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CHAPTER ONE
"SO, JULIETTE DARLING, what diabolical deed could you have possibly committed?" Phoebe wound a black tendril of hair around her forefinger as she glanced pointedly at the clock on the wall. "Whatever it is, make it quick. I've got a date tonight." The dark-haired artist was resplendent in a scarlet kimono dress paired with thigh-high stiletto boots. A pointed toe dipped up and down in time to the music playing in the background, one of Juliette's beloved 80s' movie soundtracks.
"What on earth is there to do on a Tuesday night in this town?" Renata asked from across the room. The question was out before she could stop it. Phoebe liked nothing better than to flaunt her wild lifestyle, and Renata had just given her leave to do so.
Phoebe's smile became sultry. "I don't think you want to know, Rennie. Let's just say it probably isn't your cup of tea." Then she raised both her bangled wrists above her head and did a slow and sensual gyrating motion.
"You're going to hell, Phoebe Gustafson."
"Oh, I'm well aware of that, thank you very much. You, on the other hand, may be headed for the pearly gates, but at least I'm having fun along the way."
"Hey, you two. Cool it." Juliette's soothing voice cut through the mounting tension, and Renata took a deep breath, hating the tightness in her chest when Phoebe mocked her faith. But Juliette didn't look very happy, either. "What time do you have to leave, Phebes?"
"You've got me for thirty minutes. Brandon is picking me up at my place at six and I still have to fix my face."
"What's wrong with your face?" Gia asked, her back to the entertainment center, her fingers buried in Bob's scruffy fur. Bob, once Tootles, was the beloved dog Juliette had rescued from the park with Renata's help last fall. Although she brushed him regularly, Juliette had given up on taming her dog's coat.
"I can tell you what's wrong with her face," Renata quipped unkindly.
"Please." Juliette held up a hand, an uncharacteristic scowl on her face. "If I had known we only had half an hour, I would have waited to call a G-FOURce. I have something pretty serious to talk to you about."
"That's not for like two hours, Phebes. You look fantabulous already. Do you really need that much time?" Gia asked, her curls spilling down her back in a riotous waterfall of autumn hues. The youngest of the four sisters, she was the only Gustafson girl who still lived at home with Grandpa and Granny G, but she'd obviously forgotten the epic Battle of the Bathroom that took place every morning when they'd all shared the same room.
Renata rolled her eyes. "Don't be silly, Georgia. It only takes her ten minutes to actually get ready. The rest of the time she's just admiring her own reflection." She was feeling especially snarky today, and Phoebe had been on her nerves since Christmas. Besides, for various reasons, January was always a difficult month for her. Putting away holiday decorations and giving the house a thorough cleaning gave her a satisfying sense of accomplishment, but it never lasted. No matter how hard she tried, within weeks, she'd broken all her New Year's resolutions, particularly the resolutions involving coffee, gummy bears, and the cookie dough in a tub she kept stocked in her freezer year round. Once the boys were off to school in the morning, she could hear the little chocolate chips calling her name.
Not that she would have thought of that herself, but right before the big family Christmas meal last month, Phoebe had been sent out to the garage freezer for a bag of ice. She'd taken four-year-old Judah with her, the two of them chattering away about how much lizards and aliens look alike. They returned shortly, a bag of ice in Phoebe's arms, and one of the chocolate chip cookie dough tubs in Judah's.
"I didn't ask for cookies," Renata sighed. "Just ice. We're almost ready to sit down."
"I know. But the poor little chocolate chips were calling us, weren't they, Jude-Dude? Their tiny sad voices cried out, 'Phoebe! Judah! We're so cold in here, so c-c-cold.'" Phoebe peeled off the lid and began chipping away at the frozen lump with a fork from one of the beautifully-set places around the table. "We knew just where they'd get nice and warm very quickly."
She winked at the little boy and they both shouted gleefully, "Belly-town!"
Phoebe's fork slipped and a huge chunk of dough plopped onto the clean, white tablecloth and rolled a few inches, leaving a discolored smudge in its wake. "Oops!" Before she got to it, Judah reached under her arm, snatched it up, and popped it into his mouth, then dove under the table so Renata couldn't get to him. Phoebe laughed out loud.
"Great. Thanks for spoiling his appetite." Renata grumbled. She didn't want to fight with Phoebe, not today of all days, but it seemed inevitable no matter how hard she tried not to.
"Did I just make you lose your appetite, Jude-Dude?" Phoebe lifted the edge of the tablecloth and peeked underneath at the boy. Judah chortled gleefully, but shook his head, then crawled out to prove that everything, including his hunger, was still intact. Tell-tale brown streaks ran down the front of his white shirt as he stood in front of Renata.
"I'm starving, Mommy! I'm starving for salad, and smashed tater toes, and ... and turkey bird, and corn." He continued to list the items he could see as he craned his neck to get a better view of the dishes on the table. "My appetite didn't get lost. It's right here." He patted his tummy, leaving even more smudges.
"Oh, dear. Let's go wash up and change your shirt, shall we, little man?" Phoebe shoved the tub of dough in Renata's already packed refrigerator and grabbed the boy's hand. The two of them disappeared down the hall, and Renata frowned after them.
Now here she was, sitting across from Phoebe, picking fights with her again, and it occurred to her that she was breaking yet another resolution: I will not fight with Phoebe. "Sorry," she muttered. "That wasn't nice."
"Maybe not, but it's true." Phoebe wasn't going to allow her to be gracious. "I practice my pucker, my blink, my surprised look." She put both hands on her cheeks and shaped her mouth into a perfect, scarlet 'O.' Gia grinned at her antics from her spot on the floor and Renata wished the girl wasn't so easily impressed with Phoebe. "I even practice my 'come hither' look because there's always a chance I might meet Hither while I'm out and about."
"Cute, Phoebe. But enough. I really do need to tell you about something," Juliette cut in. "I just don't want to feel rushed." She shifted in her favorite corner of the beige-toned sofa. She'd added some new throw pillows, Renata noticed, in plum shantung silk and a gorgeous apple green. She saw traces of the same colors around the rest of the room, too. Even the black and white Ansel Adams prints on the walls were now accented with pieces that looked like some of Phoebe's artwork; bold, swirling colors against serene blue backgrounds. Renata had to admit she approved.
Juliette continued. "Nor do I want anyone to leave until we've talked things through."
"Fine," said Phoebe from the other end of the sofa. "If it runs too long, I'll just call Brandon and make him wait. It'll be good for him. He's getting a little too comfortable." Phoebe took a long sip of her iced tea and turned to Gia.
"Get on with it, little sister!" As the youngest member, it was Gia's job to begin the pledge. "Welcome Empress Juliette, Empress Renata, and Empress Phoebe." She pressed her hands together in a prayer-like manner and nodded her head to each sister accordingly.
"Welcome, Empress Georgia." The other three spoke just as somberly, nodding back at her.
They clasped hands, formed a circle, and began the G-FOURce pledge, a time-honored tradition that had somehow survived adolescence into adulthood.
Let the words of our mouths
Be necessary, kind, and true.
Let the secrets we share
Be kept safe amongst us few.
Let the decisions that we make
Be brave, noble, and wise
Oogie-boogie-doggy-loogie
Wiggly-jiggly-fries!
G-FOURce unite!
They didn't collapse into giggles the way they used to, but none of them was quite grown up enough to give it up. The pledge was like an unbroken cord weaving through their lives, binding them together. They released hands and settled back into place, and Phoebe turned laughing eyes on Juliette.
"So? Does this have anything to do with our favorite police officer? Has he put you on house arrest?" She wiggled her ring finger in the air. "Did he ask you to marry him, yet?"
Juliette didn't smile, and a sense of foreboding settled around Renata's shoulders at the look in her older sister's eyes. She laced her fingers together in her lap and waited for Juliette to speak.
"No," Juliette shook her head in emphasis. "He doesn't have anything to do with this. Not exactly, anyway."
Renata took a sip of her tea, relieved. Juliette had fallen madly in love with a local police officer, Victor Jarrett, last year, and although Renata could see how happy he made her, she still wasn't so sure about the man.
Sometimes, when Officer Jarrett looked at her with those foggy-morning gray eyes, it felt like he could see right through her, making her self-conscious and uncomfortable. Her boys adored him, her husband thought he was the best thing that had ever happened to Juliette, but Renata had butted heads with him from the very beginning, and he'd made her feel silly and foolish and incompetent, all things she didn't like feeling. She couldn't find anything wrong with him except for how he made her feel, and she wasn't against Juliette loving him. She just didn't want to be around him, herself, any more than she had to be.
"What is it, Jules?" Gia brought her knees up, resting her chin on them. She wrapped her arms around her legs, and Renata thought maybe her little sister felt the same wariness Renata felt. When Juliette raised her eyes again, they were glistening with unshed tears.
"It's about Angela. Angela Clinton. I wrote to her a few weeks ago. And she wrote back."
CHAPTER TWO
“You what?" Phoebe's hushed voice cut through the silence like a dull knife, ripping and tearing, rather than slicing cleanly, the way it usually did. Her tone, in spite of its brevity, held accusation, anger, betrayal, and something else Renata couldn't quite place. Fear? "You did what?" she repeated. Then she turned on Renata. "And you? Were you in on this, too?"
"No!" Renata held up her hands. "I knew nothing about it." But she did know something about it, and Phoebe must have read it on her face. That day in the park, when Juliette had rescued the starving Bob from under the hedge, she'd seen Juliette's notebook open to the page with Angela's name scrawled at the top. She'd asked her about it, and they'd talked briefly about how difficult it was to just write the girl's name.
She did not, however, know that Juliette had succeeded in moving past the salutation to the actual letter itself. And she'd had no reason to believe her sister would actually send it.
In fact, had she known of Juliette's intentions, she would have done everything in her power to prevent that letter from going out. Short of committing criminal acts, that is, lest she be forced to deal with Juliette's policeman.
"She didn't know, Phebes," Juliette swiped at a lone tear that tracked down her cheek. "I didn't talk to anyone about it except Victor—"
"Victor? Officer Jarrett? You talked to him about writing to Angela before you talked to us?" Now it was Renata's turn to raise her voice. "What business is it of his? And just how long have you two known each other now?" Little currents of electricity sparked behind her eyes, making it difficult to connect her thoughts together.
"Ren, please. Don't make this about Victor."
Phoebe was on her feet. "Uh, you made it about Victor, Jules. Not Ren." She began pacing the floor between the back of the sofa and the arched opening into the kitchen. "What were you thinking? And why didn't you talk to us before you did this?"
"I—I couldn't. I couldn't talk to anyone about it."
"Really? Because I don't remember you having any trouble talking to me about it last year," Renata retorted. "And you obviously felt you could talk to Victor." His name curled her lips into a sneer.
"So you did know?" Phoebe stopped pacing and glared at Renata.
"No. I mean, we talked about thinking about writing to her a long time ago. But I had no clue she'd actually go and do it." Renata glanced over at Gia and sighed. The girl had her forehead resting on her knees, her folded legs hugged tightly to her. She turned back to Juliette. "Why didn't you just talk to us first?"
Juliette took a deep breath and pushed her long, dark hair away from her face with both hands. "I'm sorry I didn't. I should have. But it was such a strange process. I tried so many times to write to her. I'd start with her name and then...nothing. I did that countless times." She looked pointedly at her and Renata looked away. She, too, had experienced the same struggle and had admitted as much to Juliette. "But then when the whole thing with Mike happened, his meltdown—"
"His assault, you mean," Phoebe interjected.
"Phebes, please. He wasn't himself."
"Right. He has that wolf disorder." She rolled her eyes. "Apropos name, I'd say."
"Wolff-Parkinson-White syndrome," Juliette corrected quietly.
"Stop making excuses for him," Renata said. She could tell Juliette was trying to remain calm, but how could she defend the guy? How could she after he'd broken into her house and hurt her? Renata was still appalled at his behavior. She'd always liked Mike, at least until he'd broken Juliette's heart, but Renata wasn't in any hurry to let him off the hook because of some obscure diagnosis.
Juliette clamped her lips shut for a few moments, her fingers toying with the strings of a tassel on the cushion she held in her lap. Then she straightened her shoulders. "I'm not trying to excuse him, but it doesn't matter anyway. The point I was trying to make was this. Something happened when I chose to forgive him. It was like a light got turned on inside of me, shining into the corners of all these locked rooms in my heart. Rooms that harbored all this ugly stuff, you know?"
Renata made a real attempt not to roll her eyes. Ever since Juliette had climbed on the back of Trevor Zander's motorcycle, she'd turned into a Christian cliché queen.
Light shining in the darkness. All things made new. Forgive and forget. Washed clean. God's will.
Whatever. Renata had heard them all. She'd used them all—in fact, she still did among certain circles, and sometimes just to goad Phoebe—but she knew each word and phrase for what it was. A nice way to say, "Life is hard, but now that you're a Christian, suck it up." She tuned back into what Juliette was saying.
"In a way, forgiving Mike freed me to forgive others I never thought I could." Juliette took a deep breath and let it out slowly, hugging the cushion to her chest. She spoke firmly, but she didn't make eye contact with any of them. "It was like this dam broke loose, and suddenly the words just came out of me in a rush." Her eyes were bright, still fixed on something just above Gia's head.
"That's all fine and well, Jules," Phoebe stated. "But why didn't you talk to us then? Why couldn't you wait and talk to us before you sent her anything?"
Juliette blinked twice, slowly, then shrugged, looking more like the noncommittal Juliette they all knew. "I—I guess I was a little afraid to tell you because I had no idea how this would all turn out. And," she chewed her lip, then continued, her voice dropping to just above a whisper. "We've never really discussed Angela before, you guys. And...and I didn't want anyone trying to talk me out of writing to her."
"Well that's exactly what we would have done," Renata exclaimed. She stood up and crossed over to where her youngest sister sat on the floor, her head down on her knees, long red hair spilling around her like a veil. Renata dropped down to sit beside her. "You okay, Georgia?" Renata had a difficult time using the nickname she preferred, Gia. There was a part of her that wondered what was so wrong with the names they'd been given. Why change them? Juliette was Juliette, not Jules, not Juju like her best friend, Sharon, called her. Just Juliette. Phoebe was Phoebe. Not Phebes, but Phoebe. And Georgia was Georgia. 'Gia' sounded like the name of a Victoria Secret model, or something racier, and it bothered her calling her sweet baby sister by a name like that.
Gia lifted her head and nodded. "I'm fine."
An awkward silence settled over the group, and although she was no longer pacing, Phoebe didn't sit down. She stood with one shoulder against the wall, almost as though she were separating herself from the rest of them.
Finally, it was Gia who spoke. "Do you have her letter with you?"
"Of course. Would you like to read it? Or I can read it out loud."
"I want to know what you said to her first." Phoebe pushed away from the wall, and to everyone's surprise, crossed over to the two sisters on the floor and sat down on Gia's other side. Four against one, Renata thought; even the dog stayed curled up around Gia's feet.
Juliette must be dying inside, but Renata wouldn't look at her, not directly. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched her sitting all alone in her spot on the couch, not moving, not speaking, just studying them, sizing up the situation. Renata knew that if she were in Juliette's shoes, she would be on the verge of kicking everyone out. Juliette wasn't like that, though. Although she was stubborn and a little stand-offish when she was hurting, she would do everything in her power to make sure the rest of them were all right. Which is what made this whole situation so surreal.
"Well," Juliette began slowly, testing the weight of each word. "I told her I forgive her for what she did to me. I didn't speak for anyone else. And I asked her for forgiveness, too."
Another long silence, then Phoebe's husky voice asked the question the others longed to. "For what, Jules? What did you ever do to her?"
Juliette snorted softly, a sound so derisive that Renata did look at her now. "I think a better question would be 'What have I not done to her?'" She set aside the pillow and leaned forward. It was just a coffee table and a few feet of floor space between them, but it felt like a chasm to Renata, with Juliette on one side, the look on her face raw and ferocious, the three of them on the other, disbelieving, betrayed. "I have run her down, run her over, shoved her off the Golden Gate Bridge, thrown her into an abandoned well. I have left her stranded in the middle of the Mohave Desert. Naked." She clamped her mouth shut as though to put a halt to the litany of atrocities spilling out of her. Her nostrils pinched as she breathed in, then said, "I have spent the last fifteen years hating her, wishing she was dead, and coming up with a million ways to off her. That, my sisters, is what I've done to her."
Renata was shocked. She shouldn't be, because she'd struggled with her own feelings about Angela, but this was Juliette. Sweet Juliette, who wouldn't hurt a fly. Literally. The girl would rather shoo one out the back door than break out the flyswatter. Yet here she was admitting to contemplating all forms of murder for Angela Clinton.
"I have wasted so much of my life wishing her dead, you guys," Juliette's soft voice was loud in the stunned silence. "And it has kept us both trapped by that horrible night. Not just Angela, both of us! I've had her locked inside the jail in my heart, and every time I thought of her or heard the name Angela or Clinton, I'm back in that dark place, standing on the other side of those bars, hating her. Wanting to kill her was killing me."
Juliette's eyes were overflowing now, the tears falling freely as she reached for a tissue from the box on the coffee table. "It's as though my life stopped that night. I've just been walking around like the living dead, waiting for satisfaction so that I could go lie down and die for real."
Renata could feel her throat tightening as Juliette bared her soul to them, but she would not let herself cry. The others needed her strength; even Phoebe, although she'd never admit it. Renata cleaned up the messes and held the pieces together. It was her role in their little circle, and she did it well. They didn't always love her methods, but she was the go-to-girl when it came to getting things done. She was the backbone of this little family of orphans.
She looked around at her sisters. Juliette was the level-headed glue, the oldest, Gia, the peacemaker, the youngest. Phoebe, not quite two years younger than Renata, shared the middle sibling slot with her, so she resisted being categorized. If nothing else, she brought the entertainment, the fuel, the fire. Phoebe gave them a reason to kiss and make up.
It had been this way since they were children, even before Gia showed up, a bonus baby late into Maman's and Papa's parental careers. When it was just the three of them, it was always Phoebe who pushed first and hardest. Renata would rage and tattle and pout until Juliette stepped in the middle to sort it all out.
When Gia was born, Renata seemed to find her place in the family at last. She loved being a little mother and she doted heavily on the baby who responded with sweet coos and slobbery nuzzles. Gia was the kind of infant who smiled and chortled far more than she cried, who raised her arms to anyone who looked twice at her, and wanted desperately to be right in the middle of things. While Juliette was planning her future, and Phoebe was planning her evenings out, Renata was planning out a home and family of her own.
When she and John had their first baby, Reuben, she didn't care that he didn't have tiny red curls and no eyebrows like John's baby pictures, like Gia's. He still cooed and nuzzled and wanted to be nowhere more than tucked into the crook of her arm.
Simon arrived two years and two months later, solemn and scowling, mostly silent, his brow often furrowed even in slumber. Renata loved to stand over his bed while he slept and watch his constantly moving features. One day, she just knew, when he finally figured out all the things he really wanted to say, a torrent of amazing words would flow from his lips and he would change the world.
Then Levi was born, and Renata thought if there was ever such a thing as a perfect baby, Levi was it. He smiled for the sheer joy of it. His internal clock coincided perfectly with hers, and if she didn't put him to bed by 7:30, he'd fall asleep in his highchair, his swing, or curled up in a corner of the play area, usually underneath or behind something, throwing her and John into a momentary panic.
Judah made his entrance into the world roaring like a little lion cub, and he hadn't stopped since. He was the last to fall asleep, the first to wake up in the morning. His cries were the loudest of all the boys' and his belly laughs shook him so hard he often fell over. When he was angry, he did not want to be comforted with hugs and snuggles. He preferred to crawl into a corner and complain, sometimes in irritating whimpers, other times in endless yowls, until he either got tired of tormenting everyone around him, or fell into an exhausted sleep.
It was with the birth of Judah that Renata started to wonder if God was no longer listening to her. Every time she became pregnant, she begged for a baby girl, for their own John and Renata Dixon version of Gia, and every time another son was born, she fell in love with him and agreed to wait until the next time. But four years after Judah, it was still Renata and her family of boys.
Now, as she looked around Juliette's living room, she again felt that spiraling ache, that emptiness in the deepest part of her belly, that longing for a baby girl to love, to cherish, to dress in pretty polka-dots and lacy socks.
And suddenly, an overwhelming sense of being rudderless and adrift washed over her, even as she sat with her hip and arm pressed against Gia, her feet tucked under the warm body of Juliette's dog. She felt alone on the outside, surrounded by her beloved sisters.
She wondered if Angela Clinton felt the same way in prison; lost, untethered, and alone.
~ ~ ~
Keep reading Renata’s story today...
RENATA & THE FALL FROM GRACE
The Gustafson Girls Book 2
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