Fran would be home soon. Her sister’s life was more complicated than hers and she understood the delay. Claire would complete the initial requirements, which of course weren’t much beyond settling the house. It would take Fran another day or so to reschedule her meetings. Nothing to get overwhelmed by, even if she felt lost. She grabbed the list of what she needed to get done. She wasn’t going to crumble.
There wasn’t a copy of her parents’ will and testament, but Bob had included a copy of her parents’ plans specifying no burial, just a simple cremation and their wish to have their ashes spread along the Appalachian Trail. The Robertsons had taken their children hiking each year during the early summer through high school and had taught the girls how to camp in the primitive sites along the trail. Claire loved the experience, although Fran complained from the moment they arrived in the trail parking lot to the moment she came home.
She wondered if Fran was coming in tomorrow. She phoned her sister instead of waiting to hear back. “Frannie, when are you coming?”
“For the love of God, don’t call me that. I’ve not got a confirmation just yet.” She paused. “What’s it like being back home?”
“Quiet.”
“Hah.” Her sister snorted. “The understatement of the year.”
“I take it back. I can hear the neighbor whistling. I don’t think it’s Mrs. Murray though.”
“Of course not. It’s probably…what’s his name?”
“Hmm—” The question made Claire wince. “What did you say?”
She recounted how competitive Fran could be, especially when they’d lived at home. The only thing that kept them on friendly terms was that their interests had varied wildly and neither inhabited each other’s world. Claire was firmly seated within the indie publishing industry, and Fran was a new partner in a brokerage house. Fran not only worked but lived in Manhattan with her boyfriend and business partner.
The twins had one thing in common besides their birth. They’d both put aside the rule of professional workplace etiquette and slept with their bosses. More than likely Fran saw her choice of bed partner as a good career move, or so she implied a year ago before making partner. Claire wasn’t about to invite a sisterly moment by admitting she’d done a version of the same thing.
“I think his name was Dustin, right?” Fran gurgled with laughter.
“Was? Did it change? We lived next door to Dustin all our lives. Don’t try to make it seem like you don’t remember him. That’s just mean.” Claire wished she could stop the heat seeping up her neck and across her face.
“Water under the bridge. Speaking of men…how’s your love life?”
“Stuck in neutral.” She wasn’t up to sharing that she’d slept with her editor last Friday and had officially classified herself as a magnet for the wrong guy. If she told Fran, her sister would find some way to rehash that mistake over and over. The few secrets Claire had ventured to share in the past had been invariably repeated at inopportune moments in the wrong company. No, she learned early on—sharing was never caring in Fran’s book.
“Well, push it into overdrive. What are you waiting for? Prince Charming is not coming to your doorstep. Not in Seattle and certainly not in Mill Spring.”
“Really?” Claire couldn’t resist.
“Don’t get all pissy. I’m only saying what’s true. Besides, if you continue to act all holier than thou, I don’t think that even in the midst of a covey of sex-crazed bachelors, you’d net a single man.”
“I think you’d be surprised.”
“No, I’d be over-the-moon ecstatic.”
Claire seriously doubted that she could do anything that would overjoy Fran. But this was an old battle.
“I suppose. Call me when you book your flight.”
“Will do, Captain.”
If only Fran knew the truth. Claire silently cursed herself for going out for drinks last week and double-cursed herself for agreeing to catch a cab with Mike Campbell. One thing had led to another and eventually to his hand under her skirt. Claire didn’t have a boyfriend and had decided, Why not? Mike’s quick sense of humor and intelligent hazel eyes were appealing. She suspected he enjoyed the company of many women and that, in part, made him sexy, knowing other woman desired him.
She’d let down her guard, given in to an alcohol-induced illusion that only got worse when Mike tossed out his used condom, zipped up his pants, and calmly set the ground rules.
Just thinking about that moment caused a wave of nausea to brew. He’d had the audacity to try to cover his tracks back at the office.