Between Sisters

Chapter Eleven

C HAPTER ELEVEN

C LAIRE STOOD AT THE KITCHEN SINK, WASHING THE breakfast dishes. It was a gray, not-quite-rainy day, the kind where the sky was so low it seemed to bump you in the forehead when you dared to venture outside. Perfect weather for a visit with Meghann.

The thought made her head pound. She dried her hands and reached for the bottle of Excedrin on the windowsill.

“Mary Kay Acheson gets to have Cap’n Crunch for breakfast.”

It was a common early-morning argument. “She’ll probably have false teeth in time for eighth grade. You don’t want to have to take your teeth out at bedtime, do you?”

Ali banged her feet rhythmically on the rungs at the base of her chair. “Willie has all his teeth and he’s gonna be in ninth grade. He’s practically a grown-up.”

“That’s because Karen feeds him Raisin Bran for breakfast. If he ate Cap’n Crunch, it’d be a different story.”

Ali frowned, thinking about that.

Claire washed down the aspirin.

“Do you have a headache again, Mommy?”

“Aunt Meg’s coming over tonight. She wants to meet Bobby.”

Ali’s frown deepened. Obviously, she was trying to understand the connection between Mom’s headache and Aunt Meg’s visit. “I thought she was too busy to breathe.”

Claire went to the table and sat down beside her daughter. “You know why Meghann wants to meet Bobby?”

Alison rolled her eyes. “Duh, Mommy.”

“Duh?” Claire bit back a smile. At some point, she’d have to address the issue of respectful responses, but she’d better wait until she could do it without cracking up. She held out her hand instead. “You know what this ring means?”

“It’s not a ring. It’s foil.”

“This kind of ring is a symbol. The ring isn’t what matters. The words that come with it are what matters. And Bobby asked me to marry him.”

“I know that, Mommy. C’n I have some cheddar Goldfish?”

“Let’s eat in a second. I want to talk to you about this. No one is more important to me than you. No one. I’ll always love you, even if I’m married.”

“Jeez, Mommy. I know that. Now c’n I have—”

“Forget the Goldfish.” No wonder It’s like talking to a five year old was a common expression of frustration. “Do you mind if I marry Bobby?”

“Oh.” Ali’s little face scrunched up. She bunched up her left cheek, then her right. Then she looked up at Claire. “C’n I call him Daddy?”

“He’d like that.”

“So at school, on family day, he’ll come for the sack races and help Brittani’s dad barbecue the hot dogs?”

Claire released a breath. It wasn’t easy for her to make blanket promises for another human being. That kind of faith lived in the hearts of women who’d grown up in safer homes, where Mom and Dad could be counted on. But she believed in Bobby as much as one of her mother’s daughters could believe in any man. “Yes. We can count on him.”

Alison grinned. “Okay. I want him to be my dad. Daddy.” She was obviously testing the word, weighing how it felt to say aloud. It was amazing how many little girls’ dreams could be contained in those few letters.

Big girls’ dreams, too, for that matter.

Alison gave Claire a quick kiss, then scampered off, dragging a dirty Elmo on the floor behind her. She went upstairs to her bedroom. Seconds later, The Little Mermaid theme music started.

Claire stared down at her engagement ring. As makeshift as it was, it gave her a warm feeling of hopefulness.

“One down,” she said aloud. Actually, it was two. Both her father and her daughter had put their stamp of approval on the wedding plans.

That left only two blood-related holdouts. Meghann, who definitely hadn’t sounded approving, and Mama, who probably wouldn’t much care. Claire had been putting off the call. No good ever came from talking to Mama.

Still, she was her mother, and she had to be called.

The funny part was, when Claire thought of her “mother,” the face that came to her was Meg’s. In every childhood memory, it was her sister who’d been there … until, of course, the day she decided she’d had enough of caring for Claire.

And Mama. Well. Truth be told, Claire’s memories of Mama were sketchy at best. Claire was lucky in that; the brunt of mama’s flightiness had fallen on Meg. Still, they all pretended that they were family.

Claire picked up the phone and punched in the number. It rang and rang. Finally, an answering machine clicked on. Mama’s thick-as-honey-and-twice-as-sweet Southern drawl was accompanied by music. “I do so appreciate your call on m’private number. Unfortunately, I’m too darn busy to answer, but leave me a message and I’ll return your call just as soon as I can. And look for my interview in People magazine, on newsstands in late June. Bye, y’all.”

Only Mama would self-promote on her answering machine.

“Hey, Mama,” she said at the beep, “It’s Claire here. Your daughter. I’ve got some big news and I’d like to talk to you. Call me.” She left her number, just in case, and hung up.

She was still holding the phone, listening to the dial tone when she realized her mistake. She was getting married in less than two weeks. If she waited for Mama to call, the wedding would be long past. The point was to invite Mama, not to simply inform. You had to invite your mother to your wedding, even if the woman who bore you had the parenting instincts of a mosquito, and there was little chance she’d actually show up.

By the time Mama had managed to fly from Los Angeles to Seattle to see her only granddaughter, Alison had been four years old.

Claire still remembered the day vividly. They’d met at the Woodland Park Zoo in downtown Seattle. Mama had been in the middle of a Starbase IV promotional tour (yet again) that touched down there.

Claire and Alison had been sitting on the wooden bench by the zoo’s entrance for more than an hour, waiting.

Claire had almost given up when she’d heard a familiar high-pitched screech. She’d looked up just in time to see Mama, dressed in a bronze silk caftan, bearing down on them like a Thanksgiving Day parade float.

Lordy it’s good to see my girl again , she’d cried out loudly enough that everyone nearby stopped to stare. A hushed buzz of recognition twittered through the crowd.

It’s her, someone said. Tara Zyn from Starbase IV .

Claire had fought the urge to roll her eyes. She stood up, her hand clasped tightly around Alison’s. Hey, Mama. It’s good to see you again.

Mama had swooped down on one knee in a movement that sent silk wings flying up on either side of her. Is this darlin’ little thing my granddaughter?

Hello, Mrs. Sullivan , Alison had said, stumbling awkwardly over the name she’d practiced for a week. Claire had been sure that Mama wouldn’t appreciate the word Grandma . In print, she claimed to be looking forward to her fiftieth birthday.

Mama had studied Alison carefully. For a moment, only that, a kind of sadness passed through her blue eyes. Then that smile was back. You can call me Nanna. She reached out one bejeweled hand, stroked Ali’s curly hair. You’re the spittin’ image of your mama.

I’m not allowed to spit, Mrs… . Nanna.

Mama had looked up. She’s spunky, Claire-Bear. Just like Meggy. Good for you. It’s the spunky ones that make it in life. I think she’s the most well spoken two-year-old I’ve ever had the pleasure o’ meetin’.

That’s because she’s four, Mama.

Four? Mama popped to her feet. Oh, honey, I don’t think so. Y’all were just in the hospital. Now, let’s hurry along to the snake house. That’s m’favorite. And I’ve got to be back t’my hotel in an hour for an interview with Evenin’ Magazine. Later that afternoon, Meghann had shown up and the four of them had walked silently through the Seattle Center, pretending they had something in common.

It used to hurt Claire to remember that day. Not so much anymore. The wound had healed over, grown a layer of thicker skin. She’d long ago quit wishing for a different mother. It was a hope that had once crippled her; she’d had to let it go. Like her dream of a sister who was also a best friend. Some things just didn’t turn out the way you wanted, and a girl could only cry for so many years.

She glanced up at the clock on the oven. It was almost one o’clock.

In only a few hours, Meghann would be here.

“Great,” Claire muttered.

“My sister called me last night.”

Harriet sat back in her chair. It made a squeaking sound at the movement. “Ah. No wonder you actually kept this appointment. I’d begun to despair.”

“I missed one appointment. That’s hardly a big deal. I called to cancel and I paid for it.”

“You always assume that money is the answer.”

“What’s your point, Harriet? Today you’re being so obscure even Freud couldn’t follow you.”

“I understand that you were upset at our last appointment.”

Meghann’s eye started to twitch. “Not really.”

Harriet stared at her. “Don’t you understand that being upset is part of healing? You need to stop running from your emotions.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do, if you’ll listen. I said , my sister called last night.”

Harriet sighed. “Is that unusual? I was under the impression that you spoke to Claire quite often; you just never talk about what matters.”

“Well, that’s true. We call each other every few months. Always on holidays and birthdays.”

“So what is remarkable about last night’s conversation?”

Meghann’s eye twitch kicked into high gear. She could barely see. For no reason at all, she found it difficult to sit still. “She’s getting married.”

“Take a deep breath, Meg,” Harriet said softly.

“My eye is batting like an Evinrude motor.”

“Breathe.”

Meghann felt like an idiot. “What in the hell is wrong with me?”

“You’re scared, that’s all.”

Identifying the emotion helped. She was scared. She released a pent-up breath slowly and looked at Harriet. “I don’t want her to get hurt.”

“Why do you assume that marriage will hurt her?”

“Oh, please. I notice you’re no longer wearing that one-karat solitaire on your left hand. I don’t suppose taking it off was a song-inspiring moment of joy.”

Harriet fisted her left hand. “Many sisters rejoice when they hear this kind of news.”

“Not the ones who handle the divorces.”

“Can you separate yourself from your job?”

“This isn’t about my job, Harriet. My sister is in trouble. I have to save her.”

“Is she in love?”

Meghann waved her hand impatiently. “Of course.”

“You don’t think that matters?”

“They’re always in love in the beginning. It’s like going out to sea on a huge throat lozenge. The water disintegrates it. After a few floating years, you’re swimming with nothing to hold you up. Then the sharks move in.”

“That would be people like you.”

“This is no time for lawyer jokes. I have to save my sister before she marries the wrong man.”

“How do you know he’s the wrong man?”

Meghann fought the urge to say, They all are . That admission would only fill up another round of observations and questions. “He’s practically jobless. They’ve known each other less than a month. He’s a musician . He lets people call him Bobby Jack. Take your pick.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Yeah. I want to marry an itinerant Country and Western singer who can’t even headline at Cowboy Bob’s Western Roundup in Lake Chelan. Yes, Harriet, you’ve hit the core of it this time. I’m jealous.” She crossed her arms. “He’s probably marrying her for the so-called resort. He’ll try to talk her into building condos or dentists’ offices.”

“That would show some initiative.”

“Claire loves that tired piece of land. She would hate to pave over it.”

“I thought you said the land was underdeveloped and that Claire was wasting her life there. I believe you mentioned building a spa on the property.”

“You’re completely missing the point.”

“The point being that you need to ride in on a white horse and save her.”

“Someone has to protect her. I want to be there for her this time.”

“This time.”

Meghann looked up sharply. Of course Harriet had pounced on the two words that mattered. “Yes.”

Harriet leaned forward. “Tell me about the day you weren’t there for your sister.”

Meghann stiffened, drew back. The chair squeaked as it rolled backward. “That’s not what this is about.”

“You’re smarter than that, Meg. I don’t have to remind you that everything between you and Claire is about the past. What happened?”

Meghann closed her eyes. Obviously, she was in a weakened state, because the sour memories were there, waiting to crowd to the front of her mind. She shrugged, tried to appear casual as she opened her eyes and looked at Harriet. “You know it all. You just want to hear me go through it.”

“Do I?”

“I was sixteen. Claire was nine. Mama went to Los Angeles for the Starbase IV audition and had so much fun she forgot about the kids she left in Bakersfield. For her, it was a common oversight. Then Social Services started poking around. They threatened to put us into foster care. I was old enough to run away, but Claire …” She shrugged. “So I pulled a Nancy Drew and tracked down Sam Cavenaugh—her biological dad. I called him. Sam couldn’t save his daughter fast enough.” Meg heard the adolescent hurt in her voice. Even now, all these years later, the memories of that summer were hard to bear. She hated to remember how much she’d wanted Sam to be her father, too. Meg straightened. “None of this old shit matters. Sam was a great father to Claire. Everyone ended up happier.”

“Everyone? How about the girl who lost her mother and sister and had no father to turn to?”

The observation hurt. Meghann had never been able to discover her own father’s name; all Mama ever called him was That loser . “Enough. Tell me this, Harriet. Is it smart to marry a man you’ve known a few weeks? Would you like it if your daughter did what Claire is doing?”

“I’d have to trust her, wouldn’t I? We can’t live other people’s lives for them. Even if we love them.”

“I do love Claire,” Meghann said quietly.

“I know you do. That’s never been the issue, has it?”

“We have nothing in common. It doesn’t mean I want to see her throw her life away.”

“Oh, I think you have something in common. You lived together for nine years. That’s a lot of shared memories. I get the feeling that you used to be best friends.”

“Before I dumped her off with a man she barely knew and then ran away? Yeah. We were best friends before that. But Claire wanted a daddy, and once she got one … well …” Meghann glanced at the intricately cast crystal desk clock. It was 4:00. “It’ll take me almost two hours to reach Hayden at this time of day. Our traffic is just terrible, don’t you think? If we would elect a mayor instead of—”

“Meg. Don’t go off on one of your rants. Today is important. Claire may harbor certain animosities against you.”

“I’ve told you she does.”

“And yet you’re going to race up to Hayden in your expensive car and butt into her life.”

“I’d characterize my involvement as saving her from herself. Just handing out some obviously overlooked information.”

“Do you think she’ll appreciate your help?”

Meghann winced. Claire would probably not be pleased. Some people had trouble accepting certain facts. “I’ll be pleasant about it.”

“You’ll pleasantly tell her that she shouldn’t marry a singer with no real prospects.”

“Yes. I know I can be abrasive at times, and opinionated to the point of oppression, but this time I intend to choose my words carefully. I won’t say loser or gold digger or stupid . She’ll be hurt, but she’ll see that I’m only trying to look out for her.”

Harriet seemed to wait an inordinately long time before she asked, “Do you remember how love feels?”

Meghann couldn’t follow the segue, but she was glad to quit talking about Claire. “I married Eric, didn’t I?” Number two on the hit parade of bad decisions .

“What do you remember about your marriage to Eric?”

“The end of it. I’ve had headaches that lasted longer than my marriage.”

“Why did it end?”

“You know this. He cheated on me. With most of the Seahawks’ cheerleaders and half the wait staff at the Bellevue Hooters. He was absolutely ardent in his pursuit of silicone. If only he’d shown so much drive in his career.”

“Do you remember when he proposed?”

Meghann sighed. She didn’t want to think about that day. It had all happened so long ago. The candlelit room, the trail of white rose petals that led to the king-size bed, the music coming from another room, a soft, instrumental version of Air Supply’s “All Out of Love” that was playing on the radio. “I proposed to him, if you must know. I’ve never been good at waiting, and it took Eric an hour to pick out a pair of socks.”

Harriet looked pained. “Meghann.”

“What?”

“Why don’t you try that story again? My memory is not as poor as you’d like to think.”

Meghann looked down at her fingernails. For years she’d told stories about Eric’s infidelities. The remark about his ardent pursuit of silicone always got a laugh. It was better that way, she’d learned; better to think of him as a villain. The truth hurt too much. Even Elizabeth didn’t know what had really happened in Meghann’s marriage. But now, somehow, Harriet had ferreted out the facts. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Of course you don’t,” Harriet said gently. “That’s why you should.”

Meghann released her breath slowly. “He didn’t go after waitresses. Not as far as I know, anyway. He was faithful to me … until he met Nancy.” She closed her eyes, remembering that terrible day when he’d come home crying. I can’t do it anymore, Meg. You’re killing me. Nothing I do is good enough for you. And your love … it’s a cold place.

And then, just when she’d felt the start of her own tears and tasted the desperate plea in her mouth, he said, I’ve met someone. She loves who I am, not who I could be if I were more ambitious. And … she’s pregnant.

The memories twisted Meghann’s insides, made her feel needy and weak. She couldn’t hold it all inside anymore. “It was so romantic,” she said softly. “The night he proposed to me. The white rose petals were true. So was the music. He poured a glass of champagne and told me that I was his whole world, that he wanted to love me forever and be the father of my children. I cried when he said it.” She wiped her eyes of tears that should have dried long ago. “I should have known how fragile love was, given my family history, but I was reckless. I handled a glass bubble as if it were made of steel. I couldn’t believe how quickly it broke. He left because I didn’t know how to love him enough.” On that, her voice cracked. “You can’t blame him.”

“So, you did love him.”

“Oh, I loved him,” Meghann said quietly, feeling the dormant pain well up and become fresh again.

“It’s interesting that you readily remember the pain of your divorce, but you have to be reminded of the love.”

“No more,” Meg said, standing up. “This is like open-heart surgery without anesthesia.” She looked at her watch. “Besides, we’re out of time. I told Claire I’d be there this evening. I need to go.”

Harriet slowly removed her glasses and looked up at Meghann. “Think this thing through, Meg. Maybe this wedding could bring you and Claire together, give you some new ground to stand on.”

“You think I should just let her marry Bobby Jack Tom Dick and say nothing?”

“Sometimes love means trusting people to make their own decisions. In other words, shutting up.”

“Women pay me handsomely to tell them the truth.”

“ Your version of the truth. And Claire is not one of your clients. She’s a woman who is getting married for the first time. A thirty-five-year-old woman, I might add.”

“So I should just smile and hug her and tell her I think it’s great that she’s marrying a stranger?”

“Yes.”

“What if he breaks her heart?”

“Then she’ll need her sister. But she won’t turn to someone who’ll say, I told you so .”

Meghann thought about that. She was opinionated and abrasive, but she wasn’t a dimwit. “Sorry, Harriet,” she said at last. “I don’t agree. I can’t let him hurt her. Claire’s the best person I know.”

“The best person you don’t know, you mean. Clearly, you want to keep it that way. You want to keep her at arm’s length.”

“Whatever. Good-bye.” Meghann hurried from the office.

Harriet was wrong. It was that simple.

Meghann had let Claire down once; she wouldn’t do it again.

It’s stupid to marry a man you just met.

“‘Stupid’ is not a good word choice.”

It’s inadvisable to—

“You’re her sister, not her lawyer.”

Meghann had been carrying on this demented conversation with the rearview mirror for more than an hour. How was it that she came up with closing arguments that would bring a jury to tears and she couldn’t find a simple, compelling way to warn her sister of impending doom?

She drove through the stop-and-go traffic of downtown Seattle and into the flat green farmland of the Snohomish valley. Towns that in her youth had been sleepy little dairy towns now wore the glitzy facade of bedroom communities. Big, brick-fronted, porticoed suburban homes sat on chopped-up pieces of land, their driveways cluttered with SUVs and recreational vehicles. The original clapboard farmhouses had been torn down long ago; only rarely did one peek out from behind a billboard or beside a strip mall.

But as the highway began to climb, that yuppie sheen disappeared. Here, in the shadow of the lavender-gray peaks of the central Cascade Mountains, the towns were untouched by the march of progress. These towns, with names like Sultan, Goldbar, and Index, were too far out of the way to be gentrified. For now.

The last stop before Hayden wasn’t a town at all; rather, it was a collection of buildings on the side of the road, the final place to get gas and supplies before the top of the pass. A run-down tavern—the Roadhouse—sat huddled beneath a blinking neon sign that recommended Coors Light.

Honest to God, she wanted to pull over, walk into that crowded tavern, and lose herself in the smoky darkness. It would certainly be better than saying to Claire after being separated all these years, You’re making a mistake.

But she didn’t slow down. Instead, she drove the nine miles to Hayden, veered into the exit lane and turned off the freeway. The road immediately telescoped down to two lanes bordered on either side by towering evergreens. The mountains were jagged and cruel-looking. Even in the summer months, snow lay atop their inaccessible peaks.

A small green sign welcomed her to Hayden, population 872. Home of Lori Adams, 1974 State Spelling Bee Champion.

Nineteen seventy-four.

Meghann had first seen this sleepy little town only three years later. Back then, Hayden had been nothing more than a few run-down buildings. The city fathers hadn’t stumbled across the Western motif as a tourist attraction idea yet.

The memory of driving into town was still fresh. She could practically smell the musty odor of Sam’s old pickup truck, practically feel Claire’s thin body tucked in close beside her. Does he really want us? her sister had whispered every time Sam got out to pump gas or check them into a cheap motel. They’d driven from California to Washington in two days; in that time, almost no words had been exchanged between them. Meghann had felt sick to her stomach the whole time. Each passing mile had made her more afraid that calling Sam had been the wrong thing to do. By the time they’d actually reached Hayden, Meg had run out of optimistic answers to her sister’s questions, so she’d simply tightened her hold on Claire. Sam must have been uncomfortable in the silence, too. He’d cranked the radio up. Elton John’s “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” had been playing when they’d pulled up to the resort.

Funny, the things one remembered.

She slowed down. Hayden still looked like the kind of place that welcomed newcomers, where women brought homemade tuna casseroles to the families who moved in across the street.

But Meghann knew better.

She’d lived here long enough to know how cruel these nice-looking people could be to a girl who ran with the wrong crowd. Sure, a small town could comfort a person; it could also turn cold fast. When you’d been raised by a stripper and grown up in a trailer on the wrong side of town, you couldn’t move to Mayberry and fit in.

At least, Meghann hadn’t been able to. Claire had been a different story.

Meghann came to the one and only stoplight. When it turned green, she hit the gas and sped through town.

A few miles later she came to the sign.

River’s Edge Resort. Next Left.

She turned onto the gravel road. The trees on either side were gigantic. Salal and Volkswagen-size ferns grew in their immense shadows.

At the first driveway, she slowed again. A cute mailbox, painted to look like a killer whale, read: C. Cavenaugh .

The once-wild yard had been tamed, trimmed, and planted; it now looked like an English country garden. The house was Martha Stewart perfect—pale, butter-yellow clapboard siding and glossy white trim, a pretty white wraparound porch decorated with hanging pots of geraniums and lobelia.

Meg had been here only once, after Ali was born. All she remembered about that day was sitting on a shabby sofa, trying to make conversation with her sister. Then the Bluesers had descended—Claire’s friends—they’d swarmed into the house like locusts, chattering and buzzing.

For an endless hour, Meg had sat there, sipping weak lemonade, thinking about a deposition that had gone badly. Finally, she’d made some idiotic excuse and slipped away. She hadn’t been back since.

Now she parked and got out of the car. Lugging gifts, she walked up to the front door and knocked.

No one answered.

After a long wait, she walked back to the car and drove the five hundred or so yards to the campground’s main office.

She walked past the swimming pool, where kids were playing Marco Polo, toward the long, narrow log building that served as the registration office. A bell tinkled overhead as she opened the door.

Sam Cavenaugh stood behind the desk. At her entrance, he looked up. His ready smile faded slowly, then reinforced itself. “Hey, Meg. It’s good to see you. It’s been too damn long.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you missed me.” As always, she felt uncomfortable around Sam; angry. Harriet claimed it was because Claire had rejected Meghann in favor of him, but that wasn’t right. She still remembered the day he told her, Go, just leave. He’d thought she was a bad influence on his daughter . But what she’d really hated, the one that stayed with her was just like your damn mother .

They stared at each other. Thankfully, he kept his distance.

“You look good,” he said at last.

“You, too.” Meghann glanced down at her watch. The last thing she wanted to do was stand around not talking with Sam.

“Claire told me to watch out for you. She’s running a little late. The Ford family, over in campsite seventeen, had a little emergency with their stove. She had to go help them out, but she should be back any minute.”

“Good. I’ll wait for her at the house, then.”

“She should be there any minute.”

“You just said that.”

“You’re still tough, aren’t you, Meghann?” he said, his voice soft, a little tired even.

“I had to be, Sam. You know that better than anyone.”

“I didn’t kick you out, Meghann, I—”

She turned and walked away, let the door slam shut behind her. She was halfway to the car when she heard his voice again.

“She’s happy, you know. With this fella,” he said.

Meghann slowly turned around. “If I remember correctly, you were happy when you married Mama. I was happy when I married Eric.”

Sam walked toward her. “Your mama is a piece of work, that’s for sure, and I was mad at her for a lot of years, but I’m glad I married her.”

“You must be on drugs.”

“Claire” was all he said.

“Oh.” Meghann felt a pinch of jealousy. There it was again—the Claire father-daughter thing. It pissed her off. She ought to be long past that.

“Be careful with her,” he said. “You’re her sister.”

“I know I’m her sister.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, I do.” Once again, she walked away. She strolled through the campground, surprised at the number of guests who were there. All of them seemed to be having a good time. The place was well maintained and perfectly situated. Every view was a picture postcard of mountain, trees, and water. Finally, she returned to her car and drove to Claire’s house.

This time when she knocked on the front door, she heard the patter of feet come from inside. The door burst open.

Alison stood there, dressed in daisy-festooned denim overalls and a pretty yellow eyelet blouse.

“You can’t be Alison Katherine Cavenaugh. She’s a baby.”

Ali beamed at that. “I’m a big girl now.”

“Yes, you are.”

Alison frowned up at her. “Your hair is longer and there’s gray in it.”

“Why, thank you for noticing. Can you give your Aunt Meg a hug?”

“You look like you’re breathing okay.”

Meg had no idea what the child meant by that. “I am.”

Alison moved forward and gave her a lukewarm hug. When she stepped back, Meg said, “I brought you a present.”

“Let me guess.” Claire emerged from the shadows at the end of the hallway. “You thought every five year old needs a Swiss Army Knife.”

“No. A BB gun.”

“You didn’t.”

Meghann laughed. “I went into the bowels of Hell—a toy store at Northgate—and found the dullest-looking salesperson. She recommended this instead.” She handed Alison a brightly wrapped box.

Ali ripped it open. “It’s a Groovy Girl, Mommy. A Groovy Girl!” She flung herself at Meghann, this time hugging for real. She showed the doll to Claire, then ran upstairs.

Meghann handed Claire a bottle of wine—Far Niente 1997. “This is one of my favorites.”

“Thank you.”

They stared at each other. Their last meeting had been a year ago, when Mama was in town for the Fan-ference. Mama had taken Claire and Ali to the zoo, then later, Meghann had joined them at the Seattle Center. They’d spent most of their time taking Alison for rides in the Fun Forest. That way, they didn’t need to talk.

Finally Claire surged forward, pulled Meghann into a quickie hug, then let her go.

Meghann stumbled back, too surprised by the gesture to respond. Afterward, she wished she’d hugged Claire in return. “Dinner smells good, but you didn’t have to cook. I wanted to take you out.”

“The Chuck Wagon smorgasbord isn’t exactly your style. I didn’t want to hear about it.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, come in. It’s been too long since you were here.”

“You’ve never been to my place.”

Claire looked at her. “It’s called small talk, Meg. I wasn’t picking a fight.”

“Oh,” Meghann said again, feeling like an idiot.

She followed Claire to the sofa and sat down beside her. She couldn’t help noticing the ridiculous engagement ring—a band of tinfoil, for God’s sake. It was good she’d come up here. There was no point in putting it off. “Claire, I think—”

Then he walked into the room. Meghann knew instantly why her sister had fallen so hard. Bobby might be a loser as a singer, but he was a winner in the looks department. He was tall and lean, but broad-shouldered, with blond hair that fell almost to his shoulders. When he smiled, it was with his whole face.

A man like this didn’t just sweep you off your feet; he twirled you into the air so far and fast there was nowhere to go but down.

He and Claire exchanged a look that radiated love. Meg was reminded of The Way We Were , that paean to the bittersweet truth that sometimes the wrong man could look so good he took your breath away.

But sooner or later a woman had to breathe.

“I’m Bobby Austin,” he said, smiling.

Meghann rose to her feet and shook his hand. “Meghann Dontess.”

“Claire says folks call you Meg.”

“My friends do, yes.”

He smiled. “I’m judging by that bite-on-a-lemon look of yours that you’d like me to stick with Miz Dontess.”

“I imagine those mountain girls in Arkansas think you’re charming.”

“The Texas girls sure did.” He put an arm around Claire. “But those days are behind me now. I’ve found the girl I want to grow old with.” He kissed Claire lightly on the cheek and squeezed her hand, then he took the wine bottle and walked into the kitchen.

In the few moments he was gone, Meghann stood there, staring at her sister, trying to choose her words with care, but nothing seemed quite right.

Bobby returned with two glasses of wine and handed one to Meghann. “I imagine you have some questions for me,” he said, sitting down.

His forthrightness threw Meghann off. Slowly, feeling a little uncertain, she sat down in the chair opposite the sofa. They were separate entities now: Bobby and Claire versus Meghann. “Tell me about yourself.”

“I love Claire.”

“Something substantive.”

“You’re a facts-and-figures, gal, huh? I’m thirty-seven years old. Graduated from Oklahoma State. Degree in music appreciation. Rodeo scholarship. I was a calf roper. Which is why my knees are gone. I’ve … been married.”

Meghann leaned forward, on alert. “How many times?”

He glanced at Claire. “Three.”

“Oh, shit .” Meghann looked at Claire. “You’ve got to be kidding. If marriages were felonies, he’d be in prison for life.”

He scooted forward. “I married Suellen when we were eighteen years old. She was pregnant, and where I come from—”

“You’ve got kids?”

“No.” His voice grew soft. “Miscarriage. After that, there wasn’t much reason to stay married. We lasted less than three months. I’m a slow learner, though. I got married again at twenty-one. Unfortunately, it turned out that she wanted a different life than I did. Nice cars, nice jewelry. I got arrested when they busted her for selling cocaine out of our house. I lived with her for two years and never noticed it. I just thought she was moody as hell. Nobody believed I wasn’t a part of it. Laura was the only one who counted. She was—is—a pediatrician who loves country music. We were married for ten years. It broke up about a year ago. I could tell you why, but it’s none of your business. Claire knows everything, though.”

A three-time loser and a felon.

Perfect.

And now the bad sister had to break the good sister’s heart.

How?

That was the $64,000 question. How did you say the things that needed to be said at a time like this? Especially with Mr. Better-Looking Than God sitting there? Harriet had been right about one thing: Meghann and Claire had been poised on a cliff of politeness and pretense for years. The wrong approach could send them over the edge.

Claire got off the sofa, moved toward her. She sat on the carved Chinese chest that served as a coffee table.

“I know you can’t be happy for me, Meg.”

“I want to be.” It was the truth. “It’s just that—”

“I know. He wouldn’t get a platinum rating. I know. And you handle divorces for a living. I know that, too. Most of all, I know that you grew up in Mama’s house.” She leaned forward. “I know , Meg.”

Meghann felt the weight of those few words. Her sister had thought of all the same reasons, had seen all the possible outcomes. There wasn’t anything Meghann could say that Claire didn’t already know.

“It won’t ever make sense and I know it’s crazy and risky and—worst of all—Mama-like. I don’t need you to tell me these things. What I need is for you to trust me.”

Trust. Exactly what Harriet had predicted. But Meghann had forgotten long ago how to trust people. If she’d ever known.

“It’s hard for you, I know. The leader of the pack never makes a good follower. But it would mean a lot to me if you’d let this go. Maybe hug me and say you’re happy for me. Even if it’s a lie.”

Meghann looked into her sister’s pale green eyes. Claire looked frightened right now; expectant, too. She was obviously preparing herself to be wounded by Meghann’s response, but a slim part of her couldn’t help believing… .

It reminded Meghann of their childhood. Whenever Mama had brought a new “friend” home, Claire had let herself believe that finally there would be a daddy in her life. Meghann had tried to protect Claire from her own optimism, but she’d never succeeded, and so, each stepfather had broken a tiny piece of Claire’s heart. And yet, when the next man arrived, her sister found a way to believe again.

Of course Claire believed in Bobby Austin.

There was no way Meghann would change her sister’s mind, or—more important—her heart. Thus, she had two choices: pretend to give her blessing or stick to her guns. The first choice allowed her and Claire to remain the almost sisters they were. The second choice risked even that tenuous relationship.

“I trust you, Claire,” Meghann said at last. She was rewarded with a small, uncertain smile. “If you say Bobby Austin is the man you love, that’s good enough for me.”

Claire released a sharp breath. “Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy for you.” She leaned forward and hugged Meghann, who was too surprised by it to hug her back.

Claire drew back and stood up. She went over to the sofa and sat down by Bobby, who immediately put an arm around her and pulled her in close.

Meghann tried to think of what to say in the awkward silence that followed. “So, what’s the wedding plan? Justice of the peace? I have a friend who’s a judge… .”

“No way.” Claire laughed. “I waited thirty-five years for this. I’m having the whole enchilada. White dress. Formal church wedding. Cake. Reception with dancing. All of it.”

Meghann didn’t know why she was surprised. Claire had been one of those children who played bride endlessly. “There’s a consultant in my building. I think she planned Bill Gates’s wedding.”

“This is Hayden, not Seattle. I’ll rent the VFW hall and everyone will pitch in with potluck. The Bon Marché has a bridal department now. It’ll be great. You’ll see.”

“Potluck? Potluck? ” Meghann got to her feet. Apparently there was something of her mother in her after all. She wasn’t going to let her sister have a Wal-Mart wedding. “I’ll organize the wedding and reception,” she said impulsively. Once she’d offered, she felt steady again. In control of something.

Claire’s smile faded. “You?”

“I’m not a social moron. I can do this.”

“But … but … your job is so hectic. I couldn’t ask you to take time out of your busy schedule for this.”

“You didn’t ask. I offered. And it so happens that I find myself … underutilized at work.” The idea seized hold of her. Maybe it could bring them together. “This would be perfect, really. I’d like to do this for you, Claire.”

“Oh.” Claire sounded underwhelmed. Meghann knew what her sister was thinking—Meghann was a bull in a small-town china shop.

“I’ll listen to you and do what you want. It’ll be your wedding. I promise.”

“I think it sounds great,” Bobby said, smiling broadly. “You’re very generous, Meghann.”

Claire frowned at Meghann. “Why am I seeing Father of the Bride playing in my head? You never do anything in a small way, Meg.”

Meghann felt awkward suddenly, vulnerable. She wasn’t certain why she wanted this so badly. “I will this time. Honest.”

“Okay,” Claire said finally. “You can help me plan my wedding.”

Meghann grinned and clapped her hands. “Good. Now, I better get started. Where’s a local phone book? And what’s the date again—the twenty-third? Next Saturday? That’s not much time to pull this together.” She headed for the kitchen, where she found a scrap of paper and began a to-do list.

“Oh, man,” she heard her sister say. “I’ve created a monster.”