Holiday In the Hamptons (From Manhattan with Love 5)

Fliss retrieved the spoon. “I didn’t intend to pretend to be Harriet. That wasn’t the plan. When you called that morning—that was me on the phone, not Harry.”

“I know. What I don’t know, is why you pretended to me. Why not just say who you were?”

“Because I needed to get away from Manhattan. Seth was working in the practice we use, practically around the corner from us. I didn’t want to see him. When you called, it seemed like the excuse I’d been looking for.”

“So why not tell me that when I called?”

“Because you didn’t want me. You wanted Harriet.”

Her grandmother studied her over the top of her glasses. “Is that really what you think?”

Fliss shrugged. “You called Harriet.”

“I called her number first. I could just as easily have called yours.”

“But you didn’t. You wouldn’t.” Fliss pushed the bowl away from her. “And I don’t blame you for that. Everyone wants Harriet. She’s the kind, nurturing one. I’m the bad twin.” She saw her grandmother’s mouth tighten.

“That’s your father talking. The first time I heard him call you that, I wanted to throw him out of my house and close the door behind him. I would have done it, except it would have been your mother who suffered.”

Fliss froze. She wished she’d never made cookies. At least then, they could have kept up the pretense instead of having the last conversation on earth she wanted to have.

Her parents’ relationship and their father’s behavior were topics that’d always been ignored, swept aside like dust under a rug.

Fliss wanted to run for the door, but her feet wouldn’t move. “He called me that because it was true.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Fliss stared at the table, seeing the scars, remembering the scenes at the dinner table. She remembered her father shouting until his face took on a strange red tinge, somewhere between beetroot and tomato. There had been moments when she’d thought he might actually have a heart attack, and a few moments when she’d half hoped that would happen. And then it had, and it hadn’t made any difference. In books something lik

e that brought families back together. There were regrets and reconciliation. Real life hadn’t happened that way. At least, not for her. “I should probably finish making these cookies. Or maybe I should just give up and buy a batch from Cookies and Cream. Or maybe I should confess to my sins.”

“I never thought you were a quitter.”

Fliss breathed and looked at her grandmother. “I’m not, but cooking and I don’t mix. In fact it’s the mix that’s the problem.”

“I don’t think the cookies are the problem here at all. And anyway, they can wait.”

“They can’t. Thanks to my impulsive nature, I’m supposed to produce a batch for the sale this weekend. It’s going to take me that long to figure it out.” And suddenly baking cookies seemed appealing. Anything was more appealing than talking about her past.

“You’re not the bad twin, Fliss.”

She didn’t want to talk about this. She absolutely didn’t want to.

“Do you think I used too much flour? They’re kind of sticky.” She gave the mixture a desperate prod, but her grandmother wasn’t about to be deflected.

“Maybe that’s how it seemed to someone looking on the surface. Someone who didn’t know any better. But I saw how things were. It was hard for you all, and it was hard for me, too. She’s my daughter. It didn’t sit well with me knowing the love in that marriage was one-sided.”

Jeez, this was too personal. It was as if her grandmother was poking around a locked door with a random key, hoping it would fit.

And Fliss had no intention of opening that door.

She made a desperate attempt to change the subject. “I don’t pretend to be an expert on love. I’m good with numbers and difficult dogs. Emotions—they’re not really my thing.” But she should make more of an effort, shouldn’t she? Particularly as her grandmother was clearly determined to have the conversation. She was about to scoot away from it again but then decided that, as her grandmother had apparently forgiven her for the deception, the least she could do was offer her something back. “You’re right. My dad didn’t love her enough. Or if he did, he had a weird way of showing it.” And it must have been hard for her mother, too. Fliss could all too easily imagine how hard. She thought about Seth and immediately pushed the thought away.

She didn’t want to think about Seth. And she certainly didn’t want to dwell on his feelings for her.

She wasn’t going there.

Her grandmother removed her glasses slowly. Her hair was snowy white, emphasizing the livid bruises on her skin. “That’s how you saw it?”