Sisters Like Us - Сьюзен Мэллери

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of the refrigerator.

      “So who is Great-Aunt Cheryl anyway?” he asked.

      “Terence’s great-aunt. I first met her when he and I were still dating. She was wonderful. Funny and irreverent. She never married, but there were always very interesting men hanging around. She had a million stories and they were all so interesting. Just when I started to think she was making it all up, she’d pull out something like a letter from President Truman thanking her for her invaluable aid to our country.”

      She sliced the French loaf lengthwise. Lucas leaned against the counter.

      “You admired her.”

      “I did. Very much. She was always very sweet to me.”

      “Bunny hated her and was jealous of your relationship.”

      Harper stared at him. “How did you know?”

      “Come on. Really? Your mother is the most traditional person I know, and she’s convinced you that if you buy bread instead of making it, the sun won’t rise in the morning. Bunny is all home and hearth. Great-Aunt Cheryl would make Bunny’s teeth hurt. Worse, she would have violated every one of Bunny’s core beliefs.”

      “They weren’t close,” Harper admitted. “Over the past couple of years, Great-Aunt Cheryl and I weren’t in touch as often. I thought she was busy. It was only after I found out she’d died that I learned she’d been sick.”

      Harper still felt guilty for not pushing harder to find out what was going on. “She didn’t want to be any trouble, or something like that. I wish I’d been with her at the end.”

      “Was she alone?”

      “No, she had Ramon.”

      He raised his eyebrows. “Ramon?”

      “Great-Aunt Cheryl was a little like you when it came to her lovers.”

      “Good for her. Why didn’t you go to the memorial?”

      Harper had all her socially correct excuses at the ready, but with Lucas, she found herself blurting out the truth.

      “It’s nearly a day to drive to Grass Valley and I didn’t want to be in the car that long with Terence and her.”

      “Alicia?” Lucas asked sweetly. “Is there a reason you can’t say her name?”

      “Yes. It’s like Beetlejuice. If you say her name too many times, she’ll rise up with horrific powers and do unspeakable things. I’m being cautious.”

      “The world thanks you.”

      “As it should.”

      She finished coating the bread. After slicing it, she wrapped it in foil so it was ready to pop in the oven.

      “Expecting anything from Great-Aunt Cheryl?” he asked.

      “No. We were friends and that’s plenty.”

      She went into the pantry and scooped flour into a sifter, then sorted through her folder of stencils before finding the one she needed. Technically it wasn’t Easter until Sunday, but she wanted something fun for her daughter’s return.

      Lucas didn’t speak as he followed her outside. She stopped at the end of the walkway, then put the stencil on the concrete path before straightening and gently turning the handle on the sifter.

      Flour drifted down, landing on the stencil. When she lifted it up, there was a perfect set of rabbit footprints.

      Lucas stepped around her and headed for his car. “You’re a scary woman, Harper Szymanski. I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

      “With Pomegranate.”

      “Persimmon.”

      “Does it actually matter?”

      He got into his white Mercedes convertible, turned to her and winked. “Honestly, it doesn’t.”

       Chapter Three

      STACEY TOLD HERSELF that everything was going to be fine. The scientific research on the power of positive thinking was extensive. When an outcome was utncertain, focusing on optimistic possibilities relaxed the body and cleared the mind. Otherwise, thinking could be crippled by fear, like hers, right now.

      “She’s going to kill me when I tell her about the baby,” she murmured, glancing at Kit as he drove the handful of blocks to her sister’s house.

      “Bunny would never do that. You’re her daughter and she loves you.”

      “She’s going to be disappointed in me. She’s going to give me that look that makes me feel inadequate and small, as if I’m the most disappointing daughter ever. Then she’s going to tell me there’s something wrong with me.”

      Kit reached across the console and took her hand. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Stacey. You’re brilliant, loyal, kind and funny.”

      “But she is going to yell at me and be upset.”

      It was the latter that would be the most difficult for her to handle. Stacey might not get along with her mother, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings, either.

      “She’s not going to understand why you didn’t tell her before,” Kit said quietly.

      She squeezed his fingers as tightly as she could. “I couldn’t. She’s going to say things that I don’t want to hear.” Stacey was terrified enough about the baby as it was—she didn’t need her mother making the situation worse.

      Most mothers worried about their child having a problem or about the pain of delivery or if they could handle the reality of juggling their already-busy life with an infant thrown in. She got that and shared some of those concerns, but her real worry—her real fear—was that she wasn’t going to be an adequate mother.

      The baby wasn’t real to her. Hearing the heartbeat had brought Kit to tears while she’d simply monitored the rhythm and strength and found it to be within the normal range.

      She had no sense of life growing within her. Yes, she understood the biology of what was happening, but that was simply science. Emotions were different. She could see herself as the vessel in which the baby grew, but not as the infant’s mother. She couldn’t imagine holding her daughter or rocking her. Kit talked about how excited he was for her to be born while Stacey had no sense of after.

      “I just need to get through this,” Stacey whispered, thinking both of telling her mother and having the baby. “Once I know how she’s going to react, I’ll be fine.”

      “Even if you’re not, I’ll be right there, next to you.” He drew back his hand and flashed her a grin. “Harper will provide cover while we’ll be ready to run if Bunny starts swinging.”

      Stacey managed a slight smile. “She would never hit you or even say you were wrong. You’re the man and, by default, special.”

      “It’s good to be me.” His grin faded. “I know I’ve asked before, but I want to double-check that you’re okay with Ashton moving in with us.”

      The change of subject was welcome but the new topic matter confused her. “Why would there be a problem with Ashton?”

      Kit pulled up in front of Harper’s house and turned off the engine. He faced Stacey. “You barely know him. He’s going to be living with us through the summer. The baby is due in late June. Any one of these could be considered a problem for most women.”

      Kit was a rock-solid guy, but his sister was not. She’d spent most of her life in and out of drug rehab. Every now and then Stacey wondered if she should have specialized in addiction. The brain had an amazing capacity to fixate on pleasure—whatever its source.

      Kit’s sister’s lifestyle

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