Take it to the Grave Bundle 1 Page 18
“Do you love him?”
“What kind of a question is that? He’s my husband.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I guess I love him. I don’t know. What does that mean, anyway, to love someone?” Agitated, I rise from the rocker to check on Elliot. It’s time to bring this increasingly awkward conversation to a close. We’ve already been in here too long. Warwick will return soon, if he hasn’t already. “Maybe I’m not capable of love anymore.”
“I don’t believe that for a second. You love Elliot,” Caleb points out as I watch my son sleep. It’s amazing how the sight of my child instantly relaxes me, no matter what chaos is happening around us.
“That’s different. He’s my son. It’s more complicated with a spouse.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“Says the expert. Funny how single people are always so smart about marriage.”
“You’re not happy. Everyone can see that. We’re all worried about you—me, Alice, Maisey.”
The humiliation of discovering they’ve been discussing me behind my back infuriates me. But of course they have. I’m the reason they’re here. If it weren’t for my invitation, this reunion would never have happened. How I wish I’d done things differently. How I wish I’d ignored Eleanor.
“I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary.” My tone adds another layer of frost to the arctic air.
“Hey, it’s not like that. Sarah, look at me.” When I ignore him, he takes hold of my chin, turning it to face him. Defiant, I stare at his chest, refusing to meet his eyes. “We haven’t been talking about this to pick on you. We want to help. We care about you.”
I laugh, but there’s little humor in it. “Since when? The last time I saw you, you said you didn’t love me. As I recall, you left me crying in the dirt. I haven’t heard from you since.”
“And nothing I can say will ever make that better. My only defense is that I was a kid back then. I didn’t always handle things well.”
“The understatement of the year award goes to...”
“I certainly didn’t know how to handle what I was feeling for you.”
I can’t catch my breath. What is he saying? After all this time, is he admitting he did love me?
Before I can react, he takes me into his arms, burying his face in the crook of my neck. The chemistry between us is undeniable. Electricity arcs through my body, making me tremble. At that moment, I want him with a passion I’d long assumed was dead. “Don’t do this, Caleb. Not now. I’m married.”
He draws back just enough to see my face. “I’m leaving the morning after the party. I really wish you would come with me.”
Maisey
I breathed in deeply, letting the early-morning salt air cleanse my lungs. It was just before dawn—I’d given up on sleep, elusive throughout the night as I’d tossed and turned. Elliot had spent most of the night crying. Again. The whole night was an agonising, twisted, confusing blur. I heard my nephew scream and wail, and I heard my sister and Warwick arguing in hushed tones. It was a sweet escape, to leave the house and come down to the beach. The sky was lightening, and for a moment I stood there on the wet sand, shifting my weight from one hip to the other, pointing my toes to the sky and bending down to stretch my quads and calf muscles. I’d been jogging for a while, and had paused to enjoy the show Mother Nature was putting on with her sunrise. The water reflected the stunning colours, the pinks and lilacs, with the waves a rhythmic lull against the shore. The gentle breeze was beautiful, with just a hint of night’s lingering embrace before the sun arrived and heated up the day. No matter how long I tried to stare at the sky, the water, and let the tranquillity soak into me, my mind wouldn’t allow it, and thoughts of Alice and her remarks from the day before kept bubbling to the fore to haunt me.
I took off running again, this time back toward the house. It was a fair distance away, not quite visible from where I was on the beach. I liked being away from it, from the oppressive pall that seemed to hang over all who slept there. Lycra took up so little room in my backpack, and was one of those fantastic wash-and-wear kind of fabrics. I loved to jog, and never went anywhere without some gym gear and my sneakers. Because no matter where you were in the world, you could always run.
I couldn’t shake my mother’s words from my mind. It was like a dark storm cloud, edging over my consciousness until all I could see, hear, think, was that situation with Frankie. Alice had said I’d pulled Frankie out of the pool. I shook my head as I lengthened my stride, shoulders back, my sneakers making a faint squelching noise on the wet, packed sand. I still couldn’t believe that she thought that, that that was the story she told when she talked about Frankie.
I forced myself to scan through my own memories again. It was something I was reluctant to do, and Lucy didn’t like it, either, but this time I ignored Lucy’s commands to leave it alone.
I blinked furiously as I jogged, my breaths coming in pants, my stride easily eating up the ground. I remember sitting at the kitchen table that morning, the tension so thick between my mother, my sister and me, while Peter blithely ate the bacon and eggs he’d insisted my mother prepare for him. I remember him leaving, and me just desperately wanting a hug from my mom, to be told that everything would be okay, yet I’d known, with crystal clarity, that things would never be okay. Peter had left on a business trip, but if Alice was still hurt when he returned, he’d ban me and my sister from seeing our mother. He always did, separating us when I think we needed each other the most. I think it was the not seeing her, and just not knowing how she was, how badly she was hurt this time, that always seemed to be the most agonizing part. I’d already seen enough that my imagination always went into overdrive. But this time, I could see her. In startling, hematoma Technicolor. And I couldn’t have imagined this. It shook me to my core. The man we lived with had done that.
I stumbled as the memory of a conversation I’d had with Sarah, murky and dark, interrupted my easy, loping stride. We’d been in the kitchen, and neither Alice nor Peter were home.
“It’ll be okay, Maisey. Don’t worry. We just need a plan.”
I hiked myself up onto the kitchen counter the way Peter had forbidden us to.
“We could kill him,” I’d suggested, only half joking.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sarah had said, laughing, and I laughed with her. She unwrapped the chocolate bar we’d pooled our pocket money to buy, and she broke it in half, giving one portion to me, and keeping the other for herself. My sister bit off a chunk, and then said around the gooey mess in her mouth,
“We’ve got to leave, you know that, don’t you? We need to get out of here. We could go to New York...?”
I shook my head and bit into the chocolate. Ah. The contraband was heavenly. Peter was very strict about when we could have treats. I made a mental note to hide the wrapper—he’d find it in the trash otherwise, and this secret indulgence would result in another session of being force-fed moldy cheese.
“We can’t leave her, Sarah. I can’t. I can’t leave Mom.” I looked up at Sarah and nearly choked on my chocolate at the look in her eyes.
Her shoulders had sagged, her mouth drooped, but it was her eyes, the light that just fizzled out, as though all hope was now lost. I felt horrible and mean for doing that to her, for robbing her of the escape she desired, the future she craved. It was so selfish, but I didn’t know which way to turn—help my sister escape, or stay and be there for Mom? Sarah was always so strong, though, so calm, and Mom... Mom was a basket case who couldn’t really look after us, let alone herself. If it came down to it, if Sarah stuck it out, she’d manage. She had the resilience. And if she left, she had the guts and grit to make it on her own. If we left Mom, though, Alice would fall to pieces. There would be nobody here to look after her.
“We could kill it,” I whispered, a
nd our gazes met. There was silence, a telling pause, and then my sister shook her head.
“No.”
I broke into a run, picking up speed as the water swept in along the shore, washing away the indentations my feet made behind me.
I don’t like sharing these memories, Lucy said harshly. Leave it alone.
I eyed the shoreline, trying to figure out where the path hit the beach, hidden as it was by sandbanks and scrubby vegetation. I tried to run faster, away from the pictures in my mind, as though I could run out of the mental cinema I’d created. It was like pulling back a curtain, a curtain that Lucy was struggling to hold on to, to keep what lay behind it hidden.
Don’t look, she hissed.
I wrenched the curtain away from her. My breath was coming in harsh pants now. I remembered.
I remembered lying by the pool in my one-piece—Peter never let us buy a bikini—and turning to look over at Frankie, playing on the other side of the pool fence with a toy. I knew some of my friends at school just loved the idea of having a baby in the house, and thought Frankie was so gosh-darn cute. I eyed his pale, skinny legs, the little runt that kept the whole house awake at night, and who made Peter beat Alice. Peter was so damn proud of having another son, and by association, my mother was proud because she’d bore Peter a son. Frankie was the apple of her eye, the one the adults doted on.
I had been the youngest. I had been the apple of my mother’s eye, before Frankie had come. Frankie took my place, shoving me out into the painful world of adolescence without the cherishing hugs and words I used to get from my mother. No, now he got them.
And I hated him for it.
I looked over to my mother, who hadn’t so much as drifted off to sleep as to have passed out. I rose from my own chaise longue to stand by the pool fence.
I sobbed, trying to gasp for breath.
I pushed that gate open, nice and slow so it didn’t creak, and I walked away. I turned back, just briefly, and saw my pale, runty little brother crawling over toward the swimming pool.
My arms were pumping by now, my feet hitting that packed sand hard, pounding against the forgiving surface. Tears streamed down my face, my vision blurring. I no longer saw the brightening colors of a majestic sunrise, or the tranquil roll and crash of waves against the shore.
I was in the kitchen, at the sink, filling a glass with water from the faucet when I heard the splash.
My lungs were burning, my muscles were burning, my tears were burning as those images replayed, once again in my mind, and I couldn’t outrun them. I never could.
The metal sink was cold beneath the hand I’d rested on the draining rack, my other hand was trembling as I drank from my glass, my eyes squeezing shut. I knew where my brother was, I knew what was happening to him. And I stayed at the sink, choking on that damn water. I don’t know how long had passed—it could have been seconds, it could have been several minutes—before guilt and panic finally broke past my internal barriers. I slammed the glass on the counter and bolted out the back door, running over to the pool and fishing my brother, limp and floating facedown, out of the pool. I’d lifted his body, so light, so puny in my arms, and raced upstairs to Sarah’s room. I was calling out to her, panic making my voice thin and quavering.
“I think I’ve killed the baby. You have to save the baby.”
* * * * *
Caleb’s shocking arrival has unleashed a flood of memories for both Maisey and Sarah, most of which they’d rather forget. But escaping your past isn’t an option when it’s never lost its grip on you...
Find out more in Episode 4 of
TAKE IT TO THE GRAVE,
available now!
“I KNOW YOUR SECRET. I’M GOING TO TELL.”
“A clever, creepy family drama, the tension builds and builds to the explosive end. Secrets, lies and scandals…you’ll never guess the truth!”
—New York Times bestselling author J.T. Ellison
“A growing sense of menace creeps through every page, leading to a nail biting final part!”
—USA TODAY bestselling author Sue Fortin
“Zoe Carter keeps the twists coming in this tale of two sisters whose dark pasts are slowly coming unraveled. An engaging story of lies, closet skeletons, and betrayal.”
—USA TODAY bestselling author Kimberly Belle
As Sarah Taylor-Cox stares at the anonymous letter, her body starts to shake with dread. She has everything to lose and now, the lies she’s built her life on are starting to crumble, one by deadly one…
AN ORIGINAL 6-PART PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER
THAT WILL HAVE READERS GUESSING TILL THE VERY END!
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 4 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 5 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
Take It to the Grave (Part 6 of 6)
by Zoe Carter
ISBN-13: 9781488084201
Take It to the Grave: Bundle 1
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Shannon Curtis and J. H. Moncrieff for their contributions to this work.
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Take It to the Grave (Part 1 of 6)
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Take It to the Grave (Part 2 of 6)
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Take It to the Grave (Part 3 of 6)
Copyright © 2017 by Harlequin Books S.A.
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