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“You should’ve gone sailing,” she said without looking up. “It would help you—”
“I don’t need any help.” Though the towel balled in both my fists said otherwise. I reached for Alma’s hand. “Has he . . .donesomething to you? You can talk to me. I know I’m away a lot—”
“All the time.” She pouted. “You just left me here.”
“But if you need me, there’s nothing I won’t do for you.”
She tossed the magazine aside and squeezed my hand. “Because you’re the best sister in the whole world.”
She hopped up and kissed my cheek before disappearing inside the house.
What kind of trouble are you in, Alma?
She hadn’t elaborated, and a tightness in my chest wouldn’t ease.
With Alma, trouble could mean anything from she’d broken the heel on her favorite pair of shoes to she’d wrecked our father’s antique Rolls Royce.
Where she flitted about through life, I was more serious. She circulated the circuit, following in our mother’s footsteps, although with a more carefree attitude. Lunches with the ladies. Parties. Charity events. Tennis at the country club.
Alma lived the glamorous life of the wealthy like it was portrayed on TV. Everyone was drawn to her as if she were the most powerful magnet in New York. Her flighty exterior fooled people.
Shedidlike to have fun. And shewasthe ultimate ray of sunshine.
But my sister was excellent at reading people. And she knew exactly how to use that to her benefit. Most never saw it coming.
I’d endured a lifetime of her doing that to me, though it was mostly over insignificant things. And she’d done it again.
She was well aware I’d worry over what kind of trouble she was in. Yet she’d flipped a switch. Gone from anxious to her radiant self in a second. And refused to elaborate on what she meant.
She’d primed me. And when she sensed the exact right moment, she’d use that to her advantage to get me to do whatever it was she wanted.
Even knowing how she operated, I’d do whatever it was she wanted.
Because I always did.
Alma was my sister.
I loved her. She’d been my best friend since she was born. And despite that she was a master manipulator, she had a big heart.
What is going on with you, Alma?
Her trouble had to be related to Kane. Although he’d been nothing but the doting boyfriend in front of our family, one never knew what went on behind closed doors.
My experiences alone with him had been on opposite ends of the spectrum. Hot and cold. Anger and gratitude. And sometimes I ran the gamut of that spectrum within minutes.
He didn’t like me, nor I him, but it hadn’t stopped him from not only rescuing me but taking up for me too. The way he’d been gentle and kind wasn’t the action of a man who would ever physically hurt a woman.
But at the moment, Kane was my sister’s center of gravity. Everything revolved around him.
And I wanted to think the worst of him. I had to. Because if I didn’t, I might remember how it felt to be in his arms as he’d carried me from the ocean. How he hadn’t let go until he was certain I was okay. How I felt like I’d touched a live wire every time I was near him.
What if I never feel that alive again?
It was just the heightened adrenaline of a near-death situation. The water was my biggest fear. I’d nearly succumbed to it, but Kane had saved me.
Of course I felt some sort of . . . connection to him.
As soon as the weekend was over and we’d all gone our separate ways, I’d go back to my steady, even self. With some distance, this constant buzz that hummed within me would go away.
