Between Sisters - Kristin Hannah [81]
“I did know that.”
She pushed back from her seat. “But Lily France got her finger cut off an' it didn't grow back.” She frowned. “I think God likes worms better than Lily. It's cuz she cuts in line at lunch.”
“Well, I don't—”
“Bye, Mom!” Alison threw her a kiss and scampered off. The screen door banged shut behind her. A moment later, Claire heard her daughter's high-pitched voice yell out, “I'm here, Grandpa. Were you lookin' for me?”
Claire smiled and turned off the griddle, then poured herself a second cup of coffee and went out to the back porch. The slatted swing welcomed her.
She sat there, rocking gently, staring out at the silver curve of water that defined her back property line. The house was set well back from the river, on a rise of safety, but on a day like today, with the sky as blue as forget-me-nots and the grass turning golden from an unexpected week of sunlight, it was almost impossible to remember how dangerous the river could be.
The screen door screeched open and banged shut. Meghann stepped out onto the porch. She wore a fringed black peasant top and flare-legged jeans. Her hair, unbound, fell down her back in a riot of curls. She looked beautiful. “Morning.”
Claire pulled the woolen blanket tighter around her legs, hiding the ratty, torn sweats she'd put on. “You want some pancakes?”
Meg sat down on the wooden Adirondack chair across from the swing. “No, thanks. I'm still trying to metabolize last night's cake.”
“You sure left the party early.” Claire hoped she sounded casual and not hurt.
“It was a nice party. Your friend Gina has a great sense of humor.”
“Yeah, she does.”
“It must be hard on her—watching your wedding so soon after her own divorce.”
Claire nodded. “She's going through a really difficult time.”
“It's always hard to find out you married the wrong man.”
“They were married for fifteen years. Just because they got divorced doesn't mean he was the wrong man to marry.”
Meg looked at her. “I would say it meant exactly that.”
“Eric really played a number on you, didn't he?”
“I guess.”
Claire took a sip of coffee. It occurred to her to drop the whole thing, to do what she'd always done around Meg—shut up and pretend it didn't hurt. Then she remembered her conversation with Bobby. Slowly, she said, “You didn't answer my question: How come you left the shower early?”
“It wasn't that early. How were your presents?”
“They were great. Thank you for the Cuisinart, by the way. Now: Why did you leave early?”
Meg closed her eyes, then slowly opened them. She looked . . . scared.
It shocked Claire so much she straightened. “Meg?”
“It was the M&M game,” she answered. “I tried to be a good sport and play the game, but I barely know you, so I said something wrong. I still don't know what the hell it was.”
“You said I loved well but not easily.”
“Yes.”
“I don't think it's true, that's all, and it hurt my feelings.”
“It's true for me,” Meg said.
Claire leaned forward. They were finally circling something that mattered. “Sometimes it's hard to love you, Meg.”
“Believe me, I know.” She laughed, but it was a bitter, throaty sound.
“You judge people—me—so harshly. Your opinions are like bullwhips. Every one leaves a bloody mark.”
“People, yes. But you? I don't judge you.”
“I flunked out of college. I dropped out of cosmetology school. I never left Hayden. I dress poorly. I had a child out of wedlock with a man whom I discovered was already married. Now I'm marrying a three-time loser and I'm too stupid to protect myself with a prenuptial agreement. Stop me when it sounds familiar.”
Meg frowned. “Have I hung all that on you?”
“Like a suit of armor. I can't talk to you without feeling like a poor-white-trash loser. And, of course, you're rich and perfect.”
“That part is true.” Meg saw that her attempt at humor failed. “My therapist thinks I have control issues.”
“Well, duh. You're a lot like Mama, you know. You both need to run the show.”
“The difference is, she's psychotic. I'm