The Moonglow Sisters - Lori Wilde Page 0,10

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IN THE PACKED waiting room, Gia sat in a corner chair mindlessly playing Candy Crush on her cell phone. Her vision blurred by tears and memories, she didn’t really see the vivid candies dropping in columns.

After sitting in silence for hours like some noble monk, Darynda had gone to stretch her legs, leaving Gia alone to fret.

Grammy’s letter, spelling out Gia’s monumental task, was still tucked into the cover-up that she’d tossed over the loose, sleeveless, white cotton shift dress printed with flower bouquets she’d changed into at the inn. Not having enough room in her small apartment, she still kept the clothes she had before college stuffed into the dresser in the bedroom that she and her sisters had once shared.

Finish the quilt. Repair the rift.

Gia scratched her cheek as she one-handed the on-screen jelly beans. Dear Grammy, thanks so much for Mission: Impossible. Immediately, she felt ashamed for thinking that way.

Her fingers flew over the tiny keyboard, manipulating the falling candies and feeling like a female David facing two Goliaths. Flying pigs. How would she get her sisters to finish the quilt, much less mend the family?

“I’m not Wonder Woman,” she mumbled, wishing she had some candy right now. Pure junk. Laffy Taffy or Skittles or Starburst. She needed a sugar rush.

Gia lost the game, tossed her phone in her tote, and looked up.

Madison, with Darynda trailing behind her like a ghost, looked chic and smart in her white designer suit and contrasting black silk blouse. She marched right across the waiting room. As always, tough, smart, and in control; her spine touch-me-not straight.

Joy eclipsed fear. Forgiveness brushed aside hurt. Love crowded out anger.

“Maddie!” Gia squealed, launching herself off the chair and running to her big sister with her arms outstretched.

Madison’s hug was perfunctory, an obligation, like Memorial Day visits to the cemetery of long-dead relatives whose faces you couldn’t recall. She took a moment to melt into Gia’s embrace. But the stubborn little sister she was, Gia held on, until she felt Maddie’s stiff limbs loosen and heard her sigh against Gia’s hair.

“Maddie.”

“Shh, s’okay.”

She squeezed her sister like the scared three-year-old she’d been their first night at Moonglow Inn when she crawled into Maddie’s bed for comfort.

“I can’t believe—”

“I’m here. I’ll fix this.”

Those words that had once reassured her now sounded arthritic and impotent. Madison was not stronger than cancer.

Gia pulled back and peered into her sister’s face. “You look wiped out.”

Madison kneaded her temple. “And you’re wearing my dress.”

“Oops, sorry; I didn’t know it was yours. I’d dropped by the inn for my Monday morning breakfast with Grammy when Darynda called and told me what was happening. I was wearing a bikini and grabbed the first thing in the dresser. Should I go home and change?”

“No, of course not.”

“But you brought it up, so it must be eating at you.”

“I shouldn’t have brought it up. Petty of me, I know, but you and Shelley were always ransacking my closet.”

“That’s because you had the best stuff.” Gia fished out her most cajoling grin. “You have such good taste.”

Madison snorted.

Flattery would not work.

Her sister moved her hand from her temple to her chin, the gold bracelet at her wrist catching the sunlight filtering through the blinds. Twenty-four karat, no doubt. No more gold-plated for Madison. Not since she hit the big time.

Can you blame her? She worked her butt off to get to the top.

Gia pulled the corner of her bottom lip up between her teeth and fingered the woven bracelet at her wrist. It was made from strands of colored strings braided together. Years ago, she and Madison and Shelley had made matching bracelets from a kit—a celebration of their sisterhood—and they’d vowed never to take them off.

Only Gia had kept her promise. Madison had symbolically burned her bracelet after The Incident with Raoul while Shelley had flung hers into the ocean.

Their sisterhood irrevocably broken.

Except on Gia’s wrist.

Gia gulped. Regret tasted like burnt pennies in her mouth, and her throat clotted thick with the salty taste of grief. Was she the lone idiot for holding on to her bracelet? Or was she, like Grammy claimed in her letter, the only one who could rebuild what they’d lost?

Peacemaker.

Guilty as charged, but not happy about it. She’d much rather be a warrior like Madison or a swashbuckler like Shelley. Peacemaker. Boring as white cotton panties.

Madison’s gaze tracked Gia’s movements to her wrist, but her expression didn’t change. Did she remember the significance of the bracelet? “Have you heard from