The Secret Sister. Brenda Novak
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I worked at the flower shop, I’m sure he’d have to teach me a thing or two.” Maisey could tell her brother was offended by what their mother had said. She could feel his dark mood from where she sat. But at that point, the conversation took a less emotional turn, giving her hope that they’d weathered the worst of this meeting, and that she’d be able to cajole him out of his resentment after it was over.
They talked about Josephine’s many cousins, who mostly lived in Charleston these days, and how they were coping with the death of Josephine’s half-brother on her mother’s side; he had been the patriarch of that part of the family. Then they discussed the renovation of the east wing, following which her mother mentioned that Maisey was too thin (of course!) and needed to have her hair trimmed (which she already knew). As the minutes passed, Maisey grew more convinced that the worst was behind her. Her mother had pointed out every flaw, touched on almost every sensitive subject. What could be left?
But just as Maisey was beginning to feel less anxious, Josephine looked up with a hint of challenge in her eyes.
“And what about little Ellie?” she asked, drawing her eyebrows together and lowering her voice as if she was trying to be gentle with the razor-sharp sword of her mouth.
Apparently there was one subject left. But it was so sensitive Maisey hadn’t expected anyone to bring it up—not even her mother.
“What about her?” Maisey held her teacup so tightly she thought it might shatter. “Ellie’s dead. I called you when it happened.”
“You said it was SIDS...”
“It was SIDS.”
“The doctors are convinced? They’ve confirmed it?”
“I wouldn’t have told you so otherwise.”
“But...it’s hard to believe a perfectly healthy baby can go to sleep at night and...and not wake up in the morning with nothing occurring in between.”
Maisey hated that she was beginning to tremble. “It happens. It happened to Ellie.”
“I’d think there would’ve been some sign, that’s all.”
Some sign she’d missed? As usual, her mother was trying to assign blame, make her feel responsible for every bad thing that had occurred in her life. “I have no idea what you’re getting at.”
Josephine’s lips pursed. “It’s strange. That’s all,” she repeated.
“Why are we even discussing it?” Maisey asked.
Hearing the rancor in her voice, Josephine bristled. “Well, if you want me to be frank, I’m merely letting you know that the way you handled the whole thing—keeping me out of her life—wasn’t right. I never even got to meet my grandchild!”
Placing her cup on the tray in a very deliberate movement, Maisey came to her feet. “You’re not going to blame me for the fact that you never got to meet Ellie, Mother. We contacted you when she was born. You could’ve come then. Keith did. But you were too busy trying to punish me for marrying Jack without your blessing, for leaving Fairham and daring to live a life that didn’t include you.”
Her mother set her chin—an expression Maisey knew all too well, and used to fear as a child. “That’s. Not. True!”
Maisey would not let her revise history like this. “It is true,” she insisted. “You barely spoke to us when we called. You didn’t ask one question, not how much Ellie weighed or how my labor went or whether she was healthy.”
“You informed me you’d just had a child, and then you hung up. You gave me no chance to say anything!”
Rage welled up, dark and forbidding and threatening—and yet somehow welcome as an outlet for all the pain. “Forgive me. I thought dead silence suggested you weren’t interested. You could’ve called back but you didn’t. We emailed you a picture and got no response.”
“I was supposed to thank you for taunting me with what I was missing? I wasn’t going to force my way into your life if I wasn’t wanted. I know Jack never liked me.”
Conscious of her brother’s unrest, Maisey felt a brief desire to rein in her emotions for his sake. But she was too far gone to stop. “For good reason!” she cried. “You didn’t want me to marry Jack, and you made your opinion very plain.”
Josephine sneered at her. “Now that he’s shown his true colors, it’s funny you should bring that up. You could’ve avoided a lot of heartache had you listened to me.”
Maisey wasn’t willing to tolerate any more. “Don’t ever mention Jack or Ellie to me again,” she said, and stalked out.
“Maisey!” Keith hurried after her, but she refused to stop or turn around until she was well clear of the house. And by then she was breathing so hard she had to bend over to keep from passing out.
She heard Keith behind her, but he didn’t speak again. He stood there as if he didn’t know what to do.
Once she’d overcome her dizziness and straightened, he kicked at the tufts of grass on the lawn. Had they been like most families, he might’ve gathered her in his arms. That was what she needed. Maybe he needed it, too. But neither one of them knew how to reach out for that kind of comfort.
“I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get into it with Mom, didn’t mean to put you through that.” What good would she do him if she only caused more upset and pain?
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “She had no business saying half the things she did, especially about Ellie.”
Maisey wiped the sweat from her upper lip. “She always has to place blame—but never accepts responsibility for her own actions.”
“It’s that damn pride of hers,” he said. “Are you sorry you came back?”
She shook her head. “I knew what to expect.” She might’ve hoped for more, but past experience had never allowed that hope to fully blossom. “Will you tell me something?”
“Of course.”
“Why haven’t you said anything about Ellie? I mean, other than telling me I need to get beyond it. You came to her funeral but you never asked about her death. You never asked what it was like for me to find her, either.”
He shrugged helplessly. “Because I know how much you loved her. And I know how hard it was to lose her. There’s nothing anyone can say to make that better.”
“God, I miss her.” Squeezing her eyes shut, Maisey wished she could go back in time. She missed Jack, too, but she would never admit it. So maybe she’d inherited more of her mother’s “damn” pride than she cared to acknowledge.
Fortunately, Keith didn’t try to compensate for his inability to comfort her with the typical clichés—that she’d get over Ellie’s death, that time heals all wounds, that the loss of her baby was no one’s fault. She’d told herself those things plenty of times, and he was right. They were a waste of breath. The pain she felt didn’t respond to logic.
“Will you give me a ride back to Smuggler’s Cove?” she asked.
“I’ll need to get the truck. You can’t stay there without furniture, and we can’t fit a fridge in the back of the Mercedes.”
Maisey nodded and he went to grab the keys. But he didn’t have good news when he returned.
“Tyrone’s in town with the truck. He’s getting some fertilizer and trees he plans to replace. We’ll have to wait until he’s back.”
“I can’t wait.” It was too hot and humid to stand outside, and she wasn’t going back into the house. “Can you take me now, in the car? And bring the truck over whenever it’s available?”
He