When We Were Sisters: An unputdownable book club read about that bonds that can bind or break a family. Emilie RichardsЧитать онлайн книгу.

Cecilia

Robin didn’t look happy when she slipped downstairs to join me after everybody else had gone up to their rooms for the evening. She had planned to call home and check on her family before we made our getaway, but I wasn’t sure asking how the call had gone was a good idea. I wasn’t sure she would be honest with me anyway. Donny, annoying insightful man that he is, had asked if I was trying to pave the path to divorce for Robin and Kris, and ever since I’ve wondered.

Do I need my sister’s love and attention so much I don’t want to share her with her husband? Despite my spectacular Australian collapse I hope I’m psychologically healthier than that. Whatever I am, though, I am absolutely sure I don’t want Robin to be unhappy.

“You okay?” I hesitated a second, then added, “Family okay?”

“No one set the house on fire.” As we let ourselves out the front door and headed toward the parking area, she dragged a smile into place. “Though Kris might be happier burning it down and moving into a condo next door to his office.”

I had to laugh. The smile had been an effort, I could tell, but she was digging for humor. “How’s the nanny?”

“Lord, we can’t call her that. The kids would have a fit. She’s the housekeeper. I only talked to Nik. Pet had dinner with a friend, and Kris was off picking her up. Nik says nobody misses me, which means he does. Elena made chicken and rice for dinner, and she told him she made enough for tomorrow, too. I guess I forgot to tell her my son doesn’t like leftovers.”

“Poor, poor Nik.”

“Maybe Elena will train him for me.”

“Is she going to train Kris, too?”

“Not so far. Nik said he was late coming home from work.”

“His problem, right?”

“That kind of thinking’s going to take a while.”

“Will she quit if he keeps it up?”

“Won’t Kris have fun if she does?”

I noticed Robin was carrying her purse and a camera case, along with a windbreaker. “You’re not planning to take photos, are you?”

“Get used to it.”

“I thought we could just hang out, you know, and insult each other, like sisters do.”

“I can insult you and take photos, too. I’m good.” She hesitated. “Or at least I used to be.”

I didn’t want to tackle that. It made sense that Robin wouldn’t feel fully comfortable yet, and I didn’t want to make more of that than necessary.

A platinum moon was beaming at us just beyond a stand of trees. Not everywhere we stayed would be as lovely as this. But for the next few nights Mick had booked us into a historic brick inn on a farm just outside town. We had enough rooms for everybody, divided between two houses, and tonight we had eaten at a farm table scattered with miniature pumpkins, in front of a fire that smelled of apple wood.

Autumn colors might be fading, but the trees are still spectacular, even now when they’re well past their peak. A field of drooping sunflowers greeted us as we drove in. I am such a sucker for sunflowers. I’m coming back next year when they’re at their peak.

Wendy’s rental compact was parked at the end of a short row. She and Fiona had brought us dinner from a local Italian restaurant so I was betting her car smelled like garlic.

When I opened my door I found it also smelled like cigarettes.

“She smokes?” Robin made a face. “Your assistant smokes?”

“She probably rented the cheapest car they had so she can pocket the rest of the car allowance. Can’t blame her for that. I remember pinching every penny when I started out.”

“You must have pinched hard. Moving from the Osburn ranch to Manhattan with nothing but a little money from Betty Osburn to get you started.”

Some stories are best left untold. My early months in Manhattan are one of them. How I even got to New York? Nobody knows that but me.

“Generous Betty and Jud,” I said. “Foster parents with big hearts.” Robin knew I was being sarcastic.

“And for Jud, at least, a big mouth,” she said, right on cue. “Plus a big appetite for the waitress at the Blue Heron diner.”

“His downfall.”

Jud Osburn was the final foster father in a long series for both of us. Near the end of our stay at the Osburn ranch in Cold Creek, Florida, he and the black-haired temptress who had faithfully served him ham and eggs on his trips into town had disappeared on the same day. Thoughtfully Jud had left a note for his wife.

Not coming back. Dont give a rats ass what you do with this hellhole you call a ranch or your wornout useless body. Don’t want a thing that blonges to you.

Jud had never been much of a speller.

Neither Robin nor I had been sorry to see him go. I was pretty sure Betty hadn’t been sorry, either. She sold the ranch and left Florida forever.

We were due to film at the ranch sometime after Christmas. Since Robin had lived there with me, returning was going to be tough for her, as well. I had asked to make the ranch our final stop, a chance to put memories firmly behind us at the end of this trip before we went back to our lives, and Mick had agreed.

Robin slipped behind the wheel, turned the key and immediately put the windows down. I have cars at most of my houses and use them when absolutely required, but nobody will ever vote me driver of the year. I learned how to brake and steer in the battered pickup Jud used exclusively on the ranch, followed by years in Manhattan when I didn’t drive even that much. Donny swears he’s going to hide my license because his livelihood depends on me staying in one piece.

I got in, too, tossing a jacket on the seat behind me, and we sat there a moment letting the car air out while she familiarized herself with the dashboard. Then she backed out, following the farm drive to the road and, once there, turning in the direction the innkeeper had told us to go.

“It’s lovely country,” Robin said.

“Coal country usually is—until the mining companies destroy it. And let’s not talk about mountaintop removal.”

“How close to Randolph Furnace do you want to get?”

“As close as I can without having a panic attack.”

Robin kept her voice casual, but I knew she was worried. “That’s something new, isn’t it? Panic attacks, I mean.”

I’m almost as good an actress as I am a singer, so I sounded casual, too. “I’ve probably been having them for years. Smaller ones, of course. I thought of them as nerves. Stage fright. Whatever I could call them to make them seem normal.”

“You’re one of the most courageous people I know. You always keep going, no matter what.”

“Not so much anymore.”

“What do you call this?” Robin glanced at me. “I don’t know anybody else who would decide to expose herself to the world as a way to drive out her demons.”

“Demons. Perfect. I like that better than nerves.”

“I’m serious.”

“It’s not courage. I just know I have to put things in perspective. My life now. My life then. My life tomorrow.”