between the kitchen and office area, Fern touched her arm. “Honestly, I don’t care a lick if that man’s your boyfriend. Just find out if he can bowl.”
* * *
Tanyalee drove up the gravel drive the same way she’d done thousands of times. As she rounded the bend, she was met by a familiar sight—a pink-and-orange-streaked sunset mirrored in the calm mountain lake.
Everything about the setting, from the faint outline of the Great Smoky Mountains to the jagged tree line to the gentle curve of the lakeshore, was as familiar to her as the back of her own hand. The cry of the loons and the song of the crickets were the lullabies of her life. More than any place on earth, Newberry Lake was her home.
For her first five years, Tanyalee had lived at the lake house with her mama, daddy, and sister. She spent entire summers here as a child and teenager, under the watchful eye of Aunt Viv and Granddaddy Garland. And for a painful six months, she lived here with J.J., as his wife. She winced at the thought of it—everything about that union had been as wrong as wrong could be.
Tonight, Tanyalee had come to make it right. It would not be pleasant for her or for her sister, and she could not hide behind flowery words or dull the sting for Cheri. Tanyalee’s behavior had been shameful and ugly and had gone on for their entire lives. But like she told Granddaddy, it had to be said out loud to become real.
As she turned off the Cadillac’s engine, it occurred to her that she wasn’t the slightest bit nervous. A calm had filled her chest and belly, as if she knew the moment had come for her to live up to her Newberry name. As Granddaddy had said, Newberry women were strong, resourceful, and determined. She and Cheri were the last of the line—two of a kind—and she owed her sister nothing less.
Immediately, she saw Cheri on the front porch, sitting cross-legged in one of the old wooden rocking chairs. She waved to Tanyalee, who waved back. Tanyalee heard the sound of her own heartbeat as she walked toward the house.
“Hey, Cheri,” she said, coming up the steps. “Thank you for—”
“Of course, Tanyalee! You don’t have to thank—”
“But you didn’t have to agree—”
“I wanted to.”
The sisters stared blankly at each other. Tanyalee felt herself smile as the sad truth sank in. Not only did the two of them not know how to talk to one another, they didn’t even know one another. They would be starting from scratch.
Tanyalee had to admit that Cheri had always been a pretty girl, with all that rich red hair and those warm brown eyes. But tonight she saw a calm, womanly beauty in her sister. Cheri’s face was relaxed and her skin glowed. When she smiled, there was a smoothness around her eyes and mouth.
Love and marriage had surely been good to her big sister.
Tanyalee took a steadying breath. “I’m glad to see you so happy, Cheri.”
Her sister lowered her feet to the wooden porch slats. “Would you like some sweet tea?”
“Yes, please.”
“Then come on into the kitchen with me.”
Tanyalee followed Cheri through the screen door and the open, heavy oak door behind it, stepping across the threshold into a strange world. She knew every inch of that ninety-year-old bungalow, inside and out, yet tonight she barely recognized it! Cheri and J.J. had managed to turn a tumbledown stone shack into a comfortable, welcoming home.
It looked nothing like the miserable dump in which she and J.J. had been trapped, with its splintered floors, drafty windows, and leaking plumbing. Tanyalee had to bite down on her bottom lip to stop from sighing.
Tentatively, she stepped into the living room, glancing around as politely as she could manage. Everything was bathed in a golden light from two lodge lamps likely as old as the house itself. Every inch of wood, from the floors to the woodwork to the built-ins, gleamed from polishing. The walls of the living and dining rooms had been freshly painted in a mossy green color, and while the kitchen appliances had been updated, the room retained its cheerful simplicity.
Beadboard pine cabinets rose almost to the ceiling. The old porcelain farm sink had been reglazed and now sparkled. A jug of flowers sat in the middle of the old oak kitchen table and a bowl of fresh fruit rested on the counter. And there, slipped into the handle