Between Sisters (22 page)

“I am happy for her. Bein' married is the most wonderful feelin' in the world. Why I remember when I married her daddy, I felt swept away by him.”

You get swept away more often than a muddy riverbank.
Meghann kept her lips sealed and her smile tacked in place. She didn't remind Mama that the marriage to Sam had lasted less than six months, or that Mama had run out on him in the middle of the night,
after
sending him to the store for tampons. For years, Meghann had had a mental picture of Sam, returning to the Chief Sealth Trailer Park in Concrete, Washington, on that rainy night, standing at the empty site, holding a box of tampons. He hadn't known for almost ten years—until Meghann called—that his marriage had produced a daughter. “That's the way, Mama. Pour it on. But,” she stepped closer, looked up into her mother's surgically wrinkle-less face, “you may bring one photographer. One. No bodyguards and no dog. These rules are not negotiable.”

“You are a pain in the ass, Meghann,” Mama said. Her accent was so thick only a trained ear could understand it. “No wonder you can't keep a man for long.”

“This from the woman whose been married what—six times? Pretty soon you and Elizabeth Taylor will have to start swapping husbands or you'll run out.”

“You have no romance in your soul.”

“I can't imagine why, growing up as I did with so much love.”

They stood there, inches apart, staring at each other.

Then Mama laughed. The real thing this time, not that sexy kitten-laugh she used in Hollywood, but the deep, tavern sound she'd been born with. “Meggy, darlin', you always did bust my ass. You flipped me off when you were eight months old—did I ever tell you that?”

Meghann smiled in spite of herself. It was always this way between them. How could you stay angry with a woman as shallow as Mama? In the end, sometimes there was nothing to do but laugh and go on. “I don't think so, Mama.”

She put her arm around Meghann and pulled her close. It reminded Meghann of so many childhood and adolescent times. She and Mama had always fought like cats and dogs, and then ended up laughing. Probably because both of them would rather laugh than cry. “No. You looked right up, smiled, and flipped me off. It was the funniest damn thing ever.”

“I've done it a few times since.”

“I imagine you have. It's the nature of the beast. You'd know this if you'd had children.”

“Don't go there, Mama.”

“Oh, fiddle-dee-dee. You don't tell me what to do or say, Missy. It takes guts to be a mother. You just don't have 'em, that's all. Look at the way you pawned off your sister. Nothin' to be ashamed of.”

“Mama, I don't think you ought to tell me what it takes to be a mother. I might have to remind you of a few things you pretend to forget. Like how it was your job to raise Claire, not mine.”

“So, are we goin' to this reception or not? I have a midnight flight home. But don't worry, there's none of that two-hours-ahead stuff for stars like me. I need to be at SeaTac by eleven.”

“That means you need to leave here about eight-thirty. So let's go. And I mean it, Mama, best behavior.”

“Now, darlin', you know that social etiquette is bred into us Southern girls.”

“Oh,
please
. You're as Southern as Tony Soprano.”

Mama sniffed. “I swear, I should have left you by the side of the road in Wheeling, West Virginia.”

“You
did
leave me there.”

“You always were a hard and unforgiving person. It's a flaw, Meggy. Truly. So I miscounted my children. It happens. My
mistake
was in comin' back for you.”

Meghann sighed. There was no way to get the last word with Mama. “Come on, Mama. Claire probably thinks I killed you.”

C
HAPTER
TWENTY-ONE

C
LAIRE REFUSED TO THINK ABOUT THE DEBACLE WITH
Mama. She clung to Bobby's arm and let herself be carried away. She was the center of a laughing, talking, congratulatory crowd. She had never felt so special, so completely loved in her life. Most of the town had turned out for this wedding, and everyone stopped Claire to tell her that she was the prettiest bride ever.

It went straight to a woman's head, that kind of thing. You forgot sometimes, in the middle of a hectic, single-mother life, how it felt to be the center of attention.

Bobby slipped an arm more tightly around her waist, pulled her close. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

She stopped and turned to him, letting her body melt against his. The wedding guests kept moving past them, jostling them. “You have.”

“When you came down that aisle, you took my breath away. I love you, Mrs. Austin.”

She felt tears start again. It came as no surprise. She'd been weepy all day.

They kept their arms around each other and followed the crowd, walking slowly this time. “I don't see why everyone had to park at Riverfront Park. There's usually plenty of room at the church. We can all carpool to the campground.”

Bobby shrugged. “I'm just following the crowd. Gina said the limo was waiting for us at the park.”

Claire laughed. “Leave it to Meghann to rent a limo to drive us six miles.” But she couldn't deny that she was excited. She'd never been in a limousine.

In front of them, the crowd stopped; as if on cue, they parted, forming a dark aisle.

“Come on,” Gina yelled out, waving them forward.

Claire grabbed Bobby's hand and pulled him forward. Around them, the guests clapped and cheered them on. A shower of rice seemed to fall from the sky; it sprinkled their faces and crunched beneath their feet.

They came to the end of the crowd.

“Oh, my God.” Claire turned around, searched the crowd for Meghann, but her sister was nowhere to be seen.

She couldn't believe her eyes. Riverfront Park, the very place where she'd spent her childhood, where she'd broken her ankle playing red rover, where she'd tasted her first kiss, had been transformed.

Night turned the thick lawn jet-black. Off to the right, the now-quiet river was a tarnished silver ribbon that caught the moonlight and held it.

A huge white tent had been set up in the park. Thousands of tiny white Christmas lights twined up the poles and across the makeshift ceilings. Even from here, Claire could see the tables set up within the tent. Silvery, shimmery tablecloths draped each one. Chinese lanterns cut the light into shapes—stars and crescents that patterned the floor and walls.

She moved forward. The scent of roses filled the night air, turned it sweet. She saw that each table had a floral centerpiece, a simple glass bowl filled with fresh white roses. A long, silver-clothed table ran along one side, its surface cluttered with elegant sterling chafing dishes and pewter trays of food. In the corner, a trio of men in white tuxedos played a World War II love song in soft, haunting tones.

“Wow,” Bobby said, coming up beside her.

The band struck up a beautiful rendition of “Isn't It Romantic?”

“Would you like to dance, Mrs. Austin?”

Claire let him take her in his arms and lead her to the dance floor. There, with all her friends and family watching, she danced with her husband.

When, at last, the song came to an end, Claire finally saw her sister. She was tagging after Mama, who was clearly in her meet-and-greet mode. “Come on, Bobby,” she said, taking his hand and pulling him off the dance floor. It felt as if it took them hours to get through the well-wishers, each of whom had something to say. But finally, they were near the bar, where Mama was regaling a starstruck crowd with stories of life aboard the USS
Star Seeker
.

Mama saw her coming and stopped talking midsentence. A genuine smile curved her lips. “Claire,” she said, reaching for her with both hands. “I'm sorry I was late, darlin'. A star's life is run by others. But you were the most beautiful bride I've ever seen.” Her voice cracked just a bit. “Really, Claire,” she said, softer this time, for Claire's ears alone, “you made me so proud.”

Their gazes met. In her mother's dark eyes, Claire glimpsed a genuine joy, and it touched her.

“Now,” Mama said quickly, smiling again, “where's my new son-in-law?”

“Here I am, Miz Sullivan.”

“Call me Ellie. All my family does.” She moved toward him, whistling softly. “You're good-looking enough for Hollywood.”

It was Mama's highest compliment.

“Thank you, Ma'am.”

A look of irritation crossed Mama's face; it was there and gone in a flash. “Really. Call me Ellie. I hear you're a singer. Meggy doesn't know if you're any good.”

“I'm good.”

She took his hand. “If you sing half as good as you look, you'll be on the radio in no time. Come. Tell me about your career while we dance.”

“I'd be honored to dance with my new mother-in-law.” Tossing Claire a quick smile, he was off.

Claire turned at last to Meghann, who'd stood silently by for the whole exchange. “Are you okay?”

“Mama brought her dog. Not to mention an entourage of bodyguards.”

“She could be overcome by the hoards of her fans at any moment,” Claire said in her best pseudo-Southern voice.

Meghann laughed. Then sobered. “She has to leave at eight- thirty.”

“A manicure with Rollo?”

“Probably. Whatever it is, I believe a prayer of thanks is in order.”

The band shifted into a sweet, soulful version of “As Time Goes By.”

Claire stared at her sister, trying to come up with words to match her emotions. “This wedding,” she started but her voice cracked. She swallowed hard.

“I did something wrong, didn't I?”

Claire ached then for the whole of their relationship, for the years that had been lost and those that had never been.

“You spent a fortune,” Claire said.

“No.” Meghann shook her head. “Almost everything was on sale. They're my Christmas lights. The tent—”

Claire touched her sister's lips, shut her up. “I'm trying to say thank you.”

“Oh.”

“I wish . . .” She didn't even know how to word it, this sudden longing of hers. It seemed too big to stand on something as thin as words.

“I know,” Meghann said softly. “Maybe things can be different now. This time together . . . it's made me remember how things used to be between us.”

“You were my best friend,” Claire said, wiping her eyes carefully, so she didn't smear her makeup. “I missed that when you . . .”
Left.
She couldn't say the harsh word, not now.

“I missed you, too.”

“Mommy! Mommy! Come dance with us.”

Claire twisted around and saw her dad and Alison, standing a few feet away.

“I believe it's customary for the bride to dance with her father,” he said, smiling, holding out his calloused hand.

“And her daughter! Grandpa'll carry me.” Alison was hopping up and down with excitement.

Claire gave her champagne glass to Meghann, who mouthed:
Go
. She let herself be pulled onto the dance floor. As they made it to the center of the crowd, Dad whispered in her ear, “Someday Ali will get married and you'll know how this feels. It's every emotion at once.”

“Pick me up, Grandpa!”

He bent down and scooped Alison up. The three of them clung to one another, swaying gently in time to “The Very Thought of You.”

Claire looked away quickly—before Ali could ask why Mommy was crying. To her left, Mama was spinning poor Bobby around as if he were a top. Claire laughed out loud and knew exactly what her dad meant.

Every emotion.

That was what tonight was. All her life she'd look back on this night and remember how good her life was, how much she loved and was loved in return.

That was what Meghann had given her.

Meghann gazed at the black velvet lawn of Edgar Peabody Riverfront Park. Across the street, the Quonset hut sat bathed in moonlight. Behind her, the band was breaking down their equipment. Only a few die-hard guests were still here. Mama had left hours ago, as had Sam and Ali. Everyone else, including the bride and groom, had drifted away at around midnight. Meghann had stayed late, supervising the cleanup, but now that job was done.

Meghann sipped her champagne and looked across the street again. Her car was parked in front of Joe's house. She wondered now if that had been a conscious choice.

He was probably sleeping.

She knew it was ridiculous to go to him, maybe even dangerous, but there was something in the air tonight. A heady combination of romance and magic. It smelled like roses and made a woman believe that anything was possible. For tonight, anyway.

She didn't let herself think about it. If she did, she'd call herself a fool and stay put. So she hummed along with the music and walked down the gravel road. When she reached the black ribbon of asphalt, she turned right.

At his gate, she paused. The lights were on.

This was so unlike her.

She pushed the thought away and went to his door. There, she debated for another minute or two, then knocked.

Moments later, Joe opened the door. His hair was messed up, as if he'd been asleep; all he wore was a pair of black jeans. He waited for her to say something, but her voice had pulled a full retreat. She just stood there like an idiot, staring at his naked chest.

“You just going to stand there?”

She lifted her right hand, showing him the bottle of champagne she'd carried over.

He stared at her, saying nothing. When the silence became uncomfortable, he grabbed a black T-shirt from the sofa and put it on, then came back to the door. “I suppose you're horny. That's why you came by, right?”

She flinched at that. She thought about pulling herself up, slapping him, even, but it would be for show. A woman who screwed strangers had lost that right long ago. He was being honest, but there was something else, too. It felt as if he were angry with her. She couldn't imagine why. Even more disconcerting was the realization that she cared. “No. I thought maybe we could go out.”

“You want us to go on a
date
? At one o'clock in the morning?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“A better question is why.”

She looked up at him. When their gazes locked, she felt a flutter in her pulse. She couldn't possibly put the answer into words. She didn't dare look too closely at her own motivations. “Look, Joe. I was in a good mood. Maybe I had too much to drink.” Her voice stumbled; need tripped her up. Humiliated, she closed her eyes. “I shouldn't have come. I'm sorry.” When she opened her eyes, she saw that he'd moved closer. It would take nothing at all for him to kiss her now, barely a movement.

“I'm not much for going out.”

“Oh.”

“But I wouldn't mind if you wanted to come in.”

She felt the start of a smile. “Great.”

“What I
mind
,” he said, “is waking up alone. It's okay if you don't want to spend the night, but don't sneak out like a hooker.”

So that was it. “I'm sorry.”

He smiled. It lit up his whole face, made him look ten years younger. “Okay. Come on in.”

She touched his arm. “That's the first time I've seen you smile.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, maybe sadly. “It's been a while.”

Meghann slept through the night. When dawn came to the small, dingy cabin windows and peered inside, she woke with a start. Instead of feeling nervous and cranky—her normal moods after a sleepless night—she felt rested and relaxed. She couldn't remember the last time morning had been so sweet.

She felt the heavy weight of Joe's bare leg against her own. His arm was around her, anchoring her in place. Even in sleep, his forefinger brushed possessively against her skin.

She should move away. It was a maneuver she'd perfected over the years—the intimacy-evading sideways roll, the silent plop to the floor, the soundless dressing and unseen exit.

What I mind
, he'd said last night,
is waking up alone
.

She couldn't sneak out.

The surprising part was that she didn't want to, not really. She sensed that she
should
, in that basic self-preservation kind of way, but really, it felt good to be in a man's arms again. As she lay here, listening to his slow, even breathing, feeling his arm around her, she couldn't help but realize how little intimacy she'd known in her life. She was always so in control, moving forward on the path she saw for herself, she never let herself slow down enough to feel anything. It wasn't real, of course, this intimacy she felt with Joe. They didn't know or care deeply about each other, but for Meghann, even this approximation of emotion was more than she'd felt in years.

The sex had been different last night, too. Softer, gentler. Instead of their previous I'm-going-as-fast-as-I-can coupling, they'd acted as if they had all the time in the world. His long, slow kisses had made her crazy with wanting. It wasn't simple horniness, either; at least that's what she'd thought when he'd swept her away. She'd imagined that there was something more between them.

That worried her. Need was something she understood, accepted. In a gray world, it was jet-black.

Emotion was something else entirely. Even if it wasn't a lead-up to love, it was trouble. The last thing Meghann wanted was to care for someone.

Still . . .

She had never been one to deceive herself and, just now, lying naked in his arms, she had to admit that there was something between them. Not love, surely, but
something
. When he kissed her, it felt as if she'd never been kissed before.

There it was, as clear to her as the colors of the rising dawn: the prelude to heartache.

The beginning.

It had sneaked up on her. She'd opened a door called anonymous sex and found herself standing in a room filled with unexpected possibilities.

Possibilities that could break a woman's heart.