Sisters Like Us Read online

  He set two plates on the table, then sat across from her. A pot of herbal tea sat in the center of the table. She poured them each a cup. Kit wouldn’t drink coffee in front of her although she guessed he had it when she wasn’t around.

  “Harper called,” he said. “She invited us over for dinner tomorrow night. Becca will be home from the memorial.” He frowned. “Who is Great-Aunt Cheryl? She didn’t come to the wedding.”

  “She’s not related to Harper and me. She was Terence’s great-aunt, but she and Harper were always close, which our mother found threatening. Great-Aunt Cheryl was an army nurse during World War II and some kind of spy in the 1950s. She raised dogs.”

  “Like poodles?”

  Stacey smiled at her husband. “No, these were specially trained dogs used in spy missions. Apparently their training was far more advanced than regular military canines. I tried to get her to talk about her work, but she said it was all top secret and I didn’t have clearance. Still, what she did tell me was fascinating to hear about. I was most intrigued by the lack of morality involved. When someone is trained to kill, there are psychological ramifications, but with animals, there is simply the task. Pushing a button that will ultimately arm a bomb requires little more than the command and subsequent reward for good behavior.”

  Kit chuckled. “That’s my girl, always with the cheerful breakfast conversation.”

  “So much of life is interesting to me.”

  “I know, and you are interesting to me. Now, about the elephant in the room...”

  She automatically glanced at the calendar on the wall. It was about one square foot and rather than show the date, it counted up to 280. Kit tore off a sheet each morning. Today was day 184.

  Stacey involuntarily put her right hand on her round belly. Right hand rather than left because she was right hand dominant and therefore would be in a better position to protect with said right hand. Not that there were any threats in the room—they came from outside the haven that was their home.

  Her gaze returned to her husband. Kit’s kind expression never changed. His brown eyes danced with amusement from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, his mouth smiled at her. He needed a haircut because he always needed a haircut.

  They’d met nearly three years ago, when Stacey had spoken at the Mischief Bay High School career day. As a science teacher, Kit had reached out to Stacey’s biotech company and asked for someone to address his students. He’d specifically requested a woman to inspire the young women in his classes.

  Stacey had volunteered. She spoke regularly at conferences and symposiums, so had no fear of talking in front of a crowd. Lexi, her assistant, had helped her put together a presentation that assumed little or no knowledge of disease pathology, or science, for that matter. The students had appeared interested but the bigger surprise of the day had been meeting Kit.

  She’d found herself flustered in his presence and when he’d invited her out for coffee, she’d accepted. Coffee had turned into a long weekend and by the end of their third week together, he’d moved in with her.

  She had never been swept away before, had never fallen so completely for anyone. More importantly, she’d never felt so accepted by a man who wasn’t family.

  In the vernacular of the day, he got her. He understood how her brain worked and wasn’t the least bit intimidated by her intelligence or success. When regular life confused her, he was her buffer. He was normal. Just as important, he took care of her in a thousand little ways that made her feel loved. While she tried to do the same with him, she was confident she failed spectacularly, but Kit never seemed to mind.

  “I’ll tell her,” she murmured, getting back to the topic at hand.

  “Technically you don’t have to. In about ninety-six days you’ll pop out the baby. I’m pretty sure Bunny will be able to figure it out from the broad strokes. You know, when she holds her granddaughter for the first time.” He paused to sip his tea. “Unless you weren’t going to say anything then. I mean, we can wait until Joule learns to talk and we can let her tell Bunny herself. Most kids start forming sentences around eighteen months or so but with your genes floating around in our daughter, she will probably be on her second language by then. I say we let her tell her grandmother who she is.”

  She knew Kit was teasing. She also knew the problem was of her own making. She’d been the one to put off telling her mother she was pregnant. She’d told Harper right away because Harper was her sister and they’d always been there for each other. Harper was easy and accepting and would understand. Bunny wouldn’t. Bunny had very clear ideas on what women should or shouldn’t do in their lives and Stacey was confident she’d violated every one she could so far. Having a child would only make things worse.

  One week had slipped into two. Time had passed. Stacey had told Kit she was going to wait until after the amniocentesis, but they’d had the results weeks ago and still Stacey hadn’t said anything to her mother.

  She got up and circled the table. Kit pushed back enough for her to collapse on his lap. He wrapped his arms around her as she hung on, burying her face in his shoulder.

  “I’m a horrible daughter,” she whispered.

  “You’re not. You’re wonderful and I love you. As for Bunny, if she can’t take a joke, then screw it.” He touched her cheek until she looked at him. “Stacey, I’m serious. You do what you want. I’m with you. If you don’t want to tell Bunny ever, then that’s okay. I’m just trying to point out, she will find out at some point, and the longer you wait, the harder it’s going to be.”

  “It’s already hard.”

  “I told you so,” he said gently, before kissing her. “Go finish your breakfast.”

  “I will. I love you, too.”

  He smiled at her. She returned to her seat and began to eat. Because she had to stay healthy for the baby. She was comfortable being a vessel—she could do the vessel thing. It was the idea of parenting that tormented her. Who was she to think she could be a mother? She wasn’t like other women—she didn’t want what they wanted. She had different priorities, which she probably could have lived with, if not for her mother.

  Because Bunny knew Stacey wasn’t like everyone else and she had no trouble pointing out that fact. Once she found out about the baby... Well, Stacey could only imagine.

  “I’ll tell her tomorrow at dinner,” she said.

  “Good for you.”

  Which was his way of saying There is not a snowball’s chance in hell I believe you, but sure, say it because it makes you feel better.

  “She’s going to be mad I waited so long.”

  “That she is.” He smiled at her. “But don’t worry. I won’t let her hurt you. I promise.”

  She knew he meant what he said—that he would do his best to protect her. The problem wasn’t that her mother would physically abuse her—the problem was what Bunny would say. In the Bloom family, words were the true weapon, and expectation was the ammunition. The rest of the world considered Stacey a brilliant scientist with a string of credentials and awards. Bunny saw little more than a daughter who refused to be conventional in any way that mattered—in other words, a failure. What on earth was her mother going to say when she found out her daughter was six months pregnant and had never said a word?

  Chapter Two

  HARPER CHECKED HER daily calendar to confirm all she had to get through that day. As it was the end of the month, she would be billing her clients for her work. In addition, she needed to email Blake and remind him that his mother’s birthday was in two weeks. She already had several gift ideas noted in case he wanted her help with that.

  She wrote the email to Blake, a Boeing sales executive who spent his work life traveling the world. Blake sold private jets to the über-rich, and then made sure the customization of said planes was to their liking. She never knew where he was at any given time, or who he was meeting with, but it
all sounded very exciting. She thought of him as the sales world’s James Bond.

  Her regular clients were Blake, Lucas, a nurse turned stand-up comedian named Misty, Cathy, a party planner, and the City of Mischief Bay. When she’d first started her business, she’d had no idea what she was doing. A half-dozen college extension courses later, she’d mastered several computer programs, learned the basics of a handful of others, knew how to file a DBA, keep basic records for her business and pay her taxes. Harper Helps had been born.

  Lucas had been her first client—she’d met him through a friend of a friend. After being shot on the job, Lucas had spent several weeks recovering. During that time, his bills had gone unpaid and his lights and water had been turned off. When he’d recovered, he’d decided to let someone else handle the details of his life and had hired her. Blake had found her through a Facebook ad, of all things, and Misty was one of Lucas’s former nurses.

  The work with the city had come through an online posting requesting a bid to design a mailer. She’d applied, offered samples of her work and had been hired.

  The irony was Harper had started her home business because she didn’t have any skills—now she would certainly be qualified to work in an office, only to find she didn’t want to. She liked making her own hours and being around for her daughter—not that Becca was especially interested in her mother these days, but still. Harper was here should her daughter ever want or need her.

  Harper went into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee. The back door opened and Harper’s mother walked in. Bunny Bloom was petite, slim and in her early sixties. She dressed in high-end knits, wore her dark hair short and spikey and always, always put on makeup before stepping outside her apartment.

  Bunny had lost her husband a couple of years ago and while Harper had been a mess in the months following her father’s death, Bunny had soldiered on, taking care of what needed doing. Once the dust had settled, she’d moved into the apartment above Harper’s garage both to be close to her only grandchild and to help Harper financially. There were months when Bunny’s thousand-dollar rent check meant the difference between hamburger for dinner and a box of mac and cheese. Figuratively, Harper thought as she smiled at her mother. She would never use boxed mac and cheese. She would make it herself, from scratch, including the noodles.

  “Hey, Mom. How are you?” Harper asked, automatically pouring a second cup of coffee before pulling a freshly made coffee cake from the bread box and cutting off a slice.

  “Old. Have you heard from Becca?”

  “Just that they’re planning on heading home tomorrow.” She didn’t mention that since the text two days ago saying her daughter had arrived, she hadn’t heard a word. These days Becca just wasn’t talking to her and for the life of her, Harper couldn’t figure out why.

  They settled at the round kitchen table and she gave the plate of coffee cake to her mother. Each of the four matching place mats had a rabbit motif, as did the salt-and-pepper shakers in the center of the table. The sugar bowl and creamer had rabbits and tulips, celebrating the holiday and the fact that it was spring.

  “Good.” Bunny poured cream into her coffee. “I need to see my only grandchild for Easter. Have you started preparing dinner?”

  “I have.”

  Although no matter how much she prepped, she would spend most of Easter Sunday in a frenzy of cooking. The menu this year included strawberry avocado salad, a glazed ham, Potatoes Grand-Mère, both roasted asparagus and creamy spring peas, along with lemon meringue pie and an Easter Bunny cake. Oh, and appetizers.

  All that for five people, or possibly seven if Lucas came and brought a date. She was never sure with him. Regardless, there would be food for twenty and lots of leftovers. And none of that counted the special “welcome home” dinner she would make tomorrow.

  “Do you need help?” her mother asked.

  Harper did her best not to scream. Of course she needed help! She was working sixty hours a week in a desperate attempt to stay afloat financially, taking care of her house, dealing with a sixteen-year-old, decorating for the holiday and getting ready to cook a fancy meal. Help would be nice. Help would be grand. But, in Bunny’s world, the woman of the house did not ask for help. No, she did it all herself, seemingly effortlessly. Family came first. The measure of a woman was how well she looked after her family and so on. Harper knew it all by heart. The problem was, from her perspective, the only person who cared about all that was Bunny herself. Bunny who no longer had to do anything for anyone because somehow all that responsibility was Harper’s now. Bunny was free to spend the day with her friends, dress perfectly for every occasion and judge her oldest daughter.

  Harper smiled at her mother. “I’m good, Mom. I have it all under control. You just show up and look pretty.”

  “All right. Stacey and Kit are coming to dinner?”

  “Last I heard.”

  Which could be interesting, Harper thought. At some point her sister was going to have to reveal her pregnancy and wouldn’t that be a conversation starter? She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to happen at Easter dinner, though. Not with all the work that went into the meal. Maybe after would be better, when everyone was still digesting, although that could be problematic, as well.

  She supposed the actual issue was that there was simply no good time to confess to your mother that you were six months pregnant. At sixteen it made sense to hide the truth, but Stacey was forty.

  Harper held in a sigh. She knew exactly why Stacey wasn’t eager to share the information. Their mother would have a million rules and shoulds, all of which Stacey would ignore. Then there would be fighting. Given that scenario, keeping quiet sort of made sense.

  “Do you think she left you anything?”

  Harper stared at her mother. “I’m sorry, I have no idea what you’re asking.”

  “Do you think she left you anything?”

  “Saying the same thing again doesn’t make it any clearer, Mom.”

  Her mother sighed. “In the will.”

  Oh, right. Because Bunny would rather buy store-bought bread than actually say Great-Aunt Cheryl’s name. Which would be really funny except Harper had a similar problem with her ex’s girlfriend. She went out of her way to never say Alicia if at all possible. Although there was a huge difference, what with Alicia being twenty-eight and gorgeous and Great-Aunt Cheryl not being a relative at all and, well, dead.

  “I have no idea,” Harper admitted. “A couple of years ago she asked me if I would take her dogs. I made it clear there was no way.”

  Great-Aunt Cheryl had been many things, including a former army nurse who had somehow become a spy during World War II. After that, she’d traveled the world, taken lovers and generally lived a life that would have left anyone else exhausted. In the past decade or so, Great-Aunt Cheryl had taken to training dogs for the government. Harper was pretty sure they could arm a nuclear missile if instructed. They were also huge, slightly scary-looking Dobermans that she in no way wanted in her house.

  “So no jewelry? No antique silver tea service?”

  “Great-Aunt Cheryl wasn’t the antique silver tea service type.”

  “Pity.”

  They both knew that wasn’t true.

  “I’m not expecting her to leave me anything, Mom. She was Terence’s aunt, not mine.”

  “Yet you were always so close.”

  There was a slight sniff at the end of the statement, but Harper ignored it.

  “We were. She was lovely and I miss her a lot.” Great-Aunt Cheryl had always encouraged her to do more with her life than just take care of her family. When Becca had started kindergarten, Cheryl had offered to pay for Harper to go to college.

  Harper, being an idiot, had refused. Why should she take time away from caring for her family to do something as ridiculous as going to college? It wasn’t as if she was ever goi
ng to be on her own and having to support herself and her daughter.

  After the divorce Harper had wanted to tell Great-Aunt Cheryl how much she appreciated the offer, even if she hadn’t taken it. But at that point she’d been afraid it would sound too much like begging for money, so she’d never said the words. Now she couldn’t.

  Regret was a mean and vindictive bitch.

  * * *

  Harper heard a knock at the front door, but before she could run to open it, she heard a familiar “It’s me.”

  “In the kitchen,” she yelled as she deftly maneuvered hot lasagna noodles into the casserole dish. She wiped her hands on a towel, then reached for the bowl of marinara sauce—homemade, of course—and a spoon.

  She glanced up as Lucas strolled into the room, then returned her attention to what she was doing. There was no point in looking at what she couldn’t have, she reminded herself. Not that she wanted Lucas—not exactly.

  Yes, the man was ridiculously good-looking. Tall and fit, with an air of confidence that was just shy of being a swagger. He was fifty, so older than her, and unexpectedly kind. While he was always underfoot, he was rarely in the way and whenever he came to dinner—which was surprisingly often—he always brought thoughtful little gifts.

  He stood on the other side of the kitchen island and studied the ingredients she’d set out earlier.

  “Let’s see,” he began. “Lasagna goes without saying, so there will be garlic bread. Some kind of salad.” He paused. “The chopped one with the homemade basil dressing. Which means we’re having Becca’s favorite dinner.”