Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,16

have our quirks. All of us deal with pain in different ways.”

On our weekly calls, Nana’s voice over the phone always sounded bright. When I visited, it was always with smiles and laughter. I physically felt ill thinking that she might have hidden something from me. I swallowed a few times until I was sure I could trust my voice. “What pain? Did something happen to her this past year?”

Was she sad? Lonely? I hated that I hadn’t been here more. My lips trembled, and I sat on my fists, feeling the bite of the rough wood bench on my knuckles.

Lucy got up and came around the table to sit next to me, wrapping me up in one strong arm. “Don’t take on burdens that aren’t yours, dear. Jo just picked up some quirks in her old age. That’s all. It’s nothing you did. And it’s not your fault.”

It’s not your fault.

I tried not to stiffen at her words. How many times had I heard them over the years? I felt like those words would end up being written on my gravestone.

After a moment, I pulled away, smiling my thanks.

“Should we ask her?” Sylvia looked between the other two women. “Or is it too emotional for right now?”

Was this whatever they had been thinking about earlier when I had asked if they knew? I leaned forward, eager. But I wasn’t prepared for what they asked.

Vivi smiled at me and grabbed my hand across the table. “We’d like you to take Jo’s place at our bridge night. The first game is next week.”

8

I gave Ann a day. Twenty-four hours seemed like a sufficient amount of time to wait after she stormed out of the lawyer’s office. I didn’t want the next time I saw her to be at the funeral the next day. Just in case she was still in a mood, I pulled a dirty trick and showed up at her house when I knew the twins would be home from school. And I brought gifts.

“Auntie Clem!” Camille and Sophie shouted, wrapping their skinny arms around me. Their hugs lasted just long enough for me to wonder at how the tops of their blonde heads almost reached my shoulders now, and for them to snatch the bags from my hands. They darted off to the playroom at the back of the house.

They had gotten so tall. When had they gotten so tall?

Ann called after them, her voice a little sharp. “What do you say?”

“Thank you!” their sweet, sweet voices chorused from deeper inside the house.

“Can I come in?” I asked.

“You’re already in.” Ann disappeared back into the kitchen.

At least she was speaking to me. These days, I should take every tiny win for what it was.

I let my eyes drift over Ann’s house, which was more than picture perfect. It could have been in a magazine with its high-end beach cottage decor, white walls and bright fabrics mixed with rich, deep wood furniture and hand-scraped hardwoods. That perfect eclectic mix that screamed money. Except her house was better than a magazine, because there were true signs of life. I liked that it was a home. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I had been here before. But it looked more relaxed now than the last time I visited. More lived in. More alive.

Right next to the door, a woven basket overflowed with shoes, some of which almost tripped me as I discarded my flip-flops. There was a neon pink sticky note on the mirror in the front hall that simply said, piano.

Lessons? Buying a piano? Practice? I wasn’t sure. A stack of mail was tucked halfway under a decorative bowl on a rustic wood console table. I didn’t think of myself as a nosy person, but there I was, looking at sticky notes and the return addresses on mail.

The kitchen was maybe the most gorgeous room in the house. White stone counters, white cabinets, with pops of coral, turquoise, and a sunny yellow. Clean and crisp, yet not cold. It took me a moment to understand what looked wrong. First of all, there were dirty dishes piled in the sink. That was a first. And Ann was just sitting on a stool.

Ann was never still.

Her perfectionist tendencies usually kept her busy scrubbing dishes, making the farmhouse sink sparkle, removing invisible stains from the countertops. Instead, she sat slumped over what looked like coffee.

“Doesn’t that keep you up at night?” I asked, sinking down on a stool, leaving one between us as