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She let out a little huff. “No one has ever beaten him.” Her brow furrowed. “Of course, I would pick the best lawyer to divorce.”
“I’m glad you finally got the courage to leave him.” I patted her knee.
She turned . . . almost childlike. “You don’t know what he’s like. He can be so kind and then so cruel. Not the affectionate man I dated, that’s for sure. And you’ve been away for so much of it.”
How many times had she said that to me over the years?
And it was true. I didn’t have more than a weekend of experience with the man, and it had left such a mark on my life I still felt the effects.
I couldn’t imagine a marriage with him. Although at times, I felt like I’d lived it with the way Alma confided in me.
Her lower lip trembled.
Over the past few days, he’d continued to insult me with that Barn nickname, and yet he’d rushed to bail me out of jail like a hero. It was hard to keep up. He confused me, even after all these years of watching him from the sidelines, but hearing about the actual game.
She ran her index finger around the stem of the wineglass. “Maybe I’m making a mistake.”
“No.” The word was a sharp strike, so much so that Alma jerked her gaze to me at my vehemence. I cleared my throat and calmed my tone. “After what he did, you should’ve left him.”
“This was supposed to be easy,” she whispered. “I was supposed to be able to walk away with my half and never look back. That’s what Daddy had assured me.”
“You will. It just might take more time.” Guilt surged through me.
I loved my sister. But I loved my daughter more.
And I’d promised Kane I’d get Alma to walk away without a fight.
Not now, though. Not until he’d made good on his effort to help Penelope.
“I want itnow.”
Alma could be so spoiled at times. And it was hard to remember how calculating she could be.
Had she stayed married to Kane all this time to gain more wealth when she left him?
I shook off the question. It wasn’t fair. And Alma wasn’t a terrible person.
She hasn’t asked about Penelope since you’ve been back.
Honestly, she hadn’t asked about my daughter in years.
I looked at the sister I knew so well, yet hardly knew at all anymore. Was I clinging to the people we were in the past? I’d changed, but motherhood did that. Life had too, I supposed. Maybe when it came to Alma, I’d always seen what I wanted to see.
“If you just tell them what he did to you—”
“I can’t do that. He’ll crucify me,” she said.
“Why did you stay with him?” I finally gave voice to the question I’d wondered for as long as they’d been married.
She slung back some wine and pouted. “You don’t know him. You wouldn’t understand.” Her gaze was pointed. “If you’d been around more...”
“You know why I wasn’t,” I said, far more sharply than I’d intended.
“I’m yoursister.”
I could have said the same of her, but the last thing I wanted was an argument.
“I’ve done the best I could.” My voice was quiet. I felt, as I often did, like I was being stretched in a thousand directions and none of me was ever good enough. I constantly fell short.
