The Secret Sister. Brenda Novak

impress you and Maisey? She doesn’t care.”

      Maisey opened her mouth to agree. She didn’t want something as minor as eating cucumber sandwiches the wrong way to make this tea more uncomfortable than it already was. It didn’t take much to set off either her mother or her brother. But Josephine didn’t give her the opportunity to react.

      “I care!” she cried. “Have some respect.” Josephine turned back to Maisey, but now there were pink stains on her cheeks. “Since you’re here, I take it you and Jack haven’t reconciled,” she said.

      Those words proved that Josephine was no longer on her best behavior. Had she thought about it for even a second, she would’ve known that Maisey didn’t want to talk about Jack. But whether or not the recipient would be pleased by the topic she chose had never stopped Josephine before.

      “No.”

      “You don’t think you will?”

      Maisey clenched her jaw but forced it to relax so she could answer politely. “He’s with someone else.”

       “Already?”

      Josephine knew this. She had to know it. Maisey had kept in touch with Keith and, more loosely, Pippa, even if she hadn’t maintained direct contact with her mother. No doubt they’d shared the basic facts of her life—and more information had probably come from Keith than Pippa. As close as Maisey felt to Keith, as loyal as he tried to be, he’d never been particularly adept at keeping his mouth shut. The fact that Josephine claimed not to know about Jack strained the bounds of credulity, but allowed her to act innocent while Maisey writhed.

      “Jack was involved with another woman before he moved out,” Maisey explained. Was that what she wanted to hear? Did Josephine enjoy making her say it?

      “I see.” Her mother had warned her that Jack, who’d been working as a lifeguard at the public beach in Keys Crossing when she met him, would be unlikely to support her “in the lifestyle to which she was accustomed.” He came from decent, middle-class folk and had a business degree but no connections to help him get a start in the world of finance, which was his goal. Ironically, once they’d moved to New York, he’d managed to land a good job at Merrill Lynch simply by interviewing and had turned out to be quite talented with money.

      Josephine must’ve been aware of that, too. It was something she would’ve questioned Keith about whenever he came back from New York. Where do they live? What kind of rent do they pay? Is their apartment big? Yet those two words—I see—sounded suspiciously like, So I was right. And you dared question me...

      “Then your marriage is really over,” Josephine added, driving the knife deeper still.

      “Yes.” Maisey wanted to point out that Jack had failed in a completely different area than the one Josephine had predicted. But, once again, she bit her tongue. What did it matter? Jack was out of her life.

      Josephine’s cup clinked as she returned it to her saucer. “What’s on the horizon for you now?”

      Maisey didn’t have any official plans. She just wanted to help support Keith’s recovery. Someone had to step in. He couldn’t continue the downward spiral that had led him to attempt suicide. And why not come here? She hadn’t been doing anyone any good in Manhattan—including herself. “Maybe I’ll change things up, get a job.”

      She had to create some income unless she wanted to fall into the same vulnerable position as Keith and be dependent on Josephine for everything. It wasn’t as if she was getting any alimony. She’d been making as much as Jack when they split. Granted, there were still some royalties coming in, but that wouldn’t happen for another few months—and wouldn’t amount to all that much.

      Josephine paused with her cup halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean? What kind of job? There’s nothing on the island that would suit you—nothing but menial labor.”

      “Menial labor would keep me busy at least.” Even washing dishes would demand she maintain a schedule. She needed structure, some reason to keep moving so she could escape the inertia that had struck her down in New York.

      “Writing and illustrating will do that, won’t they?”

      Following Josephine’s cucumber-sandwich rebuke, Keith had gone back to his place by the mantel. Maisey could feel the weight of his stare. He was probably wondering if she’d tell their mother what she’d told him in the car, but she couldn’t face the backlash the truth would create. “I’ll put in a few hours here and there.” Or make the attempt, if and when she could bear to try.

      “That’s the beauty of what you do.” Josephine brought her cup to her lips. “You can work from almost anywhere.”

      Maisey realized she’d been drinking her tea without any sweetener and added a sugar cube with the silver tongs that had been in the family since before her grandfather had emigrated from France and purchased the island. Selling her children’s books to a traditional, well-known publisher was one of the few things she’d done right, according to Josephine. Josephine liked the respectability that went with being successfully published, and she liked the accolades Maisey’s books had received. That was what Keith had told her, anyway. Her first book was published when she was twenty-seven, married and living in New York.

      “That’s one of the benefits,” she agreed. “But, at the moment, I don’t have any pressing deadlines. So...for the next few weeks, until I can find a job, I’ll concentrate on fixing up my little bungalow.”

      Her mother wrinkled her perfectly formed nose. “As I said, doing anything with the bungalows makes no sense. My contractor can handle it.”

      “I know. I met Raphael while we were there—” she certainly wasn’t about to mention that she’d met him before “—inspecting the damage caused by the hurricane. He seems perfectly capable, but he said he wouldn’t mind my help.”

      “You don’t think you should’ve asked me what I thought of the idea first?”

      Maisey took a sip of her tea. “I didn’t want to bother you with something so...trivial.”

      “Maisey’s going to my NA meetings with me,” Keith piped up. “That should make the ferry ride a bit more pleasant, wouldn’t you say?”

      “I’m grateful for anything that’ll keep you on track,” Josephine said. “Good Lord, what you’ve put me through!” She clicked her tongue. “Maybe she’ll spend a few hours at the flower shop with you every week, too, so you can finally grasp the art of arranging. She was the best arranger I had when she was in high school. But you only ever do one-tenth of what I need.”

      When the color drained from Keith’s face, Maisey flinched. He could’ve used some encouragement instead of yet another insult.

      “It’s been so long since I worked at the flower shop, I’m sure he’d have to teach me a thing or two.” Maisey could tell her brother was offended by what their mother had said. She could feel his dark mood from where she sat. But at that point, the conversation took a less emotional turn, giving her hope that they’d weathered the worst of this meeting, and that she’d be able to cajole him out of his resentment after it was over.

      They talked about Josephine’s many cousins, who mostly lived in Charleston these days, and how they were coping with the death of Josephine’s half-brother on her mother’s side; he had been the patriarch of that part of the family. Then they discussed the renovation of the east wing, following which her mother mentioned that Maisey was too thin (of course!) and needed to have her hair trimmed (which she already knew). As the minutes passed, Maisey grew more convinced that the worst was behind her. Her mother had pointed out every flaw, touched on almost every sensitive subject. What could be left?

      But just as Maisey was beginning to feel less anxious, Josephine looked up with a hint of challenge in her eyes.

      “And what about little Ellie?” she asked,