The Sometime Sister by Katherine Nichols (e novels for free .TXT) 📗

truck, they made a conscious decision. The twenty-minute drive to the lake gave the two-woman caravan plenty of time to recognize the enormity of what they planned to do. And they did it. As I imagined it, they wrangled him into his spot behind the steering wheel, started the vehicle, and watched as it careened down the embankment. My grandmother never did anything halfway. She wouldn’t have left until the last bubble disappeared and the muddy water calmed. I pictured Mom waiting in the car, grim and silent, but not disapproving.

Their actions, however, were nobler than my desperate act of self-defense. Theirs was an act of love. At least in their eyes, it was the only way to protect Rita and Lesroy. Because my aunt had a history of taking her husband back, regardless of the pain he inflicted. And Uncle Roy would have only gotten worse.

After about an hour of stalling, I gave up and set out for my mother’s.

Although it was only a little after six, it was already December-dark and frigid enough to make my nose run. As usual, every light in the house was on when I got there. Gran was an electricity tyrant, insisting we turn off lights as soon as we left a room. I assumed Mom’s extravagant disregard for worrying about the bill was her way of rebelling. Now, I thought it might be less about rebellion and more a fear of what might be hiding in unlit corners.

When she greeted me, I gasped. This shadow-version of my mother was not the woman who had always been invincible in my eyes. Learning about her capacity for deadly action only made her seem more so. But today I saw mortality on her face, and it terrified me.

In the two weeks I’d been away, she had dropped at least five pounds, not a lot of weight, but she’d been thin before Stella’s death. Her cheekbones were razor sharp and naked, with no trace of her signature cherry-plum blush. After Gran died, Mom cut her shoulder-length hair into a becoming pixie. She kept it an almost natural shade of light brown and was meticulous about root control. Today, a thick line of gray snaked through her part, and the short strands framing her face were slicked back, accentuating her skeletal appearance.

Any anger or resentment I’d been carrying disappeared. I threw my arms around her. She had always been the one who initiated physical contact, a precise hug and a kiss on the cheek. Affection in my family was more efficient than effusive. As much as I loved Stella, our greetings and departures consisted of little more than quick touches on the shoulders or air kisses. Lesroy said we were emotionally stunted. I insisted we were dignified and reserved. Faced with the actuality of losing my sister and the inevitability of losing my mother caused something inside me to shift, as if an ice flow splintered.

She stiffened, shocked by my enthusiastic show of affection, then hugged me back.

“Let’s get out of the cold.” She kept one arm around me on the way to the dark- paneled den, as if she feared I would vanish if she let go. From behind the door to the spare bedroom, came a frantic scratching, followed by a low-pitched whine.

“That dog has the worst case of canine depression I’ve ever seen. Lesroy hand fed her. I had to shut her up in there to keep her from wandering through the house, pissing and moaning.”

“You know she’s housebroken,” I said. Scarlett thudded against the door, knocked it open, and wriggled through. I braced myself for her usual full-frontal attack, but she plopped down, belly up, flopping back and forth like a fish on a dock. I knelt beside her while she yelped two octaves higher than normal. When I stopped rubbing her tummy, she righted herself and began covering my face in fragrant doggy kisses. I wondered if my departure made her feel as if a second sister had dumped her. If so, her uncomplicated joy at my return revealed an enviable capacity for love and forgiveness. It also sent the happy signal she was my dog now.

“That’s the first time the poor girl has shown any energy since you left. Lesroy was planning to take her to the vet if you didn’t get home soon. Looks like she’s fine now.”

Scarlett followed us to the den and sat on the floor in front of me. Mike announced he was going to make a batch of lemon drops. I’m not a big martini drinker, but his mixture of lemon, vodka, and a special secret ingredient was irresistible.

Mom draped a sweater over her shoulders and leaned toward me. “I need to know everything that happened over there. Mike’s been sharing information, but you know how protective he can be. He doesn’t realize it’s worse not knowing. But you understand.”

I wondered if she was referring to recent events when she said I understood. Either way, she was only half right. It could be better and worse at the same time. As a woman who knew what it felt like to take a human life, however, she should be capable of handling the truth.

Scarlett scooted closer and laid her head on my knees. I rubbed her silky muzzle and scratched behind her ears.

I started by telling Mom as much as I could remember from Stella’s letters explaining someone had stolen them, that it was most likely Prez, but we’d never been able to verify that. I glossed over Stella’s relationship with Adelmo. Mike joined us with our drinks, and I picked up the story where I’d gone to see Ben. When I got to the part where I sprayed Ben with the Mace, Mom’s lips curled in a brief smile, and Mike nodded his approval.

I didn’t want to tell her about the kidnapping but knew if I left it out, the rest wouldn’t make sense. So, I downplayed the danger and skipped the part where Prez chased