Chapter 23 Bridget
Bridget stared at her sister in shock, Claire’s words ringing in her ears.
Red didn’t leave us. The way Claire said it, the denial and hurt in her voice . . . Claire wasn’t trying to convince Bridget.
She was trying to convince herself.
Bridget reached out to touch her sister’s trembling arm. “Claire, I didn’t mean to imply—”
Claire jerked away. “Just leave it, Bridget.”
Bridget didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive. Her throat was thick with unsaid words, her distress for Claire like a vice around her chest. Had Red really left her? And was it Bridget’s fault? How had she messed things up so badly? The last thing she wanted was to hurt Claire.
What had happened between her and her sister? Claire was right beside her, but it felt like there was a vast distance between them.
She went over the conversation—if that’s what she could call it—with Red on the way to Mammoth, and cringed at how heartless she’d been. She hadn’t meant to imply he wasn’t doing enough for his family—or had she?
Claire parked the truck in front of a log cabin structure swarming with tourists. She took Jenny from Bridget with a jerk and got out of the truck. Bridget hurried after her sister, the cheerful birdsong in the towering pines underscoring the cold silence between them.
“Let’s find Frannie and get this over with,” Claire said, pushing through double doors into a cavernous lobby of polished wood and antlers—and crowded elbow to eyelashes with tourists.
A sparkling Christmas tree stood beside a massive stone fireplace and a troupe of teenagers in cowboy hats strolled through the crowd with a guitar singing “Let it Snow” at the top of their voices.
Bridget scanned the crowd for Frannie. She was going to get her little sister back to Riverside no matter what it took. Claire needed help even more now that Red was gone. There—she spotted Frannie weaving toward them wearing an outlandish costume and a grin like the Cheshire cat.
Frannie stopped in front of them, looking from Claire’s stony face to Bridget’s flushed one with raised brows. “What?”
“What on earth are you wearing?” Bridget asked.
Frannie did a twirl to show off a costume of green tights, a shockingly short skirt, and a man’s white dress shirt.
A string of plastic holly around her neck and a striped stocking hat completed the ridiculous ensemble.
“Goody, you brought the kid.” Frannie scooped Jenny from Claire’s arms. “I want to show her to my friends.”
“What—don’t—” Claire sputtered, but Frannie was gone. Claire took off through the crowd, pursuing Frannie as if she were a kidnapper.
Bridget followed, not as concerned about Jenny as she was about Claire. Her sister looked as white as a ghost. She caught up to Claire, hovering on the fringes of a group of Christmas elves and a Santa wearing dark-framed glasses. Frannie was showing off a wide-eyed Jenny.
The girls exclaimed over her pretty dress.
Claire reached for Jenny, but Frannie dumped the baby in Santa’s arms. “Let’s get a picture of her,” Frannie said nudging Claire out of the way as one of the girls held up a Brownie camera.
“Paul, turn her this way,” she said. “Say cheese!” The girl, a blonde with a bouncing ponytail and cat-eye glasses grinned at Claire. “She’s a real doll.”
Claire grabbed Jenny back from the Santa with a jerk. “Don’t ever do that again,” Claire said to Frannie, fury in her voice. Frannie’s eyes widened.
Bridget looked at her sister with a furrowed brow. “Claire, are you—”
“I’m fine,” Claire answered.
“Okey dokey, if you say so.” Frannie punched Santa’s shoulder. “We have to get ready for our number.”
“Wait, Frannie.” Bridget stopped her little sister. She had to get it through Frannie’s thick skull that she was coming home with them. Today. “We need to talk.”
“No time, sis!” Frannie pushed past her and was gone.
Claire pressed her lips together and Jenny started to fuss. “We might as well sit down and I can feed her.” Claire led them to some empty chairs in front of the stage.
“Let me help,” Bridget said as Claire opened the diaper bag and took out a bottle. Claire ignored her. Bridget felt the beginnings of a headache. Could this day get any worse?
“Reilly, I thought that was you.”
Bridget recognized the voice and a flush crept up her neck. Please, no.
Dr. Sampson sat down in the empty chair beside her.
He was dressed in shorts and a glaringly bright short-sleeved shirt, looking every bit the Californian with his tanned legs and sockless loafers.
Bridget managed a tight smile, reminding herself he was a doctor even if he didn’t look like one. She introduced him to Claire.
Claire said a distracted hello and concentrated on Jenny. Thank goodness the talent show started and Bridget didn’t have to talk to her furious sister on one side, or the annoying doctor on the other.
They watched two boys act out a skit, dressed like park rangers.
Everybody laughed, including Dr. Sampson, but Bridget didn’t hear a word, replaying the terrible conversation with Claire in her mind.
If only she could apologize and start over.
She snuck a glance at Claire. Her sister’s posture was stiff and her face tight.
Frannie was next on stage in her elf costume and sang a surprisingly good rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” with the Santa in glasses accompanying her on the piano.
Frannie ended up with third prize in the talent show and breezed back to Bridget and Claire after the final bows.
Bridget was forced to introduce her to Dr. Sampson or appear rude.
“Wowsa,” Frannie said, looking from his golden hair to his loafers. “You’re a doctor? I’m feeling a bit feverish.”
“Frannie Marie Reilly.” Bridget was mortified. This was the absolute last straw. “Get your things. You’re coming home with us. And don’t put up a fuss.”
“Whoa, sister,” Frannie said, not at all concerned. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Claire needs you to help with the baby.” Bridget looked to Claire for confirmation. “Tell her.”
“I don’t need any help,” Claire said, putting Jenny up to her shoulder. “And working as a savage will be good for Frannie.”
“See?” Frannie stuck her tongue out at Bridget like she was a five-year-old.
Bridget could feel her blood pressure rising. Why did both of her sisters have to be so stubborn? And why did she have to have this conversation with Dr. Sampson looking on? “Claire,” she said, lowering her voice, “with Red gone, you’re all alone in the middle of nowhere—”
“What?” Frannie interrupted. “Why is Red gone?”
Claire glared at Bridget.
“Holy moly,” Frannie said when no one answered her. “First Bridget’s sneaking around and renting an apartment in Rochester, now something’s hinky with you and Red. The Reilly sisters have as much drama as Guiding Light.”
Claire frowned at Bridget. “Rochester?”
“How do you even know about that?” Bridget narrowed her eyes at Frannie. “Were you snooping in my room?”
Frannie shrugged. “I didn’t tell Dad, if that’s what’s worrying you.”
“You’re moving out?” Claire asked.
Bridget glanced at Dr. Sampson. He didn’t even pretend he wasn’t listening in on their private conversation. “I don’t even know if I have the job yet.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed and her brows notched down. “Is this why you want me to move home—so you can leave Dad without feeling guilty?”
Bridget shook her head. That wasn’t it at all. Oh, why had this turned into such a mess? “Claire, I—”
“Why can’t you just mind your own business, Bridget?” Claire’s voice broke in a tearful gulp.
Bridget felt her sister’s words like a stab in the heart, not just because they hurt her—and they did—but because Claire was hurting, too. She would never lash out at Bridget unless she was feeling horrible herself. And it was all Bridget’s fault.
“Doctor.” Claire turned suddenly to Sampson with a wobbly smile that didn’t fool anyone. “I need to get Jenny home. Would you mind terribly giving my sister a ride back to Mammoth?”
Bridget’s mouth dropped open. Claire couldn’t leave. Bridget needed to explain herself—cross the divide that had opened up between her and her sister. And what about Frannie? She had to go home with Claire.
Dr. Sampson’s answer was immediate. “It would be my pleasure.”
Claire hefted the diaper bag and choked out her thanks. She didn’t even say goodbye to Bridget or Frannie.
Frannie looked at Bridget. “What was that all about?”
Bridget’s throat ached and her eyes stung. “Nothing.”
“It sure as shooting wasn’t nothing,” Frannie objected. “Is Claire okay?”
“She’s fine,” Bridget answered. Claire wasn’t fine, and Bridget still had to do something about Frannie. “What am I supposed to tell Dad about you?” The question came out snappish, but she couldn’t help herself. She was failing at everything Dad had asked of her.
Frannie’s questioning gaze rested on her, and seemed to take in more than Bridget wanted her little sister to see. “Just tell him I’m fine,” she said. “I’m fine, Claire’s fine, we’re all fine. Isn’t that what we always say, no matter if it’s the truth or not?”