A Perfect Homecoming. Lisa Dyson

the more frequently her painful memories came to the forefront of her mind. Though she and Paula had said such ugly things to each other the last time they’d spoken, Ashleigh dreaded seeing her ex-husband more. Avoiding him would be difficult enough in a town of three thousand, but he would almost definitely be a frequent visitor at Paula’s. Could she endure the inevitable mental and physical tolls?

      She consciously relaxed her death grip on the steering wheel.

      Aunt Viv had said Paula was renting the Dormans’ old house instead of staying in base housing in Norfolk, in order to be closer to family while Scott was at sea. Two blocks from her destination, Ashleigh was again tempted to call her sister. Maybe a phone conversation would make it easier for Paula to accept Ashleigh’s help rather than her just barging her way into her sister’s life.

      Ashleigh pushed the idea aside again. Paula had thought nothing of interfering in Ashleigh’s life when she’d had marital problems. Just let Paula try to stop her.

      This time it was Ashleigh’s turn to butt into her sister’s life.

      * * *

      PAULA LAY ON her left side, obeying her doctor’s order of bed rest, when there was a rap on the front door of her modest Cape Cod rental home.

      The door squeaked as it opened and she heard the voice she’d been dreading. “Paula?” Ashleigh had made record time.

      Aunt Vivian had called earlier to say Ashleigh was coming, but Paula hadn’t expected her sister to arrive until early evening or later. Paula hadn’t wanted her to come at all.

      She had several friends in town who’d already stepped up with food and offers of help with errands and watching the boys. She could manage without her sister, but Aunt Viv refused to tell Ashleigh not to come. Why hadn’t Paula contacted Ashleigh herself?

      “Paula?” Her older sister shouted this time.

      Paula took a deep, bracing breath. “In here,” she called from her first-floor bedroom.

      With each approaching foot-pad, Paula’s pulse quickened and her anxiety grew. The last time she and Ashleigh had spoken—correction, screamed at each other—had been right before Ashleigh left Grand Oaks for good more than two years ago.

      Her sister stopped at the bedroom doorway, dressed in impeccably fitted jeans and a loose top cinched at her narrow waist. Her thick, blond hair was caught in a casual knot at the back of her head.

      In other words, perfect as usual.

      “How are you feeling?” The strap of Ashleigh’s purse slipped from her shoulder to her elbow and her medical bag hung from her left hand. No “hello” or “hey there.” Ashleigh spoke as if Paula were her patient rather than her only sibling.

      “I’m fine.” Paula wasn’t about to list the multiple annoyances she experienced because of her pregnancy. She and Ashleigh might not see eye to eye on certain things, but complaining about her swollen feet, lack of energy and backaches, as well as this stupid bed-rest thing, would just be mean.

      Paula soothed her baby bump, imagining what her independent doctor-sister was thinking.

      Something in the neighborhood of How could one person be so needy?

      Ashleigh had always been the perfect one. Voted head cheerleader, always made straight A’s, dated and eventually married the star quarterback, went to a great college and then entered medical school. She’d even survived multiple miscarriages and a divorce, only to snap right back to her perfect life.

      Then there was Paula, the little sister who’d struggled with acne in high school and could barely do a proper cartwheel—forget perform a respectable cheer. Instead of finishing college, she’d married Scott when she got pregnant with Mark. Now her husband was deployed and she could barely take care of her family because this surprise third pregnancy had her bedridden in torn pajama pants tied under her expanding belly and an old T-shirt of Scott’s.

      She blinked to clear the moisture building in her eyes. She hadn’t even taken a shower today.

      “Aunt Vivian called me.” Ashleigh’s words were clipped.

      “I know.” Paula wasn’t about to act as if nothing had happened between them. “She called me, too.”

      “She said you’re confined to bed because of high blood pressure?”

      Paula wished Ashleigh would stop acting like her doctor, but how to phrase it without sounding petulant? Then they’d fight, her blood pressure would rise even higher and once again she would be at fault.

      She inhaled deeply and let the breath out slowly before replying. “My doctor is worried about preeclampsia.”

      “Rosy Bausch is your doctor?” Ashleigh asked.

      Paula nodded.

      “How far along are you?”

      She didn’t have to think about it. “Thirty-two weeks.” Her doctor had mentioned it several times at her appointment yesterday afternoon.

      “Any blurred vision or headaches?”

      “No.”

      “Abdominal pain?”

      “Nope.”

      “Good.” Ashleigh set her purse down and opened her medical bag. “Have you been checking your blood pressure?”

      Could their conversation be any cooler? “Dr. Bausch wants me to come in to her office weekly.”

      “Was your urine protein elevated?”

      “No, but she’s going to check that weekly, too.” Paula nearly addressed her sister as Dr. Wilson but caught herself in time. Ashleigh didn’t seem in the mood to appreciate Paula’s sarcasm. “You didn’t have to come,” Paula began.

      “Of course I did,” Ashleigh shot back. “You’re my sister.” She paused and leveled her gaze at Paula. “No matter what.” Ashleigh’s lip quivered, her vulnerability finally evident.

      So Ashleigh wasn’t as unaffected as she let on.

      Paula’s eyes welled up and she swallowed thickly, determined not to cry, even on hormone overload. They should talk—

      The front door slammed and the house filled with her seven-year-old’s wails.

      “Ryan?” Fear for her child had Paula straightening into a sitting position. She cleared her throat when her voice broke. “I’m in my bedroom. Are you okay?”

      Ryan cried harder.

      “Paula, stay there.” Ashleigh moved in Ryan’s direction.

      “There’s something wrong with him.” Paula spoke through gritted teeth while swinging her legs over the side of the bed.

      Ashleigh narrowed her eyes at Paula. “If you don’t lay back down right now, I’m going to call an ambulance and have you admitted to the hospital.”

      “That’s ridiculous!”

      “It won’t be ridiculous if you go into premature labor,” Ashleigh spit. “Trust me, it’s not an experience you ever want to have.”

      * * *

      RYAN LIMPED INTO the bedroom, right past Ashleigh. He headed directly to the side of the bed in front of Paula, who hadn’t lain back down but hadn’t rushed to Ryan’s side, either. His forehead was scraped and his jeans were torn at the knee, but more significantly, he cradled his left forearm with his right hand.

      Except for being two years older and crying, Ryan looked the same to Ashleigh as he had the last time she’d seen him. Spittin’ image of his dad, as well as his Uncle Kyle.

      The lump in her throat kept her from speaking.

      “I fell off my bike, Mommy,” he sobbed.

      “Tell me where you hurt.” Paula