Between Sisters

br /> “That’s nice to hear. Still, I’d be happier if no one knew I was here, for a while, anyway. I don’t . . . feel comfortable around people anymore. ”

“It’s a long road back from something like that, I guess. ”

“A very long road. ”

After Smitty left, Joe burrowed through his backpack for one of the framed photographs that he’d taken from his sister’s house. He stared down at Diana’s smiling face. “It’s a start,” he said to her.

Meghann woke up disoriented. In the first place, the room was dark. Second, it was quiet. No honking horns and sirens and the beep-beep-beep of trucks in reverse gear. At first she thought a radio was on, in a room down the hall. Then she realized that the noise was birdsong. Birdsong, for God’s sake.

Claire’s house.

She sat up in bed. The beautifully decorated guest room was oddly comforting. Everywhere were handmade trinkets—proof of time spent on the little things—as well as Ali’s artwork. Framed photographs cluttered every surface. In another time and place, Meghann might have laughed at the crudely painted macaroni-coated egg carton that acted as a jewelry box. Here, in her sister’s house, it made her smile. When she looked at it, she pictured Ali, with her pudgy little fingers, gluing and placing and painting. And Claire, clapping with pride when the project was done; then proudly displaying it. All the things their own mama wouldn’t have had time for.

There was a knock at the door, then a hesitantly called out “Meg?”

She glanced at the bedside clock.

Ten fifteen.

Oh, man. She rubbed her eyes, which felt like a sandpit from lack of sleep. As usual, she’d tossed and turned all night. “I’m up,” she said, throwing the covers back.

“Breakfast is on the table,” Claire said through the closed door. “I’m going to go clean the swimming pool. We’ll leave at about eleven, if that’s still okay?”

It took Meghann a second to remember. She’d promised to join Claire and her friends in town. Wedding-dress shopping in Hayden with grown women who called themselves the Bluesers.

Meghann groaned. “I’ll be ready. ”

“See you then. ”

Meghann listened to the footsteps as Claire walked away. How long could she keep up this charade of I’m your sister, I support your wedding? Sooner or later, her head would pop off, or—worse—her mouth would open and her opinion would explode, bomblike: You can’t marry him. You don’t know him. Be smart.

None of these opinions would sit well.

And yet, because Meghann couldn’t return to work, had no friends to call, and no true vacation plans, she found herself preparing to plan her sister’s wedding. Honestly, who could possibly be worse for the job?

She couldn’t even remember the last wedding she’d attended. Oh, yes she could.

Hers.

Of course, it hadn’t been the wedding that sent them on the wrong road; it was the pairing up that had done it.

She got out of bed and went to the door. Opening it a crack, she peeked out. Everything was quiet. She hurried down the hallway to the small second-floor bathroom. An unopened traveler’s toothbrush lay on the side of the sink, no doubt a quick repossession from the “resort’s” mini store. She brushed her teeth, then took a quick, very hot shower.

Thirty minutes later, she was ready to go, re-dressed in yesterday’s clothes—a white Dolce & Gabbana blouse, a pair of low-rise Marc Jacobs jeans, and a wide brown belt with a silver circle buckle.

She quickly picked up the bathroom, made her bed, and left the house.

Outside, the sun shone brightly on the well-tended yard. It was late June, a glorious time of year in the Northwest. So much was in bloom. There was color everywhere in the yard, all of it backed and bordered by glossy green bushes and a thicket of trees. At the far end, looking almost close enough to touch, the granite triangle of Formidable Peak pushed up toward a high layer of clouds.

Meghann tossed her purse onto the passenger seat of her Porsche and got inside. The engine growled to life. She drove toward the resort slowly, careful not to stir up too much dust on the gravel road. It was a short distance, maybe five hundred yards between the house and the registration office, but her high-heeled sandals couldn’t handle the loose stone.

Finally, she pulled up in front of the registration building and parked. Choosing a careful path through the dewy grass, she went into the building.

It was empty.

She went to the desk and found the Hayden phone book, then flipped to Wedding Consultants. There was one listing. Royal Event Planning. In fine print it read: Pretend you’ll only get married once.

Meghann couldn’t help smiling at that. A cynic with humor. Who better to help Meghann plan a wedding? She wrote down the number and put it in her purse.