The Secret Sister by M. DeLuca (classic novels for teens txt) 📕

He just looks dead, said Birdie and I had to agree. There was no life in that stiff doll with its waxy, bloated face. No sign of KC, the crazy kid with the Minnesota Wild hat, scooting along the street on his skateboard. The joker who used to slurp the milk from his Cheerios, then Birdie would watch as he speared each soggy piece with the tip of his tongue like a lizard.

Birdie started to sniffle, rubbing a fist across her eyes. Then to cry. He’s dead and gone, she chanted, over and over until the sobbing mother stopped her wailing and directed a red-eyed glare at us. I glowered back at her, narrowing my eyes and folding Birdie against my chest. And I asked myself, why did his mom desert him? Abandon him so many times he felt worthless, ashamed – not good enough to be wanted or loved. A stray dog – no home to call his own.

“You scared of flying?” a voice said. I blinked my eyes to see Guy staring at me. “You looked like you were gonna burst into tears.”

“It’s my first time,” I said. I couldn’t share my pain with Guy. I hadn’t even told him about Carla. Didn’t want to burden him with all my worries.

His face split into a broad grin. “You’re a strange one, Anna. You should’ve told me this is your maiden voyage. Let’s celebrate,” he said, kissing my cheek.

We were in business class so, within minutes, we were both nursing a glass of chilled Prosecco and nibbling on a succulent turkey and cranberry brioche.

“We’re flying in at night so you get to see the Vegas lights and skyline. You’re gonna love it.”

I took a drink and cuddled against his shoulder. “I know I will.”

Five days of freedom lay ahead. No work, no worries, no memories. And Guy would be away from Gord and all his demands. Gord was in the habit of calling Guy at the same time every night. Nine on the nail. Holding Guy hostage for at least half an hour. And there was no way to give him the brush-off. Guy would lean back in a chair and close his eyes as if all he wanted to do was sleep after a long day at school, not to mention he hadn’t even touched the briefcase full of student term papers. Sometimes he rubbed his eyes so hard, his glasses slipped off his nose onto his cheek and I felt a pang of pity for him.

Once, I asked him why Gord called so much.

“I’m a vital part of the business. Being a consultant with a PhD behind my name lends a certain gravitas and credibility to the entire operation, but Dad still gets a bit riled that he only has a Masters.”

I just hoped that Gord would lay off the calls while we were away. I wanted this to be a real escape for both of us.

Guy was right. I loved Vegas. The town was one giant mall. We walked from one hotel to another, from one glossy shopping area with its fake, painted sky, marble walls and granite-tiled streets to another expanse of premium outlet stores. Cruised entire blocks where fake European monuments from Rome, Venice, Paris and Florence rubbed shoulders with karaoke bars and yard-long margarita stands.

The only time we ventured outside during the day was to the pool, a glassy turquoise expanse of water with a gushing fountain at one end. Tall cypress, drooping palm trees and cone-shaped shrubs in cream ceramic pots surrounded the pool area. White umbrellas shaded plump couches inside luxury cabanas and the massive towers of the Aria and Cosmopolitan hotels rose like glittering monoliths in the distance.

We lounged on the daybeds, sipping on mojitos until we were so tipsy we slid into the water to cool our heads. We nibbled on sushi, shrimp ceviche and buffalo wings, then dragged our feet past the clanking slot machines to shower and get dressed for the evening show. Our room was a fountain view suite with the dancing waters directly below. I stood watching them at the window, Guy’s arms round my waist, his warm breath on the back of my neck.

“Anything you ask for, Anna. I’ll give it to you. I want to make you happy,” he whispered.

“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” I said, thinking this moment was the closest to perfection I’d ever been.

The tightness of fear almost slipped away from me when he carried me to the bed. If I could just let go. Let that warm, supple feeling take over my body. Say I loved him. Trusted him. Felt safe with him. Would climb inside him if I could. But I couldn’t find the words, couldn’t rid myself of that tiny thread of doubt. Instead I concentrated on the way he thrust himself into me, clutching him closer, faster, harder until we both shuddered to a sweaty, trembling climax.

He rolled onto his back and trailed a hand across my breast. “Hell, Anna, you’re on fire.”

At the Cirque show, I soaked in the music, the dazzling costumes and the rainbow spectacle of dancers, aerialists and gymnasts, while coasting on a perfect buzz from two giant gin and tonics stuffed with fresh lime. I’d never seen anything so magical and had to bite my lip to stem the tears when I remembered all those years of deprivation. The grinding monotony of poverty, the total absence of love and care from anyone after Dennis. The gnawing uncertainty and suspicion about every person in my life.

No wonder I’d buried myself in books.

Maybe that was when Birdie began to turn away from me.

Maybe she had good reason to run away when I lost myself in a fantasy world that didn’t include her.

The weight of grief pressed down on my chest until I thought I would suffocate, then the waitress arrived with our drinks. Another sweating gin and tonic chilled my hand. I gulped it down, thankful it tasted more like a