Island Affair (Keys to Love #1) - Priscilla Oliveras Page 0,105
ever get a chance to—” Memories laced with fear rose to choke her and Sara rolled off the balls of her feet to plop onto her hip, cushioned by the soft sand. “Never get a chance to make her proud.”
So much for tiptoeing into emotional territory.
Robin’s face scrunched in a disbelieving scowl. “What are you talking about?” With an irritated scoff, she threw a handful of sand that landed in a series of tiny splashes across the water’s surface. “Of course she’s proud of you.”
A gray seagull squawked overhead, mimicking the screech of denial howling in Sara’s ears. The pain of rejection, the agony of how she had mistreated her body, the twisted thinking she was steadfastly working to untwist . . . they tumbled in on her like yesterday’s steel gray storm clouds, thunder rolling, lightning flashing through her.
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sara argued.
“Excuse you?”
Rather than deter Sara like it usually did, Robin’s condescending glare lit a fuse inside Sara. It hissed and flared and blew a powder keg on agonizing truths she had kept hidden all these years. All at once they came pouring out.
“My whole life I’ve tried so hard to live up to you and Jonathan. Knowing, because I’ve heard them say it a thousand times, how proud mom and dad are of you two. But me?”
She huffed a harsh breath and swatted away a mass of mossy green seaweed floating nearby. If only she could push away the hateful memories as easily.
“I’ve never been as academically gifted or just plain book smart or even musically-inclined. God those early piano recitals of mine were horrific, and Mom kept reminding me of how easily you had picked it up. Even Jonathan, until he switched to the guitar. Basically, I’ve always been all-around not as good as you at anything. I actually heard Mom say that to Mamá Alicia once. ‘Sometimes you have to lower your expectations for your child.’” Sara pitched her voice to sound more authoritative, copying their mother’s speech pattern. “Do you know what hearing that does to a teenager?”
The question ripped from her heart with gut-wrenching sorrow. Dully, Sara rubbed at the ache in her chest.
For the first time in Sara’s life, her sister appeared to be at a loss for words. Slack-jawed, Robin plunked her hand on her lap. Sand spread across the top of her thighs, dribbling onto her navy bathing suit bottom.
The geyser of self-revelation waned, having depleted the fight out of Sara. Spent, she slumped lower under the water. A school of tiny clear and gray fish zigzagged around her knees blissfully unaware of the monsoon of emotions and recriminations rumbling above the surface.
Robin blinked a couple times, visibly pulling herself out of her shocked stupor after Sara’s revelation.
“And yet I’m the daughter whose birth made our mother set aside a promising career,” Robin said, her astringent voice softened with self-recrimination. “Did you know she actually turned down a fellowship on the East Coast because she and Dad didn’t think it wise for one of them to single parent while they were separated?”
Robin’s shoulders sagged, ill-fitting dejection settling over them. Her brow creased as she shook her head. Then, as quickly as her mood dipped, she shook it off.
Abruptly straightening, she splashed water onto her lap to rinse away the sand. “So, I pushed myself. In high school, undergrad, med school, residency. It got worse when I started working at the hospital with Dad.” Her gaze lifted to Sara’s, empathy shone in her stormy gray eyes. “Because I used to believe I had to prove to her, and to myself, that giving up that fellowship and staying home until Jonathan and I started school wasn’t for naught.”
Used to believe.
Past tense.
“And now?” Sara asked.
“Now the only person I have to prove anything to is me. And my patients. They need to know they’re in the best hands when they come into my OR. I know for a fact that they are.”
Chin high, Robin stared at the open ocean, confidence bordering on cockiness in her tight jaw. A smattering of freckles chased each other across the bridge of her nose, trailing into her cheeks. They reminded Sara of the picture of their mom and a young Robin on her first day of kindergarten. Posture straight and stiff, their mom smiled for the camera, one hand on her eldest’s shoulder. Robin’s tiny face wore the same determined expression she normally wore.