Between Sisters (18 page)

They fell onto the rumpled bedding together, she beneath him. His body lay possessively on top of hers, and it felt good. Her hips came up to meet him.

Groaning, he bent down to kiss her. The soft, pliant feel of her mouth jolted him back in time.

Diana.

“What did you say?”

He drew back, looked down at her.

Meghann.

This time, when he kissed her, he kept his eyes open. She kissed him with a ferocity that left him breathless.

She shoved her hands underneath his T-shirt. Her fingertips grazed his nipples. “Take off your pants.” Her voice was coarse. “I want to touch you.”

They broke apart. He slid off the bed and undressed, his fingers too shaky to unbutton his jeans on the first try.

Naked, they fell together on the bed again. He rubbed his erection against her, kissing her open mouth, her chin, her closed eyes. She wrapped her leg over his and pressed in close. He felt her moisture against his thigh.

Then she reached down and touched him, wrapped her fingers tightly around him. Up and down. Up and down. He felt the condom slide into place in one practiced move.

He groaned as he thrust into her grasp one sweet, aching time, then pulled away before it was too late. He slid down her body, kissing her chin, her throat, her breasts. He tasted one nipple, drew it into his mouth, and sucked its sweetness. His hands pushed her legs apart as he moved downward, kissing her navel, her pubic hair.

She tried to push him away.

He held her in place, lowered his kisses until he was inside her. Moaning, she clutched his head and spread her legs wider apart. His tongue explored her, tasted her, glided up and down and in and out.

“Oh. My. God.” She said it brokenly.
“Now.”

He pulled her toward him in one swift motion and entered her.

She clung to him, arched up to meet him. She matched him thrust for thrust.

Joe's climax was like nothing he'd ever experienced before.

“Whew,” she said, pushing the damp hair away from her face. “That was definitely an E-ticket ride.”

He leaned back against the wobbly headboard. His whole body felt weak, trembling.

She looked up at him, smiling broadly, still breathing hard. “What's your name?”

“Joe.”

“Well, Joe. That was great.”

After a long minute, he dared to slide his arm around her, draw her closer. Holding her, he closed his eyes.

For the first time in years, he went to sleep with a woman in his arms.

When he woke up, he was alone again.

C
HAPTER
SIXTEEN

“
W
HEW!
”
CLAIRE FLOPPED BACK ONTO THE PILLOWS.
“
I CAN
'
T
remember the last time I got lucky in the morning.” She pushed the hair out of her eyes and smiled at Bobby. “You must really love me if you'll kiss me before I brush my teeth.”

He rolled onto his side. His handsome face was crisscrossed with tiny pink sleep lines. “You still wonder, don't you?”

“No,” she said too quickly.

He touched her cheek in a caress so soft it made her sigh. “I love you, Claire Cavenaugh. I'd like to kick the ass of the man who made you so afraid to believe me.”

She knew her smile was more than a little sad. There was nothing she could do about it. “It's not just men.”

“But I can't beat up your mother or your sister.”

She laughed at that. “Just prove Meg wrong. Nothing will make her crazier.”

“She's trying, you know.”

Claire sat up in bed. “Yeah. I noticed. She made that crack about me not loving people, then left the party early.”

“She also bought you a dress that cost more than my car.”

“Money's easy for Meg. She's got tons. Just ask her.”

Bobby leaned back against the headboard. The blankets slid down his naked chest and pooled across his lap.

“She grew up with your mother, too, and she didn't have a dad to pick up the slack. It had to be hard on her, raising you all those years and then watching Sam step in to replace her.”

“I can't believe you're defending her. She told me I was stupid to marry you.”

He gave her that slow-growing smile that always made her go weak in the knees. “Darlin', you can't hold that against her. She's just trying to protect you.”

“Control me is more like it.”

“Come here,” he whispered.

She leaned toward him. Her bare breasts breezed against his chest as they kissed. He slipped a hand around her neck and held her there, kissing her until she forgot their whole conversation. When she finally drew back, she was dizzy and breathing too hard.

“I'm getting to know you, Claire Cavenaugh-soon-to-be-Austin,” he whispered against her lips. “You had a headache after the wedding dress screwup and again last night. When Meghann hurts your feelings, you say you don't care and start chewing aspirin. I've been there, darlin'. I know what matters is that she's your sister. The only one you've got.”

Claire wanted to disagree but knew it was pointless. She
did
want to be close to Meg again. More and more often in the past few days, she'd found herself remembering the old Meg. The way they used to love each other. “I'm tired of the way we are together,” she admitted.

“Well?”

“No one can push my buttons like Meghann. She has a true gift for saying exactly the wrong thing.”

“Yeah. My dad was like that. We never could quite make it work between us. Now he's gone, and I wish we'd tried harder.”

“Okay, Sigmund Freud. I'll try talking to her. Again.”

“No more aspirin.”

She gave him another long, lingering kiss, then walked naked into the bathroom. By the time she'd finished showering and gotten dressed, he was gone.

She made her bed and walked across the hall to Ali's room. Her daughter lay in bed, hidden beneath a blue-and-green pile of Little Mermaid sheets and comforters.

“Hey, sweetie,” she said, sitting on the edge of the twin bed. “Time to wake up.”

Alison stretched and rolled onto her back. “Did we get a kitten?”

“No. Why?”

“I thought I heard a kitty meowing this morning.”

Claire bit her lower lip to keep from smiling.
Note to self
:
Come quietly.
“Nope, no kitty. You must have been dreaming.”

“An' I heard someone on the stairs.”

“I . . . uh . . . went down to make coffee.”

“Oh. Well,
could
we get a puppy? Amy Schmidt has one and her mom is 'lergic to dogs.”

“How about a goldfish?”

“Mo-om. The last goldfish got flushed down the toilet.”

“I'll think about it, okay? Now hurry downstairs. I'm making blueberry pancakes for breakfast.”

Claire went down to start the coffee. By the time Alison came into the kitchen, dragging her Groovy Girl doll behind her, the eggs and pancakes were ready.

Alison climbed up onto her chair, positioned the doll in her lap, and started pouring syrup.

“That's enough syrup,” Claire said as she flipped another pancake on the Teflon griddle.

“You and Bobby and Aunt Meghann took a shower together last night. How'dya all fit?”

Claire laughed. “It's not a shower with water. It's a party for people who are going to be married. You know, like a birthday party.”

“Didja play games?”

“Of course.”

“Get presents?”

“You bet.”

“Like what?”

Thong underwear. Chocolate body paint. A giant box of rubbers.
“Aunt Meghann gave us a Cuisinart.” At Ali's confused look, she added, “It's a way-cool blender.”

“Oh. Grandpa is taking me fishing today. Up at Tidwell Pond.”

“That'll be fun.”

“He said you had wedding shit to do.”

“Alison Katherine. You know better than to repeat Grandpa's bad words.”

“Oops.” Ali bent forward and started licking the syrup off her plate. In no time, it was clean. “Did you know that if you cut a worm in half, it'll grow back?”

“I did know that.”

She pushed back from her seat. “But Lily France got her finger cut off an' it didn't grow back.” She frowned. “I think God likes worms better than Lily. It's cuz she cuts in line at lunch.”

“Well, I don't—”

“Bye, Mom!” Alison threw her a kiss and scampered off. The screen door banged shut behind her. A moment later, Claire heard her daughter's high-pitched voice yell out, “I'm here, Grandpa. Were you lookin' for me?”

Claire smiled and turned off the griddle, then poured herself a second cup of coffee and went out to the back porch. The slatted swing welcomed her.

She sat there, rocking gently, staring out at the silver curve of water that defined her back property line. The house was set well back from the river, on a rise of safety, but on a day like today, with the sky as blue as forget-me-nots and the grass turning golden from an unexpected week of sunlight, it was almost impossible to remember how dangerous the river could be.

The screen door screeched open and banged shut. Meghann stepped out onto the porch. She wore a fringed black peasant top and flare-legged jeans. Her hair, unbound, fell down her back in a riot of curls. She looked beautiful. “Morning.”

Claire pulled the woolen blanket tighter around her legs, hiding the ratty, torn sweats she'd put on. “You want some pancakes?”

Meg sat down on the wooden Adirondack chair across from the swing. “No, thanks. I'm still trying to metabolize last night's cake.”

“You sure left the party early.” Claire hoped she sounded casual and not hurt.

“It was a nice party. Your friend Gina has a great sense of humor.”

“Yeah, she does.”

“It must be hard on her—watching your wedding so soon after her own divorce.”

Claire nodded. “She's going through a really difficult time.”

“It's always hard to find out you married the wrong man.”

“They were married for fifteen years. Just because they got divorced doesn't mean he was the wrong man to marry.”

Meg looked at her. “I would say it meant exactly that.”

“Eric really played a number on you, didn't he?”

“I guess.”

Claire took a sip of coffee. It occurred to her to drop the whole thing, to do what she'd always done around Meg—shut up and pretend it didn't hurt. Then she remembered her conversation with Bobby. Slowly, she said, “You didn't answer my question: How come you left the shower early?”

“It wasn't that early. How were your presents?”

“They were great. Thank you for the Cuisinart, by the way. Now: Why did you leave early?”

Meg closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. She looked . . . scared.

It shocked Claire so much she straightened. “Meg?”

“It was the M&M game,” she answered. “I tried to be a good sport and play the game, but I barely know you, so I said something wrong. I still don't know what the hell it was.”

“You said I loved well but not easily.”

“Yes.”

“I don't think it's true, that's all, and it hurt my feelings.”

“It's true for me,” Meg said.

Claire leaned forward. They were finally circling something that mattered. “Sometimes it's hard to love you, Meg.”

“Believe me, I know.” She laughed, but it was a bitter, throaty sound.

“You judge people—me—so harshly. Your opinions are like bullwhips. Every one leaves a bloody mark.”

“People, yes. But you? I don't judge you.”

“I flunked out of college. I dropped out of cosmetology school. I never left Hayden. I dress poorly. I had a child out of wedlock with a man whom I discovered was already married. Now I'm marrying a three-time loser and I'm too stupid to protect myself with a prenuptial agreement. Stop me when it sounds familiar.”

Meg frowned. “Have I hung all that on you?”

“Like a suit of armor. I can't talk to you without feeling like a poor-white-trash loser. And, of course, you're rich and perfect.”

“That part is true.” Meg saw that her attempt at humor failed. “My therapist thinks I have control issues.”

“Well,
duh
. You're a lot like Mama, you know. You both need to run the show.”

“The difference is, she's psychotic. I'm neurotic. But God knows she handed down bad luck with men.” Meghann looked at her. “Have you broken the curse?”

Even yesterday, Claire would have been angered by the question. Now, she understood it. Claire's legacy from Mama was a belief that sooner or later love walked out on you. Meg had inherited something else entirely: She didn't believe in love at all. “I have, Meg. Honestly.”

Meg smiled, but there was a sadness in her eyes. “I wish I had your faith.”

For once, Claire felt like the stronger sister. “I know love is real. It's in every moment I share with Ali and Dad. Maybe if . . . you'd had a father, you'd be able to believe in it.” Claire saw the way her sister went pale; she knew she'd gone too far.

“You were lucky to have Sam,” Meg said slowly.

Claire couldn't help thinking about the summer Dad had tried to be there for Meg. It had been a nightmare. Meg and Sam had had screaming fights about who loved Claire more, who knew what was best for her. It had been Claire herself who'd ended the worst of the battles. She'd cried out to Meg,
Quit yelling at my daddy.
That was the first time she'd seen her sister cry. The next day, Meg had gone. Years later, she'd finally called Claire. By then, Meg was in college and had her own life.

“He wanted to be there for you, too,” Claire said gently.

“He wasn't my father.”

They fell silent after that. The quiet bothered Claire, compelled her to stack up words between them, but she didn't know what to say.

She was saved by the phone. When it rang, she jumped up and ran inside the house to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hold for Eliana Sullivan, please.”

Claire heard Meg come up behind her. She mouthed:
Mama
.

“This should be good,” Meg said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.

“Hello?” Mama said. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mama, it's me, Claire.”

Mama laughed, that throaty, carefully sexy sound she'd cultivated over the years. “I believe I know which of my own daughters I called, Claire.”

“Of course,” Claire answered, although Mama confused the two of them all the time. Her memories were completely interchangeable. When called on it, Mama would say airily,
Whatever
;
y'all were thick as thieves back then. How'm I supposed to keep every little detail straight?

“Well, honey, speak up. M'houseboy said you left me a message. What's goin' on?”

Claire hated the faux Southern accent. Every elongated vowel reminded her that she was ultimately “the audience” to Mama. “I called to tell you I'm getting married.”

“Well, I'll be damned. I thought for sure you were going to die an old maid.”

“Thanks, Mama.”

“So, who is he?”

“You'll love him, Mama. He's a nice Texas boy.”

“Boy? I thought that was your sister's way.”

Claire actually laughed. “He's a man, Mama. Thirty-seven years old.”

“How much money does he make?”

“That isn't important to me.”

“Broke, huh? Well, I'll give you my best advice, honey. It's easier to marry the rich ones, but what the hell. Congratulations. When's the wedding?”

“Saturday the twenty-third.”

“Of June? You mean this comin' Saturday?”

“That's what I mean. You would have had plenty of notice if you'd called me back.”

“I was doing Shakespeare in the park. With Charlie Sheen, I might add.”

“All night?”

“Now, honey. You
know
I have to take care of my fans. They're my life's blood. Did you see my picture in
People
, by the way? Just me and Jules Asner, sharin' a little girl talk.”

“I missed that. Sorry.”

“I
gave
you a subscription. What do y'all do, just let it sit around?”

“I've been busy with the wedding plans.”

“Oh. Right. Well, Saturday's difficult for me, honey. How about the first weekend in August?”

Claire rolled her eyes. “As interested as I am in your schedule, Mama, the invitations have already gone out. Meg's busy planning the big day. It's too late to change the date.”

Mama laughed. “
Meg
is planning your wedding? Honey, that's like asking the pope to plan a bar mitzvah.”

“The wedding is Saturday. I hope you'll be able to attend.” There she was, getting stiff and formal again, her usual reaction to stress.

Meghann handed her an aspirin.

Claire couldn't help smiling.

“She gives
me
a migraine every time,” Meg said. “Is she still babbling?”

Claire nodded, whispered, “I think I heard the name Anna Nicole Smith.”