Chapter 10

There are moments in life when quick recovery isn’t possible. This was one of them. My knees were unable to keep me steady. I swayed forward, balancing my weight on the tips of my fingers. Splayed across the top of my desk blotter, their pads were white, growing numb from the pressure of keeping me vertical.

I was neither afraid of my sister nor threatened by her. Not physically, anyway. The shock of her sudden appearance in my office hit so unexpectedly and so hard, however, that my mind and body seized up in stupefied paralysis.

Little observations prickled at my brain: Liza’s skin had lost its youthful glow; she had tiny wrinkles near her eyes and grooves around her lips. Had she started smoking again? Her blue jeans were too long, faded and frayed at the hem. Her overfilled purse looked like a cross-body saddlebag with leather straps straining against the weight of its contents. She carried a bright orange trench coat—no match for current temperatures.

Through it all I was vaguely aware that Hillary had anticipated a far different reaction. “This is your sister, isn’t it?”

Six inches shorter, with darker coloring and a curvier build than mine, Liza and I were too dissimilar to share clothes or makeup when we were young. She gravitated toward tight, revealing outfits, where I’d always leaned toward tailored and classic. I kept my straight blond hair shoulder-length; hers, which was brunette, had always been worn wild and wavy down her back.

Liza’s chestnut mane was gone now. She’d pulled what was left into a nub of a ponytail, errant strands popping out all over. She’d cut bangs in again, too, wearing them straight and full across her forehead.

I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t. I had no idea what might come out.

Liza broke the strained silence. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

A hundred questions exploded in my brain at once, firing up and dissolving too quickly for me to catch even one long enough to put into words. I’m sure she was convinced the bangs made her look younger. Of course, the last time she’d worn them that way she’d been eighteen and thought they made her look smarter.

Frances took a predatory step toward my sister. “You’re Liza?”

“Oh, you do talk about me,” Liza said, inching away from Frances and nearer to me. I hoped she didn’t expect me to come around my desk and welcome her with a giant hug. “That makes me so happy. I was afraid that after our last disagreement you might hold a grudge.”

Frances snorted loudly. “Is that what you’re calling it? A disagreement?”

My assistant had recovered from my sister’s surprise appearance. That was more than could be said for me.

Frances knew the whole sordid tale—I’d told her about how Liza had eventually married my former fiancé and had squandered her inheritance on a get-rich-quick scheme that had left the two nearly penniless. I’d warned Frances about my sister for this very reason: I couldn’t predict when Liza might show up, and I didn’t want my assistant duped into helping her. Too bad I hadn’t thought to mention this to Hillary. Anyone who ever helped Liza was eventually sorry they had.

Liza grabbed Hillary’s hand and tugged her close. “This wonderful woman rescued me downstairs. I didn’t know where to begin asking for you.” Directing what could only be described as a loving gaze toward Bennett’s stepdaughter, she went on. “I don’t know how to thank you, Hillary.”

“Um . . . it was my pleasure,” Hillary said. Her eyes asked a million questions.

“What are you here for, Liza?” I asked.

Thrusting out her bottom lip, my sister strove to affect puppy dog eyes. “Is that really the first thing you’re going to say to me after we’ve been apart so long?”

“Seems to me you probably have more to say to Grace than she has to say to you,” Frances said, in a fierce and welcome show of solidarity.

Hillary seemed to finally grasp that she hadn’t engineered the happy family reunion she’d expected. “You know, I always wished I’d had a sister, but unfortunately I’m an only child.” In an obvious attempt to lessen the tension, she did what Hillary always did best: She talked about herself, picking up speed as she went on. “I grew up here. I was a teenager when my mom married Papa Bennett. But it was really lonely here all by myself.”

“That had to be difficult,” Liza said, offering Hillary a placating tone while maintaining eye contact with me. “I was lucky to have Grace as a big sister to look up to.”

Taking time to choose the right words, I breathed deeply and ordered my weak limbs back into action. They complied. Now all I needed to do was quiet my tempestuous heartbeat. I worried every person in the room could see the veins throbbing in my neck.

Hillary didn’t handle awkward silence well. “Grace will have to tell you about how I renovated her house. It turned out beautifully, I must say. All new windows, new siding. A complete re-do inside and out.” She glanced my way long enough to notice that I still wasn’t engaged in the conversation. “I’m doing the home next door now, too. They’re mirror images. Sister houses, I like to call them.”

One beat later she seemed to realize what she’d said. “I mean,” Hillary went on, “it’s not like they’re really identical. Close. Like I said, mirror images. Brothers built them, did you know?”

Liza held a hand up, silencing her. What in any other situation would be construed as a rude gesture, seemed to provide Hillary relief.

“You renovated Mom’s house?” Liza asked.

“My house.”

Liza pulled her cheeks in, an expression, which she’d never outgrown, of frustration. “Things must be going pretty well for you if you can afford that kind of investment.”

Hillary’s brows jumped. The temptation to spill the truth that Bennett had paid for the project was bright in her eyes.

“Emberstowne has been very good to me,” I said.

“You’re the manager of this place?”

“I am.”

There was no comfort in this room. No warmth. The four of us stood like enemy combatants who’d stumbled upon one another in the middle of a war. Liza had positioned herself directly across the desk from me. Next to her, Hillary gazed longingly at the door. Frances, feet planted shoulder-width apart, kept her arms folded and her gaze fierce.

“So, does that mean you work with the Marshfield family?” Liza asked.

“Papa Bennett is my stepfather,” Hillary said. “I’m part of the Marshfield family.”

“Papa Bennett?” Liza repeated, as though finally understanding. “Bennett Marshfield?”

Hillary’s incredulous expression seemed to ask what rock Liza had crawled out from under. “Yes, of course.”

“I would really love to meet your stepfather.” Liza’s blatant appeal oozed friendship, but—for me, at least—there was no missing the calculation in her eyes. “Do you think I could?”

“I don’t see why n—”

“Bennett is very busy,” I said. “Sorry. Not happening.”

“But if he’s your stepfather,” Liza persisted, addressing Hillary. “Shouldn’t it be your decision?”

“Grace sets the Mister’s schedule,” Frances said.

Liza pulled her cheeks in again, struggling to neutralize her frustration. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m afraid Frances is right,” Hillary said. “You’ll have to work through Grace.”

I could have reached over and kissed Hillary for that. Instead, I simply said, “Thank you.”

Liza drew a sharp breath. Tossing her head back—a significantly less impressive move than it used to be with that stubby ponytail—she asked, “Who else, then?” Before we could ask what she meant, she added, “Marshfields, that is. Who else lives here?”

“No one else,” I said, eager to put an end to this. “You never answered my question, Liza. What are you doing here?”

Her eyes sparkled in a way that made my stomach lurch. “Are you telling me that Bennett is it? There are no other Marshfields?”

Frances and Hillary immediately glanced at me. I couldn’t blame their instinctive reaction. I wondered how soon it would dawn on them that if the DNA tests came back positive, that meant Liza was related to Bennett, too.

I swallowed before answering. “I have a very busy day planned. Your visit, while I’m certain it will be brief”—I offered a frosty smile—“is unexpected. Why don’t you tell me why you’re here and we can both get back to our lives?”

She gave a halfhearted shrug. “I need a place to stay,” she said. “Not for long.”

“Why here? Why now?”

“I’ve hit a bit of a snag,” she said.

She shifted her weight and with that trifling gesture the energy in the room shifted, too. From the moment she’d breezed in, taking me by surprise, she’d held control. Marching in here demanding answers about my life, demanding to meet Bennett, she’d been all bluster and bravado. It had been a performance that had worked until the moment she admitted needing my help. I was sure it rankled her mightily, but now the power was mine.

“What kind of snag?”

Her gaze didn’t waver as she struggled to regain dominance. “Life.”

A snarky reply shot to my lips but I wrestled it back. “Is your husband with you?”

She winced at the question, but lifted her chin. “Eric and I are no longer together.”

I wasn’t happy to hear it. I wasn’t distressed. I felt no level of satisfaction or the temptation to gloat. I felt . . . nothing at all.

Silence stretched between us and I could sense Liza’s discomfort grow. She threw impatient glances at Frances and Hillary, making it clear she’d prefer to air our family grievances without an audience.

They remained in the room, unmoved by her transparent hints. My allies, such as they were. Two years ago I could never have predicted this moment. Right now, I wanted to hug them both.

“Fine.” Liza huffed impatience. “I’m here because I have nowhere else to stay. I have no money, either. There. I said it. Happy now?”

“How much do you need?”

“I’m not asking for money. That is, I’d rather stay at the house.” Liza’s smile was as fleeting as it was weak. “I thought I’d stay with you. In the spare room. It is our house, you know.”

“It’s my house now, Liza. We divvied everything evenly. I got the house. You got the cash.”

“But the house is worth so much more now. It’s not fair.”

Anger had built up in me over the years and the outrage flaming in my chest right now terrified me. I blinked hard to regain control. “Of course my house has gone up in value. If you’d bought a home instead of squandering your money . . .” I stopped myself from saying anything further.

Our mother had done her best to split her estate fifty-fifty and it was true that we’d both walked away with equal shares. It was also true that my property had appreciated in value, the way real estate usually does. But the harder truth, the one that had stopped me mid-sentence, was knowing that my home’s worth in the market was exponentially higher than it would have been without its recent renovation.

Hillary and Frances both watched me, neither saying a word. Part of me knew that I owed Liza nothing. She’d spent every penny our mother had left her, and I refused to be the enabler who prevented her from growing up and accepting responsibility for her choices.

Part of me grappled with the knowledge that, if not for Bennett’s intervention, I could be facing serious financial issues now, too. I’d benefited from Bennett’s assistance because he believed us to be blood relatives. Liza was my sister. Even though I never wanted her to know the nature of my relationship with Bennett, couldn’t I afford to be a little charitable?

Hillary and Frances continued to stare and I wondered if they could read my mind. Or if I was reading theirs.

I thought briefly about the young woman who’d come to our door last night. If I’d rented the spare room to her, I would have been able to truthfully tell Liza that we were full up.

I didn’t know what was fair—what the right answer was. Not yet, at least. Until I did, until I could make peace with myself on the matter, I decided to punt. “How long do you plan to stay?” I asked.

The sparkle in Liza’s eyes was back. She knew she had me. She didn’t know the reason for my change of heart, but it clearly didn’t matter. “A week? Ish?”