“Smart idea but not as much fun. Plus, this is personal.”
“That’s what I said.”
The thought of her husband made her stomach clench. She’d just texted him briefly that she’d arrived and everyone was fine. He’d politely answered. Since their talk that night, nothing had been resolved or uncovered. It was as if they were both hoping this trip to Italy would clear their heads so they could decide what to do next.
“Pris? I was thinking about what you said yesterday at dinner. About us never asking you stuff.”
She stiffened, hating that she’d showed that vulnerability. It was better to keep her sisters out of anything serious. “Forget it, I was just cranky and tired.”
“No, you’re right. I never ask you anything about your life, but it’s not because I’m not interested. It’s just . . .” She trailed off, ducking her head.
Curiosity peaked. “Just what?”
“You’re kind of like Mom. Hard to really know.”
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
Bailey nodded. “You have this amazing capability about you—like you can handle anything and you don’t need anyone’s help. It’s like you know yourself to the core and it gives you an inner strength that’s sometimes intimidating. Maybe it’s from finding ballet was your passion so young? But even when you got married, you just marched forward without seeming to question anything.”
The image her sister painted was laughable. Her mouth hung open, half in shock, half in wonder. She actually gave off that impression, when inside she was full of doubts? How could her own sister not sense it was an act—a way to quell the doubts and regrets that haunted her?
“Maybe you weren’t looking hard enough.”
Bailey stared at her for a while. “I don’t think I did. Every time I tried to ask, you always made light of it. Whether it was ballet or your husband or when you got pregnant, you’d smile and say things were good. Always good. How long was I supposed to keep asking, Pris? Why wouldn’t you trust me?”
She jerked back. Was it a matter of trust? Or was she so used to her role of protector, she began to minimize her own problems? After their parents divorced, everything seemed to fracture. As the oldest sister, she worried about them all—Mom’s hidden sadness, Bailey’s wildness, Dev’s anger . . . There was nothing left for her. Because she was good.
Good.
Her marker for everything. If things were relatively good, how could she complain or ask for more? Her thoughts spun as she tried to get a handle on a million lightbulbs exploding all at once. “Why do you think I’m like Mom?”
“Mom took care of all of us without complaint. Always with a smile. But when I began to ask questions, or try to dig into her past because I was curious, she shut me down. She never talked about her college days, or her life before Dad. It was like it never existed, and now we found so much more. A house in Positano and a love affair we never would have known about. What don’t we know about you, Pris? What are you hiding?”
Thank God she didn’t have to answer the awful question. Dev marched into the garden with a planner, pen, and cup of coffee. “Hey. We need to go over the day’s schedule.”
Bailey turned. “Dev, do you think Pris hides things from us like Mom?”
Dev slid into the last seat. “Sure. We only know the bare bones of your life, but you had a point last night. We haven’t asked much. That’s on us.”
Her sister’s admission tore through her. The casualness of the remark surprised Pris the most.
In her head, they didn’t care, so she’d spent her time building a shelter where she could live completely self-sustained. But was that what she really wanted?
“Dude, you look really freaked out,” Dev said.
“I thought you didn’t care what was going on with me,” she said slowly. “It became easier to stop talking.”
Her sisters shared a pointed look, and for once they seemed in agreement. “That’s our fault,” Bailey said. “It was easier with Mom around. She kept us all connected. Now that she’s gone, I think we need to make a conscious decision about what we want our relationship to be.”
Dev remained silent, usually uncomfortable with emotion, but Pris took up the olive branch. “I haven’t liked how we’ve been treating each other. I’d like us to be better. We only have each other now.”
“We finally have the time together uninterrupted,” Bailey said. “Let’s use it to get to know one another again. What do you think?”
A lightness shimmered through her. “Yes, Mom would have wanted that.”
Dev’s features tightened, as if she was holding back, but then she gave a sharp nod. “I’ll try. But let’s not expect us to go all sunshine and roses just because we had one chat.”
“Yes, Ms. Balloon Popper,” Bailey said, but it was obvious she was teasing and Dev rolled her eyes. “What’s our day entail?”
Back in her element, Dev flicked open the notebook. “I think we should have an early lunch in town—Caffè Positano looks perfect. Highly rated, budget-friendly, and great views close to the beach. We have time for some exploring and maybe we can make reservations for a boat tour tomorrow.”
“Yes, we should ask around by the ferry. R may still be in the business.”
“A long shot but definitely worth some research.” Dev scribbled a note. “Then the real estate agent is coming at four p.m. for an appraisal. Once we get the figures, I can punch them into the spreadsheet, do a risk calculation, and we can see what each of our shares would be if we sell.”
Uneasiness washed over her. It felt wrong to sell Mom’s house. She’d only been here one day, but already she was beginning to connect to this place. She opened her mouth to tell Dev, but Bailey interrupted.
“I don’t want to sell Mom’s house. What if I buy out your share?”
Dev snorted. “You don’t have the money. Unless you’re going to ask Dad, which is many shades of wrong.”
Bailey’s face turned stubborn. “You can’t make us sell if Pris says no. Can’t you see this is more than money? It’s our heritage.”
“We agreed to get the figures, discuss rationally, and make a decision later in the week.” Dev’s tone was crisp and cool. “What’s not fair is if we refuse to be open-minded about all our possibilities.”
Knowing Dev was right, Pris stepped in. “We’ll stick to our promise. No decisions or fighting until we have a frank discussion.”
Bailey blew out her breath. “Fine. But I’m not changing my mind.”