The Secret Sister. Brenda Novak

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СКАЧАТЬ I become when I’m around her. I thought that would make it easier to be successful in a relationship, but even that didn’t change the ending.”

      “You gave it your best shot.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Believe me, there are no answers for some things.”

      “How are you doing?” she asked. “Okay?”

      “Taking it minute by minute.”

      “Have you been working at the flower shop?” Josephine had started the business four years after Malcolm died, following the demise of her next marriage.

      “Almost every morning.”

      “Is Mom there very often?”

      “Only when she’s lonely or bored. Lately that amounts to about three days a week, for an hour here or an hour there. She has Nancy now, who manages it for her.”

      “So you spend your afternoons...”

      “Going to my NA meetings. I hate having to catch the ferry for those. It all takes up so much time.”

      She could believe that. But they were an important part of his recovery. He wouldn’t want to spend all day at the flower shop, anyway. And it wasn’t as if he could find other work. The island had a population of only 2,500, so jobs weren’t easy to come by. His temper and drug use would preclude him from maintaining a steady job, no matter where he lived. He’d proven that in the past.

      “I’ll go to the meetings with you,” she said. “Give you some company.”

      “You don’t want to come.” He grimaced. “‘Hi, I’m Keith Lazarow, and I’m an addict.’ Why would you want to listen to that bullshit?”

      “Because I care about you, and I’m hoping that having a companion will make attending those meetings more...tolerable.”

      “What about your career? Don’t you have a new children’s book under contract?”

      Feigning preoccupation with the scenery flying past, she turned her face to the window. “My career’s on hold for the time being.”

      “On hold? You haven’t said anything about that before.”

      “Because it’s not a big deal. I’m just taking a break.” She couldn’t bring herself to tell him that she couldn’t do it anymore. That the drawing, the ideas, the words, the enthusiasm...it was all gone. She couldn’t come up with another Little Molly Brimble book, had no idea how she’d created her other books, since that kind of creativity seemed so out of reach to her now. To make it official and to escape the pressure she’d felt, she’d even fired her agent. “For the next few months, I’m going to figure out something else I can do.”

      He pushed aside the hank of dark hair that fell across his forehead. “Sounds to me like you’re giving it up.”

      “Not necessarily.”

      “You can’t quit creating, Maisey—not because of Ellie or Jack or me. You love what you do. You’re good at it. And famous!”

      She rolled her eyes. “I’m not famous.”

      “You were making a name for yourself. You were on your way.”

      Acutely conscious of the absence of her wedding ring, which had represented an important part of her identity for nine of the past ten years, she laced her fingers together in her lap. “Doesn’t matter. Molly Brimble is on an indefinite leave of absence.” She sounded more absolute than she’d intended. She didn’t want him to continue prodding her since she was suddenly struggling to ward off tears. Lazarows didn’t cry, especially in front of other people, and that included family. She’d only embarrass herself and make Keith uncomfortable.

      “It was Ellie who died, Maisey,” he said softly.

      Her child’s life had been so short, only six weeks... “You think I don’t know that?” she said. “You think I haven’t missed her every minute of every day since that terrible morning when I found her?”

      He set his jaw. “My point is that it was two years ago. You have to figure out a way to get beyond it.”

      She couldn’t look at him, not without losing her battle with those tears. Because of her relationship with Josephine, she’d let Jack talk her into burying Ellie not far from where he’d been raised in Philadelphia. But since she’d never lived there, and he was now out of her life, that felt so strange and far away. She wished she’d insisted on burying Ellie on the island, as she’d initially requested. “Get beyond it?” she repeated as if that was impossible.

      “Yes. Unless, of course, that only applies to me.” He was throwing her own words back at her.

      “No, of course not. I am getting beyond it in the only way I believe someone can get beyond something like that. I told you, I’ll do something else until I’m ready to start writing again.” She couldn’t fall apart after all the encouragement and advice she’d offered him. She couldn’t even admit how close to despair she really was. She had to stand tall and lead the way, set an example for him.

      They turned onto the narrow dirt road that led into Smuggler’s Cove and, about a quarter of a mile ahead, spotted a black pickup with a High Tide Construction placard on the door. It was parked outside the first bungalow on the back row—Unit 5. Maisey knew because of her familiarity with the cove; she couldn’t see the house through the trees that’d grown so much since she’d last been on the island.

      “Looks like Mom’s contractor’s hard at work,” she said.

      “Actually, he must be at lunch.”

      “How do you know?”

      Keith shrugged as he slowed to navigate the various potholes. “He lives there.”

      Maisey gaped at him. “Only for the duration of the project, though, right?”

      “Permanently—unless he decides to move. He told Mom he’d give her a heck of a deal on refurbishing the others if she’d sell him one. So she did.”

      A wave of resentment washed over Maisey. Her mother had mentioned other interested parties through the years but Josephine had always refused them. “The bungalows aren’t for sale. They never have been.” And if it was up to her, they never would be. Her father had told her they’d belong to her.

      “Since Dad’s gone, Mom’s in charge, and I have to admit that selling made sense.”

      As soon as they passed the black truck, which was loaded with lumber, and the curved drive came into view, Keith pulled to the far side of the road.

      “How do you figure?” she asked.

      “He’s going to maintain and manage the properties once he’s finished with the refurbishing. Maybe you’ll wind up with one less house, but they’ll be in good shape when you take over.”

      “And what does he get for staying on? Will he become one of her employees?”

      “Not really. He just won’t have to make house payments.”

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