Heavy Secrets - Elle Aycart

Chapter One

“How many years do you think I’d get for offing my mom? Because honest to God, if we’re talking single digits, I’m willing to risk it,” Christy said while leaning back on the lounge chair after getting a full-body massage that had left her totally gooey.

They were at the spa, wearing fluffy bathrobes and sipping tea, except for Christy, who was nursing a diet soda.

“Just name a time and place, and we’ll be there with a shovel. No questions asked,” Annie said, and Holly and Tate assented.

“I could claim temporary insanity.” Heck, emotional self-defense too.

“Don’t worry, we’ll vouch for you. No jury in its right mind would convict you,” Holly stated. “I thought you were exaggerating, but boy, were you understating. What a…character.”

Ha. That was one way of putting it.

Annie nodded in commiseration. She’d met Martha a long time ago, when the girls were in college. Christy had gone for an East Coast institution, hoping it would be out of her mom’s range, but going away had been useless. There was no place far enough.

Crazy had its own creative methods of reaching her.

“Where’s the Grand Diva now?” Tate, Christy’s future sister-in-law, asked.

“Checking out wedding dresses. She arranged an appointment at a bridal shop. I stood her up.”

Her whole posse turned to her, looking stupefied.

“She’s picking out a wedding dress without the bride?”

Yeah, typical Martha stunt.

“I know I should be there, but why, really? She won’t listen to anything I say. I might as well save my breath.”

And a whole lot of pain and abuse in the process.

The girls pondered for a second and then nodded.

“Oh, and remember,” Christy added, reaching for her diet soda. “I’m not here. I’m in the middle of a massive twelve-car accident. Well and healthy but stuck inside the vehicle and waiting for the firefighters to come and cut the roof open to rescue me.”

That her mom hadn’t rushed to her side when Christy had called her—and that Christy had known she wouldn’t—already said it all.

“And when your mom realizes your car is intact? Then what?” Tate asked, to which Christy couldn’t help snorting.

“That would imply she remembered our talk. It won’t happen. A total impossibility.”

Christy would bet anything, her first unborn child included—and her second and third—that her mom wouldn’t even mention it. That was the advantage of being disappointed one too many times: no way in hell to harbor false illusions.

Martha’s number-one priority was…Martha. Followed by whatever man she was screwing with at the moment. How she’d managed to marry a decent guy and keep him for several years was beyond Christy. Then again, Fred was too kind for his own good. That or he had a hell of a lot of bad karma from a previous life.

For a split second, she’d considered going to the bridal shop, but then she’d discarded the idea. Defaulting to her smile-accept-and-walk-away technique, she’d nodded and kept quiet. And had run in the opposite direction at the first chance. Let her mother get her kicks. Just let her do it far away from Christy.

Holly poured herself and the others more tea. “Doesn’t she know you don’t want a traditional dress for your summer wedding?”

“She knows. She just doesn’t care.” They were talking about a woman who had gotten married four times, once with a beer-can tab as a ring. Appointments at high-scale bridal shops were a dream come true for her. “I feel like a shitty daughter, but I’m so ready for her to leave.”

Martha had come for Christmas with her husband and stayed a couple of days. It had gone rather well, probably because Cole was scary enough and Martha hadn’t worked herself up to be…well, herself. This time around, she’d been in Alden for three days, without Fred, and Christy was ready to face the gallows for a chance to get rid of her.

Fate had thrown Christy the mother of all curve balls when it had chosen Martha as her sole parent.

Their relationship had always been complicated, to say the least, with Christy spending all her life putting out fires—Martha’s—and eating to cope. Eventually she’d gotten her food addiction under control, but changing her mom and her nasty ways was something out of her reach.

And having Martha living with her without Fred as a buffer was bringing up all sorts of feelings and automatic coping mechanisms that Christy had thought she’d left behind.

Lora, her former sponsor, had been right: nothing guaranteed recovery, and they were always one upset away from relapse.

“What about Cole?” Tate asked, taking