“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“You dated for two years. You’ve been living together for a while. I thought he was ‘the one’ for you. That’s what you said.” She looked so sad about it, like I’d broken up with her or something.
I shrugged. “Guess I was wrong.”
“So you didn’t love him,” Mom interrupted. “Even when you insisted that you did?”
Finally, she was paying attention. Nice job with the not-quite “I told you so,” too.
“I loved him enough to support him these past several months while he floundered around without any job. But it’s not like you fall in love and then, wham, it lasts forever. Feelings change. People grow. Relationships evolve. The things that made us work well were no longer working—he’d stopped all of his artistic stuff, didn’t lift a finger to help me, and, honestly, he got a little boring—”
My sister’s unexpected sob shut me up.
She never cried in front of me. At least not since the time she’d come home excited about being admitted to the National Honor Society only to have her achievement overlooked because I’d gotten hurt after falling off our roof. I’d gone up there to hide from Mom because I knew she’d gotten a call from the middle school principal about a food fight I’d started in the cafeteria. To be fair, I’d dumped the pasta on Emmerson’s head because she’d been picking on poor Wendy Jones that day. Anyway, looking back, I did have a habit of inadvertently ruining my sister’s celebrations. “Amanda, I’m sorry you’re so upset. Shocked, though. You never much liked Max. You thought he smelled funny.”
“Don’t pick on your sister,” my mom admonished as she reached over to soothe Amanda.
I stood there, blinking, confused about why Amanda needed comforting over my breakup with a man neither of them liked. “I’ve had a weird vibe pretty much since I arrived. What’s going on?”
Amanda wiped her eyes and sniffled. “Let’s all take our plates to the table, then I’ll explain.”
Suddenly my appetite waned. Unlike when Mom and Amanda typically made a mountain out of a molehill, tonight their somber moods rattled me. We all took our plates and sat while I searched my memory for any hint of trouble in the Turner family that I’d missed last week.
The chances of my getting out of this conversation without inadvertently causing more conflict were pretty slim without my dad around. He’d been a much-needed buffer, and never misunderstood my meaning or intentions in these kinds of family discussions. Given my sister’s tears, anything I did or said could be the wrong thing now, like that stupid Thanksgiving four years ago, when Amanda had made a pumpkin cheesecake instead of pie and then gotten upset with me for voicing my surprise. That conversation had been about to tip into yet another argument when Dad cut it short. “Amanda, your sister was only looking forward to your pumpkin pie, but I bet we’ll love this, too, once we try it. Now pass me a slice.” He wasn’t here tonight to stop us from going down a rabbit hole, so my best bet was to eat in silence and let it all unfold. Amanda pretty much pushed her food around with her fork before putting it down and sipping her iced tea.
My mom reached across the table and patted her hand. “It’s all going to be okay.”
I sat back, antsy and growing warmer by the minute. “It’s obvious you’re upset, and I want to give you space, but the suspense is killing me.” Maybe a joke would break the tension. “Did someone rob a bank?”
Amanda’s bleak gaze snapped to mine, stunning me into silence. “Lyle is having an affair . . .”
She kept talking, but my mind shut down at those words. That rat bastard!
When I’d caught him with that hot blonde on Valentine’s Day, I’d felt even more suspicious of him than usual. Lyle had been startled when I’d run into them at the Kentwood Inn, where I’d stopped in on Max’s behalf to ask about auditions for its new live-music nights. They’d looked almost conspiratorial to me, the way they were looking into each other’s eyes.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Lyle,” I’d said sardonically while staring at him, my gaze flicking briefly to the bimbo’s face.
He stiffened so slightly I questioned whether I’d imagined it. “Erin.”
I raised my brows expectantly, then extended my hand to the woman. “Hi, I’m Erin Turner, Lyle’s sister-in-law.”
The blonde gave nothing away but a hint of steel in her spine. “I’m Ebba Nilsson.” Then she’d tied her scarf tighter around her neck and pulled her blonde curls out of it to cascade over her shoulders.
“Ebba and I work together at Chesapeake Properties,” Lyle added smoothly. But he’d also shifted his demeanor, stepping slightly away from her. “We were having lunch with a potential tenant.”
The fact that he’d offered a detailed explanation before I’d even questioned him had struck me, too.
“Oh, and here I assumed you stopped by to make reservations for a romantic dinner with Amanda.” I’d waited for his reaction, which didn’t come. But Ebba’s mouth curled upward a touch. I looked over Lyle’s shoulder. “Where’s your client?”
He and I locked gazes. There in the depths of those striking blue eyes lay all the coldness he hid from my sister. “He left five minutes ago for another meeting. I had to stay and pay the bill. Now we’re on our way back to the office, so if you’ll excuse us.” He grinned insincerely. “You have a pleasant day.”
I’d waited on the porch, watching them wander down the walkway, scrutinizing their body language for any overt sign of something nefarious. They’d done nothing I could latch on to, yet I couldn’t shake my misgivings.
I’d never trusted Lyle—not from the first. But there hadn’t been any evidence that day to take to Amanda. And after the way she’d shut down on me the first time I’d criticized him, I couldn’t have simply shared my suspicion. Not with her basking in her first trimester and their recent move to this house. Plus we’d all still been reeling from Dad’s death, so I hadn’t wanted to stir up more drama without smoking-gun proof.
She’d fallen so hard for Lyle from the start, blind to all his faults. His boasting annoyed me, but worse was how he’d systematically made Amanda more reliant on him—sowing doubts about her friends, like making derogatory remarks about Cindy Dunlap’s influence simply because she planned girls’ nights out, or persuading Amanda to put off working toward her master’s degree because he could support her while she raised their children. He used my sister’s eagerness to please him against her, and got away with it by lavishing her with praise and affection. God, he made my skin crawl.
Meanwhile, I’d only ever been completely open with her, and yet she trusted him more than she trusted me—that much was as clear as her crystal chandelier. In a “he said, she said” situation, he would’ve won and she and I could’ve ended up seriously estranged.
But damn it. Damn, damn, damn. No way would I confess that sighting now. That’d be worse than useless, and the blame for everything would land back on me despite Lyle being the liar.
“Wait, wait . . .” I waved my hands after hearing something about Mom and her money. “I’m sorry. I missed everything you said after the very first sentence. What’s this about Mom’s money?”