The Secrets Sisters Keep (17 page)

Chapter Thirty-two

A
t six o’clock Edward announced he would take supper in his room, that he’d see them at breakfast. He reminded his nieces to show up in white for the picture. Then he decided Amanda’s children should be in the photo as well.

“Not the men, though,” he said. “Spouses aren’t allowed. They change so quickly in this day and age.” He disappeared into the king’s bedroom, and Henry quickly followed.

Amanda’s hands went to her hips, where they often went these days. “For his information, my boys don’t have anything white. And I doubt that Heather does. I thought this was only for the sisters.”

“I have a white shirt, Mother,” her daughter said.

“I’m sure it’s not appropriate.” She turned back to the others. “How dare he change the rules on a moment’s notice? How dare he make us jump through hoops just because it is his birthday . . . just because he thinks he
can
?”

“Mom,” Chase pleaded, “Uncle Edward will hear you.”

“I don’t care if the pope can hear me,” which made no sense, of course, but neither did Amanda when she was on a tear.

“Amanda-Belle,” Ellie said, “why don’t you come with me into the kitchen. I could use your help setting out leftovers for supper.”

“Leftovers,” Amanda groaned. “How fitting. I, for one, have never doubted that’s how Edward has always treated us, as if we were doggie bags from our parents, his poor leftover nieces, who’d been shoved into his fridge.”

The good news was that Amanda actually followed Ellie from the drawing room and left the rest of them in peace.

“T
hanks for rescuing me,” Amanda surprised Ellie by saying once they had closed the kitchen door behind them. “Between Edward’s shenanigans, our lovely sister, Babe, and that other one—Carleen—I’ve had as much as I can stand.”

Ellie opened the refrigerator and saw the foil-covered trays of meat stacked the way she had asked, the bowls of salad and beans neatly covered. Martina and her staff were certainly as efficient as their reputation indicated.

Amanda propped herself against the counter with no apparent intention of helping. “Honestly, Ellie, don’t you find it absurd? The kissy-face about how happy Edward is to see the two of them? Where have they been all these years when we’re the ones who put up with his eccentricities and watched him get cranky and despicable?”

“You’re right, sometimes his antics are despicable. But Edward hasn’t changed. His hair is gray now and he walks a little more slowly, but he really hasn’t changed.”

“More’s the pity,” Amanda cackled, then yanked the silverware from the drawer and started lining up the knives as if each were a weapon. “Why are we
really
here, Ellie? I know something is going on that has little to do with a party and a photograph and Edward’s fake suicide. Or to bring us back together because ‘life is so short.’ ”

Instead of laughing at her sister’s predictable agitation, Ellie realized that if she told Amanda about Edward’s cancer, maybe Amanda would calm down. She’d been like an irate wasp since she’d arrived, which was understandable, given Jonathan’s behavior and her financial predicament.

“Amanda-Belle,” Ellie said as she set a tray of barbecue on the counter. “Uncle Edward is sick.”

Amanda froze. “What do you mean, he’s sick? Yesterday you said he was fine.”

“I thought he was, but he’s not.”

“Well, he looks fine to me. He was fine enough to sleep on the
ground
last night, for God’s sake. He was fine enough to climb a tree and hang that moronic rope.”

“He has cancer.”

Amanda tipped her head and scowled a tiny scowl. “Cancer? Oh, puh
leeeze
. What’s he trying to pull off now?”

Ellie supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by her sister’s reaction. “It’s true, Amanda-Belle. Edward has colon cancer.”

Amanda snorted. “Did you see the test results? Did you talk to his doctor?”

“No. Of course not.”

“How long does he have? A minute? A day?”

“Amanda, stop. This isn’t funny.”

“Well, it
is
funny that he hasn’t mentioned it before now. When did he tell you, anyway?”

“He didn’t tell me. Henry did.”

“I see. Well, that explains it. Didn’t you say Henry can’t be trusted?”

“No. I asked if you’d ever heard anything suspicious about him.”

Amanda laughed. “Well, I have now. I think it’s rather suspicious that Uncle Edward
suddenly
has cancer. So did he want to have the party before he starts chemo? Before he loses what’s left of his hair, so his friends and family can remember him when he was still hale and hearty?” Her sarcasm was nearly palpable.

Ellie took the potato salad from the refrigerator and set it on the counter. “He isn’t going to have treatment. Apparently he doesn’t want any.”

“That’s absurd.”

“It’s his choice, Amanda-Belle.”

Amanda folded her arms yet still made no gesture to help. “I can’t believe you’re buying this story.”

“Henry seemed sincere.” Ellie felt her lower back tense. She felt her neck tighten.

“Well,” Amanda huffed, “it’s bullshit. And it’s all the more reason I am not going to sit around making small talk and eating stupid leftovers and pretending everything is fine.” She waved at the food as if it were the enemy.

“Amanda, stop it. I only told you because I hoped it would explain why he’d invited everyone. I think what he really wanted was for the four of us to reunite before he dies. I think he wanted us to have a chance to correct some things in our past. Like Babe and Ray, like Carleen, like, well, like you and Martina.”

Amanda’s face scrunched up. “Who?”

“Martina. The caterer.” Ellie dumped the baked beans in a pot and turned the stove burner to simmer. “She’s the daughter of Edward’s old housekeeper. You used to make fun of Martina.”

Amanda laughed. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. When we were kids, you thought she wasn’t as good as us because she was Spanish. You were mean to her, Amanda-Belle. Edward hated that.”

Peeling back the foil from the top of the salad, Amanda looked inside, as if she might see something interesting. “I remember the day he made me apologize. It was ridiculous.”

“No. He was trying to teach you a lesson.”

“Is that why she was here this weekend? To teach me another one?”

“Martina is a successful woman with a fabulous business. Maybe Edward wanted to show you it never pays to be judgmental.”

Amanda pulled off the foil and shoved a serving spoon into the salad. “And now the supposed cancer has incited him to once again screw with our heads?”

“I think he’s trying to help.”

“Help?
Help???
Didn’t he think I might appreciate something other than settling an old score with a maid?”

“Please, Amanda-Belle. He’s sick . . .”

“Is he? Do we really know that’s true?” She leveled her eyes at her sister. “I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to get to the bottom of this! Straight from the horse’s mouth!”

At least she hadn’t called Edward a horse’s ass. Still, Ellie backed up in case there was a chance Amanda threw something, like the bowl of salad, or worse, the barbecue.

“Amanda . . .”

“No! This is such utter bullshit!” She twirled like a mini tornado, then stormed out of the kitchen.

Ellie’s heart plummeted to the terrazzo floor because she suspected where her sister was headed next.

“M
other, what are you doing?” Heather and the boyfriend were leaving the drawing room when Amanda had the misfortune of a head-on collision with her daughter.

“Out of my way.”

“Your face is red. You’re out of control.”

Amanda should have known better than to issue an edict to a nineteen-year-old whose major in college was psychology, and who hadn’t agreed with her mother since turning twelve.

“What’s going on?” That came from Jonathan, who had suddenly materialized in a David Copperfield moment.

So now half of Amanda’s immediate family stood in her path between nonsense and reason.

“Stay out of this,” Amanda said, her voice stern and level though her blood pressure was rising. “I am going to talk with my uncle.”

“He has retired for the evening,” Jonathan said, as if she hadn’t been there when Edward had departed from the table with his hovering man-friend.

“Well, he is about to un-retire himself. He and I are going to have a conversation. And no one is going to interfere.”

“Amanda,” Jonathan said, taking her by the elbow. “Calm down.”

It was sort of like telling a rabid raccoon to run along and bother someone else’s trash can. “I said,
get—out—of—my—way.
”

Well, of course, he didn’t, because Jonathan didn’t do anything she wanted anymore.

“Edward has gone to bed. Whatever you want can wait until morning.”

“No. It can’t.”

Jonathan waved Heather away and moved closer to Amanda, diverting her into the hall, as if he hoped it put them out of earshot from the others.

With her shoulders hunched, Amanda knew this might be a good time to confront her husband, to tell him she knew what he’d been doing late at night in the Village and with whom he’d been doing it. It might be a good time in terms of her on-the-surface rancor, but she was too focused on Edward and the latest injustice he’d employed, pretending to have cancer so he could shake them up. Again.

“He claims he’s dying,” she hissed. “Now get out of my way.”

Jonathan took a step back. “Wait a minute. You can’t announce your uncle is dying, then blow me off. I am your husband.”

Tempted though she was, she did not address the comment about him being blown off. Still, he’d offered an opening she couldn’t resist. “Is that what you are, Jonathan? My husband? Perhaps another time we should discuss your definition of that word. I, for one, wouldn’t think
husbands
engaged in back-waxing without first informing their wives. Or perhaps they’d rather inform their wives’ attorneys.”

He was so stunned that it was easy to push past him then, to march into the drawing room, past the remaining shards of family, and up to the entrance to the king’s room, which, of course, was locked.

She banged on the door that she had never passed through, never been allowed to enter, even when she’d been a girl. Edward’s domain had always been off limits, its secrets securely hidden from unauthorized eyes.

“Edward!” Amanda shouted. “Open the goddamn door!”

Edward did not come to the door, but Henry did, sneaking through the open slot like a mouse through a basement’s foundation.

“He’s sleeping,” Henry said. “Go away.”

She tried to insinuate herself around him, but he remained stalwart, which was pretty admirable because he was so thin and one good push would have sent him careening. “Henry,” she said, “get out of my way.”

He shook his head. His eyeballs bounced like the ping-pong sport he favored. “No admittance.”

“He can’t be asleep already.”

The next thing she knew, someone was at her elbow again. This time it was Babe. “Amanda-Belle,” Babe said, “let’s go for a walk before the sun sets. We’ll see Uncle Edward in the morning.”

Babe rattled her—she always had, the spoiled, perfect baby of the lot. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Amanda wailed. “Can’t you all just leave me alone?” She pulled her arm away from Babe and paraded from the drawing room, up the immense staircase, where she stomped down the hall to her bedroom and slammed the door with great affect in case anyone was listening.

“I
don’t know what’s gotten into my wife,” Jonathan told Carleen after Amanda fled the drawing room.

From where she’d been sitting, Carleen had had an unobstructed view of Amanda’s tirade. “There’s no need to apologize. For one thing, I know my being here has upset her terribly. That, and not knowing what was going on with Edward.”

Jonathan put his face in his hands. “She wasn’t like this when she was young. She wasn’t so . . . angry.”

Carleen didn’t know how to tell Amanda’s husband that, indeed, Amanda-Belle always had been angry—angry that Ellie was older and, ergo, had more authority; angry that Carleen got away with behavior that was so unruly; angry that Babe was sweet, and Amanda was not. Yes, Amanda had been angry.

“You have a nice family,” Carleen said. “I’m sure she can’t be angry about that.”

“She’s angry at me all the time. I have no idea why. A minute ago she lashed out about me having my back waxed or something. Did she say anything to you about it?”

Back-waxing? Good Lord. Her daughters would have cried,
Too much information
. “Sorry,” Carleen said. “Amanda hasn’t said much to me since I’ve been here.”

“Right. I am ashamed of her for that.”

“Don’t be, Jonathan. I learned the hard way not to judge anyone else. I mean, we never really know what’s going on in their worlds, or in their minds, do we?” She hadn’t intended to criticize him or stick up for her sister. But Carleen had begun to realize how nice it was to have been sheltered from the family drama for so many years. She stood up. “I should see if Ellie can use my help with supper.”