Rainshadow Road (Friday Harbor #2)(17)

Her mother was quiet for a moment. “I admit, I’ve always tended to overindulge your sister,” she eventually said. “She’s always needed more help than you, Lucy. She’s never been as capable as you. And she was never the same after the meningitis. Mood swings and depressions…”

“Those could also have been caused by being spoiled rotten.”

“Lucy.” Her mother’s tone was reproachful.

“It’s my fault too,” Lucy said. “I’ve enabled Alice as much as everyone else. We’ve all treated her like she’s a dependent child. I’m not ruling out the possibility that she’s had to deal with some long-lasting effects from the meningitis. It’s just … at some point Alice has to be responsible for her own behavior.”

“Do you want to come to California for a visit? Get away for a couple of days? Dad and I will buy you a ticket.”

Lucy smiled at the obvious effort to change the direction of the conversation. “Thanks. That’s really sweet of you. But all I would do is sit around there and mope. I think I’m better off staying here and keeping busy.”

“Is there anything you need?”

“No, I’m fine. I’m taking it day by day. I think the tough part is going to be running into Kevin and Alice—I’m not sure how I’m going to handle that yet.”

“Hopefully Kevin will have the decency to spend time with her in Seattle, rather than insist that she visit him on the island.”

Lucy blinked, perplexed. “They’re both going to be here, Mom.”

“What do you mean?”

“Didn’t Alice tell you? She’s moving in with Kevin.”

“No, she—” Her mother broke off. “Dear Lord. Into the house you shared with him?”

“Yes.”

“What is Alice going to do with her Seattle apartment?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy said dryly. “Maybe she’ll sublet it to me.”

“Lucy, that’s not at all funny.”

“Sorry. It’s just … Alice has stepped into my life like it’s a pair of old shoes. And the crazy thing is, she doesn’t seem to feel guilty at all. I actually think she feels entitled to my boyfriend. Like I was supposed to hand him over just because she wanted him.”

“It’s my fault. The way I raised her—”

“Wait,” Lucy said, more sharply than she had intended. She took a frayed breath and softened her tone. “For once, Mom, please, can something be her fault? Can we just agree that Alice did something wrong, and not find a dozen ways to excuse her for it? Because every time I think of her sleeping in my house, in my bed, with my boyfriend, I really feel like blaming her.”

“But Lucy—even though it’s probably too soon to bring this up—she is your sister. And one day when she comes to you with a sincere apology, I hope you’ll forgive her. Because family is family.”

“It is too soon to bring that up. Listen, Mom, I … need to go.” Lucy knew that her mother was trying to help. But this wasn’t the kind of conversation that had ever gone well for them. They could talk about superficial things, but whenever they ventured into deeper territory, her mother seemed compelled to tell her how to think and feel. As a result, Lucy usually confided the personal details of her relationships to her friends rather than her family.

“I know you think I don’t understand how you feel, Lucy,” her mother said. “But I do.”

“You do?” As Lucy waited for her mother to continue, her gaze fell on a print of Munch’s painting The Dance of Life. The work depicted several couples dancing on a summer night. But two women stood alone in the picture. The one on the left was dressed in white, looking innocent and hopeful. The older woman on the right, however, was dressed in black, the uncompromising angles of her body conveying the bitterness of a love affair gone wrong.

“Before I was married,” her mother said, “I was involved with a man—I loved him very much—and one day he broke the news to me that he was in love with my best friend.”

Her mother had never divulged anything of the kind to her before. Lucy gripped the phone, unable to make a sound.

“It was beyond painful. I had … well, I suppose you would call it a nervous breakdown. I’ve never forgotten that feeling of not being able to get out of bed. That feeling of your soul being too heavy for you to move.”

“I’m sorry,” Lucy said in a hushed voice. “It’s hard to think of you going through something like that. It must have been terrible.”

“The most difficult part was that I lost my boyfriend and my best friend at the same time. I think they both regretted the pain they had caused me, but they loved each other so much that nothing else mattered. They got married. Later my former friend asked for my forgiveness, and I gave it to her.”

“Did you mean it?” Lucy couldn’t help asking.

That provoked a rueful laugh. “I said the words. That was the most I could manage. And I was glad I had done that, because about a year after the wedding, she died of Lou Gehrig’s.”

“What about the guy? Did you ever get back in touch with him?”

“You could say that.” Her mother’s voice turned gently arid. “I eventually married him, and we had two daughters.”