Take it to the Grave Bundle 1 Page 15

I should have known I couldn’t avoid him forever. I take the opportunity to get a closer look at him. He hasn’t aged much. He still looks like the same boy who deserted me when I was a teenager.

  There are so many things I want to ask him. Where have you been? Why did you leave us? Why did you buy Mom a house? But the sight of him, sitting near enough that I can smell his cologne, renders me speechless.

  “Hey, big guy. How are you doing?” He addresses Elliot, who blows a spit bubble in response. “Quite the conversationalist, I see.” Caleb grins at me. “He’s beautiful.”

  His tone is casual, but his eyes are anything but. Warwick is most likely watching us, but I’m transfixed by the look Caleb is giving me, unable to move. What is he thinking? Why did he come? Does he still feel anything for me? Elliot chirps, making us both laugh.

  “Thank you.” I hope he can’t tell what effect he has on me, how disconcerted I am. Why is he here? Why now, after all these years?

  “He gets his looks from his mom.” He leans over to kiss my cheek. “You’re absolutely glowing, Sarah. I’ve never seen you look more lovely. Motherhood agrees with you. Warwick is a lucky man.”

  Lowering my head to hide my flushed face, I concentrate on bouncing Elliot in my arms. It’s been so long since anyone complimented my appearance. To think I was embarrassed to have Caleb see me.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along. Alice mentioned the invitation, and I wanted to see my crazy sisters again. Besides, if I hadn’t come, I’d never have met the big guy here.” He tweaks Elliot’s toe, earning a squeal.

  “Of course not, don’t be silly. The more, the merrier.” As we smile at each other, it’s like no time has passed. He’s the same Caleb, the one I could always talk to. Before we’d become lovers, he’d been my best friend. “I’m glad you could come.”

  “Me, too. It’s great to see you.” He moves in to hug me, and Elliot lets loose with another squeal, kicking him in the chest. Caleb tickles his tiny foot. “Oh, you’re the bodyguard, eh? And I thought you were just a baby. My mistake.”

  I smirk. “No one sees him coming.”

  Caleb bursts out laughing. “He sure fooled me.” The naked admiration in his eyes makes me blush again.

  Careful. This is the man who hurt you. Who led you on and then broke your heart. Don’t let yourself get sucked in.

  I scan the veranda for Warwick, and find him sitting in the corner. Maisey is telling him one of her stories, but it’s obvious he’s not listening. His eyes bore into mine, and there’s something dangerous in them.

  I’ve seen that look before.

  He’s going to make me pay.

  Maisey

  I trudged down the path toward the beach, fanning myself with a straw hat Sarah had loaned me. Eleanor had reluctantly postponed the picnic due to my family’s arrival. I’d had a full day and night to adjust to the appearance of my mother and stepbrother, and I thought I was coping quite well, thank you.

  I skipped down a step, lagging a little behind Warwick and Sarah, who was pushing Elliot’s stroller as usual. I’d offered to look after the stroller, just to give Sarah a break, but she’d declined, saying she didn’t mind. Then Eleanor Taylor-Cox had said something about how pushing and pulling that small weight might help tone her arms, so I left the subject alone, quietly horrified that my sincere attempt to make things easier for my sister had resulted in providing her in-laws a further opportunity to body-shame her.

  We were all going on a picnic. I know, that’s supposed to sound lighthearted and fun, right? Edward and Eleanor were present, as were Caleb and Alice, along with some other friends who’d arrived for the christening and were staying in town. Some of them were reasonably nice. Most of them were snooty, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I’d see them often once the christening was over.

  I eyed my sister as she walked in front of me. Honestly, I don’t know what the Taylor-Coxes were going on about. Sure, my sister might be a little more curvaceous than I remembered, but she was a mother, and I thought she looked beautiful. I’d always thought my sister was beautiful, but there was something about her now, some inner light, especially when she looked at her son, that was arresting. So she was carrying a couple of extra pounds—she wasn’t plump, she wasn’t overweight, she was obviously exercising up a storm. Again, my sister was gorgeous, with a hunk of a husband, a beautiful baby boy, who was now cooing in his stroller, and a home that had a pathway to their own private beach. Life was good for her.

  Ahead of me, Sarah swerved to avoid a rock, and Warwick pulled her back toward him. For the first time I noticed how my brother-in-law’s fingers dug into my sister’s arm. The skin bulged slightly as his grip tightened. Sarah glanced up at him briefly, then ducked her head.

  I frowned. My sister seemed...cowed. I blinked, uncomfortable at the thought. My sister, the one who’d clutched my hand and told me not to worry, who’d always seemed so brave in the face of whatever nightmare was heading our way, was subdued. Concern tightened my lips.

  No, I didn’t want to be concerned about my sister. I was too busy wallowing in jealousy and self-pity, thank you. Still, Warwick’s grip didn’t lighten, and my sister’s head didn’t rise up to meet his gaze. Cold worry coiled in my gut. Something was wrong. I shouldn’t be the one agonizing over whatever hell was going on with my sister. It should be the other way around. I was the kid sister, the one without a permanent job, who flitted from one country to another. She was always coming to my rescue. But now, I wanted to go rescue her. All was not right with the world, and I didn’t like it, not one bit. When all was not right, I got worried. I got scared. And then I’d turn to Lucy.

  I glanced behind me, and I smiled when I saw the silver fox himself, Edward, treading down the path behind me. Yes, he was eyeing my legs, and probably my ass, too. So the family resemblance extended past the physical. Lucy made me add a little swing to my hips.

  “Have you been out playing tennis again, Edward?” I asked, and it was Lucy’s throaty, flirty little voice that emerged.

  “No.” Edward chuckled. “But maybe I should have,” he said, patting his stomach.

  “Oh, come on, you’re in great shape,” Lucy crooned, and Edward damn near preened. I winked, then hurried up to Warwick and Sarah, inserting myself between them so that Warwick was forced to relinquish his grip on my sister. I curled my arm around his, and gazed up at him, Lucy’s coquettish smile on my lips.

  “Tell me, Warwick dearest, about your job. You must be so good it at.”

  Warwick arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Well, of course! You could have been a movie star, what with those gorgeous baby blues...but you’ve obviously been very smart with your work—I mean, look at this place,” Lucy purred, gesturing back to the house and then to the sea.

  “Oh, well, sure, I work hard, but I also play hard.”

  Lucy giggled. “Of course, because all work and no play would make Warwick a dull boy, and you certainly are not dull.” Lucy tapped him playfully on the arm. “So come on, tell me, what do you do?”

  And just like that, Warwick started to tell me about his work. I asked—or rather, Lucy did, because she’s so much better at this than I am—appropriate questions when there was a lull, but really, the man needed no encouragement to talk about himself. I nodded, trying to look interested when he started talking about funds management and investment portfolios, but got slightly distracted when Alice stumbled on the path in front of us as she leaned over to smell a flower, although she didn’t spill a drop of the drink she was carrying.

  Caleb caught her, though, and my mother’s laugh tinkled in the breeze as he threaded her arm through his, and they walked on, stopping occasionally to sniff or admire a flower, watch a butterfly, chase a lizard... I don’t know. It seemed my mother was wearing her invisible rose-colored glasses, and was pausing in wide-
eyed wonder at pretty much everything. Including an interesting shell pattern on the ground that I didn’t have the heart to tell her was seagull poop.

  Caleb, as always, was the perfect gentleman, pausing alongside her to admire seagull poop as though it was perfectly normal and fascinating. His limp was a little more noticeable on the uneven track down to the beach. I noticed Warwick’s talking had ceased.

  Lucy battered her eyelashes at him. “But how do you manage to stay in such good shape?”

  And damned if he didn’t preen just like his father. Warwick started to talk again.

  We continued along the path, sand beginning to creep into my sandals the closer we got to the beach. I looked down at my toes, then slid my gaze across to my sister.

  She was a little more relaxed, a little more at ease. She lifted her face up to the sun, squeezing her eyes closed for just the briefest of moments, a small smile curling her mouth, then she opened her eyes and focused on... Caleb. My sister glanced down at her son in the stroller, maneuvered it over a branch and then looked up again. At Caleb.

  Lucy kept Warwick distracted as my sister kept eyeing the man who was the only thing between my mother walking upright or face-planting in the sand.

  Trudging across the sand was a bit of hard work, and Warwick helped Sarah by lifting the front of the stroller, but we finally found a spot that Eleanor Taylor-Cox deemed suitable for our picnic, in the lee of a sand hill.

  Patrick and Bridget (because what beach picnic is complete without the servants) laid out the blankets, and we sat as they started to pull out the prepared food from the coolers and baskets. I—or rather, Lucy—nodded and waved to some of the other guests. It seemed a little awkward for a few moments, and the conversation lulled as people settled themselves and stared at each other.

  I tilted my head back, holding the borrowed straw hat to my head, closed my eyes and inhaled. “Oh, this is so heavenly,” Lucy stated. “It smells so much better than rotting fish and dirty water.” I cracked open my eyes, and realized I’d caught nearly everyone’s attention, and smiled. Lucy loved this sort of thing. I started to regale them with the story of when I’d fallen into a river in India, and there were so many shudders and groans and pained chuckles, but by the end of it, everyone was laughing. I loved it. Lucy had the knack of entertaining, and she relished the attention.

  I started telling the story about the Greek police, and I watched absently as Elliot gurgled happily on the rug.

  “And then the authorities got involved and suddenly—”

  Alice squealed softly, cuddling him close. “Just like my Frankie,” she said, rubbing her nose against his.

  I stopped talking. For a moment I just stared at my mother, until I saw that everyone was looking at me. Their expressions were a mix of anticipation and confusion, but I couldn’t catch my train of thought. Lucy left me to scramble, disappearing in a puff of shock, and I tried to recover the conversation, but all I could focus on was Alice.

  My mother held Elliot up, smiling at him. “So like my Frankie,” she murmured. Again. And again. I wanted to cover my ears; I wanted to scream at her to stop, to shut up.

  Eleanor sighed, her mouth pulling into a prim little point. “Frankie? Will Frankie be joining us as well for the christening?” I could hear the cool, haughty tone, like a diamond cutting glass, as though waiting for another inconvenient appearance from Sarah’s family.

  Alice smiled sadly and shook her head. “No,” my mother said. “Frankie died.”

  My jaw slackened. Absolute silence rippled throughout the group, my ears ringing with it. Eleanor’s mouth gaped open and closed like one of those dying fish in India, and her cheeks reddened.

  “I—I didn’t know... Sarah never mentioned...” The haughty social matriarch stumbled over her faux paus, and darted a quick glare at my sister as though it was her fault for not telling her every dirty little secret in our family. A movement caught my eye, and Warwick had turned to look questioningly at my sister, his surprise evident.

  God, we need to stop this, Lucy whispered.

  Lucy was back, over her shock. This was horrible, a train wreck of cosmic proportions. I needed to shut my mother up, stop her from taking us down that bad acid trip.

  Shut her up, Maisey, Lucy warned.

  “Why don’t I mix us some cocktails?” My voice was strident in its chirpiness, but the whole vibe of the group had lowered, and even I heard how clumsy and out of place my query was.

  Eleanor quickly recovered her composure, and leaned over to place her hand on Alice’s knee. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”

  Alice cradled Elliot in her lap, and he squirmed. Alice placed him back in the stroller. “I am. I’m so surprised Sarah didn’t tell you about our Frankie. He was such a lovely little brother.” Sarah reached down and picked Elliot up.

  I stared in horror as my mother repositioned herself, leaning to one side.

  Tell her to stop, Maisey, Lucy pleaded.

  I shook my head. How?

  “He was such a perfect angel,” Alice said quietly, a sad little smile on her face as she gazed around at the group of people she’d only met that morning, for crying out loud. “He was so good, such a content little baby.”

  I tried not to choke too loudly. I wanted to wake myself from this dream, have the sand swallow me whole in some freak sinkhole accident.

  “He was a little older than Elliot—but not much. Eight months.” The woman opposite me continued with her cute little horror story. “It was a hot day, a little hotter than today,” she reminisced, each word like a cold little hailstone in my mind, “and I’d just gotten out of the pool with my darling little boy. He loved the water.” Alice laughed. “He loved the water almost as much as he loved his daddy, and then he was just playing happily on the mat.”

  My head shook, just a little, in denial at this almost-pleasant storytelling. I hadn’t thought about that day in so long. I didn’t want to think about it now. It was funny. I had perfect recall of the events leading up to that day. Later, though, I couldn’t remember a damn thing.

  Make her stop, Maisey. Lucy’s voice was trembling with anger.

  I looked over at my sister, waiting for her to shut this conversation down, to divert everyone’s attention, hell, to call bullshit on my mother’s recollections. But my sister had this serene, trancelike expression on her face, her eyes glazed as though maybe she was thinking of something else that was so obviously not my baby brother. What the hell?

  My mother had miraculously turned her wonder glasses on to that so-painful memory, but that was so not how it went down, as though it was some halcyon day of a summer past. Fuck me.

  My mother hadn’t mentioned the fight the previous night—no, wait, a fight implied conflict, as though two forces were working against each other, but that wasn’t the case. No, my mother just curled up and took the beating Peter was dishing out, so perhaps fight wasn’t the right word. She almost died that night, I’m sure of it. She was definitely gasping for breath, writhing on the floor as she struggled to survive. I think he must have broken a rib or two.

  My stomach twisted at breakfast the next morning, that sickening, macabre show where we all had to pretend that it was perfectly normal for my mother to sit at the table, wheezing and wavering in her seat, her slow, trembling movements as she got his breakfast ready. Then he’d kissed her on the mouth, pulling her tight against him, ignoring her whimper of pain. Peter was going on a business trip to San Francisco, and Sarah and I were so looking forward to it, to him not being in the house... It was as though the house began to breathe again when Peter left on one of his trips.

  But not this morning. No, there was still this quiet, gut-churning tension as Peter’s car pulled out of the driveway. The heat was oppressive inside the dark house. Outside, the sun beating down, and the cicadas buzzing in the bushes outside. My
mother lowered herself onto the chaise longue, hissing in pain, bruises all over her body—and more beneath the one-piece swimsuit she wore, I’d bet. Her face was untouched, though. Peter had learned, after the incident where he’d knocked her out against the oven, that people asked when they saw bruises. But he could do whatever he wanted if they didn’t see the bruises. My mother almost collapsed on the chaise longue, moving so gingerly, keeping her legs closed and curled up to her chest.

  I’d heard her screaming, last night, heard Peter grunting, the headboard banging against the wall. I’d tried to pull the pillow over my head, but even through that I could hear her screech as my stepfather raped my mother.

  I was staring at the woman out by the pool, so damaged, so hurt, and underneath my worry and concern had been a disbelief—and, if I dared to admit it to myself, a disappointment. This woman bore such little resemblance to the mother I remembered from when I was younger, from when my father was still alive. That warm, lively and loving woman had been replaced by this hollowed-out, pained and hurting husk of an individual, a submissive shell. And I’d felt shame for recognizing that, for wanting more from her than she was capable of giving, of being. It wasn’t her fault, and yet, sometimes, the anger would blind me, and I would have those brief moments when I blamed her...which made me hate myself—and her—even more.

  These memories overlaid the current situation, and I noticed Alice was still talking.

  “You don’t need to go on if it’s too painful,” Eleanor murmured, sliding her hand down my mother’s arm in what I could only assume was a unusual gesture of comfort from the woman, or perhaps it was a quiet suggestion to discontinue such a highly emotional and personal disclosure at a Taylor-Cox event. Alice was never very good at picking up nuances, though.

  “Oh, I don’t mind telling you, we’re family,” Alice responded, and I could see some of the other guests at the picnic shifting, uncomfortable and awkward with the intimate vulnerability and pain that was being shared with them. I just wanted to crawl inside myself and rock. “That’s the last memory I have of Frankie, that day by the pool.” Alice shook her head sadly. “I made a mistake that day, a fatal one. I was so tired, especially after that swim, and I fell asleep with the swimming pool gate open.” Alice turned to Sarah, her smile so tremulous. “You’re always so tired when you have a baby.” She turned back to Eleanor, who was now looking politely horrified at the story that was unfolding.