The Bakery Sisters (15 page)

She collected the music she'd chosen and walked into the school. After finding her way to the main desk, she smiled at the receptionist.

“Hi. I'm Claire Keyes. Could you direct me to the music room?”

The woman stood up. “Oh, you're here. Everyone will be so excited. Principal Freeman asked me to take you to the auditorium.”

Claire swallowed. “Excuse me. I'm playing in the music room.”

The other woman laughed. “Not anymore. Word got out and we're full to capacity. A lot of the parents came to hear you play. You're totally famous.”

The woman kept talking, but Claire couldn't hear the words. She couldn't hear anything except a loud buzzing sound.

“H-how many people?” she asked.

“About four hundred.”

Dear God. The room spun and dipped. The buzzing got worse, as did the pressure on her chest. She was going to die, right here at Amy's school.

“I know it's more than you were expecting, but how could we tell people no? This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. To hear someone of your caliber play live.”

If the panic didn't ease, they were going to hear her play dead.

This wasn't possible. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't. She didn't owe them anything. What did they think, that they deserved to hear her for free? She earned thousands of dollars for each…

She sighed. It wasn't about the money. It was about excuses. That was the bottom line. Either she did what she'd promised to or she weaseled out.

Claire clutched her music to her chest. “Would you please show me where I'm going to play?”

“Sure. I'm Molly, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Molly.”

They walked down a long corridor and stopped in front of several sets of double doors. Claire could already hear the crowd inside.

“I need to go in the stage entrance,” she said. Maybe not seeing the crowd would help.

“Not a problem.”

Molly took her around the side. The space might be smaller than most venues she played, but the controlled mess of props and cables was very much the same. The contrast between what the audience saw and the chaos behind the scenes was oddly comforting.

“Anything else?” Molly asked.

Claire nodded. “If you could please make sure the curtains are closed and have Amy Knight join me?”

“Right away.”

When she was alone, Claire practiced the breathing she'd been taught. She pictured herself in a safe bubble and when that didn't work, tried to imagine a field of flowers. She paced, she stretched, she studied her music, then she put it down when she heard footsteps.

Amy ran toward her. “You're here,” she signed.

“I know. I'm going to play the piano for a lot of people. Would it be okay if you stood like you did before?”

Amy nodded, then signed, “Why?”

“I'm scared,” Claire admitted. “Having you nearby makes me not so scared.”

“I'll protect you,” Amy said.

Easy words, but oddly enough, Claire believed her.

 

“H
AVE YOU EVER HEARD
her play live before?” Wyatt asked as he and Nicole walked down the hallway of Amy's school.

“No. I've listened to a couple of CDs, but that's it. Talk about weird. She's my sister. Shouldn't I have been to at least one performance?”

“You didn't have any contact with her,” he told her. “Why would you go?”

“Don't try to finesse this with logic. I can't believe how long we've been apart.” She waited while he pulled open one of the auditorium doors. “I wouldn't have gone to New York to take care of her. I would have let her figure it out herself.”

He tugged on a strand of her hair. “Expect me to judge you for that?”

“Maybe. I'm judging myself. I've been nothing but mean to her and yet she still showed up. She leads with her heart.”

“I know.”

They stepped into the auditorium. Amy's teacher, Mrs. Olive had promised to saved them seats, otherwise they wouldn't have had a chance of finding a place to sit. Wyatt had heard that some of the parents were coming, but he hadn't expected a standing-room-only crowd.

“I've never seen it like this,” Nicole said.

People were moving around and talking excitedly. They'd dropped whatever they were doing to come see Claire play the piano. He felt a sense of pride for her and what she was able to do.

“I hope she's going to be able to pull this off,” Nicole murmured. “She was pretty freaked before.

“She told you?” Wyatt asked. “About…” He didn't want to say too much in case Claire hadn't said anything to her sister.

“The panic attacks? She told me this morning, when she was digging through her sheet music and about to fall over the edge. We talked, she seemed better, but I don't know if she's going to make it. She was really upset.”

“What she does can't be easy.”

Nicole smiled. “So you like her now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I take it the date went well.”

“Didn't you get all the details from Claire?”

“A few. But now I can hear the man's perspective.”

“I don't think so.”

Amy's teacher waved them over. “Isn't this amazing? I'm beyond excited. Imagine being able to hear Claire Keyes in person. You must be so proud.”

“I am,” Nicole murmured.

They settled into their seats. Heavy black drapes covered the stage.

“Are you proud?” he asked quietly. “Of Claire?”

“Yes, and it surprises me, too. I guess I've stopped resenting her. I know this hasn't come easy for her. She's worked her butt off to get where she is now. I just hope she'll be all right.”

“She'll make it through,” he said. Claire didn't have a choice. There were a couple of hundred people with expectations. He had a hard time accepting she would be comfortable letting them down.

“Do you really believe that?”

“I'm going on faith. It's all I have.”

“It was easier when I didn't like her,” Nicole muttered. “Now I have to be all worried and concerned. Before I would have been happy she was suffering.”

“You're always looking at the bright side.”

“Shh. I'm ignoring you and sending calm, healing thoughts to my sister.”

A few minutes later, the principal stepped onto the stage. She had a handheld microphone and asked for quiet.

“We have an unexpected pleasure this afternoon,” she said when the crowd had stilled. “Claire Keyes is going to play for us.”

Everyone clapped. Mrs. Freeman waited for silence before continuing. “Most of you already know Claire's story. When she was three years old, she walked over to a piano and began to play. She'd never seen the instrument before, had received no instruction of any kind. She was a true child prodigy. But unlike those who peak early, Claire only improved as she grew up. She studied, she played, she traveled the world, sharing her gift. Today she will share that gift with us. Claire Keyes.”

“I hope she doesn't fall on her ass,” Nicole whispered.

Wyatt privately agreed.

The drapes parted showing a piano in the center of the stage. Nicole crossed her fingers when Claire appeared, holding Amy's hand. They moved to the piano. Claire took her seat on the bench without looking at anyone, while Amy stood next to the piano, her hands on top of it, as if prepared to feel the music.

Wyatt could see tension in Claire's back. There was something about the set of her head that told him she was having trouble breathing.

He swore silently, wanting to do something, anything, to fix the problem. But it didn't require anything from him. Claire was truly on her own.

She spread out her music. Wyatt stared at the pages, at the small black dots that meant something to her. How could anyone get that right? How could she possibly—

Claire put her hands on the keys and began to play. Music filled the auditorium, the notes sure and strong and more beautiful than anything Wyatt had heard since the night he'd listened to her practice. Amy looked out and smiled at them.

She was doing it, he thought with relief. Claire was doing it.

Wyatt watched over the next forty minutes as the tension faded. Claire relaxed, apparently losing herself in the moment.

Nicole leaned toward him. “She's doing it.”

“She's impressive.”

“Break her heart and I'll beat you with a stick. Worse, I won't be your friend anymore.”

Wyatt looked at her. “For real?”

She nodded. “She's my sister.”

He put his arm around her. “I'm glad you finally figured that out.”

 

C
LAIRE WENT FOR A DRIVE
after she played. She found Pike Place Market under points of interest on her GPS system and let the calm computer woman direct her to a parking garage. After walking down the hills, she crossed the street and moved toward the path offering a view of the sound.

It was sunny but breezy. The wind tugged on her sweater and blew her hair around her face. There were crowds of people everywhere, yet she felt totally alone in the best way possible.

She'd done it. Despite the fear, the pounding heart, the dry throat, she'd played and after a few minutes, the music had become everything.

She'd been horribly out of practice. Anyone with any training at all would have winced through her performance, but her audience had been kind and forgiving.

It was a start, she told herself as she stared at the water and felt life ease back into her. She wasn't going to kid herself that she was cured, but she was making the right kind of progress. Tomorrow she would practice for a couple of hours. Limber up. Let music back into her life.

She returned to her car and made her way home. When she walked into the house, excited, wanting to thank Nicole for coming, she was surprised to find her sister pacing the length of the great room, her face pale, her mouth set in a thin, angry line.

“What's wrong?” Claire asked. “Are you all right? Is someone sick?”

Nicole glared at her. “Tell me you didn't know. I swear to God, if you did, I'll…I don't know what, but something big and ugly.”

Claire wanted to back up but she stood her ground. “Know what?”

“About Jesse. She's selling cakes on the Internet. She's set up a Web site that looks almost exactly like ours. The Web site address is damn close, too. But the difference is, instead of just giving out information like we do, she's selling the cakes.”

Claire couldn't believe it. “The Keyes chocolate cake?” No way. Jesse wouldn't do that, would she? Not after sleeping with Drew. This was bad. Worse than bad.

“Yes. I can't believe it. She's even selling them for five dollars more. I'm so pissed off. I just want to find her and crush her like a bug.”

“You're really angry and you should be, but we can figure this out,” Claire began.

“No we can't. I knew she was a screwup. I didn't expect miracles, but this is the last betrayal. I couldn't do anything about her sleeping with Drew, but by God I can do something about this.”

Claire didn't like the sound of that. “What are you going to do?”

“Press charges and have her thrown in jail, where she can rot.”

C
LAIRE WAITED
on an old bench by the wall until Jesse walked out. Her sister was pale and looked as if she'd been crying. Claire stood, not sure what to say or what she wanted her sister to say. When nothing came to mind, she turned and led the way to the car.

“I'm sorry,” Jesse said when they were pulling out of the parking lot.

“That's the first time I've bailed anyone out of jail.”

“It's the first time I've been in jail. I can't believe she had me arrested. I never thought she'd do that. She's supposed to love me.”

Jesse began to cry.

Claire was torn. While she sympathized with Jesse's pain, she felt she was more comfortable siding with Nicole on this one. Jesse had crossed the line too many times.

“What did you think she would do?” Claire asked.

“Yell at me.”

“You stole the recipe and you're selling Keyes cakes on the Internet. Yelling is usually reserved for things like violating curfew.”

Jesse turned to look at her. She brushed away her tears. “How could I steal it if I'm a Keyes, too? Dad left half the bakery to me. Isn't that recipe half mine?”

“If that's the best excuse you've got, you're in serious trouble. Where am I taking you?”

“Home.” Jesse gave her the street address, which Claire plugged into the nav system. “I don't get the big deal. I was making some money off the cakes. So what? It's not like I had a job after Nicole threw me out.”

Claire couldn't believe it. “Did you expect Nicole to keep you at the bakery after what you did with Drew? Don't you take responsibility for anything?”

“I have to take care of myself. I've already told you, none of this is my fault. Nicole won't listen to me. Whatever I say isn't going to be good enough. I'm going to be punished forever. Nicole is never going to forgive me.”

“That's her decision, but even if it's true, that doesn't mean it's okay for you to steal the cake and then sell it like that.”

“I wasn't stealing,” Jesse repeated stubbornly. “What was I supposed to do? She threw me out of my home. I had nowhere to go. I'm living in a shitty little studio apartment, renting space from a restaurant from three in the morning until ten. I bake cakes and yes, I'm selling them. Big deal. All my customers are out of state anyway. I'm not taking anything from the bakery.”

“What about what you're taking from Nicole?”

Jesse looked out the side window. “Now you're taking her side in this. Figures.”

“I'm not taking anyone's side. There are no sides. There's only us—three sisters who can't seem to get along.”

“You and Nicole are getting along. That should be enough for you.”

“I'm not taking sides,” she repeated. Not exactly.

“It seems like you are. I don't care. I don't need either of you.”

Claire felt both sad and frustrated. How could Jesse not see the problem with what she'd done? On the heels of sleeping with Drew, it was only making a bad situation worse.

“Why do you want to keep hurting Nicole?” Claire asked. “I thought you cared about her.”

Jesse folded her arms across her chest. “I do care about her. But I don't have any other choices.”

“Not much of an excuse.”

Jesse turned on her. “You don't know anything about me. You don't know what I'm going through. Matt found out about the whole Drew thing and he won't listen, either. I know I screwed up before, but this is different.”

It didn't sound all that different, Claire thought grimly. “I know you've made some really bad decisions and you're doing your best to avoid the consequences.”

“Shut up. You don't know anything. You have everything and I have nothing. You don't have any right to come back here and tell me what to do.”

Jesse opened the car door and got out. Claire stopped the engine and followed her. They hadn't even left the police parking lot. Couldn't they at least go a couple of miles before a blowup?

“Jesse, don't.”

Jesse turned to her. “Don't what? Don't get in the way? Don't be a screwup? All my life I've created trouble for Nicole. I'm the reason she couldn't do what she wanted to do. I'm why she couldn't leave Seattle or go away to college or any of that stuff. You think I don't know that? You think it makes me happy?”

“Then why do you keep hurting her?”

“I'm not,” Jesse screamed. “Go away. Just go away.” She started walking.

“Wait. I'll take you home.”

“I can take the bus. I've done it before.”

Jesse pulled her coat around her and walked across the street to the bus stop. Claire returned to her car. What was she supposed to do now? She had no experience with situations like this. Should she demand Jesse get in the car? It wasn't as if she could force her.

Before she could come up with a plan, a bus pulled up and Jesse climbed on. Claire watched her go, wondering how they'd all come to this and what hope there was to ever getting it right between the three of them.

 

“A
MY'S GOING TO SPEND
the night with us Friday,” Nicole said at breakfast the next morning. “It's time for Wyatt's annual self-flagellation.”

“What are you talking about?” Claire asked.

“Every year, on the anniversary of Shanna leaving, he gets totally drunk and reminds himself why his romantic relationships never work out. It's a guy thing, because it makes no sense to me. Fortunately he doesn't want Amy to see any part of the event, so I take her and when he's sober, he comes to get her. It's become a tradition.”

“Sounds like a fun girls' night,” Claire said. “Why does he have to get drunk to deal with his past?”

“Not a clue.”

Claire didn't think she could ask Wyatt about that kind of thing yet, though they'd been out a couple more times and each date had been better than the one before. She'd wondered why he hadn't asked her out for this weekend and now she knew why. But she didn't know how much he still cared about Shanna or why he hadn't told her about the annual night of drinking and solitude.

“You don't think he's still in love with her, do you?” she asked.

Nicole sipped her coffee. “Not even for money. That was over years ago. This is more about what he thinks about himself. He swears he comes from a long line of men who screw up relationships. Based on my brief but disastrous marriage to Drew, I'm inclined to believe him.”

Claire didn't bother pointing out that Drew was only Wyatt's stepbrother.

“We'll have a good time with Amy,” she said. “What about a movie fest? We could go rent some DVDs.”

“Good idea. Wyatt normally takes a couple of days to get over his bender, but I think he'll surface more quickly this time.” Nicole grinned. “He'll want to see you.”

“Maybe,” Claire said, hoping it was true.

She was intrigued by the idea of a drunk Wyatt. Didn't men want to have sex when they got drunk? She'd seen it in hundreds of movies. So far, while their dates had been fun, the physical side of the relationship hadn't progressed at all. They were kissing and kissing, but nothing else. She knew he didn't know she was still a virgin, so that wasn't the reason he was holding back. Was he just being a gentleman?

If he was, didn't that make him a nice guy? Would it be wrong of her to take advantage of him while he was drinking?

The phone rang. Nicole reached for it. While her sister was talking, Claire walked up to her room and pulled her to-do list out of her drawer.

Have sex was right there, near the top. She desperately wanted to know what it felt like to be with a man. Wyatt had flat out told her he wanted to have sex with her. She was simply considering manipulating circumstances to her advantage. Who would that hurt?

 

B
Y TEN THAT NIGHT
, both Amy and Nicole were in bed. Claire had spent the afternoon trying to find something sexy to wear over to seduce Wyatt. She'd wanted to be appealing, but not obvious. There was also the issue of having to drive over to his house in whatever she chose, so lingerie was out of the question.

She'd settled on tight jeans, shoes she could slip out of and a low-cut sweater. Underneath, she had on matching bra and panties in pale pink silk.

It felt strange, dressing to seduce a man—probably because she'd never done it before. Would Wyatt be critical of her choices? Was she overthinking the process?

Unable to decide, she left her room and crept downstairs. She wrote a note and propped it against the coffeemaker, the one place Nicole was sure to look in the morning, and kept the wording vague enough that if Amy read it, as well, she wouldn't know what was going on. Then Claire went to her car and drove over to Wyatt's.

On the way, she tried to rehearse what she was going to say. Nothing sounded right. With any luck, she wouldn't have to speak at all.

She got to his house and had just pulled in the driveway before she realized that while she was nervous, she wasn't freaked. She had butterflies in her stomach but no impending sense of doom. No panic attack.

That had to be good, she told herself as she walked up to the front door and rang the bell. At least there were still lights on. She'd been worried about waking him.

He answered fairly quickly. “Claire?”

“Hi, Wyatt.”

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. I thought you might like some company.” She pushed past him and walked into the house. He closed the door and followed her into the family room.

Here she could see evidence of his party for one. There was a half-empty pizza box and a bottle of Scotch on the coffee table. The glass next to it was nearly empty.

She turned around and smiled. “How are you?”

He put one hand on the counter, as if he needed help balancing. Other than that, he didn't seem drunk. Had Nicole been exaggerating or had he gotten a late start?

“I'm okay,” he said. “Why are you here?”

“I told you. I thought you might want company.”

His eyes were slightly dilated. But she didn't know all that much about drinking. She never partied and her big indulgence was an occasional glass of wine.

“Tonight's not good for me,” he told her. “I'm not at my best. You should probably go.”

“You don't have to entertain me,” she said. At least not in the way he would think she meant.

She walked over and put her hands on his shoulders. Now she could smell the liquor on his breath, but it wasn't icky. She leaned in and kissed him.

Wyatt responded right away, kissing her back with an intensity that delighted her. This was going to be easier than she'd hoped. Then he pulled back.

“Not a good idea,” he muttered. “Not tonight. Not like this.”

“It seems like a great idea to me,” she murmured. “Come on, Wyatt. What's the harm?”

She kissed him again, this time brushing his bottom lip with her tongue. He put both his hands on her waist and groaned. When she leaned into him, she felt the hard planes of his body and something pressing against her belly—something she desperately hoped was an erection.

He pushed his tongue into her mouth and kissed her with enough intensity to set them both on fire. They circled and teased, even as his hands roamed over her body. He touched her back, her hips, then slid his hands down her rear and squeezed.

She arched against him, pressing against that intriguing ridge. This time he rubbed against her, making her almost totally sure he was aroused. That had to be good, didn't it? She was one step closer to being just like everyone else.

He kissed her over and over, as if he couldn't get enough of her. Without warning, he stepped away and pulled her sweater up and over her head. Then he just stared at her.

“You are so damn beautiful,” he muttered. “Better than I imagined.”

He'd been thinking about her? Being with her? Was that possible?

She shivered in anticipation and maybe a little from nerves. He kissed her again and at the same time, reached behind her. Suddenly her bra was loose.

Although she'd long since left her comfort zone, she let it drop to the floor. He cupped her breasts in both hands and, still kissing her, began to explore her sensitive flesh.

He brushed her nipples with his thumbs. He stroked her curves. When he broke their kiss, it was to bend down and lick her right nipple.

It was as if someone had zapped a nerve that went all the way from her breast to that place between her legs. She jumped, then grabbed him by the head to hold him in place.

“More,” she breathed.

He chuckled, then obliged her. He moved between her breasts, licking, sucking, making her feel things so exquisite, she didn't know how she would survive if he stopped. Then he did stop. But before she could protest, he'd dropped to his knees and was pulling her down with him.