Читать книгу Take It To The Grave Bundle 2 - Zoe Carter - Страница 8

Sarah

Bridget places the phone beside my plate the next morning, frowning slightly at my meager breakfast. Since I hadn’t been able to choke down a bite of dinner the night before, I’d decided I could have a slice of cantaloupe with my scrambled egg whites. Nothing sweet had touched my lips since that humiliating episode at the East Hamptons fair, so I’d been fantasizing about how wonderful the fruit will taste. As soon as I see the notification on my phone, however, my appetite vanishes. Bridget must have heard it buzzing and assumed it was important.

Pushing my plate away, I look around the table. No one is paying any attention to me. They’re all blissfully ensconced in their own little worlds. Warwick is eager to best his father on the links again. Eleanor is anxious about micromanaging her staff and greeting another group of out-of-town guests, and Alice is entertaining Caleb and Maisey with some crazy tale about her dream of being an aerialist in a traveling circus.

“Is everything all right? Your phone was beeping so I brought it out,” Bridget says, lowering her voice as she pours me more water. “I thought perhaps it was someone saying they can’t make the christening.”

“It’s nothing.” Of course I know it’s anything but, even though I haven’t had the courage to open the email yet. “Andrea sent her regrets.”

It’s a mistake to reference Eleanor’s party. My mother-in-law misses nothing when it comes to her soiree. “What did you say, Sarah? Who isn’t able to make it?”

Shit. It’s a fairly safe bet Eleanor would never have included down-to-earth Andrea on the guest list, but what if I’m wrong? I’d never intended my lie to be held up to close scrutiny. What if she asks to see the email?

“Andrea.”

Eleanor’s brow creases. “Who?”

“Andrea Waterton. She sits on the fair committee with you—she was the one with the booth across from mine this year.”

As my mother-in-law makes a big show of looking perplexed—tapping her chin, staring at the ceiling, and finally shaking her head—I’m tempted to hurl my slice of melon at her. Why does she always have to butt in? Why can’t she mind her own business?

Then again, she thinks this is about the party, and as far as she’s concerned, the party is her business.

“I don’t think I invited the Watertons. In fact, I’m positive I didn’t.”

Whew. “I had her on my list. She was one of mine.”

Eleanor starts to speak, and my hands ball into fists under the table. Fuck. She’s going to contradict me. I was an idiot to believe I’d get away with this bit of subterfuge. She has both lists memorized—this party is an obsession with her.

“What’s the problem?” Warwick raises an eyebrow at me. I don’t miss the threat in his voice, and I’m sure no one else does, either. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible, delaying coming to bed until I’m positive he’ll be asleep.

“There’s no problem. Andrea Waterton let me know she won’t be able to make the party tomorrow, that’s all.”

“Who’s Andrea Waterton?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“She’s a friend of mine. It’s not important, really. I’ll catch up with her later.”

“Speaking of the party, is there anything I can do to help, Eleanor? I’ve checked my busy schedule and it turns out I have a free morning.”

Caleb’s diversion does the trick. My mother-in-law is well accustomed to issuing orders, and my stepbrother soon has a litany of to-dos that should keep him busy until the afternoon, if not beyond.

That was close. I’ll have to be more careful, unless I want everyone to know about the emails. That would only lead to more questions I can’t answer.

As soon as I’m confident no one is looking, I slip my napkin onto my lap, careful to keep my phone concealed beneath it. From there, it’s easy to hide the device in my pocket.

“Sarah?”

Startled, I realize Maisey has been talking to me. Did she see me pocket my phone like I’ve got something to hide? Christ, why didn’t I just act normally?

“Sorry, I was off in la-la land again. What did you say?”

“I asked if you’d like to go for a walk along the beach with me after breakfast. I’ve been running every morning since I got here. I can’t get enough of the sand. I thought it would be nice to walk together.”

The idea of walking on the sand in the broiling sun is about as appealing as having my teeth pulled.

“Oh, that’s a lovely idea. The exercise would do you a world of good,” Eleanor jumps in.

“I’m sure it would, but I have a to-do list of my own to tackle.” I infuse my words with so much fake cheer it makes me want to puke. I’m starting to become a Stepford wife. “Rain check?”

My sister’s face is flushed, and I notice she avoids Eleanor’s eyes. “Sure,” she says quickly. “Not a problem. There’s always tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. Yet another day of waltzing through minefields. I’m not sure how much more of this I can take.

The second I’m able to escape the breakfast table, I retreat to my dressing room. This time I’m careful to lock the bedroom door behind me. There will be no more unexpected guests, not today.

My hands shake as I pull out my phone. The best thing to do would be to ignore it. Move it to the trash folder with the others, unread.

Tempting, but impossible. I have to read it. It’s a compulsion.

No one can run forever.

Sinking to the floor of my walk-in closet, I read the short sentence over and over again. The timing is a terrible coincidence.

Did someone see Caleb follow me into the nursery yesterday? Did they hear our conversation?

But that would mean someone close to me—someone in this very house—is sending me these awful threats. I can’t seriously consider that possibility. My nerves are already shot. Though I’d done my best to be the perfect host during last night’s dinner, I was petrified Warwick would see the truth of what I was feeling on my face.

Bridget has seemed cooler toward me, more formal, and I’m worried about what that means, assuming it means anything. Is she preoccupied? Stressed about the party? Or does she know what’s going on between Caleb and me?

Not that there’s anything going on, not really.

My stepbrother had been polite but distant all evening, lavishing more attention than usual on my mother and sister. They’d both bought into it, flattered by his interest. Even after his revelation, I couldn’t help but be envious of their easy relationship with him. Why were things always more complicated with me? Not for the first time, I wondered if we’d wrecked everything when we’d turned a wonderful friendship into a love affair. But we’d been dumb kids—what did we know about consequences?

No one can run forever.

It didn’t make any sense. I hadn’t exactly taken out an ad in the paper when I’d left Manhattan, but it wasn’t like I’d gone to any great lengths to hide, either. I’d taken Warwick’s last name when I married him. It wouldn’t be difficult for a client like Dan or Harvey to locate me if they wanted to, as Di had pointed out. So why the reference to running?

I’m pretending the emails don’t bother me, but they’re always at the back of my mind. Lately I’ve been spending most of my time in the nursery with Elliot. It’s about the only place I feel safe. Someone wants me to be miserable, that much is clear—but who?

If Truth Seeker had hoped to deter me from taking off, his emails were having the opposite effect. Caleb’s wistful suggestion that we run away together seems more and more tempting, but I can’t possibly go with him. I’d never leave Elliot behind, and there’s no way Warwick would willingly let go of his son.

As lovely as it is to pretend we can go back in time and everything will be like it was when we were kids, too many years have passed. There’s too much pain, too much ugly history Caleb doesn’t know about. For all his flaws, Warwick knows about Chantilly Lace and accepts that part of my past without a problem. But how would Caleb react if he found out? He’d never understand.

There are a lot of things he wouldn’t understand.

Two days from now, Caleb and Maisey will leave the Hamptons. Alice will go with them. All I have to do is keep it together until then. I’ll have to avoid Caleb as much as possible, being careful never to end up alone with him again. I can’t jeopardize Elliot’s future—or my own.

Sooner or later, Truth Seeker will reveal himself. Whatever terrible thing he wants, I’ll deal with it then. It’s just a matter of biding my time.

And biding my time is something I’ve become very good at.

No one can run forever.

Elliot whimpers in the other room, and I go to him, smiling.

Watch me, I think. Just watch me.

* * *

Steam billows out of the bathroom as I emerge from the shower. I’d expected the scalding water would soothe me, or at least clear my head, but it hadn’t had the usual effect. The meaning of the emails gnaws at me, destroying any hope that I’d find a bit of peace.

Warwick’s absence is the perfect excuse to open a window and let some fresh air into the bedroom. Tightening the sash on my bathrobe, I move the curtains aside, startled to see Maisey walking along the beach. I didn’t expect her to have made her way back to the house so quickly.

What startles me more is the fact she isn’t alone. Caleb is with her, and they look quite chummy. What happened to the errands he’s supposed to be doing for Eleanor? He can’t possibly have finished them already. He may be amazing, but he’s not Superman.

My sister edges closer to Caleb, bumping his shoulder with hers. Are we ten years old? Come on, Maisey. But if he minds her immaturity, it doesn’t show. He nudges her back. They appear to be having an intense conversation about something, and the serious expression on his face makes me nervous. What is she telling him?

Recalling how eager she’d been to discuss Frankie’s death yesterday, I find it difficult not to jump to conclusions. She’s not stupid enough to get into that with Caleb, is she? But what else do they have to talk about? What else would make him look that intense?

Just when I’m worried enough to start pounding on the window to distract them, Caleb throws an arm around my sister’s shoulders, bringing her close enough to muss her hair. Her laughter soars on the summer air, easily reaching my hiding spot as I duck behind the drapes. It’s sickening. Sometimes when the two of them are together, Maisey becomes someone completely different. It’s like she turns into this giggly ditz who isn’t like her at all. Why does she feel the need to go into this act with him?

What is she doing with him, anyway? Caleb was always my person, not hers.

For the first time, I consider that Maisey might have feelings for him. She’d always had a crush on him when she was little, but I’d never taken it seriously—there were too many years between them. Now that we’re adults, the age difference is negligible. We’re not kids anymore. Maisey’s single, and Caleb is extremely attractive. Between her travels and his service overseas, they probably have plenty in common. They both share an adventurous spirit. Why wouldn’t she have feelings for him?

And what do I care if she does? If I want Caleb, I can have him. He’d made that clear in the nursery, and I’d rejected his offer...hadn’t I? Was I seriously having second thoughts?

Where is this animosity coming from? It’s crazy. Before Alice brought him into my life again, I hadn’t spoken to Caleb in years. Maybe we’d once been close, but those days were long over. If anything, I feel awkward around him now, nothing like the easy friendship we used to have—the relationship he apparently has with my sister.

My jaw tightens as I lean against the wall, watching the two of them together. Although they’re both staying at my home, I’ve never felt more unnecessary. It’s obvious I’m the odd one out. They look so comfortable with each other, teasing and joking around.

I’ve missed him.

Caleb’s visits had been the highlight of my adolescence: swimming in the ocean, campfires on the beach, climbing down the drainpipe to go to the movies, sneaking out and playing hide-and-seek in the moonlight. He’d accepted me the way I was, warts and all. When he was around, I felt like I could be a normal teenager. During Caleb’s visits, Peter mostly behaved himself. He wasn’t nearly as nasty to us.

Maybe if we’d stayed together, life could have been good again.

I had to quit thinking like this. We’d been kids, and it had been a summer fling, nothing more.

Whatever we had between us, obviously we weren’t soul mates. If we had been, he never would have left.

Below me, Maisey and Caleb are saying goodbye. She wraps her hand around his neck and urges him forward, kissing his cheek. That doesn’t look sisterly. Caleb’s eyes widen, but he gives her a little hug before heading in the opposite direction. I exhale as he leaves her behind. I hadn’t realized I’d been holding my breath.

He slows as he nears the house, staring up at my window. Though I’m hidden behind the curtain, I’m afraid he can see me, anyway, that he’s well aware I’m watching. He always did have a talent for reading my mind.

Scrutinizing my window as if he’s searching for something, he gives his head a little shake before moving on down the beach. Did he see the curtain twitch when he was with Maisey? Can he feel me watching him? Did he want me to see him with my sister?

What are you playing at, Caleb?

* * *

I find Maisey in the rose garden. Good, we definitely need to talk. This time I’m ready to listen to whatever she has to say.

I’m about to greet her when I realize she isn’t alone.

“It’s not a big deal,” my sister says to an unseen companion, the color rising in her cheeks. I turn to go. She’s with Caleb, again? I stop when a feminine voice responds.

“Of course it’s a big deal. It’s a huge deal. I’m so proud of you, my Little Monster. I always knew you were meant for great things. You wanted to make the world a better place, and now you’re doing it. Even Peter would have been proud.”

Ugh. Not Caleb. Even worse—it’s Alice. I should have known.

Mother had asked me to give her a more in-depth tour of the gardens this morning, but I’d begged off, using my son as an excuse. I was finding it more and more difficult to be around her. She’s as loud and inappropriate as always, but now she is scatterbrained as well. I can’t fathom how she has the nerve to talk about Peter in front of us. That horrible man had hurt her too, but didn’t she understand what we’d gone through? Didn’t she get what he’d done to us? What he’d done to me? Whatever was left of our childhood when Dad died had been ruined by that nightmare.

When I take another step toward them, Alice comes into view. She’s clutching a pair of lethal-looking pruning shears, waving them in my sister’s direction in a way that makes me nervous. Where on earth did she find those? I make a mental note to warn Joel, our gardener, to be more careful while Mother’s staying with us. Alice is not to be trusted with sharp objects.

Lurching toward my sister, Mother throws her arms around her. “You have no idea how much nurses helped me when your daddy was sick. Sometimes I felt like they were the only ones who cared.” She wipes tears from her eyes as she beams at Maisey. “And to think you’re one of them now.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Mother shrieks with laughter, stumbling a little. She grabs my sister’s shoulder with her free hand, and Maisey holds on to her arms, steadying her. “My baby doll,” Alice says. “You always were my baby.”

Yeah, right. Until Frankie came along. Then it was like neither one of us existed.

How can Maisey stand it? I’d had enough of our mother’s drunken antics by the end of the first day of this “reunion,” but my sister continues to humor her, repeatedly trying to connect with her. Why does she bother? Maybe Mom was right all along—maybe I was adopted. Maisey and I don’t share the same connection with Alice, that’s for sure.

Perhaps my sister has forgotten the many days our mother passed out on the sofa, leaving us at Peter’s mercy. Alice watched as he forced my sister to eat those rotten eggs, that moldy cheese, and never did a thing to stop him. She obviously didn’t care that her husband was making Maisey sick.

How can my sister forgive her for that? Screw Peter—Alice is the reason we didn’t have a childhood after we lost Dad. It would have been sad without him, but we would have made it through together. We would have been fine. We were fine...until she brought Peter into our lives.

Is my sister a better person, or just more gullible? Maybe she’s able to be more forgiving because she’s not a mother herself. Since I’ve had Elliot, my rage toward Alice has grown. How could she have done that to us? How could she have allowed us to be treated that way? And how could she have let Peter take custody of us while she was in prison? She should have told the judge how abusive he was. She should have told someone.

“Sarah?” Maisey has a funny expression on her face, and no wonder, since I’ve been lurking there, not saying anything. “Were you looking for me?”

“Come join us.” Mother lets go of my sister to wave me over. Maisey steadies her once again, holding her around the waist. “I was just telling your sister again how proud I am. A Nurse Without Borders—isn’t it great?”

I swallow hard. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Meeting my sister’s eyes, I say it as sincerely as I can. Even though I feel odd about her cozying up to Caleb, that doesn’t minimize how proud I am of her. Mother’s right—Maisey’s already done more to better the world than the whole sorry lot of us combined.

“And you. You’re a great mother, Sarah.” Mom flashes her teeth at me in a drunken grin. “I’m very proud of you, too. My girls, my beautiful girls.”

She moves to include me in the embrace but I step away, wary of the pruning shears, which she has apparently forgotten. Then I notice Mom’s hands. They’re smeared with dirt, and there is blood trickling down her arms. Her pink sundress has two bright smudges of green on the skirt, as if she’s been kneeling on the grass. There are a few strands tangled in her hair, along with something that appears to be twigs.

“Mom, what on earth have you been doing?”

Jumping around like an overgrown toddler, she thrusts the shears in the air. “I’ve been taking care of your rosebushes.”

“Oh, no...” I push past them to inspect the garden, cursing Alice under my breath. Why does she have to destroy everything?

Eleanor insists on growing some of her prize tea roses here, claiming the light is better on our side. While some of the plant’s leaves are a bit mangled, none of the delicate yellow blooms have been touched—yet. How fortunate I’d decided to look for Maisey. If I hadn’t, it might have been too late to save the garden.

Pressing my hand against my chest, I will my racing heart to calm down, silently counting to ten. But Alice is determined to continue her reign of terror. When she sees I’m not going to stop her, she heads directly toward the rose Eleanor plans to enter in an upcoming garden competition.

That’s it. She’s been coddled long enough.

Intercepting her, I jerk the shears away from Alice with a little more force than necessary. As Mother loses her balance, Maisey rushes to grasp her by the elbow. She scowls at me.

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting, Sarah? What’s the big deal? She’s trying to help, and besides, they’re just flowers.”

Yeah, like Ferraris are just cars. As my sister continues to look at me like I’m crazy, I feel my face getting hot. While I have every right to prevent our drunken mother from destroying my garden, the Sarah she remembers never would have put flowers before family.

What she must think of me.

We spend more on these roses in a week than her entire village in Thailand will see in a lifetime. Recalling how chummy she’d been with Caleb on the beach, I wonder if they’d been talking about Warwick and me, making fun of how elitist we are. Well, screw Maisey and her high-minded ideals, and screw Caleb, too. Not everyone is meant to be a nurse or a soldier. Maybe Eleanor’s prize-winning roses aren’t important to them, but they’re important to her, and they’re important to Warwick.

“I’m sorry.” My mother’s lower lip trembles. It’s all I can do to keep from wincing when I see how bloodshot her eyes are. Around her nose, burst capillaries mar her otherwise lovely complexion. “I didn’t mean to hurt your roses. I was only trying to help.”

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to be patient. “I appreciate that, Mom, but Joel takes care of the gardening for us. That’s his job. You’re our guest. We want you to relax and have a good time.”

Eleanor isn’t even comfortable with Joel touching her roses, so we leave them to her. With the preparations for the party and the christening consuming her time these days, she let her precious plants get the tiniest bit overgrown. How my mother noticed this is beyond me.

“I was tryin’ to help,” Mom says again, as if I’ve argued with her. Maisey wedges herself between us, as if to protect Alice. The sight of my baby sister looking so fierce makes me want to laugh.

What does she think I’m going to do, attack our mother? Not that I haven’t been tempted. I glance at the gold wristwatch Warwick gave me for my birthday. How am I going to survive this day?

“Look at the time. I guess I should go check on Elliot. He’ll be waking up from his nap any minute, if he hasn’t already. See you later.”

The forced cheer in my voice makes me want to cringe. Where and when did I acquire this singsong way of speaking? Genny’s and Tessie’s influence must have rubbed off.

Maisey is still glaring at me, and Alice stares at her shoes, a chastened little girl, unable to meet my eyes.

“Okay,” my sister says, squinting at me like I’m someone she doesn’t recognize.

That uncomfortable sensation of being a Stepford wife returns. Sometimes I don’t recognize myself.

But what does Maisey know about the pressures I’m under? She probably sees all this luxury and assumes my life is easy. She doesn’t get how difficult it is to keep Warwick and his mother happy.

As I leave, my sister puts her arm around our mother, but Alice pushes her away, staggering deeper into the garden. Maisey’s face falls, and she gives her fingers a vicious twist. Once again, I wonder what’s wrong with her.

Why does she keep trying? Can’t she see Alice is a lost cause?

I leave them be. It’s nothing I’ll ever be able to resolve.

The house is quiet and blissfully cool when I return. After checking to ensure no one is around, I let myself into Warwick’s office. It’s an exaggerated expression of his masculinity, all dark wood and oversize chairs. His desk is bigger than most people’s beds, even though I’ve yet to see him do any work here. For all his talk, work has never been Warwick’s thing.

My husband’s bar is concealed in an oversize globe. Despite the hour, I fix myself a vodka tonic. How Mother would love access to this room. In preparation for Alice’s visit, any alcohol in the house had been put under lock and key. Bridget had thought I was overreacting until she met my mother. We give Alice just enough to keep her from going into withdrawal, but there’s more to it than that. My mother would cause a scene if we didn’t let her have a cocktail with everyone else, or wine with dinner. I imagine Eleanor’s reaction if she ever witnessed one of Alice’s full-blown temper tantrums. I’d rather die.

The ice-cold bite of the tonic water is refreshing. It’s not long before the smooth warmth of the vodka makes me feel better, stronger. I pour myself another before locking Warwick’s office and checking on Elliot. He’s fast asleep, his fingers curled into a teeny fist.

Lucky baby. I wish I could sleep through this day. Wake me when it’s over.

With my son napping, I’m at loose ends. It’s tempting to accidentally wake him, but that would be cruel. Might as well make good use of the time by putting some effort into finding the perfect outfit. I want Warwick to be proud of me again, to appreciate what a gorgeous wife he has.

Or at least that’s what I tell myself.

Caleb invades my mind. I remember the way he looked at me yesterday, his eyes glowing with admiration. “I wish you would come with me, Sarah...”

No, not Caleb. Don’t think about Caleb. Caleb is dangerous. Think about Warwick. You’re married to Warwick. Caleb rejected you, remember? He had his chance and he blew it. It’s too late to go back now.

It’s impossible to please both, in any case. Warwick prefers it when I’m fully made up, with heavy shadow and red lips. Caleb was always into natural beauty, fresh-faced Nivea girls (like Maisey?) with clean, shining hair pulled into ponytails. He’s the reason I didn’t wear a stitch of makeup as a teenager. After that I’d piled it on in a pathetic attempt to get back at him, even though he wasn’t around to notice or care.

Compromising, I apply another layer of mascara and some eyeliner and leave it at that. Slipping one of the 1950s-style dresses my husband loves over my head, I’m pleased to discover it’s no longer a battle. The fabric slides over my hips without a whimper of protest. It hasn’t fit this well since I learned I was pregnant with Elliot.

Turning to the side, I smooth the dress as I check my figure. My stomach howls, sounding mournful, but I ignore it. I may be starving most of the time, but it’s worth it. I’m finally starting to resemble myself again, no toilet paper or popcorn required.

As I drain the second vodka tonic, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The booze, the gaunt, strained expression, the haunted eyes surrounded by thick makeup. The resemblance is terrifyingly clear.

My God, I’m turning into Alice.

The thought makes me shiver.