The Sullivan Sisters - Kathryn Ormsbee Page 0,13

persevered, where would they be? You had to recognize your golden moment, and you had to seize it and squeeze it dry of every good thing. This wasn’t the time for Claire to despair, to stay home for a dreary holiday, bemoaning what she’d lost. This was the time to move forward. To be—did Claire dare think the word?—impulsive.

Just this once, Claire wasn’t going to plan. She was going to pack a bag and go along with Eileen on a harebrained, midnight trip. Because maybe this—the mysterious 2270 Laramie Court—was her golden moment.

Claire had done what sleuthing she could at home, searching the address online. There had been no listings, though; nothing on Zillow or other realty sites. When she’d tried to glimpse the property on Google Maps, there’d been nothing but blue check-in dots scattered throughout the coastal town. No street view. No clue as to what her inheritance looked like. And then there was the matter of an uncle Claire had never known. A family secret her mother hadn’t told. Claire would be lying if she said she wasn’t curious. There were so many reasons to go on this trip.

She wanted a distraction from her bad news.

She wanted a way forward, to better things.

She wanted her golden moment.

So, planning be damned, she was taking it.

Here was a hitch, though: Harper Everly hadn’t warned Claire about the trials preceding golden moments. Like two hours’ worth of insipid Christmas tunes.

Claire kept thinking Eileen would get annoyed and change stations, but as the songs played on, she seemed impervious. Claire chose her words carefully. This didn’t have to be a big argument.

“You know,” she said, “they sell cassette converters. Like, for your iPhone. You could use one to play your own music in the car.”

Eileen flinched, like the sound of Claire’s voice had been a bullhorn. She looked at Claire with glazed eyes, uncomprehending. “My iPhone?”

Right. How could Claire have forgotten? Eileen didn’t have a phone. She’d foresworn them two years ago, when she’d read an article about the working conditions of smart phone manufacturers.

“You could always get one secondhand,” Claire said, not sure where she was going. “Then you wouldn’t be … you know, directly contributing to … whatever.”

“I’m acquit—” Eileen frowned, correcting herself: “acquainted with eBay.”

Yes. Claire knew that, too. She still remembered the best gift she’d ever received. A lot had changed since that Christmas four years ago.

“Sure,” she said. “Yeah, okay.”

Eileen breathed heavily out her nose. Her profile was eerie and shadowed—severe cheekbones, knife-sharp nose. The heat from the vents was warming her jacket, filling the van with the scent of leather … and something else. A biting scent. Sharp, like vinegar, or—

The truth sucker punched Claire.

“Oh my God,” she said, sitting up straight. “Have you been drinking?”

Eileen didn’t answer. She kept her lips shut tight. That had been her mistake: She’d spoken to Claire, thereby letting out the damning stench of whiskey.

“Pull over,” Claire ordered.

Eileen’s body was tense, shoulders drawn too tight—trying to act sober. She wasn’t, though. Claire got it: the flinching, the stumbling speech, the glaze in her eyes that Claire had mistaken for tiredness.

Thirty-six days of Christmas could be endured. This could not.

“Did you hear me?” Claire raised her voice. “Pull over. NOW.”

“I took a shot, okay?” Eileen groused. “I’m fine. You don’t know my toler—”

“Uh, I know you drank, and now you’re driving. Which means you’re drinking and driving. So pull over the car, or so help me—”

The car juddered, swerving violently onto the shoulder. Tires screeched beneath them as Eileen pumped her foot on the brake, bringing the Caravan to a graceless stop.

Claire breathed out rapid breaths, staring at Eileen through the dim light. She could believe that Eileen would drink and drive; she’d known her sister’s not-so-secret habit for a while. She couldn’t believe Eileen would actually pull over.

And who knew how long that rationality would last? Claire had to act now. She threw off her seat belt, pointing to the driver’s seat.

“I’m taking over,” she announced. “Switch out.”

Eileen ran her tongue over her teeth for a languid, thoughtful moment. Then, shrugging, she unbuckled her seat belt.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m sick of driving anyway.”

Claire stared, disbelievingly. What was happening? Was Eileen listening to her? Or did Eileen know she was buzzed? Was she … acknowledging defeat?

Whatever the reason, Claire didn’t hesitate.

She’d taken her golden moment, and now she was taking the wheel.

* * *

Claire gripped the steering wheel, squinting at I-5 through swishing wipers.

God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

She