Sultry

“The hell I don’t. And what do you have to show for getting up every morning? I don’t see you setting the world on fire.”

Following that outburst, Lindsay fell silent, her insides churning. He was right, of course. Who was she to be giving advice? To date, she hadn’t done anything with her own life that counted for a hill of beans, except her work with the women’s shelter. And at times even that failed to use up all her energies.

But she hoped to change all that. In fact, she’d been mulling over an idea for some time now and had worked herself into the excited stage. Even so, she wasn’t ready to share her innermost thoughts with anyone, least of all her brother.

“Look, sis—”

“If you’re about to apologize, don’t. I had it coming. But I wouldn’t count me out—not just yet, anyway.”

Tim didn’t respond. However, a few minutes later, after their glasses of iced tea were empty, he broke the silence. “Do you ever think about Mother?”

That starkly spoken question so surprised Lindsay that, for a moment, she couldn’t say anything.

“Hell, you don’t have to answer that,” Tim said, his features pinched. “Just forget I asked.”

“Of course I think about her.” Lindsay’s chest constricted. “Every day.”

“Me, too.” His tone was harsh, but with a sad undertone.

Lindsay felt a sting behind her eyelids and blinked. She dared not cry—not now, not when she was already feeling vulnerable from Cooper’s accident and his pressuring her to marry a man she didn’t love. If the tears ever started, she might not be able to stop them.

“Do you ever ask yourself why she did it?”

“You know I do,” Lindsay responded softly, staring into the agony twisting her brother’s face, agony that she knew was duplicated on hers.

“Sometimes I hate her,” Tim muttered fiercely, “for what she did to us, to our family. Maybe if Garnet was bigger, without the Peyton Place mentality, it would’ve been different.”

Lindsay curled her nails into her palms and felt them pierce her skin. But that pain was nothing compared to the pain in her heart. Heart pain—through the years, she had learned it was the worst kind. Once it got its grip on you, it wouldn’t let go.

“Sometimes I hate her, too,” Lindsay admitted. “And no matter where we lived, it would not have been different.” Her voice caught. “But she was sick. Believe me, I understand that now.”

“I know you do.” He paused, then added, “God, if it had been me who had…” His voice trailed off.

“Found her lying in her own blood, dead,” Lindsay whispered, barely getting those words out before her own voice faded into nothingness.

Tim blanched, then nodded.

In some respects, Lindsay couldn’t believe she was having this conversation with Tim. Always before, he’d refused to talk about their mother’s untimely and tragic death from a self-inflicted gunshot wound.

At the time, he had retreated into his own shell of personal pain and fear. She hadn’t faulted him then, nor did she now. Besides, she’d been too distraught herself to think about anything other than her own broken heart and shattered dreams.

Even though Cooper was the strong one in the family, the one who made the major decisions, Lindsay had nonetheless adored her mother, even if it had been from afar. She had learned early on that Emily was different from other mothers.

Emily had had deep bouts of depression, which often sent her away from home for long periods. It hadn’t been until Lindsay was older that she realized her mother was in a private sanitarium for treatment, something Cooper was ashamed of and tried to cover up by refusing to acknowledge or discuss his wife’s problem.

Only after Lindsay found her mother’s blood-splattered body and plunged into that same world of dark depression did Cooper respond.

“Lindsay, are you all right?”

Jerking her thoughts out of the past, Lindsay tried to swallow back the panic that suddenly threatened to overwhelm her. No, she wasn’t all right, she wanted to scream. Instead, she made the swing go faster, as if to outrun her mind.

Why now, of all times, did Tim have to bring up their mother’s suicide?

“Of course you’re not all right,” Tim muttered, seemingly more to himself than to her.

Lindsay licked her dry lips. “I’m okay, really. Mother was not something I expected to discuss, that’s all.”

“Me either,” Tim admitted, his weak chin jutting slightly. “I don’t know what the hell came over me.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to feel guilty for talking about her.”

“But I do,” he said harshly. “It all happened so long ago.”

“The summer I graduated from the university and you were in med school,” Lindsay acknowledged in a dazed voice. “Even at that, it seems like yesterday.” Her voice had suddenly turned hoarse, and she cleared her throat.

“Let’s change the subject, okay?” Tim said abruptly. “‘To hell with her’ is the way I see it. If she didn’t want to stay with us, then we’re better off without her.”

“Tim, please, don’t talk like that. What would Daddy think?”

“Who gives a damn? Haven’t you ever considered that he just might be partly to blame?”

“Of course I’ve considered it,” she responded, a wealth of sadness in her tone.

“His stable of women has always been the talk of the town.” His tone was bitter. “Because of that, I’m sure Mother was the brunt of a lot of jokes.”

“Tim, don’t do this, to yourself or me. It’s not healthy, for more reasons than one.”

“You know, life sucks.”

Lindsay blew out a heavy breath, realizing the tiny moment of closeness she had felt with Tim earlier had disintegrated. He was once more his brooding, untouchable self, while she was becoming anxious, a feeling that frightened her. She didn’t want to talk about Cooper’s penchant for women or dissect his role in her mother’s death. It wasn’t healthy.

“I’d rather not talk about this any more,” she said stiffly, voicing her thoughts.

His face darkened. “Ditto.”

Lindsay stopped the swing. “I guess I’d best get back and check on Daddy.”

“Ah, he’s all right. If not, we’d have heard.”

Lindsay didn’t argue. However, she got out of the swing, walked back to the railing and stared into the distance. What a lovely and tranquil place, she thought, aching for some of that tranquility to filter into her soul.

“Why do you stay?”

Lindsay gave her brother a taxing look, trying to curb her temper. Another unsettling question out of the blue. This was a side of Tim she hadn’t seen in a long time. He usually had very little to say to her. “You know why.”

“No, I don’t. He’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He’s just too selfish and ornery to do so.”

“It’s not all him.” Lindsay’s voice suddenly shook. “I’ve never wanted to be by myself.”