s been so excited about your arrival. How was the trip?”
They hadn’t seen each other for ten years, and yet it was Keith who was excited? Keith had visited her several times in New York. He’d last seen her at Ellie’s funeral. Fortunately, he’d also come earlier, when she was born, or no one in Maisey’s family would ever have met her baby.
But Josephine could never admit to needing or missing anyone who’d dared to question or criticize her. Or maybe she really hadn’t missed Maisey... “Not too bad. Still, I’m glad it’s over.”
Josephine scooped up her little dog. “This is Athena.”
“She’s darling.”
Cuddling her dog, Josephine stepped to one side and peered into the entry. “Where’s your luggage?”
Maisey hadn’t wanted to break the news that she’d be staying elsewhere so soon. But now that the question had been posed, she had no choice except to answer it. “I, um, stowed it over at Smuggler’s Cove.”
Her mother’s eyes flashed with an emotion she quickly suppressed, and she put her dog down again. “Why would you leave it there?”
“I’ve decided to move into one of the bungalows. I like the idea of being so close to the beach.” She mustered a smile as if she couldn’t feel the torrent of her mother’s displeasure. “It reminds me of Dad.”
The mention of her father didn’t distract Josephine for a second. “But the bungalows aren’t ready for occupancy.”
“Unit 6 isn’t so bad,” Keith said, obviously trying to smooth the way.
“And I can manage until your contractor gets around to the rehab,” Maisey added.
There was a protracted silence. As a child, Maisey would’ve caved in and said something to relieve the tension, something like, “But I’ll stay here, if you’d rather.” She’d always been a pleaser. Even as an adult, it required determination not to succumb to her mother’s powerful will.
“You’d rather move into a damaged shack than return to Coldiron House?” her mother asked.
“I’d hardly call the bungalows shacks, Mother,” she said, choosing to skirt the real issue. “They’re structurally sound and will be quite cozy once they’re restored. In all honesty, I’d like to assist with the restoration if I can. I enjoy do-it-yourself projects.”
“Since when?” Josephine demanded.
“Since I married Jack,” she replied coolly.
There was a slight pause. “Yes, Jack brought out a lot of things in you I didn’t know existed.”
Maisey almost reacted to her sarcasm by saying, “You mean like a backbone?” But her mother was still talking. And, determined to maintain the peace, Maisey stifled that rejoinder.
“You’re no contractor,” Josephine was saying. “And I’m already paying Raphael Romero. Why would you get involved?”
“Because I think I’d find it...therapeutic.”
Her mother waved her words away. “Therapeutic how?”
Was she serious? “It’ll give me something to concentrate on to get my mind off...the recent changes in my life.”
“Surely you have better things to do,” her mother said. “Why impinge on your writing time?”
Now wasn’t the ideal moment—if there could ever be an ideal moment—to tell Josephine that she hadn’t been able to produce more than a few words, which she’d edited right off the page. She hadn’t been able to draw, either. Not for months. “I’m sure I can fit everything in.” These days she had nothing but time.
“At least you get paid for writing. You’ll get nothing in exchange for working on the bungalows.”
“I’m not expecting anything.”
Josephine’s chin went up as she sank back into her seat. “Except free rent.”
She just had to make Maisey acknowledge the financial help she’d be receiving. Her mother had inherited a fortune from her father, who’d inherited it from his father. Yet she acted as though she’d earned every penny. “I’m willing to pay rent,” Maisey said. “How much would you like to charge me?”
Josephine grimaced. “Stop.”
“You’re the one who mentioned it.”
“It doesn’t make any sense to go there when you could stay here for free. That’s all.”
“How could my moving into the damaged bungalows cost you any more than having me move here? They’re empty, aren’t they?” Maisey regarded her mother expectantly. Putting Josephine in a position where she’d have to state her objection in order to get her way was the only effective tool Maisey possessed.
“If that’s what you want, it’s of no consequence to me,” she said, right on cue.
After a quick glance at Keith, who was standing by the hearth, Maisey sat down and pretended to take Josephine’s words at face value. But she was more convinced than ever that staying at Smuggler’s Cove, even with Rafe Romero living next door, might just save her sanity.
There was a slight clatter in the doorway, and a girl in her late teens carried in a tray of small sandwiches, deviled eggs, cookies and tea.
“Thank you, Clarissa.” Josephine slid forward to pour.
Maisey waited until Clarissa had left to question the girl’s identity. “I see you have someone new on staff.”
“Clarissa is Pippa’s niece. She’s helping out until Pippa’s well enough to resume her duties.”
Maisey shot Keith another look. If Pippa was sick, why hadn’t he told her in the car? Pippa, her mother’s most recent housekeeper, had started the year Maisey left, so they didn’t know each other well. They had, however, communicated now and then over the past decade—usually when Pippa sent out invitations to Josephine’s annual Christmas party and Maisey replied with a note expressing her “regret” at being unable to attend. Pippa would invariably follow up with a Christmas card and an interesting summary of all that’d happened on Fairham that year. Although Pippa never revealed anything Josephine wouldn’t want her to, Maisey had always considered that update a kind gesture. Pippa had even sent a gift when Ellie was born. “She’s ill?”
“Not seriously,” Josephine replied. “She has a bronchial infection, so, for the past week, Clarissa’s been filling in.” She put down the teapot. “I might keep the girl on. There are times Pippa could use the extra help.”
“I’m sure Clarissa would be grateful for the work.” Because there was so much that stood between them, and Maisey had lost faith that they’d ever be able to breach the gap, she felt it was better to discuss the daily running of the estate than anything personal.
“She should be. She has no other prospects,” Josephine said.
Maisey twisted around to make sure Clarissa wasn’t in the hall, but her mother didn’t seem to care whether she heard or not. In the rare moments when Josephine chose to be honest, she could be brutally so.
“Tea?” Her mother gestured at the tray.
As Maisey picked up her cup and saucer, Keith walked over and popped two cucumber sandwiches into his mouth, one right after the other.
“At least put your food on a plate!” Josephine snapped at him, her voice harsh enough to send Athena skittering backward. “Or did you do that just to upset me?”
“I did it because I’m hungry,” he replied, sounding equally irritated. “And who else is here to see me? I’m supposed to impress you and Maisey? She doesn’t care.”
Maisey opened her mouth to agree. She didn’t want something as minor as eating cucumber sandwiches the wrong way to make this tea more uncomfortable than it already was. It didn’t take much to set off either her mother or her brother. But Josephine didn’t give her the opportunity to react.
“I care!” she cried. “Have some respect.” Josephine turned back to Maisey, but now there were pink stains on her cheeks. “Since you’re here, I take it you and Jack haven’t reconciled,” she said.
Those words proved that Josephine was no longer on her best behavior. Had she thought about it for even a second, she would’ve known that Maisey didn’t want to talk about Jack. But whether or not the recipient would be pleased by the topic she chose had never stopped Josephine before.
“No.”
“You don’t think you will?”
Maisey clenched her jaw but forced it to relax so she could answer politely. “He’s with someone else.”
“Already?”
Josephine knew this. She had to know it. Maisey had kept in touch with Keith and, more loosely, Pippa, even if she hadn’t maintained direct contact with her mother. No doubt they’d shared the basic facts of her life—and more information had probably come from Keith than Pippa. As close as Maisey felt to Keith, as loyal as he tried to be, he’d never been particularly adept at keeping his mouth shut. The fact that Josephine claimed not to know about Jack strained the bounds of credulity, but allowed her to act innocent while Maisey writhed.
“Jack was involved with another woman before he moved out,” Maisey explained. Was that what she wanted to hear? Did Josephine enjoy making her say it?
“I see.” Her mother had warned her that Jack, who’d been working as a lifeguard at the public beach in Keys Crossing when she met him, would be unlikely to support her “in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.” He came from decent, middle-class folk and had a business degree but no connections to help him get a start in the world of finance, which was his goal. Ironically, once they’d moved to New York, he’d managed to land a good job at Merrill Lynch simply by interviewing and had turned out to be quite talented with money.
Josephine must’ve been aware of that, too. It was something she would’ve questioned Keith about whenever he came back from New York. Where do they live? What kind of rent do they pay? Is their apartment big? Yet those two words—I see—sounded suspiciously like, So I was right. And you dared question me...
“Then your marriage is really over,” Josephine added, driving the knife deeper still.
“Yes.” Maisey wanted to point out that Jack had failed in a completely different area than the one Josephine had predicted. But, once again, she bit her tongue. What did it matter? Jack was out of her life.
Josephine’s cup clinked as she returned it to her saucer. “What’s on the horizon for you now?”
Maisey didn’t have any official plans. She just wanted to help support Keith’s recovery. Someone had to step in. He couldn’t continue the downward spiral that had led him to attempt suicide. And why not come here? She hadn’t been doing anyone any good in Manhattan—including herself. “Maybe I’ll change things up, get a job.”
She had to create some income unless she wanted to fall into the same vulnerable position as Keith and be dependent on Josephine for everything. It wasn’t as if she was getting any alimony. She’d been making as much as Jack when they split. Granted, there were still some royalties coming in, but that wouldn’t happen for another few months—and wouldn’t amount to all that much.
Josephine paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean? What kind of job? There’s nothing on the island that would suit you—nothing but menial labor.”
“Menial labor would keep me busy at least.” Even washing dishes would demand she maintain a schedule. She needed structure, some reason to keep moving so she could escape the inertia that had struck her down in New York.
“Writing and illustrating will do that, won’t they?”
Following Josephine’s cucumber-sandwich rebuke, Keith had gone back to his place by the mantel. Maisey could feel the weight of his stare. He was probably wondering if she’d tell their mother what she’d told him in the car, but she couldn’t face the backlash the truth would create. “I’ll put in a few hours here and there.” Or make the attempt, if and when she could bear to try.
“That’s the beauty of what you do.” Josephine brought her cup to her lips. “You can work from almost anywhere.”
Maisey realized she’d been drinking her tea without any sweetener and added a sugar cube with the silver tongs that had been in the family since before her grandfather had emigrated from France and purchased the island. Selling her children’s books to a traditional, well-known publisher was one of the few things she’d done right, according to Josephine. Josephine liked the respectability that went with being successfully published, and she liked the accolades Maisey’s books had received. That was what Keith had told her, anyway. Her first book was published when she was twenty-seven, married and living in New York.
“That’s one of the benefits,” she agreed. “But, at the moment, I don’t have any pressing deadlines. So...for the next few weeks, until I can find a job, I’ll concentrate on fixing up my little bungalow.”
Her mother wrinkled her perfectly formed nose. “As I said, doing anything with the bungalows makes no sense. My contractor can handle it.”
“I know. I met Raphael while we were there—” she certainly wasn’t about to mention that she’d met him before “—inspecting the damage caused by the hurricane. He seems perfectly capable, but he said he wouldn’t mind my help.”
“You don’t think you should’ve asked me what I thought of the idea first?”
Maisey took a sip of her tea. “I didn’t want to bother you with something so...trivial.”
“Maisey’s going to my NA meetings with me,” Keith piped up. “That should make the ferry ride a bit more pleasant, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’m grateful for anything that’ll keep you on track,” Josephine said. “Good Lord, what you’ve put me through!” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe she’ll spend a few hours at the flower shop with you every week, too, so you can finally grasp the art of arranging. She was the best arranger I had when she was in high school. But you only ever do one-tenth of what I need.”
When the color drained from Keith’s face, Maisey flinched. He could’ve used some encouragement instead of yet another insult.
“It’s been so long since I worked at the flower shop, I’m sure he’d have to teach me a thing or two.” Maisey could tell her brother was offended by what their mother had said. She could feel his dark mood from where she sat. But at that point, the conversation took a less emotional turn, giving her hope that they’d weathered the worst of this meeting, and that she’d be able to cajole him out of his resentment after it was over.
They talked about Josephine’s many cousins, who mostly lived in Charleston these days, and how they were coping with the death of Josephine’s half-brother on her mother’s side; he had been the patriarch of that part of the family. Then they discussed the renovation of the east wing, following which her mother mentioned that Maisey was too thin (of course!) and needed to have her hair trimmed (which she already knew). As the minutes passed, Maisey grew more convinced that the worst was behind her. Her mother had pointed out every flaw, touched on almost every sensitive subject. What could be left?
But just as Maisey was beginning to feel less anxious, Josephine looked up with a hint of challenge in her eyes.
“And what about little Ellie?” she asked, drawing her eyebrows together and lowering her voice as if she was trying to be gentle with the razor-sharp sword of her mouth.
Apparently there was one subject left. But it was so sensitive Maisey hadn’t expected anyone to bring it up—not even her mother.
“What about her?” Maisey held her teacup so tightly she thought it might shatter. “Ellie’s dead. I called you when it happened.”
“You said it was SIDS...”
“It was SIDS.”
“The doctors are convinced? They’ve confirmed it?”
“I wouldn’t have told you so otherwise.”
“But...it’s hard to believe a perfectly healthy baby can go to sleep at night and...and not wake up in the morning with nothing occurring in between.”
Maisey hated that she was beginning to tremble. “It happens. It happened to Ellie.”
“I’d think there would’ve been some sign, that’s all.”
Some sign she’d missed? As usual, her mother was trying to assign blame, make her feel responsible for every bad thing that had occurred in her life. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
Josephine’s lips pursed. “It’s strange. That’s all,” she repeated.
“Why are we even discussing it?” Maisey asked.
Hearing the rancor in her voice, Josephine bristled. “Well, if you want me to be frank, I’m merely letting you know that the way you handled the whole thing—keeping me out of her life—wasn’t right. I never even got to meet my grandchild!”
Placing her cup on the tray in a very deliberate movement, Maisey came to her feet. “You’re not going to blame me for the fact that you never got to meet Ellie, Mother. We contacted you when she was born. You could’ve come then. Keith did. But you were too busy trying to punish me for marrying Jack without your blessing, for leaving Fairham and daring to live a life that didn’t include you.”
Her mother set her chin—an expression Maisey knew all too well, and used to fear as a child. “That’s. Not. True!”
Maisey would not let her revise history like this. “It is true,” she insisted. “You barely spoke to us when we called. You didn’t ask one question, not how much Ellie weighed or how my labor went or whether she was healthy.”
“You informed me you’d just had a child, and then you hung up. You gave me no chance to say anything!”
Rage welled up, dark and forbidding and threatening—and yet somehow welcome as an outlet for all the pain. “Forgive me. I thought dead silence suggested you weren’t interested. You could’ve called back but you didn’t. We emailed you a picture and got no response.”
“I was supposed to thank you for taunting me with what I was missing? I wasn’t going to force my way into your life if I wasn’t wanted. I know Jack never liked me.”
Conscious of her brother’s unrest, Maisey felt a brief desire to rein in her emotions for his sake. But she was too far gone to stop. “For good reason!” she cried. “You didn’t want me to marry Jack, and you made your opinion very plain.”
Josephine sneered at her. “Now that he’s shown his true colors, it’s funny you should bring that up. You could’ve avoided a lot of heartache had you listened to me.”
Maisey wasn’t willing to tolerate any more. “Don’t ever mention Jack or Ellie to me again,” she said, and stalked out.
“Maisey!” Keith hurried after her, but she refused to stop or turn around until she was well clear of the house. And by then she was breathing so hard she had to bend over to keep from passing out.
She heard Keith behind her, but he didn’t speak again. He stood there as if he didn’t know what to do.
Once she’d overcome her dizziness and straightened, he kicked at the tufts of grass on the lawn. Had they been like most families, he might’ve gathered her in his arms. That was what she needed. Maybe he needed it, too. But neither one of them knew how to reach out for that kind of comfort.
“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get into it with Mom, didn’t mean to put you through that.” What good would she do him if she only caused more upset and pain?
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “She had no business saying half the things she did, especially about Ellie.”
Maisey wiped the sweat from her upper lip. “She always has to place blame—but never accepts responsibility for her own actions.”
“It’s that damn pride of hers,” he said. “Are you sorry you came back?”
She shook her head. “I knew what to expect.” She might’ve hoped for more, but past experience had never allowed that hope to fully blossom. “Will you tell me something?”
“Of course.”
“Why haven’t you said anything about Ellie? I mean, other than telling me I need to get beyond it. You came to her funeral but you never asked about her death. You never asked what it was like for me to find her, either.”
He shrugged helplessly. “Because I know how much you loved her. And I know how hard it was to lose her. There’s nothing anyone can say to make that better.”
“God, I miss her.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Maisey wished she could go back in time. She missed Jack, too, but she would never admit it. So maybe she’d inherited more of her mother’s “damn” pride than she cared to acknowledge.
Fortunately, Keith didn’t try to compensate for his inability to comfort her with the typical clichés—that she’d get over Ellie’s death, that time heals all wounds, that the loss of her baby was no one’s fault. She’d told herself those things plenty of times, and he was right. They were a waste of breath. The pain she felt didn’t respond to logic.
“Will you give me a ride back to Smuggler’s Cove?” she asked.
“I’ll need to get the truck. You can’t stay there without furniture, and we can’t fit a fridge in the back of the Mercedes.”
Maisey nodded and he went to grab the keys. But he didn’t have good news when he returned.
“Tyrone’s in town with the truck. He’s getting some fertilizer and trees he plans to replace. We’ll have to wait until he’s back.”
“I can’t wait.” It was too hot and humid to stand outside, and she wasn’t going back into the house. “Can you take me now, in the car? And bring the truck over whenever it’s available?”
He rubbed his forehead. “I’d like to say yes, but I have no idea when we’ll be able to use the truck. Maybe Tyrone has other errands he didn’t mention to Clarissa. I can’t leave you over there in an empty house.”
“Trust me, I prefer to be there,” she said, and stalked to the car.
“I’m afraid that by encouraging you to come back, I’ve dragged you into the same quicksand that’s pulling me under,” he said. “I’m not sure I can take it.”
“Everything will be fine,” she said, tapping the roof of the car for emphasis.
“That’s what you think,” he muttered as he got in the other side.
It wasn’t until they were backing out of the drive that Maisey saw the curtain in the drawing room move and knew her mother had been looking out at them.
