The Sister Effect, page 2
Mostly. He hadn’t seen his brother in six months, which had made the holidays awkward. His family was small—just his mom, him and his brother, with Antonio as an adopted member. Gil’s affair with Lauren had rocked their family dynamics nearly as much as his father’s death eight years ago, shattering their small world. Their mother had taken Jericho’s side—at least at first. Lately, she’d been making noises about a reconciliation. As Gil and Lauren were still a thing, he wasn’t ready to pull that particular trigger just yet.
“Dennis is a really good matchmaker,” Antonio murmured.
“Did I say no? I’m kind of sure I said no. I can get my own women.”
“Yes, but you won’t.”
“Now who’s pouting?”
The first five notes of “La Cucaracha” played outside, announcing the arrival of the food truck. Antonio’s face brightened.
“Lunchtime. You’re buying.”
“Somehow I’m always buying.”
“You’re the rich developer. I’m a struggling artist. It’s only fair.”
“You have a successful design business. And if that wasn’t enough, your husband is a partner at a fancy, high-priced law firm. You married money.”
Antonio laughed. “Wasn’t that smart of me?”
Jericho followed him out of the trailer. “You would have married him if he was broke and homeless. You love him.”
“I do and now we need to find someone for you to love. Not another redhead. That last one was a total disaster.”
“I’m not sure the failure of our marriage had anything to do with the color of her hair.”
“Maybe not, but why take the chance?”
* * *
After dinner, Aubrey helped Finley clean the kitchen. In truth the eight-year-old spent more time talking than putting things away, but Finley was fine with that—she enjoyed the company. Besides, she wanted Aubrey to know she was interested in her day, her school, her friends, that every detail mattered. The first five years of her niece’s life had been tumultuous. As long as Finley was Aubrey’s guardian, she was going to make sure the little girl felt safe and loved.
“Harry said his family is going to Disneyland this summer,” Aubrey announced in a reverent tone. “For a whole week!”
“Doesn’t Harry have a lot of brothers?”
“Four. He’s the second youngest. But Disneyland! Have you ever been?”
“I haven’t,” she admitted, trying to ignore the inevitable destination of the conversation. “Are they flying to Los Angeles or driving?”
Aubrey carried a plate from the kitchen table to the counter. “I don’t know. Is it far?”
“Over a thousand miles.”
Aubrey’s blue eyes widened. “The drive would take forever.”
“A couple of days.” Maybe more with five kids requiring bathroom breaks at different times. Not that flying would be all that much easier, although the getting-there part would go faster.
“We should go,” Aubrey told her. “We’d have the best time.”
Finley continued to load the dishwasher. “We would, but that’s a big trip.” It would also be expensive and Finley didn’t think she could swing it.
“It could be you and me and Grandma and Mommy.”
Travel with Sloane—that was so not happening.
“Did you finish your reading?” she asked, hoping to distract her niece.
“Uh-huh. And I did my math sheet. We get our new spelling list tomorrow. I wonder what the words will be.”
“I don’t know, but they’ve been getting bigger every time.”
Aubrey spun in a circle. “I saw that, too! Last week we had evidence and conclusion. Those were hard.”
“But you learned them.” Finley smiled. “I’m proud of you, baby girl.”
Aubrey rushed toward her and flung her arms around Finley’s waist. Finley wiped her wet hands on her jeans, then held on tight.
“I love you, Finley.”
“I love you, too. You’re my best girl.”
As quickly as the emotional encounter had begun, it was over, with Aubrey dancing away, singing the words to the song “Physical” because she and her grandma were all about the eighties.
Once the dishwasher was on and the counters wiped down, Aubrey raced upstairs to pick out her coloring project for the evening. Book and crayons in hand, she settled on the floor in front of the big coffee table. She and Finley discussed viewing options, finally settling on The Brady Bunch reruns for an hour before she read until bedtime. Finley debated joining her, but there was laundry to do and she should probably scrub the bathroom she and Aubrey shared—normally a Saturday chore, but she’d been working extra hours the past couple of weeks.
She’d made it halfway up the stairs when she heard her mom call her.
“Finley, I need to talk to you.”
An innocuous statement, she told herself, even as her shoulders tensed.
She followed her mother into the fourth bedroom-slash-home office at the back of the house. Bins filled with summer clothes were stacked next to boxes of Christmas decorations. Finley sat on the double bed while her mom took the desk chair.
Molly McGowan might only be a few months from her fifty-fifth birthday, but she could still pass for a woman in her midforties, although time and disappointment had blurred her once beautiful features until now she was merely attractive. Finley told herself that one of the advantages of being average was there was no great beauty to fade, which was a plus for her. She wasn’t looking for one more problem to solve.
Her mother pressed her lips together, then exhaled sharply. Finley’s shoulders tightened even more and she started to regret the second helping of enchiladas at dinner as her stomach shifted uneasily. Whatever Sloane had done now was going to be Finley’s problem to solve, she thought grimly. It always was.
“I heard from your grandfather.”
Finley registered the words, but had trouble processing their exact meaning. She only had one grandfather, her mother’s father. He had been a central figure in her and Sloane’s lives until he sued Molly for custody of her children. At thirteen and fifteen, the sisters had been old enough to be asked where they wanted to live. Molly had warned them if they didn’t choose her, they would never see her again—a terrifying prospect. What no one had predicted was when they said they wanted to stay with their mom that their maternal grandfather would turn his back on them, figuratively and literally, and disappear from their lives forever.
“I don’t understand,” Finley said. “He called you? It’s been twenty years and he called now?”
Her mother nodded. “He’s older and not doing well. Apparently he’s been ill for a while, in and out of nursing homes.”
She sat perfectly still, except for her fingers as she spun the ring on her right index finger. A sure sign she had something to say that Finley didn’t want to hear.
“Is he dying?” she asked. “Do you need to go see him?” She paused. “Where does he even live?”
“Phoenix. He moved to Arizona. You know, after.”
“After? Mom, he tried to take away your kids. He dragged us all to court, then when he didn’t get his way, he deserted us. He said no matter what he would be there for us and take care of us and then he was gone. Just gone.”
Molly spun the ring faster. “It was a long time ago.” She looked away, then back at Finley. “He’s going to be moving in with us. I’ve invited your grandfather to stay.”
“You what?”
Finley found herself standing with no memory of having moved. She stared at her mother, raised both arms, then dropped them to her sides.
“He’s coming here? To this house?” Remembering Aubrey on the other side of the wall, she lowered her voice. “You said we could never forgive him for what he did. You said we’d hate him forever. He left us, Mom. All of us.”
“He did, you’re right. But that was a long time ago and things change.”
Finley sank back on the bed. “We haven’t heard from him. He never reached out, not once.”
“He has now. He called me. He’s old and alone and he’s my father.”
Which was very compassionate, Finley thought, and probably the right moral position, but she simply wasn’t that forgiving. Because when her grandfather had lost the case and gotten so cold and angry, she’d been the one to run to him, grab his hand and beg him to understand why she’d had to pick her mother. She’d been the one to tell him she loved him. She’d pleaded with him to not be mad. But instead of seeing things through the eyes of his thirteen-year-old granddaughter, he’d pulled free of her grip and walked away.
Finley remembered collapsing onto the hard floor of the courthouse and sobbing as if her heart were breaking. Because it was.
She waited for weeks to hear from him. She’d called, but his phone was disconnected. The letters she’d written him had been returned. Six months after that horrible day, her mother had informed her that Lester had left the state without a word to any of them.
“He’s moving in next week,” her mother told her, pulling her back to the present. “This will be his room, so it needs to be cleaned out.”
Her mom kept talking, but Finley wasn’t listening. Next week? How could it happen so fast?
She wanted to say no, that she didn’t approve, but this wasn’t her house and therefore it wasn’t her decision.
“I know you’re upset,” her mother said. “But I have to do this. For my future.”
“I don’t understand.”
Her mother looked away. “He’ll put us back in the will if he can live here. It’s not a fortune, but it will mean a little financial security for me. I’m not getting any younger.”
Finley forced herself to stay seated and keep her mouth shut. Screaming wouldn’t help the situation. In her head, she understood that all her mom had was this house. She didn’t make much at the college and her students paid practically nothing for their acting classes.
But to have Lester come and live here? There had to be another way.
“Do this for me,” her mother said, meeting her eyes, her gaze intense. “I gave up everything for you and your sister. Do this for me.”
“You can just ask,” Finley told her, tasting bitterness on her tongue. “You don’t have to use guilt.”
“You’re not always reasonable. Besides, guilt works on you.”
Finley ignored that. “What about Aubrey? I don’t want him hurting her.”
“Dad will be great with her. Look how much he loved you and Sloane.”
“Until he didn’t.”
Her mother rose. “Your life would be much easier if you learned how to forgive.”
“I’m very forgiving. I just expect people to earn it a little.”
Molly started to say something, then shook her head. “You’ll clean out the room?”
Finley stood and looked around. “Do you want to keep the desk in here?”
“No. It takes up too much room. There’s that dresser in the basement. Let’s put that in here instead and put the desk downstairs.”
“I’ll take care of that and the boxes.”
Her mother touched her arm. “I need this, Finley. Not just for the money, but because he’s my father and I miss him.”
“I miss him, too, but we weren’t the ones to walk away. That’s on him.”
“It’s been twenty years. Try to let it go.”
Two
“Sloane, you’ve been quiet. Would you like to share?”
Sloane McGowan glanced at the forty-something woman gazing at her expectantly.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Sloane said, her expression deadpan. She paused. “Oh, wait. Wrong meeting.”
The ten people sitting in a loose circle in the small meeting room at the community center all laughed. Well, not all of them, Sloane thought, meeting Minnie’s unamused gaze.
“Is that a no?” Minnie asked.
Someone needs to get laid, Sloane thought. Or possibly an enema. Sloane turned her attention to her fellow attendees and smiled brightly.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Sloane.”
“Hi, Sloane,” they said dutifully.
“I’m a recovering alcoholic.” She did a mental count. “And I’m forty-seven days away from being one year sober.”
A few people clapped.
“I’m very focused on the year,” she added. “There’s something about the passage of time that makes it feel significant. Like, hey, I have a year. And a new chip.”
There were smiles and more laughter. Not, of course, from Minnie. Maybe her very ugly, sensible shoes hurt her big feet.
“I feel like once I have the year, I’ll have accomplished something meaningful. I need to prove I can stay sober that long, not so much to other people, but to myself.”
She wanted to say being sober a year would make her feel normal, but she knew better than to say that particular word to this crowd. Normal wasn’t considered a healthy goal—mostly because it wasn’t tangible and was possibly unobtainable. Seriously, did anyone have a good definition of normal? She knew she didn’t. Unlike one year sober—that was an achievement even Minnie could approve of.
Sloane quickly lost interest in that depressing line of thought and in the sharing, so she added the emotional postage stamp that would cause Minnie to move on to someone else.
“One day at a time, right?”
Right on cue, Minnie thanked her for speaking and sought out another victim.
When the hour was nearly up, everyone stood and joined hands before reciting the Lord’s Prayer. Sloane’s favorite part was about forgiving trespasses, a lesson her sister needed to learn. The prayer finished, she picked up her bag and started for the door, only to have Minnie step between her and freedom.
“Sloane, do you have a second?”
“Sure. What’s up?”
Minnie, maybe five-four, wearing hideous stretchy pants and an unflattering oversize sweatshirt, waited until they were alone in the room. Sloane fought against the need to crack a joke—humor was often the best defense in any tense situation. But she knew Minnie lacked any appreciation of funny.
As far as Sloane knew, Minnie had been chairing this particular meeting since the founding of AA. Maybe longer. Same place, same time, same Minnie. She followed the rules, kept discussion on track and wasn’t especially moved by the tragedy wrought by those who gave in to the evils of alcohol. At one time she must have been a drunk herself, but Sloane honestly couldn’t see it.
“How are you doing?” Minnie asked, her gaze intense enough to make Sloane want to fidget.
“I’m great.”
Minnie waited expectantly.
Sloane held in a groan. “I’m doing what I need to do. I’m here six days a week. Not on Saturday,” she added, even as she told herself she was under no obligation to tell Minnie anything about her personal life yet found herself adding, “I pick up my daughter after work.” No way she was cutting into that time for a meeting.
“I’ve said this before,” Minnie told her. “You need a sponsor.”
“You haven’t told me before. You’ve told me three hundred times before.” Sloane offered a winning smile—the one that had gotten her out of tickets and into exclusive clubs. “Minnie, I’m doing great. Seriously. I’m coming up on a year sober. I’m working the steps, going to meetings, hanging out with people who get the problem and are there to help. I’m taking care of my kid, holding down a job. You’re so sweet to worry, but I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’re going through the motions.”
“I thought we weren’t supposed to judge.”
Minnie ignored that. “You’re a smart ass, which can be entertaining, but you’re funny to the point where other people are uncomfortable about needing to be serious. You set the tone of the meeting.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“You’re vivacious and compelling.”
While Sloane liked the words, she felt dissed somehow. Her chest tightened. “Are you telling me to find another meeting?” Could Minnie do that? Kick her out? Weren’t there rules?
Minnie sighed. “No. Of course not. I’m saying you need a sponsor and you need to take your sobriety seriously. You were right before when you said a year was a big deal.”
Sloane waited for the rest of the sentence, but Minnie seemed to be done speaking.
“All righty, then,” she murmured. “Thanks for the pep talk.”
She stalked out the door and to her car, annoyance bubbling inside her. Stupid cow, she thought as she jerked open the driver’s-side door. Once she was behind the wheel, she took a couple of deep breaths.
Maybe it was time to find another meeting. Or skip them altogether. She was doing so great—it had taken a while, but she was getting her life back together. Yay, her. And if Minnie couldn’t see that, then maybe she was the bigger problem.
“I could so go for a cocktail.”
The words were unexpected and totally heartfelt. In the half second before their meaning registered, Sloane mentally searched for the best place to find an Old Fashioned or a Manhattan at one in the afternoon on a—
“Crap!”
She jerked her mind away from the image. What was she thinking? She didn’t drink. She was sober and in recovery. No cocktails, no bars, no liquor of any kind.
She pulled her keys out of her bag and was surprised to see her hands were shaking. She took a couple of deep breaths before inserting the engine key and turning it. As she backed out of the parking space, she thought about the errands she was going to run. She had to pick up groceries and she wanted to stop by the craft store to get some beads for Aubrey’s visit on Saturday. Only both seemed fraught right this second.
“Stupid Minnie,” she muttered, knowing the safest decision was to simply go home and wait it out. In an hour or two, she would feel better. If she didn’t, well, she would talk to a friend or find another meeting. She had forty-seven days until her year and there was no way she was going to blow it.
