Читать книгу Sweet Trilogy - Susan Mallery, Susan Mallery - Страница 15

CLAIRE HOVERED by the oven, practically dancing with impatience as the timer counted down the last few seconds. When it dinged, she opened the oven and pulled out the roasting pan.

At first glance, everything looked all right. The chicken was golden-brown without being burned. The rosemary she’d put in the cavity smelled great.

She set the pan on the hot pads she’d already put in place, then pushed the meat thermometer into the breast. It read “done for poultry.” Next she used a knife to break the skin by the leg and stared at the juices pouring out. They were clear. At least they looked clear to her, but as this was her first chicken, she couldn’t be sure.

The last, and most important test involved actually cutting into the chicken. Claire braced herself for disappointment, then peeled back the skin and sliced into the breast.

It was cooked, but still juicy. She took a bite. Perfect!

“I did it,” she hummed to herself. “I did it. Yay me.”

Her first chicken ever. She’d managed to buy it and clean it and bake it and have it turn out. Amazing.

She opened the second oven and pulled out a casserole dish of scalloped potatoes. She wasn’t going to take as much credit for those because they’d come from a box. Still, they looked good. Last, she checked on the steaming green beans.

When everything was ready, she got out a plate for Nicole. But before she could fill it, she heard a noise in the hallway. She looked up and saw her sister slowly walking into the kitchen.

“I got tired of living in one room,” Nicole said as she pressed one hand to her midsection and made her way to the table. “I’m going to eat down here, if that’s all right.”

“Of course it is. How were the stairs?”

“Challenging. I’ll be very slow going back up. Dinner smells good.”

Claire was both proud and nervous. “I baked a chicken.”

“Impressive.”

Claire looked at her, not sure if the comment was really a compliment or something else. Nicole gave her a brief smile.

“I mean it. You said you didn’t know how to cook. Now you’re making dinner every night. You didn’t have to do that. So thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She hurried to set the table, then put the food out.

Nicole sat in one of the chairs and continued to press her hand against her stomach.

“Do you want a painkiller?” Claire asked.

“No, I’m cutting back. I’ll be fine. It’ll get better in a minute.”

Claire served both of them, then took her seat.

She’d gotten used to taking Nicole her dinner, sometimes eating with her, sometimes not. But this was different—being in the kitchen like regular people. She wasn’t sure what to say.

“I brought home a couple of slices of chocolate cake,” she said. “I’m not ready to try baking.”

“One of the advantages of owning a bakery,” Nicole told her. “You never have to worry about that kind of thing.”

Claire nodded and cut into her chicken. Silence stretched between them. She wished they had wine with the dinner. Getting buzzed might help with the tension she felt. Not that she was a big drinker. One glass and she was happy—two and she was on the road to loopy. She struggled frantically to find a topic of conversation.

“It’s been nice being in one place,” she said. “I really like Seattle. Do you enjoy living here?”

Nicole stared at her for a second. “It’s my home. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I don’t have much to compare it to.”

“Oh. Right. I guess New York is my home, although I don’t spend a lot of time there. I have an apartment.

It was difficult to find one that would accommodate a piano and still leave room to walk around. Moving day was a nightmare. The piano barely fit in the service elevator, so that took hours. I don’t think I can ever move. It would be too much trauma.”

Nicole speared a couple of green beans. “I was in New York a few years ago. I went with Drew. We saw a couple of plays and went shopping. I don’t know if I would want to live in a city that big.”

Claire kept chewing because it would be rude to spit out the chicken, but the flavor was gone and when she finally swallowed, she was afraid it was going to get stuck in her throat and choke her.

Nicole had come to New York and never called? Claire supposed she shouldn’t be surprised, but she was. Surprised and hurt and feeling more alone than ever.

“Was, um, this before or after you got married?”

“Before. Sort of a prewedding trip.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was before I figured out what a jerk he was, so we had a good time. All men are idiots.”

Claire nodded in sympathy, when in truth she didn’t have a whole lot of experience with men. Certainly not enough to make that judgment. Wyatt didn’t seem like an idiot. Besides, she was still caught up in the fact that her sister had come to New York and not contacted her. Of course, Nicole hadn’t invited her to the wedding, either.

“A lot of the men on tour sleep around,” Claire said. “It’s kind of their thing. They find a new woman in every city. I was lucky—I grew up on tour, so I watched it all while I was too young for them to be interested in me. When I was older, I’d already learned my lesson. Of course a lot of the women sleep around, too. There’s plenty of sex in orchestras.”

Not for her, she thought glumly. Sex was something she seemed to avoid, or it avoided her. She’d never quite figured out which.

“How nice for you,” Nicole murmured.

“Most people think orchestral musicians are nerdy or boring, but that’s not true. They love to party.”

“Was that how it was for you?” Nicole asked. “Sleep all day, party all night?”

“No. I had practice and lessons and meetings and interviews. I never got into the party circuit. I did get to go to some celebrity events, though. I met George Clooney a couple of times. He was nice. And Richard Gere, who really plays piano. We played together one night.”

“How thrilling,” Nicole said, glaring at her. “This may come as a surprise, but I don’t need you reminding me how much more exciting your life is than mine. I’m totally clear on that.”

“What? That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it? You certainly take every opportunity to talk about how wonderful things are with you. A New York apartment big enough for a piano. Hanging out with George Clooney and Richard Gere. Fabulous you.”

Claire didn’t know what to say. She’d only been trying to fill awkward conversation space. “You seem to really enjoy thinking the worst about me,” she said at last. “I was trying to figure out something for us to talk about. Something we wouldn’t fight about. I guess I picked wrong.”

“You did. Do you think this is working? You pretending to be a real person? It’s not.”

Claire put down her fork. “I am a real person.”

“You can’t even do laundry.”

“Is that the definition of a real person?”

She didn’t bother pointing out that, thanks to Amy and the instruction book, she could now wash clothes, just like everyone else.

This was so unfair, she thought. She felt trapped. It wasn’t as if she could lash out at her sister. Well, she could, but pointing out that Nicole couldn’t bring an entire concert hall to its feet in screaming applause wasn’t going to draw them closer.

“We live different lives,” she said instead. “That doesn’t have to be a bad thing.”

“So speaks the woman with the perfect life.”

Claire thought of all the time she’d spent alone. All the nights she went to bed so lonely, she ached. “It wasn’t perfect.”

“Oh, poor little rich girl. Was the fame too much for you?” Nicole dropped her fork onto her plate. “At least you weren’t stuck here, with a baby sister to raise and parents who only wanted to talk about their famous daughter. I hated you for taking Mom away, but I hated her more, because she wanted to go.”

Nicole paused and swallowed, before continuing. “When Grandma came home, saying it was too much work and she couldn’t travel with you anymore, Mom jumped at the chance to take her place. She wanted to go and see all those other cities. She wanted to be with you.”

Claire didn’t know what to say. She’d been grateful to have her mother with her. A piece of home was always welcome. She’d never thought about the family left behind.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t bother to know. While you were off running around with other rich, famous people, I was stuck here. I started looking after Jesse the day she was born. When Mom left, she became my primary responsibility. I was twelve. Grandma was in a nursing home and Dad never knew what to do with us kids. As I got older, I went to work in the bakery, as well. I never had time to do the stuff I wanted to because there was always Jesse to worry about, or my shift at the bakery. I was an adult by the time I was fourteen. Everything I wanted was stolen from me by you.”

Claire had taken more than enough. She pushed back the chair and stood. “Poor Nicole, stuck home with her family. While you were going to school and making friends, I was alone. Alone with a tutor, alone in a practice room, alone in a hotel room. I never met anyone my age. I lived out of suitcases. I never saw the cities we visited. I was either studying or practicing or getting ready for a concert or sleeping. That was my life.”

“At least you had Mom with you. Until you killed her.”

“Stop saying that,” Claire yelled. “I lost her, too, you know. She was my only link to my family. I was trapped in the car with her and I couldn’t do anything while she died. Do you know what that’s like? You had Dad and Jesse and I had no one. She died and the hospital sent me back to the hotel. Do you know what my manager said? That I had to play anyway, because the event was sold out and people would be disappointed. What did I know? I played. The night my mother died, I played onstage because there wasn’t anyone around to say it was okay to grieve.”

She shoved in the chair. “Apparently our father had a long talk with my manager and together they decided I was mature enough to continue on my own, without a chaperone or guardian. That’s right. I was sixteen and I’d just lost my mother and they cut me loose. My job was to follow the rules and I did because the rules were all I had. I don’t expect you to get any of this. God forbid you should see anyone’s side but your own. Being famous which, by the way, I’m not, is a lot less interesting than you think. I’m going to guess being a professional victim also gets really tiring, as well.”

With that, she turned and walked out of the kitchen. She was pleased that she made it all the way to her bedroom before giving in to tears and collapsing on the floor in a puddle of pain and grief. She pulled her knees to her chest, trying to comfort herself, as she always did. Coming home hadn’t mattered at all. She was still very much alone.

Her pity party continued for about ten minutes. Then she stood and went into the bathroom to wash her face.

“You knew this wouldn’t be easy,” she told her reflection. “Are you just going to give up?”

She reminded herself she’d never been a quitter, and that there were a lot worse things in life than fighting with her sister. So what if she’d had the fantasy of returning to Seattle and finding her family excited to welcome her back? It was going to take a little more work—that was all. She was good at working hard.

She crossed to the dresser where she’d unpacked her clothes and opened the top drawer. Under her bras and panties was a slim journal. She wasn’t the diary type, but she did keep lists of goals and read them every day. That helped her stay focused. Her current list included—connect with family, start dating, have sex, fall in love, be normal.

The last one was going to be the hardest. Or maybe they all were. Have sex? Who was she kidding? She’d managed to go twenty-eight years without finding a single man interested in seeing her naked.

She sank onto the bed. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to have sex. She did. She’d had boyfriends, but time and distance had always been a problem. She’d never been anywhere long enough to form a really close bond. She knew better than to hook up with any of the guys in the orchestra. They were either married, total dogs or gay. She’d wanted her first time to be with someone special. The thing was, if she’d known how long it was going to take to find that certain guy, she might have been a whole lot less picky.

As she closed the book, she thought about Wyatt. He seemed like a good choice. She liked him, liked how he cared about people. He was amazing with his daughter and a good friend to Nicole. But she wasn’t sure he liked her very much. That could be a problem. But he was letting her watch Amy, so maybe he was liking her a little?

Too many questions and not enough answers.

Claire stood and paced the length of the room, which wasn’t very satisfying. After a couple of seconds, she went out the door and down the stairs. Ignoring Nicole, who was still in the kitchen, she took the second flight to the basement and closed the door behind her.

The studio was as it had always been, with the piano in the center of the room. She’d had it tuned, maybe because she’d known it would come to this.

The need to play swelled up inside of her. She’d managed to ignore the urge for a while, but playing for Amy had changed things. It was as if a wall had broken down and let everything spill out.

Life was messy, she thought, but music was calm and sure and beautiful.

She sat in front of the piano and lightly touched the keys. The sound was good. It would take a few more tunings to get it right, but she wasn’t in a place where she could be picky.

She closed her eyes and let the need grow inside of her. She didn’t have to ask what she wanted to play. That would come to her. She put her fingers on the keys and began.

WYATT KNOCKED on Nicole’s back door and let himself in. He’d braced himself to deal with Claire, but instead found Nicole standing at the counter.

“Look at you,” he said. “You made it downstairs by yourself.”

“I know. I’m practically ready to run a marathon. How are you?”

“Good. I wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine.”

She didn’t look at him as she spoke, instead dumping the contents of what looked like her dinner into the sink. She put on the garbage disposal and ran water until the drain was clear.

“Not hungry?” he asked.

“I was. I just…” She sighed. “Claire and I had a fight. Nothing like family discord to blow my appetite. The last two years Jesse was in high school, I lost ten pounds using the little-known ‘I’m too sick to my stomach to eat because my personal life sucks’ diet. If I wrote a how-to book about it, I could make millions.” She looked at him. “How does it go so wrong so fast? This wasn’t what I wanted. I came downstairs specifically to have dinner with Claire so we could talk. Instead, we end up fighting. I don’t get it.”

Wyatt was careful not to say anything. He loved Nicole like a sister, but she could be a handful. From what he’d seen, Claire was a lot more even tempered. Not that he would admit to that, even if tortured.

“She’s been gone a long time. You’re dealing with a lot,” he said instead. “Take things slow.”

“I guess.”

She turned to him, stepped into his arms and buried her head in his shoulder.

“Do you think I’m a good person?” she asked.

“Of course! Why?” He rubbed her back.

“It’s possible I’m the biggest bitch on the planet.”

“No way.”

“You weren’t here.”

“I didn’t have to be. I know you. You’re not a bitch. You’re difficult and stubborn, but not mean.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.

He put his arms around her and held her close. She closed her eyes. He paused, hoping to feel something… anything. A flicker. A spark. Even an ember would be welcome. There was nothing.

The fire only happened with Claire, he thought grimly. Just his luck.

“My life sucks,” she muttered as she pulled back and sank into the chair. “And I just made it worse.”

He took the seat across from hers. “I doubt that.”

“Stop defending me. I don’t deserve it. I was mean to Claire.”

He didn’t say anything. He’d learned a long time ago that when a woman wanted to talk, it was best to stay out of the way and listen.

“She made dinner,” Nicole continued. “She cooked a chicken. It was really good. We were getting along, but then she started talking about George Clooney. She’s met him. She’s met all kinds of stars and famous people and hearing about them really pissed me off. I hate that her life has been so great. She spends all her time going from city to city, playing the piano. Oooh, there’s a tough job. She talked about the guys in the orchestra, how they like to party every night. Of course she claimed she didn’t party. Her life was just so hard. I suppose fitting in that extra massage would be a real problem. And counting her money. That has to take days and days.”

Nicole stopped talking and looked at Wyatt. “You want to change your opinion about me now?”

“No. But I do want to know why she pushes all your buttons.”

Nicole hesitated. “It just makes me so angry. She got everything. She’s the one our parents talked about all the time. They were so proud. She was the star and I was stuck home taking care of everything. I hate her.”

“No, you don’t.”

Nicole narrowed her gaze. “I don’t like it when you’re reasonable. Have I mentioned that?”

“Once or twice. You don’t hate your sister. You don’t know her well enough to feel much of anything. You hate what happened to you because of her life and it’s easier to say you hate her than blame your parents or circumstances.”

“Have you been watching Oprah?”

“You’re saying a guy can’t be insightful?”

“Pretty much.”

“I’ve known you a while now. It’s a lot easier for me to see what’s going on in your life than it is for you.”

“I guess, but I like it better when I’m the deep one in our relationship. I just…” She shrugged. “I feel guilty. I hate that I feel guilty. I know she’s fine.” She looked at Wyatt. “Tell me she’s fine.”

“Want me to go check on her?”

“Please. She’s downstairs.”

“In the basement?”

“In the studio.”

Wyatt got up and headed for the basement stairs. He’d forgotten about the enclosed soundproof room built for Claire to practice. She’d gone away when she’d been six or seven, which meant it hadn’t gotten a whole lot of use. As he stepped in the basement, he frowned as he realized Claire had been a couple of years younger than Amy was now when she’d gone off with her grandmother. She must have missed her family a lot.

Especially Nicole, he thought. They were twins.

He knew Nicole had a lot of issues and he didn’t blame her for any of them. She’d had it tough, looking after Jesse, working in the bakery. She’d been the responsible one. But what had Claire been?

He opened the door to the studio and was immediately caught up in the beauty of the music. He didn’t know anything about classical songs or concertos or whatever it was she was playing—only that the piece was incredibly rich and almost… sad.

The piano was situated such that Claire’s back was to him. She swayed as she played, her long, blond hair moving with her, catching the light. She either hadn’t heard the door or didn’t care that he was there. He would guess the former.

She seemed to be almost in a trance of some kind. As if the music transformed her.

He backed out the way he’d come and returned to the kitchen.

Nicole looked at him. “How is she?”

“Fine. Playing the piano.” He walked to the refrigerator, pulled out a beer, then joined her at the table. “Why isn’t she on tour? Isn’t that what she does?”

“I don’t know. I guess. Maybe she’s on vacation.”

“Her time off just happened to be when you needed surgery?”

Nicole scowled. “Don’t try to make me feel guilty about her being here.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re saying she might have had plans, but she dropped them to be with me.”

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” He knew Jesse had called Claire and that she’d shown up the next day. Had it just been good timing or had she had to cancel events to be here?

“I would guess she probably books up weeks at a time. Is there a concert season?” Nicole asked. “A better time to hear Mozart?”

“You’re asking the wrong person.”

“I know. It’s just I hadn’t thought of that. What you said. About her being here when she might have other stuff to do.” Nicole didn’t sound happy about the fact.

“Does it change anything?”

“Maybe.” She paused. “I’m sure she’s on vacation,” Nicole said firmly.

“If you say so.”

“You don’t agree?”

“You’re not going to get the answer you want regardless. Either she walked away from prior commitments to take care of you or she took her vacation time to come look after you. It’s hard to make her the bad guy in this.”

“Give me time,” Nicole muttered. “I can work the problem. Besides, it’s not as if I hate her. You were right about that.”

He took a drink of the beer.

“I don’t hate her. I don’t like her.” Nicole sighed. “Say something.”

“You’re doing all the talking.”

“Have I mentioned how annoying you are?”

“More than once.”

“What do you think about her?” Nicole asked.

The question caught him off guard. Before he could stop himself, he remembered the last time he’d touched her. How deep the fire had burned. Then he pushed away anything close to an erotic image and shrugged. “I don’t.”

Nicole stared at him. “You are so lying. You like her.”

He suddenly wanted to squirm in his seat. “I don’t know her.”

Nicole’s gaze narrowed. “You think she’s hot. Oh, my God. You’re attracted to her.”

“It’s just chemical. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“You want to sleep with her? That’s so not fair. You don’t want to sleep with me.”

“We’ve been over that material already.”

“But Claire is a pain in the ass, Wyatt. You can’t like her more than me.” She covered her face with her hands. “I’m whining. How horrible is that?”

“You’re allowed to feel what you feel.”

She dropped her hands. “Don’t you dare be sensitive and understanding over this. Besides, she’s my sister, which puts me in the weird position of telling you to back off.”

He looked at her over the beer bottle. “Because she matters to you?”

“No. Maybe. I don’t know. Just don’t do anything rash.”

“You have my word on that.”

He wasn’t going to do anything at all. Wanting and doing were worlds apart and he had no plans to make an awkward situation any more difficult than it already was.