are the chances of the records not turning up?”
“Slim to none.”
“But there’s a chance.”
“Not one I’m willing to acknowledge.”
If Blake had been a little more clearheaded, he might have continued to push for percentages. He liked things on the table, in black and white or not at all.
“I’m glad I don’t have your job,” he said instead.
Schuster laughed. “Just call when you’re back in town.”
Blake said he would.
He dropped the phone. Took another sip—a small one. It was going to be a long night and he needed to be up at the crack of dawn to get his business affairs in order before he left for New York.
But for now, there was nothing to do but sit. And wait. And think.
“JULES?”
Instantly awake as she recognized the voice on the other end of the line, Juliet sat up. It was late Thursday night, the first of April.
“Marce? What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t sound like nothing. You’ve been crying.” It wasn’t something Juliet could ignore in the nonidentical twin sister she’d been watching out for all their lives.
Marcie laughed, sniffed, laughed again. “It really is nothing, Jules, I promise. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just lying here having a hard time falling asleep and suddenly I start thinking about you, missing you and before I know it, I’m blubbering like an idiot.”
“You need to get out of that town.” Unlike Juliet, who’d left Maple Valley behind the second she’d graduated from high school, Marcie at thirty-four was still living in the small, mostly trailer-populated northern California town.
That fact scared Juliet every time she thought about it. She’d seen what being cooped up in Maple Valley had done to their mother.
Marcie, in contrast to their destitute mother, was one of the more well-to-do inhabitants in town, having made a success of the local beauty shop. But still…
“I know,” her sister said. “I do need to get away.”
Where Marcie lived was Marcie’s decision. They both knew that and had acknowledged it many times. But that didn’t stop Juliet from caring, or worrying, or helping where she could help.
It would be different if Marcie was happy in Maple Valley. But with her proclamations of dissatisfaction, she constantly reaffirmed Juliet’s fears. If she didn’t get out of that town with its limited possibilities, she would wither and prematurely age as their mother had.
“So come to San Diego for the weekend.”
While Marcie didn’t visit as often as Juliet and Mary Jane would like, she was a fairly frequent occupant of their Mission Beach cottage.
“I don’t know. Hank has a big sale going at the hardware.”
Juliet started counting. She had to at least get to ten before she’d be able to rein in the frustration that she had no right to unleash on her sister. She made it to four. And a half.
“So?”
“Well, it’s hard on him. He’ll be exhausted. I should be here.”
“Why in hell should you be there?” She sat up in bed, pulling a pillow over her as the covers fell to reveal the spaghetti-strap shirt and bikini briefs she slept in. Their mother’s life had been ruined by her choice to sacrifice herself, her needs and desires, for a man. Why couldn’t Marcie see that she was doing exactly the same thing?
“Do you have clients on Saturday?” Juliet asked.
“Not that I can’t reschedule.”
“So come.”
“Hank will be disappointed.”
“Marcie! For God’s sake! You aren’t married to the guy!”
Last Juliet had heard, Hank still hadn’t asked, after more than fifteen years of dating.
“I know.”
“You don’t even live with him.”
“I know.”
In the dark, Juliet stared out her bedroom window to the beach beyond. When the weather was warm enough, she loved to sit in her room late at night with the window up, listening to the waves as they crashed along the distant shore.
“He’s not there, is he?”
“No.”
“So come.”
“Okay.”
Blinking, Juliet pushed the pillow aside. “Really?”
“Yeah.”
“Great! Mary Jane will be thrilled! We’ll go to Seaport Village.” It might be considered touristy by most San Diegans, but Juliet, Mary Jane and most especially Marcie loved walking through the shops and restaurants along the waterfront. “Bring your in-line skates. Mary Jane’s been practicing and I think she’s ready to go out with us.”
More than anything, Juliet was ready to spend some time with her sister.
“Okay,” Marcie said, her voice losing the weak thread of tears. “And how about I throw in a nice dress, too, and treat us all to a decadent dinner in Beverly Hills?”
“Throw in the dress. You don’t need to treat.”
“I know,” Marcie said, her voice soft. “But I want to, Jules. Thanks.”
“For what?”
“Being you.”
“Thanks for being you, too,” she said, the reply never growing old, no matter how many times it was repeated.
“Love you.”
“You, too.”
Juliet hung up the phone, a weight she hadn’t even known she was carrying lifted from her shoulders. A weekend with Marce and Mary Jane, playing, having a late-night glass of wine or two with her sister, was just what she needed.
And after once again discussing the possibility of a life change for Marcie, perhaps she’d have a chance to talk to her sister about Mary Jane. The child had been a model student since the spitting incident the previous month. But the episode had brought back a fear to Juliet’s heart that, this time, would not be so easily eradicated.
She thanked God for Mary Jane’s ability to see all kinds of truths, to be aware of truth in different lights. And she
