The Secrets Sisters Keep (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

“D
id my daughter go down to the boathouse with that tattooed creep?” Amanda asked once she had vacated the powder room and joined Ellie in the kitchen.

Ellie drew in a deep breath and counted to three. Sometimes dealing with her sister required a short pause. “He seems like a nice, boy, Amanda. His father is a professor at Harvard.”

Amanda’s eyebrows went up. “Really? I didn’t know that.”

Of course not,
Ellie thought.
You haven’t bothered to make any conversation.
She loaded the last platter into the dishwasher and wiped down the counter. “Tomorrow will come quickly. It looks as if the weather will hold.”

Amanda pouted. “Please. Let’s not talk about my daughter or the weather. I think there is a more important issue at hand. Like where is Uncle Edward and what are we going to do about it?”

How could Ellie admit she did not know what to do? How could she tell Amanda that she was so stressed she couldn’t think straight? These years at the lake had been so quiet and nice. Even when Henry had arrived, it had caused little disturbance: they’d simply glided from one day to the next without uproar or expectations. Decisions, too, had caused minimal disruption, except for the redecorating Ellie had orchestrated last fall. Picking out paint colors, though it had seemed taxing, couldn’t compare with the goings-on of today. This weekend. The whole mess.

She put her face in her hands and felt her shoulders start to tremble. She hoped beyond hope that she wouldn’t cry.
Oh, God, please, don’t let me cry, not in front of Amanda.

God must have been out for a late supper or an after-dinner liqueur, because before Ellie knew it, tears plopped from her eyes like rain from the eaves that were blocked up by leaves.

“Ellie!” Amanda screeched and lunged for her, as if Ellie had been having a heart attack or a stroke. “Don’t!”

Well, of course Amanda would shout “Don’t!” She detested displays of raw feelings.

Ellie waved her sister away. “It’s all right, Amanda-Belle. I’m fine.”
As fine as you were in the powder room
, she wanted to add but did not. Ellie wiped her eyes, and Amanda stepped two steps away.

“Let’s sit down,” Amanda said, as if sitting would solve everything.

They moved to the breakfast nook overlooking the backyard, which was bathed in security lights now that it had grown dark.

“Where is Edward?” Ellie asked with a leftover sniff. “Why has he done this to me?” She’d meant to say
Why has he done this to
us
?
but, she supposed, she’d really meant
me,
so it didn’t much matter.

“He’s always been a bastard,” Amanda replied.

“Amanda! Don’t be a prig.”

“Well, it’s true. Rich, famous Edward Dalton. Where did that ever get any of us? He’s hoarded his millions except for an occasional crumb here and there to keep us plugged in so he can abuse us with this kind of behavior. Face it, Ellie, the man is self-centered.”

“Amanda, that’s not true. Edward is generous and kind—”

“Generous? To whom?”

“To me. To you. To Babe, I think. When she was young.”

“He’s only generous when it serves him, Ellie.”

“Stop. It’s not true.”

“Well,” Amanda said, staring out at the tent and the chairs and the foreboding of tomorrow, “I don’t like anyone very much right now.”

That’s when Ellie remembered Jonathan and the Brazilian. “Amanda, about Jonathan . . .”

But just then Babe appeared in the doorway. Her makeup had been cleansed and her curls were loosely pinned to the top of her head. She wore a thin chiffon robe and, apparently, very little beneath it. If Ellie were Amanda, she’d be glad her husband was not present to imagine what accompanied Babe’s visible curves.

“Oh, am I interrupting?” Babe asked. “Wes fell asleep and I could use a cup of tea.”

At least Amanda didn’t comment that either Wes was a minuteman, or they hadn’t had sex.

“Help yourself,” Ellie said. “It’s in the upper cabinet to the right of the sink.” She was done waiting on people for the day.

Amanda and Ellie fell silent while Babe rummaged through the boxes of herb teas. Ellie supposed she shouldn’t stand up and say goodnight now that she’d broached the subject of Jonathan’s mistress. Not that she needed to know.

Turning her gaze back to the yard, she hoped that no matter where he was or what he was doing, Uncle Edward was safe. It would be appalling if anything happened the night before his big celebration. The thought of it made her stomach grumble. She realized she hadn’t eaten much supper; she’d been too distraught about, well, about everything and everyone at the table. Maybe she should ask Babe to pour tea for her, too.

That’s when a shadow moved through the security light in the yard. Ellie stood up. “Uncle Edward?” she said and Amanda stood up and Babe stopped what she was doing and floated to the window.

“Is it him?” Babe asked.

“I don’t know,” Ellie said. “I only saw a shadow.”

Amanda dropped back to her chair. “It’s probably my daughter, coming back to the house after a good screw.”

For a woman who pretended to be so refined, sometimes Amanda was surprisingly crass.

A light knock knocked on the back door.

“Yes, it must be Heather,” Ellie whispered. After all, Heather, not Edward, would not have a key and therefore need to knock. “Amanda, are you going to open the door?”

Amanda let out a rough sigh. “I suppose I should be grateful she didn’t spend the night down there with him.”

“I suppose,” Ellie said.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Babe said, “I’ll let her in.” She swished her chiffon toward the back door, unlocked the lock, and opened the door. But it was not Heather, and it was not Edward. Good Lord, it was Carleen.

Chapter Thirteen

B
abe slammed the door and uttered something profane that had eight or ten syllables.

Amanda fanned herself as if she were going to faint.

Ellie felt something stab her in the vicinity of her heart: anguish, pain, loss, something like that. Still, she was the oldest. She needed to take charge.

Reluctantly, Ellie stood up. “Babe,” she said. “Stop it. Carleen is our sister. You must let her in.”

Babe stared at her in horror, no longer the movie star she’d become but the little girl afraid of the monster in the lake.

Amanda stood up, too. “Well,
I’m
not going to let her in. She simply has no business being here.”

They stood there, eyes bouncing from one to the other, three sisters in a standoff, a fourth on the back steps.

“Well,” Ellie said, “wouldn’t Mother and Daddy be proud. Here we are, grown adults, acting like children.”

“Leave them out of this,” Amanda said. “They’re not the ones who invited her.”

“Not to mention that they’re dead,” Babe chimed in. “Because of
her
.”

It was interesting, of course, that Amanda and Babe were now on the same side, two adversaries suddenly best friends for a common cause. “The state of New York said it was an accident,” Ellie said.

Amanda blinked with condescension. “The state of New York did not know Carleen.”

As if that ended the discussion, Amanda and Babe began to leave the kitchen.

“Wait,” Ellie said. “What about Uncle Edward?”

“What about him?” asked Babe as both of them stopped.

“He invited Carleen. He wants her here for his birthday. Maybe he’s sick after all. Maybe he wants his whole family here for reasons we don’t know yet.” She purposely teased Amanda with the possibility of Edward’s death, hoping it would trigger her penchant for greed.

“I don’t care about his motive,” Babe said. “She left this family years ago, and it’s best that she doesn’t come back.” An odd pitch to her voice made it sound as if Babe had been referring to herself and not Carleen.

Amanda hesitated, her greed busily grappling with the heat of the moment. “Wait, Babe,” she finally said. “Maybe Ellie’s right. Maybe we should be congenial, for Uncle Edward’s sake.” Greed, of course, triumphed, because when it came to Amanda, it usually did.

Babe re-anchored a curl that had sprung loose. “Do what you want,” she said. “But this is about more than the death of our parents for me. This is about the death of
my baby
.”

Ellie braced herself. Since Babe had arrived, Ellie had noticed the change. She realized that her youngest sister no longer followed the leader, no longer automatically did whatever the older ones wanted. She had become an adult with a mind of her own.

“You have your kids, Amanda,” Babe continued. Her cheeks became pink, her breath short and wispy. “Ellie, I have no idea why you never had any. But I wanted kids. I wanted a family. But Carleen made me have that stupid abortion. None of you knew that my cervix was damaged in the process. I was only fifteen; it wasn’t fully developed.

“After I got married the first time, I had four miscarriages. My doctor finally told me to stop getting pregnant, that I couldn’t have children the ‘natural’ way. No kids for Babe! Not then! Not ever!” Her voice dramatically cracked on the
ever
. But she remained stalwart and did not cry. “So don’t expect me to unlock that door and welcome my long-lost sister with open arms. Not for a minute. Not on your life.

“As for this place, why do you think I haven’t been back here in all these years? It’s because I couldn’t stand the memories. Of Carleen. Of everything and everyone. Even of Uncle Edward, who, by the way, had a big fat nerve inviting Carleen and not telling us.

“Enjoy the party, ladies. I’m gone on the next plane.” She stomped from the kitchen, her chiffon billowing behind her.

Amanda and Ellie looked at each other a moment, then Amanda called out, “Babe! Babe, wait for me!” and went off after her, leaving Ellie to sigh a sad, heavy sigh as another knock rapped on the door.

“I
’ve seen all her movies,” Carleen said to Ellie after Ellie finally broke down and let her in and the two were seated in the nook where Ellie and Amanda had been. “She looks terrific.”

Carleen, however, did not look terrific, she looked mediocre. Her big eighties hair had deflated and was gathered into a small auburn ponytail; her once-black-lined eyes had light mascara on their lashes but otherwise were unadorned. Her fingernails were short, painted with clear polish. If she’d had lipstick on earlier in the day, it had worn off. She seemed a little weary, but not nervous or upset. She didn’t ask where her sisters had gone after Babe had opened, then slammed, the door.

“Babe has been very successful,” Ellie said. “She always was talented.” She did not say that neither Ellie nor Amanda had seen Babe in years, that Carleen’s behavior had impacted each of them differently. Let her think the three sisters had remained close, that they had closed ranks and been a support system for one another.

“What about you, Ellie? You are talented, too. Are you still at the Met?”

It took Ellie a second to remember that she had been working, had started her career, had met Paul and been what she’d thought of as in love when everything had happened, when everything had changed. “No,” she replied.

Carleen folded her hands on her purse, an odd quilted thing that looked as if she had bought it at a garage sale. Amanda would have a heyday with that.

“This is awkward,” Carleen said. “Me. Being here.”

“Yes.” Ellie was not going to lie. She was too tired already, and it was going to be too long a weekend for lying and trying to remember what she’d said to whom.

“Has Uncle Edward gone to bed?”

Ellie wished Babe had finished making the tea. If she had, she would have inserted a hefty shot of scotch. “I expect so,” she said and stood up. “Well, it’s getting late.”

Carleen nodded. “I only brought a small bag. It’s on the steps. I came around back because I saw the lights. I wasn’t sure if the party had started early.”

“Tomorrow. The party starts at noon.”

As Carleen unfastened a pink ribbon from her ponytail, Ellie remembered that she’d traded her big hair for the trial, that she’d sacrificed style in order to appear demure. Harmless. Innocent.

“Well, then,” Carleen said, standing up, too, “I guess I should retire.”

Retire
was a frumpy word to come from Carleen.
Frumpy?
Ellie wondered.
Who was she kidding?
Then she checked her annoyance. She needed to leave being rude to Amanda. For Ellie, unkindness was just too exhausting. “I’ll get your bag,” Ellie said. “Did you come far?” It wouldn’t hurt to be civil. For Uncle Edward’s sake. For the sake of the headache she felt starting to blossom.

“Five hours on a bus,” Carleen said.

“Ouch.”

“Yes.”

Ellie retrieved the bag from the back steps—it was a small, overnight thing, ideal for someone traveling light. She hoped Carleen had packed something white for the family picture session—if she wasn’t run out of town before then.

“I
t was twenty years ago, Babe,” her husband said. “You’re different people today. For starters, you’re adults.”

“Which is exactly why I get to think for myself. Which is exactly why we are going home.” She had tried to reason with Wes when she’d gone upstairs. She had tried to get him to buy into her
theatrics
(his word, not hers).

He had talked her into waiting until morning.

But now it was the morning and Babe hadn’t changed her mind. She packed her clothes, her shoes, her trunkload of cosmetics. She took a last glance at the table where she’d once held high tea for her dolls. She felt no remorse.

“We can’t go,” Wes said as he pulled his legs from under the big white comforter and swung them to the floor. “It would look ridiculous. Besides, we should be sure your uncle is all right.”

“Because you think he can help your career?” There. She’d said it. She’d gotten the issue out in the open.

“Excuse me?”

She flipped the suitcase lid closed. She zipped. She sniffed. She parked her hands on her slender hips as if she were Amanda. “Did you think I wouldn’t get it? Did you think I’d actually believe you came here—
that you coerced me to come here
—for my benefit? Or that the stunt at the airport had anything to do with me?”

“Babe . . .” Sometimes Wes said “Babe” as if it were a sarcastic endearment, not practically her given name.

“Don’t ‘Babe’ me, Wes McCall. All you want is a ticket to Broadway. You want to use my Uncle Edward to resuscitate your career.”

“I think in that department, we both could use some help.”

“You could use help, not me. I have a plan.”

“Right. Fragrances.”

“Or jewelry. Maybe handbags. The point is, I don’t expect a handout.”

He stood up. “Fine. You have your plan. I have mine.” He grabbed his shaving kit and clothes and headed toward the door. Unlike Ellie and Amanda’s rooms, Babe’s was without an attached bath, an
en suite
luxury reserved for the older, more important girls. He stopped and turned back to her. “Look, we can argue about this all day and still not solve anything. For now, I’m going to shower. I promised the boys that if Edward isn’t back, I’d take them out looking again.”

Babe couldn’t believe he wasn’t taking her seriously. But then, had he ever? “You’re taking Amanda’s boys on another fruitless expedition?”

“Maybe we’ll find your uncle this time. Anyway, I promised Chase. Chandler will probably pull his head out of his butt and come, too. There won’t be much going on around here until the party.”

“So you’re determined to stay. Do I have to remind you this is my family, not yours?”

He shrugged. Laughed. “I’m just trying to make the best of this, Babe. You might consider doing the same.”

She threw her suitcase onto the floor. “Do what you want. I’ll be here in my room. I’m not going to be anywhere near that sister of mine. You can’t make me.”
You can’t make me?
Had she really said that, as if she were seven years old?

Wes laughed again. “Christ, I can’t believe you let ‘tabloid trash’ rule your life. Wasn’t that what you called it? Well, honey, you’re acting as if it was much more than that.”

Babe flung herself onto the bed—another wretchedly overacted antic for which she immediately hated herself.