The Secret Sister (5 page)

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.

5

M
aisey had returned to Smuggler's Cove only an hour and a half after she'd left it, so it wasn't any surprise that the key to Unit 9 wasn't under the mat. Keith drove her around the bungalows, looking for Rafe. Although they didn't have a truck yet, they thought they could move a few smaller items in the car. But Rafe wasn't around. They could see where he'd been cutting up a tree limb that'd crashed through the roof of Unit 4, so he hadn't been gone long. She figured he must've run to town for a new saw blade or something.

Without any way to get into the unit that contained the furniture, there wasn't a lot they could do. So they sat on the porch steps and talked for forty-five minutes. Keith said she should leave the island, get out while she could. But she said she wouldn't abandon him, that she wouldn't be defeated so easily.

Slowly his mood seemed to improve. He might still have been brooding when he went to get the truck, but he was no longer ranting about Josephine.

As relieved as Maisey was that they'd be together more and she'd be able to offer advice and support, she was also relieved to be alone for a while. Not having to put any further energy into smiling or listening or saying the right things allowed her to relax for the first time since she'd set foot on the island. That also gave her ample opportunity to mull over the meeting with her mother, which still made her angry. But she told herself to take her own advice and quit letting Josephine upset her. “You can't give her that much power,” she'd told Keith.

Easier said than done, but they both had to try...

Maisey had no idea when her brother would be back—if the truck was even available—so she changed into shorts, a T-shirt and sandals and went down to the beach. She'd seen the seaward bungalows briefly when they'd gone looking for Rafe; she knew that Unit 1 sat crooked on its pilings, Units 2 and 3 had lost their porches and Unit 4 had that hole in the roof from the tree limb Rafe was removing. But the damage seemed even worse now that she was examining it up close.

Rafe had plenty of work ahead of him. Would he be able to finish before the next major storm? She wondered about that as she went to the water's edge, took off her sandals and waded in the surf.

The rhythmic slap of the waves proved calming. She imagined her father standing at her elbow, gazing out across the water, and wished he was really with her.

Although Maisey would've liked to stay at the beach all afternoon, she didn't dare linger. Because of her long day of travel, the battery in her cell phone was dead. She'd plugged in her phone before leaving the bungalow, but she didn't have it with her and didn't want to make Keith come searching for her once he returned with the truck. So, after about thirty minutes, she went back.

When she caught glimpses of a black vehicle through the trees, she hurried out of the woods. She had no idea what color truck her mother had purchased to help maintain the estate. But she didn't see any sign of her brother. It was Rafe Romero with his Ford F-250. He was up on her porch, putting the key under the mat as promised.

She wished she could duck back into the shelter of the trees until he was gone, so she wouldn't have to confront him again. But her movement had drawn his attention.

“Back already?” he asked.

She walked toward him, carrying her sandals in one hand. “It was a short visit.”

He glanced up and down the road. “Where's Keith?”

“He must still be at Coldiron House, trying to get the truck.”

“But he'll be coming?”

“Any minute.” She spoke with enough confidence that he nodded, told her the key was under the mat and left.

Maisey was sure Keith wouldn't be much longer. But when another hour passed, and she still hadn't heard from him, she began to worry.

Where could he be?

Her cell was now charged, so she tried to reach him.

The call went straight to voice mail. She texted him afterward but didn't get a response that way, either.

Had he and Josephine had another of their famous screaming matches—about her, or what Josephine had said about Ellie, or even that comment about Keith's work at the flower shop?

Anything was possible. When it came to Keith and Josephine, it didn't take much to cause a fight, especially on a day like today when one or both were on edge. And if they
had
argued, Keith might've left the island instead of coming to her aid. It didn't matter that she'd moved here to help him, or that she needed
his
help to get settled. If he was upset, he wouldn't think twice about taking off on another bender until he'd exhausted what little money he'd been able to earn or pilfer from the house and flower shop.

Keeping an eye on the road beyond her windows, Maisey paced for several more minutes. Then she went out to sit on the front steps and stare down the drive. “Please come,” she whispered, but he didn't. Another hour passed and still...nothing.

At that point, she broke down and called the house.

Fortunately, Josephine didn't answer.

“Coldiron House. This is Clarissa speaking.”

“Clarissa, it's Maisey. I was there for...for tea earlier.”

“Of course. I remember.”

“Is Keith around?”

This question was met with an uncomfortable pause. Then Clarissa said, “Not at the moment.”

Maisey was beginning to feel ill. Surely, if he'd run off, he wouldn't do what he'd done before, with those sleeping pills... “Do you know where he is?”

“No, ma'am.”

“He didn't mention where he was going?”

“Not to me.”

“Did he take the truck?” He might be on foot. The ferry wasn't more than three miles from the house—a walkable distance. Or if he'd
really
wanted to piss Josephine off, he could've taken the Mercedes and left it at the wharf for her to collect later.

“I'm afraid I don't know that, either, Miss Lazarow.”

“You can call me Maisey. Would you mind checking?”

“On the truck?”

“Yes. I need to use it.”

“Um, okay.” She seemed surprised by the request but reluctant to say no. “If you'll hang on a moment...”

Maisey was massaging her temples, cursing herself for being so misguided as to think she could help someone as volatile as her brother, when Clarissa came back on the line.

“Tyrone said your brother
did
take the truck.”

Was there any chance he could be on his way over?

If so, he'd answer his phone, wouldn't he?

Unless he'd lost it or forgotten it somewhere...

“Do you know when he left?” she asked.

This time there was no hesitation before Clarissa answered. “It's been nearly two hours.”

Then he wasn't coming to Smuggler's Cove. He could've driven around the entire island at least twice in two hours. She wanted to find out whether he'd left in a rage, but she doubted Clarissa would know—or confirm it if she did. Josephine trained her staff well. They would protect the family's privacy, or they'd be sued for breach of contract and no longer have a job. Clarissa knew the time of Keith's departure, which suggested he'd given her reason to notice it. That was about the only indication Maisey felt she was going to get.

Poor Clarissa. If there'd been a scene like one of the many Maisey had witnessed in her lifetime, the girl had probably felt like cowering in a corner.

“Do you have any idea when he might return?” By this point, Maisey thought the question was futile, but had to ask.

“We aren't expecting him anytime soon,” she replied.

“Is he safe?” she asked in a small voice.

“Excuse me, miss?”

“Never mind. Thank you.” After she disconnected, she slid her phone halfway across the porch; she could no longer bear to look at it, after that news. “What the hell am I going to do now?” she asked aloud. The possibility that Keith might try to harm himself terrified her. But she couldn't help him if she didn't know where he was. At the moment, she wasn't in a good situation herself. She didn't have so much as a blanket or a pillow.

And it was growing dark.

* * *

The beach was cold and damp, but there was nowhere soft enough to lie down in the bungalow, and nothing to cover up with. Hugging herself, Maisey tried to go back to sleep. She wasn't ready to wake up, was exhausted in a bone-deep way. With dawn breaking, she hoped it would get warm quickly and she'd be able to nap for a couple of hours before she had to face the day.

“Maisey? Is that you?”

Startled to realize she had company, she came more fully awake and squinted at the man standing over her. He looked like a giant amorphous shape surrounded by a halo of bright sunlight. At first she had no idea who he was. But after she blinked the sleep from her eyes, she saw that it was only Rafe, wearing jogging clothes and a pack-like contraption strapped to his back that made him appear larger than he was.

Maisey's face grew instantly hot. She was wearing several layers of clothes—almost everything in her suitcase. She must look like some kind of homeless person. Which, in fact, she was...

Scrambling to her feet despite the restriction caused by all those layers, she started brushing away the sand clinging to her cheek, hair and clothes. “Sorry. I—I didn't mean to alarm you. I didn't expect anyone to be on the beach this early.”

“I'm just glad you're
breathing
,” he said. “I had a terrible feeling I'd discovered your...never mind.”

The glare of the sun made it hard to interpret Rafe's expression. She couldn't see his face clearly, but his tone conveyed surprise.

Once she shaded her eyes, she was surprised herself. The contraption on his back was a child carrier, and there was a child in it—a girl, who had to be five or six, with blond pigtails and sunglasses.

Why was he carrying such a large child? And
on a run
? Most people found it challenging to exercise without the extra weight. But...he looked stronger than a lot of men. Maybe that was how he'd gotten to be so muscular. Maybe he liked to push himself.

“Why are you down here?” he asked. He didn't add, “Looking like
that
,” but she heard it in his voice. “Did you lose your key? If you couldn't get in, you should've come to my place. I would've helped you.”

She cleared her throat. “No, I've got the key.”

He gestured at the indentation her body had made in the sand. “Then what's this about?”

Maisey was relieved when the child spoke, because it saved her from having to come up with an answer. She wasn't sure what to say. Her mother was
so
private, and Rafe worked for her mother...

“Who is it, Daddy?”

Daddy?
Yesterday, when she first saw Rafe, Maisey hadn't even considered the possibility that he might have children. Had he ever been married?

“It's our new neighbor, sweetheart,” Rafe replied.

“Our
neighbor
?” the child echoed. “We have a
neighbor
?”

“We do now. Her name is Maisey Lazarow.”

Wrinkling her nose, the girl rolled her head back; she seemed to be looking at the sky instead of at Maisey. “She doesn't
sound
like Mrs. Lazarow.”

“Because she's not,” he said. “This is her daughter.”

“Silly!” she said with a laugh. “She doesn't have a daughter.”

He adjusted the pack. “Maisey moved away a while ago. And now she's back.”

Curiosity lit her face as she sobered. “How old is she?”

The way they were talking—as if Maisey wasn't right in front of them—seemed odd. If those sunglasses made it difficult for the child to see, why didn't she remove them?

“Thirty-four,” Maisey volunteered, but that was an unexpected question. Generally, to a child of that age, an adult was an adult. But this girl acted as though she had
no
frame of reference. “How old are
you
?” Maisey asked.

“Five and three-quarters.”

Almost six. Maisey had guessed correctly; this wasn't a toddler. “Nice to meet you. What's your name?”

“Laney,” she announced, and wrapped her arms around her father's neck in an impulsive and exuberant hug.

Maisey shifted her eyes to Rafe.

“I would've told you,” he said. “You didn't let me get that far.”

“I see. Well, you certainly don't owe
me
any explanations. Congratulations on having such a beautiful daughter.” That wasn't an empty compliment. Although the girl acted a little...different from other kids her age, she was exceptionally pretty. Maisey could see a lot of her father in her. Her hair was lighter than Rafe's, but she had his smile and bone structure.

It wasn't until Maisey noticed the collapsible cane dangling from the child carrier that she realized the sunglasses weren't the reason Laney couldn't see. The girl was blind, which explained why Rafe was carrying her, even on a run. He probably couldn't leave her alone when he worked out.

“Are you exercising, too?” Laney asked.

Out of habit, Maisey shook her head. Then, feeling silly since the child wouldn't be able to tell she'd responded, she followed up with, “No. I—I was sleeping.”

“On the beach?”
She giggled. “Daddy,
I
want to sleep on the beach!”

Rafe's gaze swept over Maisey. “I'm pretty sure it's too cold this time of year.”

“It wouldn't be if you had some blankets,” Maisey said.

Laney swung her legs to show her enthusiasm for the idea. “We have blankets. We could take them from our beds!”

Feeling awkward and self-conscious, Maisey rubbed her arms, even though the adrenaline that had shot through her at being startled awake had done a great deal to ward off the chill. “How long will you be visiting, Laney?”