The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (leveled readers txt) 📗

chaos. Cluttered kitchen sinks, teeming ashtrays, stained cushions, unwashed laundry and the stink of neglect. I knew it well. But I screeched to a sudden halt, narrowly avoiding being rear ended by the guy behind me who sped past, burning a whole lot of rubber, mouthing profanities and sticking up a stubby middle finger.

I was oblivious to the insult. All I could do was stare at a lit window on the third floor of the redbrick apartment block. Beyond the row of empty beer bottles, sickly yellow and orange blooms snaked their way across the wall. My head spun as I checked out the front doors of the building expecting a wooden door with a broken lock, though logic told me it would’ve been replaced by now. I exhaled at the sight of a pair of large glass doors. For at least five minutes I sat staring at the flowered wallpaper, trying to remember being in that place, but I either couldn’t or wouldn’t come up with anything other than a sour smell, like stale beer mixed with fried bacon, rotting milk and the chemical stink of burned cleaning fluid.

A tap on the passenger side window almost sent me through my sunroof. Someone large and pale loomed out of the shadows and I fell back against my seat hyperventilating until I recognized the face and rolled down the window.

“Jeez, Dane – you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Why are you here?” he asked, his glance darting from me to the street. “Or are you trying to get lucky?”

I could only manage to croak an answer through parched lips. “I was on my way home from a party. I stopped because I thought I recognized this place,” I said, nodding towards the grungy apartment block.

“Hope not,” he said, putting a cigarette in his mouth and cupping his hand to protect the lighter flame. “Unless you’re into crack.”

His head swiveled when a sleek black Lincoln edged by, slowing down for a moment beside us. I tried to make out a face through the tinted windows, but the car accelerated off leaving a silvery exhaust trail.

“You’re scaring off my regulars,” he said, flicking the cigarette away.

“I saw Carla at the mall. She looks happy.”

He jammed his hands in his pockets and tried not to smile. His eyes were brown liquid under the thick eyeliner. “Got my fingers crossed for her.”

Next, a charcoal-gray SUV sidled past and stopped just ahead of us. This time I caught sight of the driver. White collar with silver, Ken doll hair. Tiny silver goatee and gold-rimmed glasses. Like a bank manager, real estate agent or accountant. A regular white-collar guy. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place where or when I might have seen him.

“Who is that guy?” I said, feeling my world tilt to the side and then back again. He looked like every TV commercial image I’d been programmed to trust.

Dane shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “Customer confidentiality assured,” he said, touching his finger to his lips. “Gotta run.”

Chills crawled across my skin when I watched him saunter over to the car, hands jammed into his pockets. I wanted to go after him, bash on the driver’s side door, rip it open and smash that smug pervert across the face. I’d scream I’m a teacher and I have to report you to the cops and the Child Protection Services or maybe I should give your poor, unsuspecting wife a call. I’m sure she has no idea that you’re a predatory creep.

Instead I watched, powerless as Dane climbed in and the SUV inched away, bound for some dark alleyway snaking down to the river.

I woke with a jolt the next morning, shivering with a cold that spread from my core. Nestling closer to Guy’s warm body I tried to make sense of the dream I’d just had. In it, Birdie had been trying to climb up the orange wallpaper. She was wearing a hoodie and underwear and was chattering like one of those speeded up audiotapes. See, Anna. It’s just like Jack and the Beanstalk. Over and over again. Limbs spread crablike across the wall.

Pushing my face into Guy’s shoulder, I tried to breathe deeply, to make the image go away. Guy’s arm reached behind him and found my face.

“You okay?”

“Just a bad dream.”

“I can help you feel better,” he said, turning around and wrapping me in his arms. Then he stroked my hair and neck and the demons flew away. I fell asleep cocooned in his warmth.

9

Gord and I were doomed from the start. I disliked him the moment I walked up to his house, an architectural monstrosity consisting of four white concrete cubes linked together with narrow walls of white brick. It resembled an alien space pod docked amongst drooping willow trees and a gray wasteland of pebbles. Several larger rocks sat strategically around a huge abstract metal structure that spouted a stream of water from somewhere in its twisted mass. Behind this display, three massive bronze plaster balls of descending size sat on the grass.

I looked up at Guy, unable to stop my eyebrows knitting together.

“His new landscaper is into astrology,” he said as if that explained the balls. He’d been silent in the car and edgy that morning at the condo, chewing his lip while I paraded back and forth in front of him wearing various outfits until he’d nodded in approval.

“I want them to like you as much as I do, babe, and Dad can be a judgmental bastard if he wants. Believe me, I’m giving you the best chance.”

I’d call the final look he’d approved private schoolgirl meets Brit royal family. Gray dress pants and crisp white blouse, topped with a fine black cashmere sweater. The ensemble was completed by pearl studs, a heavy silver pendant and hair caught up with a silver clip.

Nancy met us at the door. I’d expected a petite brunette in a flowered skirt, not the tall, willowy, brown-eyed blonde wearing a pure white tunic