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

and listened with such interest to everything I said, or rather mumbled to her.

Under her gaze I felt like an imposter. As if sooner or later the ten or so years spent bricking up my shameful past would turn out to be an utter waste of time and those monstrous secrets would force their way through the crumbling wall of lies and denial. Then the real, monstrous me would be revealed.

Women like Judy had a way of teasing out those demons. They’d shake their glossy curls, win your trust with an intimate smile and try to wear down your guard until you blurted out every appalling secret in the vain hope of friendship and acceptance. I’d always got on better with men who could be distracted with sex or tantalized by the mystery of my shady, secret past.

We settled down at the kitchen table with our ginger and goji berry tea, which Judy assured me was a deep detoxer and bowel cleanser. I’d have preferred a large glass of Pinot Grigio but she probably would’ve pressed a burning crucifix to my forehead if I’d mentioned alcohol around that baby. I’d already sinned enough by not checking the labels on the baby clothes for chemical contaminants, and though she’d unwrapped our gifts with the required bursts of oohs and aahs, she couldn’t hide the slight downward droop of her mouth and the tentative way she handled the little dresses and jackets with thumb and forefinger, then placed them immediately back in the bag.

Brian served supper. To give Judy a much-deserved rest, said the ever-considerate husband and father. He carried out a clay casserole dish of eggplant lasagna made with brown rice pasta. Too bad it turned out to be a steaming mush covered with a layer of sticky goat cheese that would’ve been better eaten with a spoon. Smiling and nodding at appropriate times during the hum of conversation, I plowed my way through the large, chunky pasta island and its accompanying beet greens and arugula salad. Meanwhile Judy kept popping out to do some more expressing. When she left the room, Brian explained that her milk production was so high it made her nipples leak even through the special pads. I had trouble with the melted goat cheese after that, especially when Brian kept eyeballing me in a shifty, corner-of-the eye way all through supper.

Sometime in between the apple cobbler and the nettle tea, he placed his hands flat on the table and drew in a long breath. Something’s coming, I thought. Did I have anything to worry about? I reached for Guy’s knee under the table. Squeezed it. He was real. Flesh and blood sitting right next to me. Wouldn’t fly away like some gorgeous dream in the hot rays of the sun.

“Anna, it’s been bugging me ever since I saw you at school. But I know we’ve met before and I couldn’t put my finger on it.”

I shook my head, then turned and smiled at Guy who’d tilted his head as if waiting for me to confirm Brian’s hunch.

“Unless I’m suffering from early dementia, I talked to you a few months ago. You came to ask questions about Guy’s research. I thought you were a journalist writing a feature.”

Judy had just arrived back to find us all staring at each other in a kind of stalemate.

“What’s going on?” she asked, hugging her breasts and easing herself onto her chair. Wet milk patches spread across the front of her smock.

Guy grinned. “Brian thinks Anna was scoping me out months before I actually met her.”

Now they were all looking at me. Waiting for me to spill the goods.

“Maybe I checked him out for a presentation,” I said. “But I never claimed to be a journalist.”

A small frown flickered across Brian’s face. “I could’ve sworn – but with the baby’s arrival it’s been a sleep-deprived few months, so my mind is mush.”

I was just about to redirect the conversation when a piercing wail echoed through the kitchen. Baby Scout was awake. It was like battle stations to the ready. Brian and Judy swept into immediate action ushering me and Guy politely out through the front door. Not soon enough for me. The moment we were in the car, I sighed, closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the soft leather car seats.

On the drive home I nodded off. In that state between consciousness and sleep I pictured myself searching Guy’s number online, then actually making that call to Brian. My heart lurched a little at the sudden memory.

I’d known exactly what I was doing. I just didn’t want to admit it.

I stayed quiet for the rest of the drive, just mumbled in monosyllables while Guy prattled on about the happy Metcalf household.

Later, in bed, he traced a finger across my stomach. “Were you really stalking me?”

“Just doing my homework,” I said, turning my face away from his scrutiny.

“You little predator. You know the idea of you watching me, itching to get your hands on me really turns me on.”

“You are so impossibly vain,” I said, propping myself up on my elbow and trying hard to look disapproving. “But how could I not lust after you? You’re perfect.”

“So are you, Anna. Perfect for me,” he said, pulling me close and wrapping his arms around me. I closed my eyes and breathed in his scent, marveling that he really was mine.

Much later, I lay awake staring at the ceiling again. Sleep was so elusive those nights. I couldn’t slow down my thoughts enough to relax. I was barely getting by on four hours a night. No wonder I spent the day in a semi-hallucinatory state.

I really had sought Guy out. Deliberately engineered him into my life. Lured him. Seduced him. And now we were an item.

Only I was in deeper than I’d intended.

He’d caught me off guard with his gentle devotion, making me unsure of my next step. How could I hurt him?

But I’m a person who always likes the last