The Secret Sister. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
store in town, not to mention Love’s in Bloom, her mother’s flower shop—gave way to swaying palm trees, sandy beaches and lush vegetation, Maisey felt her heart begin to lighten. She’d been right to come here. She could sense it deep in her bones—now that she wasn’t heading directly to her childhood home.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the hot sun beating down on her through the windshield. This summer she hadn’t spent nearly enough time outdoors...
Keith interrupted her moment of tranquility. “Do you ever hear from Jack?”
She and her brother hadn’t talked about the divorce for months. There’d been too many more dire things to focus on, most recently his attempt to take his own life with a bottle of sleeping pills. If the manager at the dumpy motel where he’d been staying in New Orleans hadn’t come into his room to kick him out for nonpayment, he’d probably be dead.
“No, not a word,” she said. “He has no reason to contact me. Why?”
“Just curious.”
“Maybe the situation would be different if we still had Ellie,” she added, “but...now that she’s gone, our divorce really is goodbye.”
Her brother didn’t say anything about her child. Like most people, he shied away from the grief a loss like that inspired. “What happened?” he asked instead. “Why’d he cheat?”
She’d asked herself the same question so many times—and didn’t like any of the answers. She couldn’t help blaming herself for being unable to recover from Ellie’s death as quickly as he could, for being less of a woman than he wanted, for needing him when he wasn’t capable of giving her any solace. “He said he wasn’t fulfilled in our marriage. Whatever that means.”
Keith shifted in the driver’s seat. “Have you met your replacement?”
“Once. We ran into her on Fifth Avenue.” It was difficult not to hate Jack’s new girlfriend. She wasn’t particularly attractive, and didn’t seem to have anything else that should’ve been hard for Jack to refuse, which only made Maisey feel more inadequate.
“After he left?” Keith asked.
“Before. They went to high school together, so they’d known each other in the past. I believe that accidental run-in on Fifth Avenue is where the affair started. She must’ve contacted him on Facebook or emailed him afterward—or he contacted her, and...their relationship grew from there.”
“Does it hurt to talk about it?”
It hurt to even think about Jack. Maisey wasn’t sure she’d ever get over him. Her marriage was supposed to last forever. But Keith was fighting enough battles. She couldn’t expect him to prop her up. “No, I’ve put it behind me.”
Her brother shook his head. “How’d we miss that he was such a douchebag?”
Grateful for his attempt to lighten the conversation, she smiled ruefully. “You mean how did I miss it? If I remember right, you were never too fond of him.”
“He hated me.”
Jack hadn’t understood Keith’s volatile nature, and had no patience with it. “The funny thing is that I can’t blame Mom for the collapse of my marriage. I moved away so she couldn’t turn me into the person 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.