Between Sisters Part 13

Mama had read for the role, all right. To her-and everyone else's-amazement she'd nailed the audition. Instead of winning the small part she'd gone up for, she'd won the starring role of Tara Zyn, the s.p.a.ce station's microbotanist.

It had been the beginning of the end.

Meghann sighed. She didn't want to think about the week Mama had gone to Los Angeles and left her daughters alone in that dirty trailer . . . or the changes that had come afterward. Meghann and Claire had never really been sisters since.

Beside her, the phone rang. It was jarringly loud in the silence. Meghann pounced on it, eager to talk to anyone anyone. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hey, Meggy, it's me. Your mama. How are you, darlin'?"

Meg rolled her eyes at the accent. She should have let the answering machine pick up. "I'm fine, Mama. And you?"

"Couldn't be better. The Fan-ference was this weekend. I have a few photos left over. I thought y'might like a signed one for your collection."

"No thanks, Mama."

"I'll have m'houseboy send you one. Lordy, I signed s'many autographs, my fingers ache."

Meghann had been to one of the Starbase IV Starbase IV Fan Conference weekends. One had been enough. Hundreds of starry-eyed geeks in cheap polyester costumes, clamoring for photographs with a bunch of has-beens and never-really-weres. Mama was the only cast member who'd had a career since the show was canceled, and it wasn't much. A few bad made-for-TV movies in the eighties and a cult horror cla.s.sic in the late nineties. It was reruns that had made her rich and famous. A whole new generation of nerds had latched on to the old show. "Well, your fans love you." Fan Conference weekends. One had been enough. Hundreds of starry-eyed geeks in cheap polyester costumes, clamoring for photographs with a bunch of has-beens and never-really-weres. Mama was the only cast member who'd had a career since the show was canceled, and it wasn't much. A few bad made-for-TV movies in the eighties and a cult horror cla.s.sic in the late nineties. It was reruns that had made her rich and famous. A whole new generation of nerds had latched on to the old show. "Well, your fans love you."

"Thank G.o.d for small miracles. It surely is nice to talk to you, Meggy. We should do it more often. Y'all should come down and visit me."

Mama always said that. It was part of the script. A way to pretend they were something they weren't-family.

It was understood that she didn't mean it.

Still . . .

Meghann took a deep breath. Don't do it. You're not that desperate. Don't do it. You're not that desperate.

But she couldn't sit alone in this condo for three weeks. "I'm taking a vacation," she said in a rush. "Maybe I could come stay with you."

"Oh. That would be . . . fine." Mama exhaled heavily; Meghann swore she could smell smoke coming through the phone. "Maybe this Christmas-"

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Mama laughed. "Honey, I've got a photographer from People People magazine comin' over at three o'clock, and at my age I wake up lookin' like one o' those hairless dogs. It takes ten women all day to make me beautiful." magazine comin' over at three o'clock, and at my age I wake up lookin' like one o' those hairless dogs. It takes ten women all day to make me beautiful."

Her accent was getting p.r.o.nounced. That always happened when her emotions were strong. Meghann wanted to hang up, say forget it, but when she looked around her empty, photo-free apartment, she felt almost sick. "How about Monday, then? Just for a few days. Maybe we could go to a spa."

"Don't you ever ever watch the E! channel? I'm leavin' for Cleveland on Monday. I'm doin' Shakespeare in some park with Pamela Anderson and Charlie Sheen. Hamlet." watch the E! channel? I'm leavin' for Cleveland on Monday. I'm doin' Shakespeare in some park with Pamela Anderson and Charlie Sheen. Hamlet."

"You? You're doing Shakespeare?" doing Shakespeare?"

Another dramatic pause. "I'm gonna forget I heard that tone in your voice."

"Cut the accent, Mama. It's me. I know you were born in Detroit. Joan Jojovitch is the name on your birth certificate."

"Now you're just being rude. You always were a p.r.i.c.kly child."

Meghann didn't know what to say. The last place in the world she wanted to go was to her mother's, and yet being studiously noninvited rankled her. "Well. Good luck."

"It's a big break for me."

For me. Mama's favorite words. "You better get a good night's sleep before the magazine shoot." Mama's favorite words. "You better get a good night's sleep before the magazine shoot."

"That's the G.o.d's honest truth." Mama exhaled again. "Maybe y'all could come down later in the year. When I'm not so busy. Claire, too."

"Sure. Bye, Mama."

Meghann hung up the phone and sat there in her too-quiet home. She called Elizabeth, got the answering machine, and left a quick message. Then she hung up.

What now? She had no idea.

For the next hour, she paced the apartment, trying to formulate a plan that made sense.

The phone rang. She dived for it, hoping it was Elizabeth. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi, Meg."

"Claire? This is a nice surprise." And for once it was. She sat down. "I talked to Mama today. You won't believe this. She's doing-"

"I'm getting married."

"-Shakespeare in-married?"

"I've never been so happy, Meg. I know it's crazy, but that's love, I guess."

"Who are you marrying?"

"Bobby Jack Austin."

"I've never even heard his name." Not since Hee Haw Hee Haw went off the air, anyway. went off the air, anyway.

"I met him ten days ago in Chelan. I know what you're going to say, but-"

"Ten days ago. You have s.e.x with men you just met, Claire. Sometimes you even sneak away for a wild weekend. What you don't do is marry them."

"I'm in love, Meg. Please don't ruin it for me."

Meg wanted to give advice so badly she had to curl her hands into fists. "What does he do for a living?"

"He's a singer/songwriter. You should hear him, Meg. He sounds like an angel. He was singing in Cowboy Bob's Western Roundup when I first saw him. My heart stopped for a second. Have you ever felt that way?"

Before Meghann could answer, Claire went on, "He's a ski instructor in Aspen in the winter and he travels around in the summer, playing his music. He's two years older than I am, and he's so good-looking you won't believe it. Better than Brad Pitt, I kid you not. He's going to be a star."

Meghann let it all soak in. Her sister was marrying a thirty-seven-year-old ski b.u.m who dreamed of being a Country and Western singer. And the best gig he could get was Cowboy Bob's in Nowheresville.

"Don't be yourself, Meg," Claire said evenly when the pause had gone on too long.

"Does he know what the campground is worth? Will he sign a prenuptial agreement?"

"d.a.m.n you, Meg. Can't you be happy for me?"

"I want to be," Meghann said, and it was true. "It's just that you deserve the best, Claire."

"Bobby is the best. You haven't asked about the wedding."

"When is it?"

"Sat.u.r.day, the twenty-third."

"Of this this month?" month?"

"We thought, Why wait? I'm not getting any younger. So we booked the church."

"The church." This was crazy. Too fast. "I need to meet him."

"Of course. The rehearsal dinner-"

"No way. I need to meet him now now. I'll be at your house tomorrow night. I'll take you guys out to dinner."

"Really, Meg, you don't have to do that."

Meg pretended not to hear Claire's reluctance. "I want to. I have to meet the man who stole my sister's heart, don't I?"

"Okay. I'll see you tomorrow." Claire paused, then said, "It'll be good to see you."

"Yeah. Bye." Meg hung up, then punched in the number for her office and left a message for her secretary. "Get me everything we've got on prenuptial agreements. Forms, cases, even the Ortega agreement. I want it all delivered to my house by ten o'clock tomorrow morning." As an afterthought, she added, "Thanks."

Then she headed for her computer to do some checking up on Bobby Jack Austin.

This was what she'd do on her idiotic vacation. She'd save Claire from making the biggest mistake of her life. was what she'd do on her idiotic vacation. She'd save Claire from making the biggest mistake of her life.

CHAPTER TEN.

CLAIRE HUNG UP THE OFFICE PHONE. IN THE SILENCE THAT followed, doubt crept into the room. followed, doubt crept into the room.

She and Bobby were were moving awfully fast. . . . moving awfully fast. . . .

"d.a.m.n you, Meg."

But even as she cursed her sister, Claire knew the doubt had been there all along, a little seed inside of her, waiting to sprout and grow. She was too old to be swept away by pa.s.sion.

She had a daughter to think about, after all. Alison had never known her biological father. It had been easy so far, bubble-wrapping Ali's world so that none of life's sharp edges could hurt her. Marriage would change everything.

The last thing Claire wanted to do was marry a man who had itchy feet.

She knew about men like that, men who smiled pretty smiles and made big promises and disappeared one night while you were brus.h.i.+ng your teeth.

Claire had had four stepfathers before she'd turned nine. That number didn't include the men she'd been asked to call Uncle, the men who'd pa.s.sed through Mama's life like shots of tequila. There and gone, leaving nothing behind but a bitter aftertaste.

Claire had had such high hopes for each new stepfather, too. This one This one, she'd thought each time. He'll be the one to take me roller-skating and teach me how to ride a bike He'll be the one to take me roller-skating and teach me how to ride a bike. Of course, it had been Meg who'd taught her those things; Meg, who never once called one of Mama's husbands Daddy and refused to have any hopes for them at all.

No wonder Meghann was suspicious. Their past had given her reason to be.

Claire walked across the main lobby of the registration office. On her way to the window, she picked up a fallen flyer, no doubt dropped by one of the guests, and tossed it into the cold fireplace.

Outside, the sun was just beginning to set. The camp lay bathed in a rose-gold light in which every leaf edge seemed sharper, every green distinct. Sunlight sparkled on the blue water in the swimming pool, empty now as the guests were firing up their camp stoves and barbecues.

As she stood there, feeling vulnerable and uncertain, she saw a shadow fall across the gra.s.s.

Dad and Bobby strolled into view. Dad wore his summertime uniform: blue overalls and a black T-s.h.i.+rt. A tattered River's Edge baseball cap shaded his eyes; beneath it, his brown hair was a ma.s.s of fuzzy curls.

And Bobby.

He wore a pair of faded jeans and a blue T-s.h.i.+rt that read: Cowboy Up for Coors Cowboy Up for Coors. In this fading light, his long hair was the color of eighteen-carat gold, rich and warm. He carried their Weed Eater in one hand and a can of gasoline in the other. In the days he'd been here, Bobby had pitched in with the work. He was good at it, though she knew he wouldn't be happy at River's Edge forever. Already, he'd mentioned going on the road for a few weeks this summer. The three of them. "The Austins' road trip" was how he put it. Claire thought it sounded great, traveling from town to town for a while, listening to her new husband sing. She hadn't broached the idea with her father, but she knew he'd be all for it. As for what would become of the camp next season, they'd have to cross that bridge together when the time came.

Dad and Bobby stopped in front of cabin number five. Dad pointed up toward the eaves and Bobby nodded. A minute later, they were both laughing. Dad put his hand on Bobby's shoulder. They moved away, toward the laundry room.

"Hey, Mommy. Whatcha lookin' at?"

Claire turned around. Ali stood at the bottom of the stairs, clutching her Tickle Me Elmo doll. "Hey, Ali Kat. Come over here a minute, will you?" She sat down in the blue-and-white striped chair-and-a-half by the fireplace, putting her feet up on the matching ottoman.

Alison crawled onto her lap, settling comfortably in place. Heart to heart, the way they always sat.

"I was just watching Grandpa talk to Bobby."

"Bobby's gonna teach me to fish. He says I'm old enough to go to the trout farm in Skykomish." Alison leaned closer and whispered, "There's a trick to catching the big ones. He's gonna teach it to me. An' he says we can float down the river in inner tubes by August. Even me. Did you ever put a worm on a hook? Yeech. But I'm gonna do it. You'll see. Bobby said he'd help me if it was too wriggly or snotty."

"I'm glad you like him," Claire said softly, trying not to smile.

"He's great." Alison wiggled around until she was facing Claire. "What's the matter, Mommy? You look like you're gonna cry. The worms don't feel anything. Honest."

She stroked Alison's soft cheek. "You're my whole world, Ali Kat. You know that, don't you? No one could ever take your place in my heart."

Alison and Elmo kissed Claire. "I know that." Alison giggled and scampered out of Claire's lap. "I gotta go. Grandpa's taking me to Smitty's Garage. We're gonna get the truck fixed."

As she watched her daughter run out the front door, heard her yell "Grandpa! Bobby! I'm here!" Claire felt the pressing weight of responsibility again. How did a woman know if she was being selfish, and was that necessarily a bad thing, anyway? Men were selfish all the time and they built multibillion-dollar corporations and rockets that flew to the moon. I'm here!" Claire felt the pressing weight of responsibility again. How did a woman know if she was being selfish, and was that necessarily a bad thing, anyway? Men were selfish all the time and they built multibillion-dollar corporations and rockets that flew to the moon.

But what if the marriage didn't work?

There it was. The clay beneath it all.