hadn’t slept since the sheriff’s call despite the wait she’d had before the first flight available between Grand Rapids and Escanaba. Packing had only taken her a short while. The rest of the time she’d spent looking through the family albums her parents had entrusted to her while they RV’d across America in their retirement.
Old-fashioned and on a fixed income, they’d refused to get a cell phone, so she had no way of contacting them to let them know about their other daughter.
That she was dead.
They would call her on Sunday night, as always. She’d left a message on her machine for them to call her cell. And then she’d have to break the news as the sheriff had broken it to her…over the phone.
How was she going to tell them? “Nadine’s dead.” That simply? But nothing was simple about this. She didn’t even know how her sister had died. Their parents would want to know that.
Nadine was their biggest regret. Instead of supporting her through her difficulties, they’d threatened and punished her. The bad grades hadn’t been Nadine’s fault; she’d been dyslexic. But their parents hadn’t understood that. If she’d tried harder, they’d argued, she could have gotten grades as good as Sasha’s. After all, they were twins.
But so very, very different. Never more so than now that one of them lived and one had died.
Maybe Nadine had been right all along. Everything bad always happened to her. But was it, as their parents claimed, because of the choices she’d made?
Somehow, despite their long separation, Sasha was sure if given the choice, Nadine would have chosen life. If not for herself…then for her daughter. Wouldn’t she? Wouldn’t the responsibility of a child have caused her wild sister to settle down?
Nadine had a daughter.
That was the other thing she had to tell her parents. “I’m an aunt. You’re grandparents.”
Nadine’s running away had aged them. Could they handle these shocks?
God, she hoped so…because she needed someone to talk to. The sheriff’s deputy had barely said two words to her since picking her up at the airport. His first reaction had been an audible gasp, then she had explained that she was—had been—Nadine’s twin.
A dark shadow fell across the deck, and Sasha lifted her gaze toward the sky. The thick clouds had shifted even lower, an impenetrable layer blocking out the sun. A sense of foreboding chilled her soul, and she shivered. She was being silly, letting the deputy’s reaction affect her. She wasn’t her sister’s ghost, she was her niece’s guardian.
From his end of the bench seat on the ferry, the deputy kept shooting her furtive glances. When she caught him, red flooded his pitted cheeks. He reminded her of the teenagers she counseled at the high school; heck, he probably wasn’t much older.
Today, Sasha felt a lot older. It had nothing to do with sleep loss and everything to do with Nadine’s loss. Despite that vow she’d made, she’d always had a little hope in her heart that they’d be able to make amends someday. That they’d be able to form that almost sacred relationship that twins were supposed to have.
Now Sasha felt no hope. Although she was used to counseling teens, she knew nothing about babies. At two, wasn’t Annie still a baby? Could she talk? Did she know her mother was dead?
Was she devastated? As devastated as Sasha?
Fear gripped Sasha, clenching her already knotted stomach muscles. As her sister, as her twin, she’d failed Nadine. She should have been there for her, should have stopped her from running away all those years ago. Would she fail Nadine’s daughter, too?
Tired of the thoughts running through her head, she turned toward the deputy. “Can you tell me how my sister died?”
The sheriff hadn’t given her any details, hadn’t given her much of anything but a sense of disapproval. Not all siblings were close. She shouldn’t feel guilty for knowing nothing about Nadine’s life, but she did. The guilt gnawed at her, leaving her feeling hollow inside.
The deputy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard then shook his head. “No, Miss Michaelson.”
“You don’t know?” Or he didn’t want to tell her? Maybe it had been suicide? No, Nadine wouldn’t have done that. She’d always been so independent, so strong. But if it had been an accident, surely the sheriff would have said.
“Sheriff Blakeslee said he’d tell you everything when we meet him on the island, ma’am.” And from his diffident tone, the young deputy was too in awe of the sheriff to ever consider disobeying a command from the man.
She could make him talk; that was her job. If she could make teenagers open up, she could get the deputy to spill. But she had to admit that she didn’t want to hear the particulars from him. She wanted his boss to tell her. Sheriff Blakeslee was only a voice in the darkness to her, but she felt closer to him than this young man. She’d already shared something with him, the horrible news of her sister’s death.
“How long before we reach the island?” Maybe it was the violent waves that made her think miles of water had passed under the ferry’s jumping hull.
“Not much longer. It’s a two-hour ride total.”
She didn’t know much about boats even though she’d been raised in the Great Lakes state. How many miles did a boat travel in two hours? How many miles from civilization was the island? And why had Nadine chosen to live there? “Does the sheriff live there, too?”
“He divides his time between Whiskey Bay and the island. He bought a place on Sunset years ago when he was still a detective in Detroit.” The wind ruffled the young man’s fine hair as he shook his head, probably unable to understand why someone would have moved from Detroit to the remoteness of the north country.
“Did he retire here?” Although she’d only heard his voice, she doubted he was old enough to be drawing a pension.
The deputy shook his head again. “No, he’s only in his thirties, the youngest sheriff we’ve ever had. But with all his years on the force in Detroit, he’s got more law enforcement experience than any sheriff before him.”
Did he need it? Would he use it on Sunset Island? She peered up at the dark clouds and shivered.
She preferred talking about the sheriff, talking about anything, rather than tormenting herself with regrets over Nadine’s death. She’d had so much living to do yet, had a child to raise.
And now Sasha had that responsibility. Unable to fight the guilt any longer, she found herself asking, “Can you tell me about my sister?”
Like, who had fathered her baby and why wasn’t he around to be guardian for his child?
The young man wouldn’t meet her eyes, glancing out over the rolling waves instead. And in the distance, through the mist rising from the water, a dark shadow formed. The island. “Miss Michaelson, the sheriff can tell you everything. He was really close to your sister.”
How close? Intimate. From the nervous shift of the deputy’s gaze, she suspected as much.
Would the sheriff tell her everything? Or, out of loyalty to Nadine, would he resent her
