If the Red Slipper Fits.... Shirley JumpЧитать онлайн книгу.
less attentive to the holes in the family budget, so Sarah went to work, adding what she could to the family coffers. Never telling her father, just quietly taking care of them all.
Which meant her life had been put on hold for so long, she’d forgotten what it meant to have one outside of work. Working a job that paid well but that grated on her conscience on a daily basis. Sarah Griffin needed a change—and she’d thought that bringing home the Frederick Ks would be the first step.
Kinda hard to take any step at all only wearing one shoe.
“Diana, you promised,” Sarah said, returning her attention to the problem at hand—what to do about Dad. “You can’t just back out on that because it’s inconvenient.”
Her sister winced. The truth had hit its mark. “I can’t drop everything just because you’ve decided that Dad has overstayed his welcome. I mean, I have a job, friends—”
“And what, I don’t?” Sarah said.
Diana bit off a laugh. “Sarah, I don’t want to be mean, but seriously, you have all the social life of wallpaper. I’m out every night. I can’t be babysitting Dad.”
“I’m out, too. More nights than I’d like to be.”
“Yeah, writing about how other people are living their lives. That doesn’t make you a social butterfly.”
Sarah brushed off her sister’s words. The magazine paid her to cover those events. So what if doing so left her little time to do anything more than watch and write? She was the one who was being responsible. Doing her duty as a daughter, letting her father stay with her for the last few weeks. “I’m doing my job, sis. Something I’d be able to focus on more if you stuck to your promise. Dad won’t be staying long with you.”
Okay, so Sarah couldn’t really promise that. Martin Griffin had already been in her apartment—him and his godawful ugly recliner—for over a year. After their mother had died, Martin had wandered around the empty, quiet family home for several months before Sarah finally convinced him to put it on the market. He wasn’t good at living on his own—he had spent far too many years on the police force and was more used to male camaraderie than to running a house. He forgot to eat dinner, forgot to transfer the wet clothes to the dryer, forgot to put the basket in the coffeepot. Sarah had stopped by twice a day, worried he’d hurt himself one of these days, and finally she’d just suggested he move in with her. Her father, for all his grumpiness, seemed to enjoy living at Sarah’s, and tried to help out in his own way. Not necessarily the way Sarah wanted, but she loved her father and had enjoyed him living with her.
Still, she wanted her independence. The freedom from worrying. She’d worried for years—about the house, about her father, about her sister and mostly about her mother—and the responsibilities weighed so heavily on her shoulders, she was surprised she wasn’t stooped over. It was Diana’s turn to be the responsible one. To take some of the burden from Sarah.
Except Diana didn’t want any responsibility and never had. Maybe Sarah had made a mistake in being so indulgent with her little sister.
The lipstick went back in her sister’s purse, replaced by a travel hairbrush and a hand mirror. “I’m in the middle of planning the Horticultural Society Charity Ball. It’s my first big job out of college, and it’s super important, Sarah. I don’t have time for this … distraction.”
Sarah didn’t mention that the “job” her sister spoke of was a volunteer position, given to her by her boyfriend’s mother, who chaired the Horticultural Society. Her sister had yet to find employment she could stick with longer than a few weeks.
“That distraction is your father.” Sarah shook her head. “I swear, we are not related.”
“Let him stay here. He likes you better anyway.”
Sarah glanced over at her sister, but Diana was immersed in sweeping her bangs into a soft C shape. “Diana, he loves us both equally.”
Diana snorted. “I have two dogs, Sarah. And I definitely like one better than the other.”
“We’re his children, not his pets. Family ties run much deeper than flea collars.”
Diana arched a brow. “But, Sarah,” and now her voice dropped into a whine, “you’re good at dealing with Dad. I don’t even get along with him.”
“What better way to build a relationship than by having him move in?” Sarah gave her sister a smile. A firm smile.
“I’d rather buy him tickets to the next Mets game.”
“Sorry, sis, but it’s your turn.” Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “You might have trashed my career today, but I’m not letting you get out of this, too. At the end of this month we’ll get him moved over.” They’d had this same argument just thirty minutes ago—and look where it had ended up. With Diana picking up the thing closest to her and pitching it out the window.
Sarah refused to budge this time. For too long, she’d acquiesced at the cost of her own plans. The day she’d walked out of the office with the Frederick Ks impulsively shoved into her tote bag had been the day she’d decided she would stop being the responsible, dependable one. If she didn’t put her foot down now and demand that those around her change, then things might never move past where they’d been, and that wasn’t an option.
Except now she was too worried about finding that damned shoe to do anything but be responsible.
Diana sputtered out one last protest. “But—”
“No. It’s settled. I’m not having this discussion anymore. If I ever find that shoe—” And Sarah was beginning to despair of ever seeing it again, but she couldn’t think of that right now or she would go insane. “—I’ll be working nonstop at the magazine. This is my big break. Dad hates to be left alone, and you know how he gets if no one is here to be with him.”
“I can’t. I have—”
Sarah crossed to her sister. The sight of the shoe spiraling out the window came back to her mind, along with years of frustration. She met Diana’s gaze and held her ground. “You have family who needs you, Diana. That’s all there is to it.”
“You’re wrong about that,” Diana said, her voice low and quiet.
Was everything okay with Diana? The familiar worry, which she had felt for so many years, during which she’d been as much mother to Diana as sister, sprang to life in Sarah. Her confident, beautiful little sister rarely betrayed vulnerability or weakness. She had always been, as people said, a “handful,” a spitfire. And yet, a sense of melancholy seemed to be painted on Diana’s features. “Diana, are you all right?”
Sarah reached for her sister, but Diana rose, tucked the brush and mirror back into her purse, then headed for the door. “If Dad moved in with me, it would be a disaster. Please, Sarah. Let him stay with you. It’ll be easier all around.” For a second, Sarah considered relenting. To release Diana from a duty she didn’t want. Then her sister said the words that made Sarah solidify her resolve. “Face it, Sarah. You’re the one we all rely on. You’re the only responsible one in the family.”
“I don’t want to be,” Sarah said to her sister’s retreating form as Diana left the apartment. “Not anymore.”
Caleb Lewis propped the shoe on the top shelf of the credenza behind his desk, then sat back in his chair and stared at the slender red stiletto he’d found that morning. Size 7, sleek in all its crimson curves and sporting a racy T-strap design. The thing had literally dropped from the sky, practically into his hands. What were the chances?
It had to be a fake. Couldn’t be the supersecret, big hush-hush prototype for Frederick K’s much-anticipated shoe line. Ever since he’d opened his doors, women had been buying every dress, blouse and skirt that the hotshot rising Boston designer made. They’d stood in line for hours just for a chance to buy a cocktail dress. Nearly come to blows over the launch of his cashmere