The Secret Sister (22 page)

“Only for a few weeks. Natalie was an exotic dancer. That's not how we met—we met at a nightclub when we were both out with friends—but when I learned what she did for a living, I wasn't too excited about it. I didn't want her to continue, knew it would be a problem between us if she did. Then her profession became a moot point because, as I got to know her better, I realized we weren't well-suited at all.”

“So did you break up before or after you learned about the baby?”

“Before. But I remained in contact with her. She talked about giving the baby up for adoption. I told her I was willing to coparent, but I never dreamed I'd take over completely.”

“Why didn't
you
put Laney up for adoption?”

“I considered it. I even called an attorney. I told myself it would be better for her. I just...couldn't go through with it.”

“So you decided to be a single parent...”

“Yes.” Those had been difficult times, but he didn't regret having a child. He loved his daughter far too much for that. “I can't really explain why I couldn't give her up. It didn't make sense to take on a baby alone, especially because Natalie and I were together for such a short time, but...”

“Taking care of her had to be hard for you at first,” she said.

“It was.” He chuckled without mirth as he remembered how terrified he'd been when they put her in his arms that day. He'd never been around a baby before, had no clue how to care for one—especially a blind baby who weighed barely six pounds when they released her.

“Did you have a girlfriend at the time?” she asked.

“No.”

“So, no help.”

“My mom's been there for us, as you know.”

“Still. It must've required a huge lifestyle change.”

“It did.”

“How were you making a living?”

“I was working construction for a guy in Charleston.” That was before he'd had his own license, so he hadn't been earning a lot. “Our first night together was dicey. I must've called the hospital every time she cried.”

He loved the smile that curved Maisey's lips.

“Anyone would've been frightened. To be honest, I think most guys would've put her up for adoption.”

“But she was
my
kid. And she was blind. I felt she really needed me and that...maybe giving her up wasn't best. Maybe no one else would be able to protect her like I could.”

“When did you move back to the island?”

“Almost as soon as Laney got out of the hospital. My mom was having trouble making ends meet, so I figured, if she'd watch Laney, I could work for all of us.”

“What about your job in Charleston?”

“I commuted that first year, until I got my own license.”

“So once you made the decision to keep Laney, you never had second thoughts?”

He took a deep breath. He wasn't sure how honest he wanted to be. He felt guilty for ever having the doubts he'd had, but he'd be lying if he said he'd never had them. “I can't claim
that
,” he admitted. “At first, I told myself I'd try it for a week. Then the next week would come, and I'd tell myself I'd try it for another week.”

“And then?”

He grinned as he remembered how quickly he'd fallen in love with his child. “Pretty soon I couldn't possibly consider giving her up.”

When Maisey winced instead of smiling, he was again confused by her reaction. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No. Of course not.” Her smile came back, but he felt it was simply to mask that odd expression. “Does Laney go to school? Because if we've had a school for the blind built since I lived on the island, I haven't heard about it.”

“No. There's nothing specifically for disabled people here. But Laney's getting plenty of love, and she's happy and secure. Those are the things that matter most to me. We can think about school next year or the year after. When she's a bit older.”

“She'll need to be independent one day. You won't always be around to take care of her.”

“That's a scary thought. But she'll be ready. My mom homeschools her, so it's not as if she isn't being taught. And I do what I can. Laney knows her braille letters and numbers and a few words. She's learning more every day. But we're not pushing too hard. There's no hurry.”

As she stared off into space, he got the impression she was remembering...something. “Maisey?”

When he said her name, she blinked. “Yes?”

“What have I said that's made you sad?”

“Nothing, but...I need to get back to my place and...do a few things.” She slid out of bed without touching him.

“You've had a little too much intimacy for one day?” He was teasing her about her skittishness, but a knock sounded before she could respond.

“Oh, God,” she said. “Who could that be?”

“I have no idea,” he replied. “Unless it's your brother. Stay here.” He pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and hurried out, expecting to see Keith. Who else could it be? It was Sunday morning, and he wasn't expecting anyone.

But a stranger stood on his porch—a man about five-foot-eleven with his dark hair cut neatly and his hazel eyes rimmed by a pair of glasses. He was well put-together in chinos and a button-up shirt with expensive-looking loafers. Rafe thought he had to be selling insurance or something, despite the weekend—until he opened his mouth.

“I'm looking for Maisey Henderson. I was wondering if you know her or could tell me where she lives.”

Rafe stiffened. “Henderson? You mean
Lazarow
?”

He frowned. “Is she using her maiden name for more than just her books these days?”

“I guess so. That's the name I know her by.”

Although it was obvious he didn't like the sound of that, he didn't comment on it further. “She told me she lives here in Smuggler's Cove, but... I drove around a bit. None of the other units seem particularly livable.”

“She's in the bungalow next door,” he said. “I haven't had a chance to rehab it yet.”

Rafe could only assume this was Maisey's ex, straight from New York City. He was going to let the encounter end right there, but Maisey must've overheard, because she came out of the bedroom, looking stunned.
“Jack?”

Jack's eyes darted between them. Although she was fully dressed, the state of her hair made it apparent she'd been in bed. And that, coupled with his own dishevelment, suggested they'd been in bed together.

“Don't tell me you...that you're with...”

She cleared her throat. “Let's go to my place.”

Rafe watched as she hurried over to gather up the pictures and letters on the coffee table. He thought she was going to walk out and join her ex-husband without even acknowledging him. He couldn't help flinching as she brushed past. He'd been a fool to set himself up for this, he thought.

But just after she'd stepped outside, she turned back, pulled him to her by grabbing his shirtfront and, although her gaze was troubled when she briefly lifted her eyes to his, kissed him like she meant it. “I'll call you later.”

21

R
afe had covered her broken window with cardboard. He hadn't mentioned it, but Maisey knew it could only have been him. He was the type to fix it for her—as best he could until he could fix it right. He'd also swept up the glass last night when he'd come over to douse the fire...

“Keith did this?” Jack said, whistling to show his shock as he went to inspect the damage.

Her brother had done a lot more than break her window. He'd burned most of the photographs Rafe had found, too. There were a few pictures of Annabelle, which Rafe had picked up and brought back to his bungalow. She had those with her. But, like the picture that established Annabelle's age, all the photos including Josephine and Malcolm were gone. Other than the picture of Annabelle standing taller than Keith, those were the most telling. Not only did they establish a tie between the subject and that subject's probable parents, they proved that Josephine had once had contact with a child who looked very similar to Maisey but was older than Keith.

“That's the least of my problems,” Maisey said. “The window can be fixed. But the pictures...there's no way to replace them.”

Jack sank into the nearby chair and rubbed his face. He hadn't liked finding her with Rafe and was still a little pale under his fake tan. But after what he'd done while they were married, he was being tolerant. As they'd walked over, he'd said he understood that she was on the rebound; he also said she needed to be careful about walking into the arms of the wrong kind of guy. He'd even tried to talk to her about how much he missed her, and the difference between love and lust, saying it was crazy to throw away ten good years of marriage—as if
he
hadn't already done that.

Maisey had cut him off by thrusting the pictures into his hands. She didn't want to deal with the divorce or what she might or might not be feeling for Rafe. She was too concerned about having had an unknown sister.

“Are you sure they establish that there was an older sibling?” he asked.

She wouldn't have told him what the pictures signified, but Jack wasn't from the island, would most likely never live on Fairham and he knew all the rest of the dirt on her family. Because he was familiar and yet removed, he seemed like the only person she could safely use as a sounding board, now that Keith had reacted so negatively.

“That girl you're looking at? It isn't me.”

“How can you be so confident of that?”

“I told you, Keith destroyed the most important pictures. He wouldn't have bothered if they weren't damaging.”

He frowned. “I wouldn't put anything past Keith.”

Maisey reached for one of the letters she'd brought home from Rafe's and opened it carefully. It was from someone named Gretchen Phillips. As she looked through a few more, she proved her initial suspicion that they were all from the same person—this Gretchen, who hadn't provided a name or return address on any of the envelopes.

Putting the pictures down, Jack shifted his focus to the letter in her hand. “Is there any way Gretchen Phillips could be a man?” he asked half-humorously.

“I doubt it. Why?”

“It might be that you've only uncovered proof of an affair.”

The fact that he could say this so nonchalantly after she'd uncovered
his
affair only a year and a half ago surprised her, but she ignored that. “Could be something like
The Bridges of Madison County
, I suppose.”

“Is that what you're hoping?”

“No.” She could understand if her father had been tempted to stray. It wasn't as if Josephine had given him much love or attention. She always had to be the one in the spotlight. But Maisey didn't want to discover something that would destroy the tremendous respect she had for Malcolm. Bad enough that he'd never mentioned her sister.

“It's better than the alternative, isn't it? Maybe the girl in those pictures belongs to another woman—a woman who took her and moved elsewhere.”

Having a half sister would be far easier to accept than the more macabre scenarios Maisey had conjured up. “I guess that's possible. We look alike, but having the same father could explain that.”

“There you go. Even though it would be a shock, you could learn to live with it.”

Heartened by his words, Maisey began to read. She understood that she might be severely disappointed. Nothing was certain. But if there was any chance of solving the gut-wrenching mystery, she had to pursue it...

She skimmed over the words. Then she read them more slowly.

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“There are no protestations of love here, no bedroom talk.”

“Then what?”

“I can't say for sure.” At first, the contents seemed completely unrelated to the pictures. She couldn't even figure out why her father would hang on to these letters. “It's some woman rambling on about how she has bills to pay, and her car's broken down, and if she could just get another car everything would be better. Then he'll never hear from her again...blah, blah, blah.”

Jack sifted through the other letters. “Going by the date stamps on the envelopes, that letter was early in their correspondence. So he did hear from her again. A number of times.”

Setting the first letter aside, Maisey moved on to the next. “He bought her the vehicle she was asking for.”

“That's an expensive gift.”

She shook her head in confusion. “A lot of people have asked my parents for help, but I'm betting this is the only car they ever gave away.”

“I get the feeling your mother wasn't aware of it.”

She looked up. “So why would he do it?”

“He was in love with Gretchen?”

Maisey didn't believe it. “I don't think so. But—” she scanned two more letters “—the car he bought was a nice one. A Lexus. Even secondhand, it'd be pricey. She thanks him for it, then goes on to say that it needs new tires and brakes since she has to drive it across the country to look after her poor, ailing parents.” She read aloud: “‘I got no income. Getting too old to be much good to anyone. If you could help me out again, I'd be greatful'—spelled g-r-e-a-t-f-u-l,” she interjected. “Doesn't seem like the type of person my father would be having an affair with. Sounds too uneducated—and quite a bit older.”

He handed her the others. “Maybe these will tell us more.”

She read them the rest, then passed them back to him. “They're all in the same vein.”

“With poor spelling and terrible grammar,” he agreed when he finished reading them for himself. “She keeps complaining about the trials in her life and then she asks for more money.”

“Did you see the one where she said her oldest daughter was sick and needed dialysis? Where she asks for forty thousand dollars?”

“I did. That's a lot of money. But equally surprising is the sense of entitlement that runs through them.” Paper rattled as he skimmed the letters again. “‘It's such a small amount to ask from someone who has everything,'” he read aloud. “What's small about a
car
?”

“In comparison to what he stands to lose, it may not be much,” Maisey said. “What you call a sense of entitlement could be a veiled threat. Did you see this P.S.?” She held up the letter that troubled her the most. “‘You wouldn't want to lose what you stand to lose.'”

“You're thinking
blackmail
?”

“Doesn't it sound like that to you? As if this Gretchen Phillips has something potentially damaging on my father—or my mother?”

“Yes, but it might not have anything to do with the girl in these pictures,” he said.

“What else could it be?”

“Anything. Maybe
she
was never your father's mistress, but she knows of an infidelity. Or she's aware of a business indiscretion that could get him in trouble. She never mentions an Annabelle, never even alludes to a child.”

“You mean there could be
two
secrets?”

“It's not
im
possible, but I guess it's not as likely as what you're thinking. Question is, who was this Gretchen?” he asked. “Do you remember a housekeeper or a nanny by that name?”

“No, but she was familiar with our family and our family's routine, so she had to be fairly close. That's clear when she suggests various places my father could leave the money—‘so my friend can pick it up and you won't have to go out of your way none,'” she quoted.

Jack scratched his head. “Are these
all
the letters?”

“All the letters I found.”

“I'd hate to think there were more. Your father gave her quite a sum of money over this three-year period.”

“I wonder what finally made it stop?” she asked. “Where'd she go?”

“Maybe your father hired a hit man.”

Maisey scowled at him. “I hope you're joking.”

“That's what they do in the movies.”

“I don't care. It isn't funny.”

“I didn't mean it.” He pursed his lips. “She talks about getting old. And these letters are from twenty-eight years ago. She's probably no longer alive.”

“
Something
must've happened to interrupt the flow of money. She was milking the situation for all it was worth.”

“So it's logical to assume she'd continue—until she couldn't,” he said, finishing her sentence.

Fresh concern made the hair on the back of Maisey's neck stand on end. She needed to learn more about this woman.

“I wish I could call Keith and ask him if he remembers Gretchen Phillips. Not only is he older than I am, he's spent a lot more time on Fairham.”

“Keith's too unpredictable,” Jack said. “He hates your mother, and yet he comes over here and gets into a big fight with you over protecting her.”

That might seem illogical to her very practical ex, but Maisey understood that Keith and Josephine's relationship could never be classified in such a cut-and-dried way. “He doesn't hate her. His emotions are like mine—confused. We want to
finally
get along with her, to be at peace, to feel accepted and loved—the usual things kids want.”

“She's not capable of giving you any of those things. I've said it for years.”

“Perhaps.”

He grimaced. “Especially if she's anything close to what you're thinking here, with all these pictures and letters.”

“She can't be
that
bad, can she?”

Jack clasped his hands between his knees. “To be honest, Maise, if your mother gets angry enough...”

Wasn't that what had Maisey so worried?

He moved over to the couch, where she was sitting, and took her hand. She allowed it, since she knew he was trying to be supportive, but his touch felt strange, uncomfortable. “You don't need this on top of everything you've been through.”

A large part of which
he'd
caused.

Briefly, her mind flashed back to the day before Ellie's funeral, only a week after her death, when he'd hit her up for sex and she'd forced herself to comply. She'd been so broken, so hurt and yet she felt obligated to perform the way he seemed to think a wife should. She'd never forget how shocked she'd been that he didn't seem to care whether she felt
any
desire.

“It's...upsetting,” she admitted.

“Rest assured that I'm here for you. I'll stay as long as you need me.”

Did
she need him? Or would she be better off if he left? “What brought you here?” she asked.

“I felt we should sit down and talk, face-to-face. See if there isn't some way we can work through what happened and put all the tragedy behind us.”

Maisey had no idea how to respond. She wasn't ready to take him back. But, despite some memories she wished she could repress, she couldn't say she wasn't grateful to see him at this particular point. He was someone to confide in—someone who knew the intricacies and difficulties of her messed-up family. “I appreciate that. But...”

“But...” He frowned when she pulled her hand away.

“I'm seeing Rafe right now.”

“The guy next door? You've only been here a week! You said you stayed over at his place because he stepped in when Keith was chasing you.”

She'd told him the whole story.
He
was the one who'd isolated that as the reason.

He did have a point, however. She couldn't be
too
enamored of someone she didn't really know. “There's a strong attraction,” she said. “I can't deny that.”

He ran a finger down the inside of her arm. “And what do you feel toward me? Could you ever forgive me, Maisey?”

She glanced at the clock. It was getting late. Soon she had to be at Rafe's mother's. She didn't have time to go into this now, couldn't decipher her feelings, anyway. “I know Ellie's death was hard on you, too.”

“That's it,” he said fervently. “If we hadn't lost Ellie, our marriage would never have fallen apart.”

Maisey wanted to believe that, but was it true? It seemed to her that something must've been missing in recent years, or they could've survived their daughter's death. He'd shut her out when Ellie died. But, if she was being strictly honest, he'd done that before, when he got so involved in his work.

She remembered how it felt to be with Rafe. The excitement she'd experienced when he touched her had been missing from her marriage to Jack, especially during the last few years. Could she point to apathy in the bedroom, and elsewhere, as a sign that they
wouldn't
have made it? That they were slowly drifting apart even before Ellie died?

Or did she have unrealistic expectations of marriage? Would
any
marriage eventually travel down the same path? Where one spouse constantly expected the other to tolerate and understand and not complain?