LITMIR.BIZ

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and hugged her.

      “Well, it’s no wonder I didn’t recognize you,” she said with a grin. Joan was bundled up in a bulky down jacket and black cargo pants over thick boots and was wearing a woollen cap pulled low over her forehead and covering the tops of her ears. Her exposed cheeks and the tip of her nose were bright red.

      There were seven children—four boys and three girls—in the Burroughs family, and Stephanie had never been especially close to any of her siblings. Most of Stephanie’s brothers and sisters had stayed close to home, married young, and started families early, whereas Stephanie had left for college at eighteen and had never moved back. Now, at thirty-three, she was the only one left unmarried. The last Stephanie had heard of her sister, Joan had been working as a graphic artist in a Milwaukee design studio.

      “Wait, how did you know I’d be here?” Stephanie asked, then answered her own question: “Mom.”

      Joan nodded. “Mom called me and told me you were on the way.” She stepped away from Stephanie to regard her older sister critically. “You’ve lost weight, and you look tired.”

      “Thanks,” Stephanie said sarcastically. “I’ll take the weight loss as a compliment. The last couple of days have been tough, and I had to take two flights to get here. I’m exhausted.”

      “Well, I was still in the city, so I thought I’d hang around and wait for you.”

      “I’m so glad that you did.” Stephanie linked her arm through her sister’s, and together they moved through the crowd. “I really wasn’t looking forward to the hour and a half drive home.”

      “Luckily, I-94’s empty, so I can probably get us home faster than that.” Joan smiled as she took Stephanie’s suitcase. “I spoke to Mom yesterday, and she was complaining that you weren’t coming home. Then she called me today to say that you were on your way.”

      “Yeah, Mom called weeks ago and tried her usual subtle cocktail of blackmail and encouragement on me. I told her I was tied up over the Christmas period . . . but . . . well, things changed.”

      “Well, she sounded thrilled on the phone. Looks like all the family will be there, and you know how much she loves that.”

      The two women traversed the skywalk to the parking garage, where the air was thick with the stench of gasoline and bitter with the acrid tang of car exhausts. There were frozen patches of water on the ground, and Stephanie felt the chill seep up through the too-thin soles of her comfortable shoes.

      “Here. I guessed you wouldn’t have anything with you.” Joan pulled a wool hat from an inside pocket and produced a pair of gloves. “I didn’t have boots in your size,” she added.

      Stephanie pulled on the extremely unflattering green and yellow Green Bay Packers hat, grateful that no one she knew could see her now, and tugged on the gloves that were one size too small. But she was grateful. The air was so bitterly cold that it took her breath away. She’d momentarily forgotten just how freezing Wisconsin could be in December.

      “We’re here,” Joan said, stopping in front of a slightly battered VW van. The remains of dozens of stickers were still visible on its rear; in some places they had been removed so forcefully that paint had peeled off, leaving dappled rust spots in their wake.

      Stephanie blinked in surprise. “You and Eddie were driving an SUV if I remember. . . .”

      “The Cherokee. Yes, Eddie still has that.”

      “Isn’t he coming with us?” Stephanie asked, as Joan wrenched open the door of the van, revealing its disheveled interior.

      A scrap of carpet covered the metal floor, and the back of the van was packed with cardboard U-Haul boxes, suitcases, and black garbage bags obviously stuffed with clothes. One had burst and spilled shoes across the floor. Joan snatched Stephanie’s single suitcase off the ground and shoved it in between two boxes.

      “No, Eddie will not be coming with us. Haven’t you heard—or did Mother conveniently forget to tell you that piece of family gossip?” Joan indicated the back of the van. “I’m moving back home. I’ve left him.” She looked at her older sister. “Don’t give me a lecture,” she added quickly.

      “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Stephanie said quietly. “When did you leave him?” she asked.

      “Tonight.”

      CHAPTER 5

      They sat in silence while Joan maneuvered the sluggish VW through traffic. The heater lost the battle against the chill radiating through the thin floor. Every few moments, Joan would pluck a filthy rag from the dashboard and lean forward to defog an arc of window.

      Stephanie huddled in the seat, arms wrapped around her body, gloved fingers tucked into her armpits. She was desperately trying to remember what she knew about Joan and her husband, Eddie. They hadn’t been married long—twelve months, fourteen maybe. Yes, a little over a year. Stephanie hadn’t been able to come to the wedding because it clashed with a week Robert had taken off. And, given the choice between spending a week away with her lover—their first real vacation—or attending a Catholic-Italian wedding complete with a Friday night fish-fry in downtown Milwaukee, she had chosen the vacation. At one point she had gently suggested to Robert that they might go to the wedding together, but he’d pointed out that it would raise too many difficult questions. She had sent an outrageously expensive set of Waterford crystal cut-glass goblets as a wedding present to ease her conscience.

      “I’m really sorry,” she said eventually. “I had no idea.”

      “Didn’t you? I’m surprised that Mother didn’t tell you.” This time Joan was unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice. “She thrives on my misfortune. She’s told just about everyone else I know.”

      Stephanie frowned. She didn’t think that her mother had mentioned anything . . . and yet Joan was right. There was no way that Toni Burroughs would not have shared this tragedy with her other two daughters, discussing and analyzing it to death and wondering where she had gone wrong. Because of course, it was always going to be about her.

      Somewhere at the back of her mind, Stephanie remembered her mother’s talking about Joan and Eddie’s problems. “Okay, yeah . . . now that I think about it, Mom might have mentioned something about you and Eddie not getting along . . . but I wasn’t really listening. Was it about kids? He wanted them, and you didn’t.” Stephanie shut up; there was more, she was sure of it. She had the vaguest of recollections that her mother had told her a long and complicated story about Joan and Eddie. But she’d been too wrapped up in her relationship with Robert to really listen. Also, she knew she had a habit of tuning out when her mother was talking about her siblings.

      “Sorry, do you want to talk about it?” Stephanie asked.

      Joan shook her head. “I’m all talked out.”

      Stephanie kept quiet, knowing that Joan would not be able to resist the temptation to give her side of the story to a new audience.

      Traffic was moving steadily as they cruised along the highway. Snow had been forecast, but none had fallen. However, the temperature had plummeted, and ice was beginning to creep across the road in broad sparkling sheets. There was a sound of sirens in the distance, and the van slowed to a crawl. Joan Burroughs leaned forward and tapped the dashboard, where the temperature gauge was beginning to edge upward. “I hope we don’t overheat before we get home,” she muttered.

      “I’d be more worried this van would fall apart before it overheated,” Stephanie said.

      “What do you want to hear?” Joan asked suddenly. “The truth or the version I told Mother?”

      Stephanie took a moment to consider. “Which version do you want me to hear?” she said eventually. “I’m sure I’ll get Mom’s version anyway.”

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