Secrets Whispered from the Sea - Emma St. Clair Page 0,37
things being the fact that they were solidly moving toward the tween years, leaving little girl things behind. I guessed that included unicorns. But they didn’t know what kind of unicorn I meant.
“Unicorns?” Sophie said, looking around as though scared someone might overhear.
I nodded, still grinning.
Camille tilted her head, giving me a scathing look. “We’re not five, Auntie Clem.”
“I know,” I said, letting my expression turn solemn. “Because a five-year-old couldn’t handle ... this!”
With a dramatic flourish, I pulled out the oversized box with the unicorn float. It was supposed to inflate to be six feet wide. For a moment, I thought I’d made a fatal error, but then their squeals reassured me that sometimes, unicorns could still be cool.
Whether from the sun, the babysitting, or the amount of oxygen I expended blowing up the five-person raft (which was supposed to be inflated by a pump, I realized too late), I was exhausted by the time we got back to Ann’s.
Tommy’s car was gone, and I was relieved when Camille entered the code by the front door and then turned off the alarm. Ann had texted me the code, but it would have taken me forever to dig through her other messages reminding me of things like sunscreen, their peanut allergy, and the forecast.
Dropping their bags right in the front hallway along with a healthy dose of sand, the girls thundered up the stairs arguing about who got to shower first. I figured I could let them sort that one out.
It was weird being in Ann’s house without her. I definitely was missing the outside shower from Nana’s as I located a compact broom and swept up the sand that had followed us in. What kind of beach house didn’t have an outdoor shower? My sticky, sandy skin was desperate to be rinsed off, but I’d have to wait until I got back to Nana’s. First order of business—after cleaning up the trails of sand—was ordering pizza.
When Ann and Tommy returned a few hours later, the girls were clean, fed, and happily watching the latest Pixar movie, eyelids heavy. I sat at the kitchen island, alternating between watching the movie and looking at job listings on my phone. There were a few that looked promising. And, just because I was curious enough to check, nothing at all on Sandover.
“Daddy’s home!” Tommy said in a booming voice as he walked through the door. Both girls, who had been half-asleep, found new energy, jumping and squealing into his big arms.
“It’s bedtime,” Ann said, smiling down as they hugged her around the waist next. “Don’t forget to brush your teeth. And thank your aunt Clementine.”
“Thanks, Auntie Clem!” They squeezed me hard, and then I was shocked when they both complied without argument. Their trip up the stairs was much slower than it had been earlier, accompanied by several yawns.
“Did you use the detangling spray on their hair?” Ann asked.
“Was I supposed to?”
“Don’t worry about it.” She waved a hand and sank down on a stool next to me, taking off her necklace and earrings. Tommy had already made himself comfortable on the couch, seemingly content to finish out the girls’ movie, laughing quietly by himself.
“How was your date?”
The question seemed logical. But it sounded odd as it hung in the air between us. I’d never once asked Ann that question. Not only had she been older, but we weren’t that kind of sisters. In our house, the measuring stick for normal hadn’t ever been normal. Sometimes I wondered if Ann and I didn’t get along because we were so different, or if it was because we grew up at our mother’s feet.
Ann smiled, which seemed like more of a ghost of a smile than a real one. “Fine. Sort of.” She made a face. “We went out with Dad and Nadia.”
I know my eyes bugged out. “Seriously? I would have called and told you the girls were sick if I knew. I could have been your escape plan. How was it?”
“She kept trying to convince me to tell all my friends about beach yoga.” Ann sighed. “I don’t like her, but I doubt she’ll be around long. It makes me kind of sad for Dad.”
“Really? You think Dad will divorce her?”
“No. The other way around.”
“Why? I mean, they’re obviously a weird fit,” I scrunched up my nose. “Or, not a fit. But it’s not like she can get a bunch of money out of him in a divorce.”