The Sunset Sisters: An utterly gripping and emotional page-turner (The Sisterhood Series) Page 15

  Except, now I have asked him to leave his wife. Which is about the riskiest thing I could do.

  “Cass?” Daniel says, on the other end of the line.

  I shake my head, as if trying to dispel my thoughts.

  “Promise you’ll still choose happiness?” he asks again.

  “I promise,” I tell him, using a paper napkin to clean my hand. My ice cream is melting. I’d said those exact words to him last night, when he finally told me about Tatiana’s visit to Bella’s house. It took every ounce of self-restraint not to bring it up, particularly because we talk on the phone so many times a day. But I’m glad I waited for him to tell me. I’m also glad that Tatiana doesn’t seem to have scared the kids—Daniel said she drove them home, where he’d gone to wait for them. He and Tatiana argued, but not in front of Angie and Sam. “I’m not giving up on us,” I say. I mean every word, but I’m still scared. I’ve worked hard for my career. I don’t want to lose it.

  “What if I talked to her?” Daniel asks. “Is that crazy?”

  I’m about to tell him that it most definitely is—I’m not about to let Daniel anywhere near Julie—when something catches my eye. A man, walking in front of me. I can only see his back, but I’m certain I know him. Who was it that said that you can’t disguise someone from the back?

  My first thought is that he’s a colleague. Or maybe a patient.

  And then it hits me.

  It’s my father.

  Twenty-Two

  Julie

  Friday, July 6th

  I know it’s been a long time since I last babysat, but I don’t remember it being this exhausting. I’m beat. Happy, but beat.

  We’ve spent the afternoon playing. First, at the beach: sandcastles and water monster, Ben and Kiki doused in sunscreen. Then indoors: Kiki taking her shoeless Barbies to the dentist while Ben introduced me to the dizzying world of Minecraft. Ben is an excellent teacher, patient and funny. They seem fine. Better than fine, actually—happy. I am, too. Though I will need twelve hours of sleep tonight.

  Now, they’re entertaining themselves while I clean up. I don’t want Craig to think he’s entrusted his children to a slob. Sophie calls me as I’m picking up stray Legos under the couch. I’m not in the mood to talk to her, but it’s her third call of the day—and I didn’t answer the previous two.

  “Oh, good, chérie. I was beginning to think you lost your phone.”

  “Bonjour, Sophie,” I say. “Did something happen?”

  “Do I need a reason to call my daughter?”

  The short answer is yes. Sophie needs a reason to do anything, and usually it’s a dramatic one. But saying this will only lengthen the phone call.

  “Now is not a very good time.”

  “Are you with Cassie?”

  “No.”

  “Did you find out anything about her boyfriend?”

  “I told you,” I say, lowering my voice, “I’m not doing that.”

  “This is important to me, Julie.”

  “Not giving Cassie another reason to hate me is important to me, too.”

  A pained sigh from Sophie. “I didn’t want to do this, Julie. But I see that I have to.” A pause. When she speaks again, her voice is thin and oddly high-pitched. Almost like she’s holding back tears. “I’m in trouble here at Posh. They’re trying to—how do you say it—push me out.”

  “What are you talking about?” Sophie has been with Posh for years. She’s very good at what she does.

  “It’s the new kids. They’re all about tech and social media. I’m a dinosaur to them.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true.”

  “Marketing is nothing like it was when I started. It’s a miracle I’ve lasted this long.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Help me. I need to bring in this story. Unless you know some other celebrity who’s been shamelessly lying to the world?”

  I feel a pulsing sensation in my forehead, the beginning of a migraine. I want to remind Sophie that Cassie kept a secret—Sophie’s secret—from her mother for years. But now is not the time to discuss the past. I have two children under my care.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie. I have to go.”

  She manages to get one sentence in before I hang up: “I’m counting on you, Julie.”

  I grew up under the weighty expectation of those words. Sophie has always counted on me. To cook dinner. Make my own doctor’s appointments. Go to the bank. Keep her secrets.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a low rumbling sound coming from the family room.

  When I walk in, Kiki and Ben are tumbling on the rug.

  “It’s not a laser beam,” Kiki screams. “It’s a princess stick!”

  “It’s called a scepter, dummy.” He’s fighting her off. An easy task since he’s double her size.

  “What’s going on in here?”

  They untangle themselves, and then both begin talking at the same time, each voice trying to drown out the other. Slowly, I’m able to piece together the reason behind their disagreement: a purple scepter that Ben tried to use as a sword—a grave offense as far as Kiki is concerned.

  “How about we play with something else?” I say.

  “No,” Kiki says, rubbing her eyes. Her chin is trembling.

  “But Morning Dew needs the stick,” I say.

  Kiki tilts her head to the side. “Who is Morning Dew?”

  “The pony,” I say. They’re both looking at me like I’ve gone mad. I widen my eyes as if in shock. “You guys don’t know the story of Morning Dew, the pony?”

  They shake their heads.

  “Oh. I thought all kids knew that story. Well, never mind, then. I guess Morning Dew will have to go to another house to play.”

  “No,” Kiki says, grabbing my hand. “Tell us the story.”

  Ben shoots me suspicious look. Clearly, he won’t be so easily convinced.

  “The thing is, we all have to hold this.” I pick up the scepter. “The way it works is I find out what Morning Dew is doing but only if three people are touching the magical object.” I take a seat on the couch.

  Ben takes a step closer and places his hand on the scepter. Kiki cuddles up next to me, wrapping her chubby fingers around the other side.

  “Oh, I can see her!” A pause. I make sure to frown. “Oh, no. She’s going into the Forbidden Forest. Don’t do that, Morning Dew.” From the corner of my eye, I watch as Ben nestles next to me.

  There’s a lot I can’t do, but this is my specialty. I know how to tell a story. It always starts with a character—in this case, Morning Dew—and then the tale takes on a life of its own, unraveling bit by bit until I reach a happy ending. (Happy endings are nonnegotiable.) I use different voices and sprinkle surprise twists. It’s something I learned from Nana. Even as an adult, I’d ask her to tell me bedtime stories.

  Ben and Kiki are so enrapt by Morning Dew’s story that they don’t hear Craig walk in. I do, though. Which is why I’m not the least bit surprised when he appears at the doorway, holding two large bags of takeout.

  “Can I interest anyone in dinner?” he says.

  Kiki and Ben both jump from the couch, yelling Daddy in unison as they race towards Craig. Soon, their trio is locked in an embrace. This has always been my catnip: watching families come together in rituals they take for granted. It’s a touching scene, but it is also heartbreaking. It hurts to be reminded of what I never had in my past.

  Especially when it looks like I’ll never have it in my future, either.

  Twenty-Three

  Cassie

  Friday, July 6th

  My first instinct is to duck. A ridiculous move, but one my body does, nonetheless.

  After composing myself, I cross the street and start following him. His gait is unchanged: entitled and indulgent. He’s never been shy about taking up space. His hair, which used to be copper like mine, is now faded into a rosy blond, but other than that, he looks the same, at least from afar. I keep a safe
distance between us, my eyes glued to his back. This only goes on for a few minutes, less than five. Long enough that I wonder what it is I hope to accomplish by trailing behind him. Answers elude me.

  He walks inside Second Nature Market. It’s across the street from The Fudge Company, mere steps away from my car. He won’t recognize it, of course—he has no idea what I drive. Still, I feel nervous. Unprotected.

  I lose him inside the market. It’s tiny but crowded. I could go in and look for him, but then he might see me. I don’t know how I’d react. We haven’t spoken since my mother’s funeral. When I do think of him, the images that pop up in my mind are enough to make my heart slip inside my throat. He is red-faced and angry, launching into a tirade, screaming and cursing at my mother. Or else he’s towering over her, his large, open palm about to strike her fragile face. In those moments, I’m back to being a child. Back inside the house on Claybrook Road, feeling trapped, cornered. Back under my father’s rule. Breathing becomes difficult. Thinking, too. As a psychologist, I know that this is a natural reaction to trauma, but identifying this does not offer me protection. It doesn’t even offer me relief.

  Moments later, he reappears—carrying a bouquet of yellow flowers. He gets in line to pay, fiddling with his phone as he waits. I should leave, or at least take a few steps back. But I don’t want to lose sight of him again.

  I don’t know what he’s doing here, but I know it can’t be good. Not for me.

  My father’s presence is never a good thing.

  All that I know about his life for the past fourteen years, I know from Nana. Knew from Nana. She insisted on keeping me updated, even though I never asked after him. In a nutshell: he lives in Seattle and is seeing “someone special,” a vegetarian who is responsible for his new and improved lifestyle, one that apparently involves leafy greens and yoga. Nana liked to say that he was a changed man. That he missed me. I never believed either claim.

  He is obviously here for Julie. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it right away. It shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Their relationship has always bothered me. Not because I had a problem sharing him. Just the opposite, actually—Julie and I didn’t share him.

  Mom and I were his official family, but Sophie and Julie were his home. Julie used to tell me how she loved waking up to the sound of him humming (he was not a hummer) and singing (he was definitely not a singer). He was happy in Jamaica Plain. He probably pretended that Sophie was his wife, and Julie his only daughter. After my mother’s funeral, I assumed he’d move in with Sophie. But he never did.

  I feel a spike of rage claw its way up my throat. He has no right to be here. Nana didn’t leave him anything. I asked Norman-the-lawyer about it, twice. Nana probably reasoned that he didn’t need it, not after inheriting my mother’s money. It angers me still to think that my father profited from their sham marriage.

  A thought occurs to me: if he’s here for Julie, then why is she babysitting today?

  Unless that was all for show. This makes sense: Julie didn’t want to tell me that our father was on the island, so she made up a story about looking after the handyman’s children. It probably wouldn’t take much to convince Craig to play along.

  I watch my father leave the market. He’s probably on his way to Julie. An image pops in my mind: Julie squealing in delight, flinging herself in his arms like a child, calling out Daddy. It’s how I’ve always pictured them together.

  He wouldn’t dare show up at the house—would he? If he does, I’ll kick him out. I don’t care that the house is half hers. I’ll call the police if I have to. I’m no longer a kid. He doesn’t scare me anymore. Or, rather, he does—but I’m not going to let fear paralyze me. Not anymore. As a child, all I could do was stand helplessly while he raged against my mother. I waited until he turned away to go to her. But now I’ll fight back.

  I am contemplating how I can keep him from Nana’s house when my eyes zoom in on the bouquet he’s holding. They’re sunflowers. Beautiful, yellow sunflowers.

  Julie’s favorite flowers.

  It takes me an hour to drive to Nana’s house. One hour and six minutes, to be precise. It’s my own fault. It’s both summer and a holiday—cars on the island reproduce like fruit flies. I should’ve stayed at the house. Or gone elsewhere for ice cream.

  I don’t notice his car until I pull up on Nana’s driveway. I feel a wave of euphoria rush over me as I unbuckle my seatbelt and leap out of the car.

  We kiss before we say anything, arms wrapped around each other.

  “Surprise,” Daniel whispers, as soon as our mouths are unlocked.

  “But I just talked to you.”

  “I was already on the highway. Stuck in traffic.”

  I pinch his arm. “You’re the worst.” I’m smiling so much my jaw hurts.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asks. “I have a room at the Surfside Inn.”

  “God, yes.” I lean in to kiss him again.

  The warmth of his breath sends tingles down my spine. It’s both like coming up for air and being deprived of oxygen. My senses at once are muffled and heightened. It’s such a high, losing myself in his arms like this. He’s a drug. Or love is, anyway. No wonder it’s terrified me for so long.

  I forget about Julie, about my father. About the stupid sunflowers I saw him buying.

  I forget about everything other than us.

  Twenty-Four

  Julie

  Friday, July 6th

  After dinner, Craig invites me to have a beer on his porch. He seems unpreoccupied and carefree, the opposite of what I’d expect someone to be after working at a bar all day. Nana used to compliment this about him, his perpetual good mood. She was right: I noticed him whistling as he set the table, then again as he did the dishes. He seems like a happy person.

  “Do you have plans for tomorrow?” he asks, smiling.

  “I don’t, why?” I set my beer on the table next to me. We’re sitting on two Adirondack chairs painted an ambiguous shade of yellow. It’s possible they used to be orange but by now they’ve faded—their surfaces are bubbly and flaky.

  “We’re going to a barbeque if you’d like to join. A late Fourth of July celebration since it fell on Hump Day this year.” His tone is casual, cheerful. It doesn’t sound like he’s just asked me on a date—so why is my stomach doing a somersault?

  This is stupid. I’m married. And Craig knows it. He probably just needs help with the kids. Or maybe he feels sorry for me, the loser with no friends and no plans.

  “I’d love that,” I say.

  “Should you run it by your sister?” Craig takes a sip of his beer.

  I’m about to say no when I catch his playful grin. Instead, I laugh.

  “I’m kidding,” he says. “She’s protective of you. It’s sweet.”

  “I wish,” I say, as I watch the sky turn from day to dusk.

  “I take it things aren’t going well?”

  “I mean, you heard us fighting.”

  A shrug. “Sometimes I feel like Ben and Kiki do nothing but fight.”

  Cassie and I didn’t used to fight that much as children. Probably because we only lived like sisters for three months out of the year. Also because I hero-worshipped Cassie.

  “Oh, I know. I had to break one up today.”

  “Thank you so much for today, by the way. You’re so good with them.”

  “It was my pleasure.”

  “You have to let me pay you.” It’s not the first time he’s insisted.

  “Absolutely not.” I shake my head. “You did so much work around the house for Nana. And you never let her pay you.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Different how?”

  A sheepish smile. “I don’t know. I liked taking care of Bertie. She was my neighbor. She was…family.”

  “And I enjoy taking care of Ben and Kiki.” I could tell him more. I could tell him that being around children does wonders for my spirit, that it feels both stimulating and comfortin
g, like someone is singing to my soul. But I don’t want him to pity my childless state.

  “It doesn’t feel right.” He shakes his head. “You’re in Montauk for the summer. You should be out, having fun.”

  “Trust me: this is me having fun.” What else am I supposed to do? Stay at the house, while Cassie treats me like I’m invisible? Spend the day lounging on the beach, consumed by my doubts about my marriage? Go shopping on Main Street to buy stuff I don’t need? I don’t have friends here. A few of Patrick’s friends’ wives are on the island—Stephanie and Tricia come to mind—but they’re all snobby and boring. I’d much rather spend time with Craig and his kids.

  “I can see why Nana loved them so much,” I say, hoping to move past the issue.

  “They really miss her.” He pauses. I’m gutted I never got to give her great-grandchildren. It warms my heart to know that she had Kiki and Ben. “I do, too,” he adds.

  “I know the feeling…”

  “It gets easier,” he says, his voice taking on a faraway quality.

  “Nana told me about Ann.” It’s strange, how much I know about Craig’s personal life. His wife’s battle with cancer. Her death. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.”

  Neither of us say anything for a while. I’m surprised at how comfortable I feel, sharing the silence with him. On paper, it’s been an unremarkable day: babysitting, having dinner, drinking a beer out on the porch. But there’s such comfort to this simplicity.

  “So, that elaborate story you were telling them when I walked in…Kiki told me it was about a pony called Mountain Dew?”

  “Morning Dew,” I say. “And it wasn’t elaborate.”