Between Sisters (11 page)

He took her left hand in his, looked down at the strip of foil that was supposed to be a diamond ring. When he looked at her again, he was no longer smiling.

“Pathetic,” he whispered, and her heart ached for the shame she saw in his dark eyes. “Not every woman would accept a ring like this.”

“I love you, Bobby. That's all that matters. I know it's crazy, impossible even, but I love you.” The words freed something inside her. She could breathe again.

“I'm no prize, Claire. You know that. I've made mistakes in my life. Three of 'em, to be exact.”

Claire could practically hear Meg's voice in the breeze. But the sound meant nothing when she saw how Bobby looked at her. No one had ever looked at her like that before, as if she were the most precious woman on earth. “I'm a single mother who never got married. I know about mistakes, Bobby.”

“I've never felt this way before,” he said softly, a catch in his voice. “Honest to God.”

“What way?”

“As if my heart doesn't belong to me anymore, as if it can't beat without you. You're inside me, Claire, holding me up. You make me want to be more than I am.”

“I want us to grow old together,” she whispered the words. It was her deepest dream, her most treasured hope. All her life, she'd imagined herself alone in old age, one of those white-haired women who sat on the porch, waiting for the phone to ring or a car to drive up. Now, finally, she allowed herself to imagine a better future, one filled with love and laughter and family.

“I want to hear our kids fight about who's touching who in the smelly backseat of a minivan.”

Claire laughed. It felt so good to dream with someone.

He pulled her into his arms, danced with her to the music of the river and the crickets.

Finally, Claire said, “My sister, Meghann, is coming up to meet you tomorrow.”

He drew back. Taking her hand, he led her to his porch. They sat down in the creaky oak swing and rocked gently. “I thought you said she'd boycott the wedding.”

“Wishful thinking.” She looked up at him. “She was predictably underwhelmed by our decision to get married.”

“This is the sister Gina called Cruella De Vil?”

“Jaws is really the preferred nickname.”

“Does her opinion matter?”

“It shouldn't.”

“But it does.”

Claire felt like a fool. “It does.”

“Then I'll win her over. Maybe I'll write a song for her.”

“It better go platinum. Meg doesn't like second best. She should be here by early evening tomorrow.”

“Should I go down to the army surplus and check out some Kevlar?”

“At the very least.”

Bobby's smile faded after a moment. “She won't be able to change your mind about me, will she?”

She was moved by his vulnerability. “She's never been able to change my mind about anything. It's what makes her foam at the mouth.”

“As long as you love me, I can take anything.”

“Well, Bobby Austin,” she put her arms around him and leaned over for a kiss. Just before their lips touched, she whispered, “Then you can take anything. Even my sister.”

C
HAPTER
ELEVEN

C
LAIRE STOOD AT THE KITCHEN SINK, WASHING THE
breakfast dishes. It was a gray, not-quite-rainy day, the kind where the sky was so low it seemed to bump you in the forehead when you dared to venture outside. Perfect weather for a visit with Meghann.

The thought made her head pound. She dried her hands and reached for the bottle of Excedrin on the windowsill.

“Mary Kay Acheson gets to have Cap'n Crunch for breakfast.”

It was a common early-morning argument. “She'll probably have false teeth in time for eighth grade. You don't want to have to take your teeth out at bedtime, do you?”

Ali banged her feet rhythmically on the rungs at the base of her chair. “Willie has all his teeth and he's gonna be in ninth grade. He's practically a grown-up.”

“That's because Karen feeds him Raisin Bran for breakfast. If he ate Cap'n Crunch, it'd be a different story.”

Ali frowned, thinking about that.

Claire washed down the aspirin.

“Do you have a headache again, Mommy?”

“Aunt Meg's coming over tonight. She wants to meet Bobby.”

Ali's frown deepened. Obviously, she was trying to understand the connection between Mom's headache and Aunt Meg's visit. “I thought she was too busy to breathe.”

Claire went to the table and sat down beside her daughter. “You know why Meghann wants to meet Bobby?”

Alison rolled her eyes. “Duh, Mommy.”

“Duh?” Claire bit back a smile. At some point, she'd have to address the issue of respectful responses, but she'd better wait until she could do it without cracking up. She held out her hand instead. “You know what this ring means?”

“It's not a ring. It's foil.”

“This kind of ring is a symbol. The ring isn't what matters. The words that come with it are what matters. And Bobby asked me to marry him.”

“I know that, Mommy. C'n I have some cheddar Goldfish?”

“Let's eat in a second. I want to talk to you about this. No one is more important to me than you. No one. I'll always love you, even if I'm married.”

“Jeez, Mommy. I know that. Now c'n I have—”

“Forget the Goldfish.” No wonder
It's like talking to a five year old
was a common expression of frustration. “Do you mind if I marry Bobby?”

“Oh.” Ali's little face scrunched up. She bunched up her left cheek, then her right. Then she looked up at Claire. “C'n I call him Daddy?”

“He'd like that.”

“So at school, on family day, he'll come for the sack races and help Brittani's dad barbecue the hot dogs?”

Claire released a breath. It wasn't easy for her to make blanket promises for another human being. That kind of faith lived in the hearts of women who'd grown up in safer homes, where Mom and Dad could be counted on. But she believed in Bobby as much as one of her mother's daughters could believe in any man. “Yes. We can count on him.”

Alison grinned. “Okay. I want him to be my dad. Daddy.” She was obviously testing the word, weighing how it felt to say aloud. It was amazing how many little girls' dreams could be contained in those few letters.

Big girls' dreams, too, for that matter.

Alison gave Claire a quick kiss, then scampered off, dragging a dirty Elmo on the floor behind her. She went upstairs to her bedroom. Seconds later,
The Little Mermaid
theme music started.

Claire stared down at her engagement ring. As makeshift as it was, it gave her a warm feeling of hopefulness.

“One down,” she said aloud. Actually, it was two. Both her father and her daughter had put their stamp of approval on the wedding plans.

That left only two blood-related holdouts. Meghann, who definitely hadn't sounded approving, and Mama, who probably wouldn't much care. Claire had been putting off the call. No good ever came from talking to Mama.

Still, she was her mother, and she had to be called.

The funny part was, when Claire thought of her “mother,” the face that came to her was Meg's. In every childhood memory, it was her sister who'd been there . . . until, of course, the day she decided she'd had enough of caring for Claire.

And Mama. Well. Truth be told, Claire's memories of Mama were sketchy at best. Claire was lucky in that; the brunt of mama's flightiness had fallen on Meg. Still, they all pretended that they were family.

Claire picked up the phone and punched in the number. It rang and rang. Finally, an answering machine clicked on. Mama's thick-as-honey-and-twice-as-sweet Southern drawl was accompanied by music. “I do so appreciate your call on m'private number. Unfortunately, I'm too darn busy to answer, but leave me a message and I'll return your call just as soon as I can. And look for my interview in
People
magazine, on newsstands in late June. Bye, y'all.”

Only Mama would self-promote on her answering machine.

“Hey, Mama,” she said at the beep, “It's Claire here. Your daughter. I've got some big news and I'd like to talk to you. Call me.” She left her number, just in case, and hung up.

She was still holding the phone, listening to the dial tone when she realized her mistake. She was getting married in less than two weeks. If she waited for Mama to call, the wedding would be long past. The point was to
invite
Mama, not to simply inform. You had to invite your mother to your wedding, even if the woman who bore you had the parenting instincts of a mosquito, and there was little chance she'd actually show up.

By the time Mama had managed to fly from Los Angeles to Seattle to see her only granddaughter, Alison had been four years old.

Claire still remembered the day vividly. They'd met at the Woodland Park Zoo in downtown Seattle. Mama had been in the middle of a
Starbase IV
promotional tour (yet again) that touched down there.

Claire and Alison had been sitting on the wooden bench by the zoo's entrance for more than an hour, waiting.

Claire had almost given up when she'd heard a familiar high-pitched screech. She'd looked up just in time to see Mama, dressed in a bronze silk caftan, bearing down on them like a Thanksgiving Day parade float.

Lordy it's good to see my girl again
, she'd cried out loudly enough that everyone nearby stopped to stare. A hushed buzz of recognition twittered through the crowd.

It's her,
someone said.
Tara Zyn from
Starbase IV
.

Claire had fought the urge to roll her eyes. She stood up, her hand clasped tightly around Alison's.
Hey, Mama. It's good to see you again.

Mama had swooped down on one knee in a movement that sent silk wings flying up on either side of her.
Is this darlin' little thing my granddaughter?

Hello, Mrs. Sullivan
, Alison had said, stumbling awkwardly over the name she'd practiced for a week. Claire had been sure that Mama wouldn't appreciate the word
Grandma
. In print, she claimed to be looking forward to her fiftieth birthday.

Mama had studied Alison carefully. For a moment, only that, a kind of sadness passed through her blue eyes. Then that smile was back.
You can call me Nanna.
She reached out one bejeweled hand, stroked Ali's curly hair.
You're the spittin' image of your mama.

I'm not allowed to spit, Mrs. . . . Nanna.

Mama had looked up.
She's spunky, Claire-Bear. Just like Meggy. Good for you. It's the spunky ones that make it in life. I think she's the most well spoken two-year-old I've ever had the pleasure o' meetin'.

That's because she's four, Mama.

Four?
Mama popped to her feet.
Oh, honey, I don't think so. Y'all were just in the hospital. Now, let's hurry along to the snake house. That's m'favorite. And I've got to be back t'my hotel in an hour for an interview with
Evenin' Magazine. Later that afternoon, Meghann had shown up and the four of them had walked silently through the Seattle Center, pretending they had something in common.

It used to hurt Claire to remember that day. Not so much anymore. The wound had healed over, grown a layer of thicker skin. She'd long ago quit wishing for a different mother. It was a hope that had once crippled her; she'd had to let it go. Like her dream of a sister who was also a best friend. Some things just didn't turn out the way you wanted, and a girl could only cry for so many years.

She glanced up at the clock on the oven. It was almost one o'clock.

In only a few hours, Meghann would be here.

“Great,” Claire muttered.

“My sister called me last night.”

Harriet sat back in her chair. It made a squeaking sound at the movement. “Ah. No wonder you actually kept this appointment. I'd begun to despair.”

“I missed one appointment. That's hardly a big deal. I called to cancel and I paid for it.”

“You always assume that money is the answer.”

“What's your point, Harriet? Today you're being so obscure even Freud couldn't follow you.”

“I understand that you were upset at our last appointment.”

Meghann's eye started to twitch. “Not really.”

Harriet stared at her. “Don't you understand that being upset is part of healing? You need to stop running from your emotions.”

“That's what I'm trying to do, if you'll listen. I
said
, my sister called last night.”

Harriet sighed. “Is that unusual? I was under the impression that you spoke to Claire quite often; you just never talk about what matters.”

“Well, that's true. We call each other every few months. Always on holidays and birthdays.”

“So what is remarkable about last night's conversation?”

Meghann's eye twitch kicked into high gear. She could barely see. For no reason at all, she found it difficult to sit still. “She's getting married.”

“Take a deep breath, Meg,” Harriet said softly.

“My eye is batting like an Evinrude motor.”

“Breathe.”

Meghann felt like an idiot. “What in the hell is wrong with me?”

“You're scared, that's all.”

Identifying the emotion helped. She
was
scared. She released a pent-up breath slowly and looked at Harriet. “I don't want her to get hurt.”

“Why do you assume that marriage will hurt her?”

“Oh, please. I notice you're no longer wearing that one-karat solitaire on your left hand. I don't suppose taking it off was a song-inspiring moment of joy.”

Harriet fisted her left hand. “Many sisters rejoice when they hear this kind of news.”

“Not the ones who handle the divorces.”

“Can you separate yourself from your job?”

“This isn't about my job, Harriet. My sister is in trouble. I have to save her.”

“Is she in love?”

Meghann waved her hand impatiently. “Of course.”

“You don't think that matters?”

“They're always in love in the beginning. It's like going out to sea on a huge throat lozenge. The water disintegrates it. After a few floating years, you're swimming with nothing to hold you up. Then the sharks move in.”

“That would be people like you.”

“This is no time for lawyer jokes. I have to save my sister before she marries the wrong man.”

“How do you know he's the wrong man?”

Meghann fought the urge to say,
They all are
. That admission would only fill up another round of observations and questions. “He's practically jobless. They've known each other less than a month. He's a
musician
. He lets people call him Bobby Jack. Take your pick.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Yeah. I want to marry an itinerant Country and Western singer who can't even headline at Cowboy Bob's Western Roundup in Lake Chelan. Yes, Harriet, you've hit the core of it this time. I'm jealous.” She crossed her arms. “He's probably marrying her for the so-called resort. He'll try to talk her into building condos or dentists' offices.”

“That would show some initiative.”

“Claire
loves
that tired piece of land. She would hate to pave over it.”

“I thought you said the land was underdeveloped and that Claire was wasting her life there. I believe you mentioned building a spa on the property.”

“You're completely missing the point.”

“The point being that you need to ride in on a white horse and save her.”

“Someone has to protect her. I want to be there for her this time.”

“This time.”

Meghann looked up sharply. Of course Harriet had pounced on the two words that mattered. “Yes.”

Harriet leaned forward. “Tell me about the day you weren't there for your sister.”

Meghann stiffened, drew back. The chair squeaked as it rolled backward. “That's not what this is about.”

“You're smarter than that, Meg. I don't have to remind you that everything between you and Claire is about the past. What happened?”

Meghann closed her eyes. Obviously, she was in a weakened state, because the sour memories were there, waiting to crowd to the front of her mind. She shrugged, tried to appear casual as she opened her eyes and looked at Harriet. “You know it all. You just want to hear me go through it.”

“Do I?”

“I was sixteen. Claire was nine. Mama went to Los Angeles for the
Starbase IV
audition and had so much fun she forgot about the kids she left in Bakersfield. For her, it was a common oversight. Then Social Services started poking around. They threatened to put us into foster care. I was old enough to run away, but Claire . . .” She shrugged. “So I pulled a Nancy Drew and tracked down Sam Cavenaugh—her biological dad. I called him. Sam couldn't save his daughter fast enough.” Meg heard the adolescent hurt in her voice. Even now, all these years later, the memories of that summer were hard to bear. She hated to remember how much she'd wanted Sam to be her father, too. Meg straightened. “None of this old shit matters. Sam was a great father to Claire. Everyone ended up happier.”

“Everyone? How about the girl who lost her mother and sister and had no father to turn to?”

The observation hurt. Meghann had never been able to discover her own father's name; all Mama ever called him was
That loser
. “Enough. Tell me this, Harriet. Is it smart to marry a man you've known a few weeks? Would you like it if your daughter did what Claire is doing?”