The Secret Sister. Brenda NovakЧитать онлайн книгу.
you had to,” Maisey said.
“Why did you have to?” Rafe asked.
“I ran into a little...trouble last night, but I’ll get everything worked out today.” She started to back away, toward the road that led around to their units. “See you later. Have fun, Laney.”
Raphael’s daughter waved. “I like your voice. You seem nice. She’s a nice lady, isn’t she, Daddy? Do you like our new neighbor?”
Maisey spoke before he could respond. “There’s no question that you’re nice,” she said, then turned and ran.
MAISEY TRIED CALLING Keith as soon as she got back to the house. He didn’t answer, so she left another voice mail and sent another text.
Seriously? You won’t answer my calls? Are you okay? I’m not mad. I swear it. I just want to know that you’re safe.
She stared at her phone for several seconds. Then she called Coldiron House.
Clarissa answered again.
“Is Keith there?”
This time she didn’t need to identify herself. Clarissa recognized her voice. “No, Miss Lazarow. We haven’t seen him since yesterday.”
“Really, you can call me Maisey,” she said.
“Yes, Miss... Maisey.”
“There you go. No formality required when dealing with me.” She left all that to her mother, who loved her lofty station in life. “Keith hasn’t called?”
“Not that I know of. Maybe Mrs. Lazarow has heard from him. Would you like to speak to her?”
Maisey considered that, but decided against it. If Keith and Josephine had argued, Josephine would be the last person to know where he was. And Maisey didn’t want to hear their mother blame this latest setback on her. Josephine would undoubtedly claim it happened because she’d walked out on their tea yesterday and “upset” everyone. “No, thanks,” she said, and disconnected.
After that, she wandered from empty room to empty room, trying to figure out if she’d be smarter to grab her suitcase and ask Rafe to drive her to the ferry so she could return to New York. Maybe yesterday when Keith had suggested she go back, he’d done it because he knew he wouldn’t be capable of maintaining the relationship she expected them to have...
In light of his recent actions, that made sense. But it was too late to bail. She’d seen it that way on the ferry, and she saw it that way now. Coming to Fairham had been a last-ditch effort to save herself as well as Keith.
Besides, it wasn’t possible—financially or emotionally—to undo everything she’d done to get here. And there were so many memories in Manhattan, memories she’d rather forget. She didn’t have work to go back to, anyway, not if she couldn’t write or illustrate. Even if she was capable of creating more children’s books, she could do that here, as her mother had pointed out. There was nothing to bring her back to New York. The life she’d lived there felt as if it had burned to the ground. Only ashes remained.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to stop her frenzied pacing and thought of her father. His kindness. His smile. His comfort. She liked it on this side of Fairham, where she felt close to him. She should stay here.
But what about her mother and brother? Could she handle living so close to them? They were both difficult, for different reasons. Jack used to say her brother was worse than her mother. At least her mother was strong, determined, driven. In Maisey’s mind, though, “strong, determined and driven” couldn’t make up for being narcissistic and insufferable.
That was what she normally thought, anyway. Right now “weak” and “unable to cope” frustrated and disappointed her just as much.
Opening her eyes, she kicked her suitcase. She must’ve been remembering Keith in a far more favorable light when she’d raced back to Fairham.
But that didn’t mean she could bear to see him hurt...
With a sigh, she checked her phone again. Still nothing. Which meant she couldn’t save her brother if he was in trouble again; she had no way to track him down. With the friends he found online, playing interactive video games and gambling, he could be anywhere. No one had guessed he’d wind up in New Orleans the last time. She could only pray he wouldn’t do anything like what he’d tried there...
She could also get herself situated, so she wouldn’t end up sleeping on the beach again. Last night, after she’d realized she was stranded, she’d gone over to Unit 9 to see what, exactly, was there and found only large furniture, all of it stacked up and too heavy to move alone. That included the mattresses propped up on their sides, squeezed in behind all the furniture.
But she had more time, energy and sunlight today. She could pick out exactly what she wanted and then see if Rafe would help her move it, even though she’d told him she didn’t need his assistance.
She planned to use the internet on her cell phone to look up the number for Smitty’s in Keys Crossing. The store sold groceries, fishing paraphernalia and sundries, and the goods they carried were eclectic enough that she’d probably find bedding, towels and washcloths. Maybe she could order what she needed and pay one of Smitty’s baggers to deliver it—if they still had baggers and those baggers had vehicles. Not everyone on the island drove cars. Most preferred scooters.
One way or the other, there were solutions. She just had to be determined and creative.
But...first things first. After sleeping on the beach, she desperately wanted a shower.
She was standing under the spray, reveling in the simple luxury of hot water, when she heard someone banging on the front door. Hoping it was her brother, she rinsed the soap from her hair and jumped out.
She had to use one of her skirts to dry off. She didn’t have any towels, which gave her a new appreciation for terry cloth. Her skin was still damp, making it a challenge to pull on a pair of cutoffs and the tank top she normally reserved for yoga class. But if Keith had come back, she didn’t want to miss him.
“Let it be him,” she mumbled, and hurried to the door.
It wasn’t Keith; it was Rafe. He kept turning up—but then that was to be expected. They were living next door to each other and were currently the only occupants of Smuggler’s Cove. There was bound to be some interaction. Besides, she couldn’t consider his appearance a bad thing. Since she’d have to humble herself and ask for a hand with the furniture, this would give her the perfect opportunity. She just wished he’d come fifteen or twenty minutes later. She’d scrambled out of the shower so fast she hadn’t put on a bra or combed her hair, which was sopping wet.
Cracking open the door, she stood in the gap. “Hello.”
He was freshly showered, too—but further along in the process. Although his hair was still wet, it was combed, he was fully dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a T-shirt and work boots and, once again, he smelled as good as he looked.
“You never returned my key last night,” he said.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m sorry!” Because she’d been afraid he’d catch her on his porch and come out, she’d decided to wait until he was more likely to be asleep. She hadn’t wanted to talk to him for fear he’d ask how the move went, didn’t want him to know that Keith had left her in such an impossible situation. Then she’d become so absorbed in her own misery she’d forgotten. And, as luck would have it, he’d caught her sleeping on the beach, anyway.
“Here, I’ll get it.” She opened the door wider and started to turn, then hesitated. If she was planning to ask for his help, she had nothing to gain by putting it off. “Actually, if you’re on your way there now, would you mind if I tagged along?”
He scowled