The Secret Sister

When he didn’t respond, Maisey wished she hadn’t questioned him about the delay in construction, hadn’t made him accept responsibility for it. He needed to look ahead—not behind. “I’m sure the bungalows will be ready by next summer, which means we only missed one tourist season.”

He was putting her suitcases in the trunk, so she couldn’t read his expression. “That’s the goal,” he said.

“Have you been out to see them recently?” she asked as they slid into the sun-warmed interior of the Mercedes and buckled their seat belts.

“Mom’s sent me over once or twice, yeah.”

“How bad are they?”

“Pretty bad.”

She cringed. “Structurally?”

“Units 1 to 4 need structural repairs.”

“What about 5 to 9?” They were set back off the beach, in the trees. Maisey assumed the wind hadn’t hit them as hard.

“They’re sound, but they still need a lot of work.”

Maisey hated that the bungalows had been damaged. Since the eighties, when her father’d had them built, Smuggler’s Cove had been a magical place for her, a place where she could find him, or some essence of him, even after he was gone. She had so many fond memories of tagging along to the rentals that, when he died, she’d wanted to scatter his ashes there on the beach. But her mother retained control of his remains, like she did everything else. His ashes were kept in a decorative urn on the mantel of the formal living room at Coldiron House. Not for any sentimental reason. But because it allowed Josephine to pretend he was her one great love, since she hadn’t been able to get along with anyone else—not for long, anyway. Every other relationship had fallen apart within two or three years.

“I don’t mind helping with the cleanup and repairs, maybe doing some painting, that sort of thing.” There was a period when she and Jack, her ex-husband, had watched almost every do-it-yourself show on TV, and used much of what they’d learned to improve their small cabin in the Catskill Mountains. It had been sold, as stipulated by the divorce decree, but she’d always loved it there.

Keith backed out of the parking space. “I’m not sure the contractor’s going to like having you in the middle of everything.”

“I’ll stay out of his way.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ears. It was getting too long; she needed to have it trimmed. “Who’d Mom hire? Anyone from around here?”

“Raphael Something. Can’t remember his last name. I didn’t ask where he was from. I know he’s done other work on the island, though, because I’ve seen his sign—High Tide Construction.”

Maisey had never met anyone by that name or heard of the company. But then, plenty could’ve changed since she’d been gone. “Can we go to Smuggler’s Cove now, see if it’s even a possibility?”

He hit the brake, stopping before they could exit the lot. “You’re not thinking of moving in without asking Mom...”

Knowing that she had a viable alternative—if she did have one—would help her get through that daunting first encounter. “I can’t imagine she’d refuse to let me live in one of Dad’s bungalows. He’d turn over in his grave if she did.” They were something her father had created and paid for with the money he’d brought into the relationship. “Besides, I’m supposed to inherit the development, remember?”

“If she follows his wishes.”

Maisey had to acknowledge that the future of the cottages rested in her mother’s hands, since Josephine had inherited them first. “Well, you’ve heard the cliché—it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

He pursed his lips. “Not with her.”

The complexity of Keith’s relationship with Josephine accounted for a lot of his problems. Maisey wished he could get out on his own so he wouldn’t need Josephine’s help. Then he could also reject her advice and any unwanted intrusions into his life. But, so far, that hadn’t happened; he and Josephine were mutually dependent on each other. She provided financial support, and since she couldn’t be satisfied with any of her romances, he gave her companionship—when he wasn’t acting out. They loved each other but hated each other, too. But because Maisey was coming home with almost nothing, she wasn’t exactly the perfect example of how to get away, so she hesitated to say too much.

“Come on, I’m on her shit list, anyway,” she said, pretending more indifference than she felt.

He released a sigh. “Fine. Then why not really piss her off, huh?”

2 (#ulink_c467b7f3-14ee-5def-957f-b1307f6f7f9c)

KEYS CROSSING WAS the island’s only town. It was also the only land not owned by her mother. As the marina, and the downtown streets with their various municipal services and private businesses—the small town hall with adjoining police station, the fire house for the even smaller volunteer fire department, the Sugar Shack, the Drift Inn, the various gift shops and the one grocery store in town, not to mention Love’s in Bloom, her mother’s flower shop—gave way to swaying palm trees, sandy beaches and lush vegetation, Maisey felt her heart begin to lighten. She’d been right to come here. She could sense it deep in her bones—now that she wasn’t heading directly to her childhood home.

She closed her eyes, enjoying the hot sun beating down on her through the windshield. This summer she hadn’t spent nearly enough time outdoors...

Keith interrupted her moment of tranquility. “Do you ever hear from Jack?”

She and her brother hadn’t talked about the divorce for months. There’d been too many more dire things to focus on, most recently his attempt to take his own life with a bottle of sleeping pills. If the manager at the dumpy motel where he’d been staying in New Orleans hadn’t come into his room to kick him out for nonpayment, he’d probably be dead.

“No, not a word,” she said. “He has no reason to contact me. Why?”

“Just curious.”

“Maybe the situation would be different if we still had Ellie,” she added, “but...now that she’s gone, our divorce really is goodbye.”

Her brother didn’t say anything about her child. Like most people, he shied away from the grief a loss like that inspired. “What happened?” he asked instead. “Why’d he cheat?”

She’d asked herself the same question so many times—and didn’t like any of the answers. She couldn’t help blaming herself for being unable to recover from Ellie’s death as quickly as he could, for being less of a woman than he wanted, for needing him when he wasn’t capable of giving her any solace. “He said he wasn’t fulfilled in our marriage. Whatever that means.”

Keith shifted in the driver’s seat. “Have you met your replacement?”

“Once. We ran into her on Fifth Avenue.” It was difficult not to hate Jack’s new girlfriend. She wasn’t particularly attractive, and didn’t seem to have anything else that should’ve been hard for Jack to refuse, which only made Maisey feel more inadequate.

“After he left?” Keith asked.

“Before. They went to high school together, so they’d known each other in the past. I believe that accidental run-in on Fifth Avenue is where the affair started. She must’ve contacted him on Facebook or emailed him afterward—or he contacted her, and...their relationship grew from there.”

“Does it hurt to talk about it?”

It hurt to even think about Jack. Maisey wasn’t sure she’d ever get over him. Her marriage was supposed to last forever. But Keith was fighting enough battles. She couldn’t expect him to prop her up. “No, I’ve put it behind me.”

Her brother shook his head. “How’d we miss that he was such a douchebag?”

Grateful for his attempt to lighten the conversation, she smiled ruefully. “You mean how did I miss it? If I remember right, you were never too fond of him.”

“He hated me.”

Jack hadn’t understood Keith’s volatile nature, and had no patience with it. “The funny thing is that I can’t blame Mom for the collapse of my marriage. I moved away so she couldn’t turn me into the person I become when I’m around her. I thought that would make it easier to be successful in a relationship, but even that didn’t change the ending.”

“You gave it your best shot.” He gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Believe me, there are no answers for some things.”

“How are you doing?” she asked. “Okay?”

“Taking it minute by minute.”

“Have you been working at the flower shop?” Josephine had started the business four years after Malcolm died, following the demise of her next marriage.

“Almost every morning.”

“Is Mom there very often?”