The Beautiful Daughters (6 page)

They played house, really, all five of them. Or, all four of them. They adopted David's reality as if it was their own, and Adri had never stopped to wonder what would happen when their games came to an end. None of them did.

“Would you like to go for a ride?” Sam asked, stroking Mateo's neck. “I know it's been a while, but it's kind of like riding a bike. You never forget how.”

Adri shook her head, dissolving the haze of her memories. “No, thank you. Not now.”

“You must be exhausted. How long have you been traveling?”

“Days,” Adri said wryly, and it wasn't a lie. “But I'd like to at least groom them. And maybe muck out the stalls. It looks like it's been a while.”

“Sorry about that.” Sam said.

“What for?”

“It's my fault they're not groomed.”

Adri was stunned. “You're taking care of the horses?”

“Will and Jackson help me when they can, but they're busy.” Sam paused. “Jackson's going to be a daddy, you know.”

No, Adri didn't know. Throughout college, several boyfriends, girlfriends, and acquaintances had tried to work their way into the tight knot of The Five. It worked, for a season. But inevitably someone got bored, or irritated that no matter how hard they tried to ingratiate themselves, The Five remained impenetrable at their core. Only Nora managed to orbit their circle with any frequency, and Adri hadn't been surprised by the phone call she received a couple of years before to announce Jackson and Nora's wedding. She had been invited, but she hadn't made the trip.

“A daddy,” Adri said, a little belatedly. “Jackson will make a great dad.”

“He really will.” Sam nodded. “Jackson and Nora are a beautiful couple. She's struggling a bit with the pregnancy, but the baby is healthy. Everything will be fine.”

Adri probed her emotions as if pressing a bruise. Was she jealous of Jackson and Nora? Of their marriage and baby? No, she decided. It was just strange to imagine that while she was trapped in her own self-inflicted purgatory, life was going on without her. Jackson and Nora were proof that some people were granted the grace of a new beginning.

“Jackson isn't much help,” Sam said, reaching out to pat Mateo, “but I don't hold that against him.”

“And Will? Is he around much?”

Sam shrugged. “Brothers is doing well. They're very busy.”

Several years ago Will and Jackson had claimed their bachelor's degrees were useless and started a small construction company that specialized in home repairs, additions, and remodeling. It had been a rocky start, but apparently business was booming. But that was beside the point. Surely Victoria had hired someone to take care of the horses.

“I volunteered,” Sam continued before Adri could formulate a question. “Victoria called me to ask if I could help get Bard ready for sale, and when I realized that no one was looking after the stable, I volunteered.”

It was a lot for one person to handle. Caring for a single horse was a big commitment, but tending to all four of them was a part-time job.

“We ride them when we can. Pasture them when we can't.” Sam passed a hand over his face and sighed a little. “I'm hoping there's a provision for them in Victoria's will.”

Adri did too. “Thanks, Dad.” She laid her hand on her father's arm and attempted to convey just how much it meant to her that he had stood in the gap when no one else could or would.

It would take hours to groom all four horses the way they deserved, but Adri found a pair of curry combs and offered one to her father. They could do a preliminary brushing to get rid of
the worst of the matting, and focus on hooves, mane, and other details later.

Adri found it oddly calming to work herself into a sweat as she wielded the curry comb on Mateo's rump. The harder she brushed him, the more he leaned into her care, his skin rippling beneath her vigorous ministrations. It reminded her of scrubbing the tile floors in her little beach bungalow, only it was much more satisfying to feel Mateo's obvious delight at her attention than to do battle with a never-ending stream of fire ants that crept through a crack in the wall of her tiny kitchen. And a lot less painful.

“Tell me about it,” Sam said suddenly as he worked on ­Farah's neck. He had tied her in the aisle near Mateo's stall. Adri didn't ask why, she assumed it was because after all the years between them, proximity was a luxury worth indulging.

“About what?” She figured he was talking about the horses, her time with David, the past.

He surprised her by saying, “Africa. Your job. Your life.”

Adri didn't know what to say. There I'm me, and here I'm someone else altogether. There I know who I am and where I am, here I feel like I'm living in the skin of a stranger, an alien in a strange land. And yet, every remembrance was filling her up, splashing into the quiet, empty spaces and reminding her of a time that had been so rich and full and decadent and lovely her heart hurt to think about it. How could she say all that? How could he understand?

“It's hot,” she said carefully and stifled another shiver. “Very, very hot.”

Sam laughed. “I knew that. You post pictures on Facebook every once in a while. The heat seeps through.”

Adri gave him a guilty look. Her father had bought a cheap laptop from Walmart and signed up for a Facebook account several years ago because Will had informed him that Adri occasionally uploaded photos to her timeline. But she was a sporadic user at best, and if she remembered correctly, the last
time she had shared anything was when Dawn, her assistant before Caleb, had scraped her knee in a soccer match. In spite of their best efforts, the cut had become violently infected and Dawn was forced to travel stateside for treatment. She never came back. “It's busy,” Adri added to her paltry description. “I'm busy.” And then, “I'll try to post more pictures.”

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything more, and Adri felt a stab of remorse. She was, without a doubt, the world's worst daughter. When she first moved to Africa she had come home regularly. Once a year. But she tired of the excruciatingly long journey, of navigating the life she was desperate to leave behind. She could never bring herself to visit Victoria, even though that was exactly what she should have done. After two short trips home feeling helpless and useless, she decided to stay put for a while. A while had turned into almost three years. Three years of nothing but phone calls, emails, and the occasional Facebook photo. Who did that?

In the beginning of her exile, she had routinely asked her dad to come and visit, but it was a hollow invitation. Adri knew he wouldn't come. He couldn't. The farm was small, but there was no one else to take care of it. And in all of his fifty-eight years he had never been outside of the Midwest. Ever. Sam wasn't about to jump headfirst into international travel, and Adri could hardly blame him.

“Time is different there,” she said slowly. Fumbling toward familiarity. “We get up early in the morning and work until midafternoon. You just can't get anything done after that, so we don't even try. I go to bed at nine o'clock.”

Sam grinned. “So do I.”

“I get up at five.”

“Gotcha beat. Four.”

Adri tipped her head in acknowledgment of his victory. “Okay. We eat twice a day. Something light in the morning, and then a large meal in the afternoon.”

“I forage,” Sam admitted.

“But you're an excellent cook!” Adri protested, her mouth watering at the thought of her father's mashed potatoes, glistening with pats of butter and swimming in gravy that he made from the drippings of his roast chicken. When they were kids, she and Will had eaten like royalty. Fat steaks charred on the grill, meat loaf sandwiches with homemade vinegar-and-ketchup glaze, pork roast with caramelized onions and baked apples. Sam also had one go-to cake, a dense, chocolate confection made with sour cream and a can of cherry pie filling, that was best hot from the oven. And even better with a handful of half-burned birthday candles stuck in the gooey frosting.

“It's not easy to cook for one,” Sam admitted.

“No,” Adri agreed. “It's not.” There was a beat or two of silence, but Adri had opened the tap and she was ready, if not eager, to watch the drops accumulate. “I love the kids I work with. They are sweet and funny and smart. They're going to change the world.”

“I think you're changing the world.”

Adri didn't know what to say, so she stroked Mateo and didn't say anything at all.

“What's the best part?” Sam prompted after a few moments.

“I like evenings best,” Adri said slowly. “When I hit the compound and the day is behind me. It's not that I don't love the kids or the clinics or really all the aspects of my job, but everything comes at me so fast sometimes, I feel like I can only experience it in retrospect. I sit on the beach or I go swimming and I think about the details of my day. Who said what and why. Which medications we could really use. Why I don't trust the new community leader appointed to handle the co-op.” Adri ducked under Mateo's head and started brushing soft circles just beneath his chin. “I guess it's crazy that I like thinking about my days better than I like living them.”

Sam was staring at her. “I understand,” he said. “Truly I do.”

“But all the self-help books tell you to live in the moment.”
Adri peeked over Mateo's neck and offered her dad a shy smile. “Aren't you going to tell me the same thing?”

Sam went back to brushing Farah. “Oh, I don't know. Living in the moment is great, but there's something uniquely powerful about the contemplative life. I think if we slowed down enough to think about what we say, consider the consequences of our actions and reactions, the world would be a better place.”

Adri knew he wasn't alluding to past events, but his words felt like an indictment all the same. Her father had inadvertently summed up the halves of her existence: the euphoric Tilt-A-Whirl of her life before, the thoughtful plod of her days after. But she hadn't been quieted by a deep desire to center herself, to abide in the heart of her own story. Instead, Adri had been extinguished. Brought to the very brink of it all and thrust over the side. The hush wasn't so much peaceful as it was ghostly. She could hear the whisper of every lament in the silence.

“Dad?” Adri said.

“Yeah.”

“I'm sorry.”

Sam didn't ask what for. He just smiled sadly. Said, “So am I, baby. So am I.”

6

W
hen sam finally turned his truck down the gravel drive that led to maple acres, the sun had already begun to set. Adri's hair smelled of dust and horses, and there were dark crescents of grime beneath her fingernails. Jet lag ringed her head like an ill-fitting hat. She was weary and dehydrated, desperate for a drink of water, or better yet, a swim in a warm ocean. But she was agonizingly landlocked, and it made her feel panicky and claustrophobic. Better to focus on other things. Like the shiny trailer that sat askew on her father's front lawn and the logo splashed across the side that claimed brothers construction was “the best in the business.”

“Will's here?” Adri asked, her voice catching. It had been three years since she had seen her twin, too. A detail that hurt so much she preferred to ignore it.

“Will did the afternoon milking for me,” Sam said. “With Jackson. Nora is visiting her parents in Minnesota for a week, so Jackson is a bachelor again. Will's loving it.”

Adri detected amusement in her dad's voice and decided not to comment. Back when the world had been a very different place, William and Jackson had been inseparable. Only one person could coax them apart, and only because Will had been in love with her. Of course, his infatuation had never amounted to much. Everyone had been in love with Harper.

But Adri wasn't thinking about Harper. She was thinking about Will. Sitting up a little straighter on the bench seat, Adri reached for the visor and flipped it down. No mirror. Instead she ran her fingers along her hairline, smoothing strays and removing a wayward piece of straw. She wished for a tube of lip gloss, but the only makeup she owned was tucked away in the carry-on that Beckett was currently using as a pillow.

“You look pretty,” her dad said. Not fine or nice or good. He had never been the sort to hand out halfhearted praise.

“It's been a long time since someone has called me that,” Adri laughed.

“Well, that's a shame. It's true. But even if it wasn't true, it doesn't matter.” Sam pulled up beside the trailer and put the truck in park. Switched off the engine. “Will still loves you, honey.”

Her father had carved right to the heart of it. That was exactly what she feared: that after all this time, after enduring the sort of unforgivable neglect that she had inflicted on him, her brother, her twin, her Will wouldn't love her the way he used to. Wouldn't grab her knee when she sat down because he knew it would elicit a scream from his insanely ticklish sister or give her that look across a crowded room that said simply, “I know.” I know exactly what you're thinking and how you're feeling. I feel the same way. How could she bear it if he was indifferent? Or worse, if William tried to be the brother he had always been and his efforts were stale and insincere?

“It's been a long time, Dad,” Adri said.

“Some things never change.” Sam wasn't one for platitudes, but this particular cliché was a warm blanket for Adri, something she pulled tight around her shoulders as she opened the truck door and slid out.

Adri stood with her arms across her chest, hugging her shoulders, and watched while Sam dropped the tailgate to grab her bags and let Beckett out. Her back was to the house because she couldn't quite bring herself to look at it straight
on, to make note of the places where paint was peeling off of the narrow board siding or how the screen door of her youth had been replaced by a newer, rip-free model. She knew every square inch of that house, from the stair that creaked no matter how many times her father tried to fix it, to the hairline crack in the attic window where Harper had once thrown stones in the middle of the night to wake Adri. Such an exercise in futility. The window didn't even open into Adri's bedroom.

Beckett seemed to sense Adri's discomfort. Stretching lazily, he made his way over to her and pressed his head into the palm of her hand. But before she could settle in for a quick, comforting ear rub, she heard the front door slam.

“Adrienne Claire.”

She turned slowly on her heel to see Will leaning up against a porch column, regarding her with the same forced nonchalance that she was attempting to portray. It only took her a second to drink him in: tall, tanned, and slim like her father. But his shoulders had filled out in the years since Brothers Construction bought their first Yellow Pages ad, and his T-shirt was tight against his arms.

“William Jude.” Adri laughed suddenly, a bright sound that brimmed from somewhere deep inside and caused her brother's eyes to flash with relief. And then joy. He bounded off the porch, skipping most of the steps, and ran across the lawn to scoop Adri up in a hug.

It felt normal, so perfectly right and good to see Will, to wrap her arms around her brother without any of the hesitation, the reservation that had held her back for so long. But it was a brief moment of peace. There was much between them, and while Adri longed to pretend that everything was as it should be, the delight she felt at their reunion was quickly dampened by the understanding that nothing at all had changed. She kept secrets, so did he. There were ghosts in the spaces between them, whispering over his shoulder and hinting at all the things she had
worked hard to hide. Will didn't blame her for what had happened, but he should have.

Adri swallowed hard and pulled away, tried to cling to the moment of elation that had made her believe that maybe everything could be as it had been. “So,” she said, and was happy to hear that her voice was calm and even. “When did you go all bodybuilder on me?” Adri squeezed his biceps as he let her go.

“Hey, now.” Will slapped her hands away. “Inappropriate touch. I don't let strangers touch me like that.”

“Strangers?” The word stung, even if it was obvious Will was teasing her.

“No letters, no phone calls, no visits . . .”

“I write, I call, and I've visited a couple times—just not recently. When are you going to visit me?”

Will gave her a wicked look. “When you invite me and mean it.”

“Ouch.” But it was true. Adri had asked him to come to Africa many times, but she had always harbored a private hope that he wouldn't accept her invitation. “What makes you think I don't want you to come?”

“Because it's your secret place.” Will draped his arm around her shoulders and steered her toward the house. “You might as well string a sign across all of West Africa: Adri's Hideout. No boys allowed.”

“I like boys.”

“Just not this one.”

She shoved him away. “Whatever. Maybe I'm protecting you. Maybe I think you won't like it there.”

“Why? Because it's so different?” Will ran a hand through his ginger hair and Adri was struck for the thousandth time by how beautiful it was. How red. Her brother would be a wonder in Africa.

“Well, it is.”

“Got a banana tree in your yard?” Will asked.

“You know I do.”

“Well, we have an apple tree in ours. And a peach, a plum, and two pears, a boy and a girl. Just like us, little sis. See? Not so different after all. Actually, I think we're more exotic.”

“You make it sound simple,” Adri said. She was too tired to argue, too awed by her small family to engage in the sort of verbal sparring that Will adored. So she gave in. “Come. Please.”

Will studied her for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing to seek out the place where she couldn't hide from him. She didn't know whether to blush or be annoyed. “You know,” he said after a long moment. “I think you might actually mean it this time. Can we climb Kilimanjaro?”

“That's on the other side of the continent, you twit.”

The porch door slammed a second time and Adri looked up to see Jackson emerge from the house. “Ah,” he said, settling his hands on his hips as he observed their reunion. “Sibling love.”

“Or rivalry.” Sam brushed past Adri and handed her bags to Jackson. “Put those in her room, would you? I'm going to walk through the barns before supper.”

“Will do, Sam. I'm just going to give this world traveler a proper hello first.” Jackson put Adri's bags by the door, then met her at the bottom of the stairs for yet another hug. But this time, Adri was aware of the phantoms that slid among their tangled arms. “We've missed you,” he said into her hair while they embraced. “We're all glad you're home.”

Ignoring the knot in her throat, Adri forced a laugh. “Bunch of guys like you, of course you're glad I'm home. You probably expect me to do your cooking and cleaning and—”

“Laundry,” Will cut in. “Don't forget the laundry. You know how I hate folding socks. Of course, you'll have to commute between our houses.”

“You'd be surprised,” Jackson said, ignoring his business partner and friend. “Will's very domesticated. Your dad taught him well.”

“Well, isn't that a fine little twist of fate.” Adri grinned. “William makes a great housewife and I don't lift a finger.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ma Sarah does my laundry and people from the community often bring me meals. I mostly sit on the beach.”

Jackson gave her a sideways look, and Adri couldn't help but admire his blue-jean eyes and the way the sun still sprinkled freckles across his nose. He had always been the serious one of the group. Soft-spoken and studious and so very smart. Jackson saw everything. He understood things that the others couldn't, simply because he took the time. Adri had always admired him for it. And in the end, it was Jackson she feared the most. She was afraid that he could see through her with a glance.

“I don't believe you,” he said eventually. “You work your fingers to the bone. It's written all over your face.”

“Are you saying I have wrinkles?” Adri asked. But she knew that wasn't what he meant.

“No. You're as lovely as always.” And he kissed her sweetly on the cheek.

“Hey, congratulations,” Adri said, catching his hand before he turned to go back into the house. “On your marriage. And the baby.”

“Thanks.” Jackson smiled, and something in his eyes flamed a little brighter. “It's been a hard pregnancy, but Nora's strong . . .”

“She's a good girl,” Adri said.

“The best.”

While Sam checked the barns, Will and Jackson took over the kitchen. After downing a couple glasses of water from the tap, a luxury she certainly wasn't used to, Adri realized that she was famished. She couldn't remember eating much of anything on the planes, though she had vague memories of pretzels and peanuts and some unidentifiable snack mix that reminded her of caraway seed. So Will pried off the cap of a bottle of his latest brew, an amber ale that smelled like heaven to Adri, and sat her down at the kitchen table with a view of the counter where they were working. Jackson cut multicolored peppers and a fat, red onion into bite-size chunks and drizzled them with olive
oil, and Will sprinkled their father's homemade rub onto thinly sliced rib eyes that he would later flash on the grill. The Vogts liked their meat medium rare. Or they used to. Adri could hardly remember what a steak tasted like, much less how she liked it cooked.

“I'm ravenous,” she admitted after gulping quick swallows of the beer. She could practically feel her heart rate slow.

Almost as soon as the words were out of her mouth, Will tossed her a bag of Cheetos from the cupboard. “A little appetizer for you.”

“I'll probably get sick,” Adri confessed.

“Nah. You always had a stomach of steel.”

Adri didn't remind him that that was a lifetime ago. Long before her first bout of
C.
diff
and countless other nameless illnesses that had dropped her average weight a good ten pounds. But in the warmth of the kitchen, with Will and Jackson making entertaining small talk to ease her transition into a life that was so foreign it seemed surreal, none of that seemed to matter. Adri ate Cheetos, drank beer, and looked forward to that first bite of steak with all the anticipation of a girl waking up on Christmas morning. She even let herself forget, if only for an hour or two, that they weren't friends so much as accomplices. That the bond they shared was born of a love spoiled with time, a ripe fruit in the sun.