The Sister-in-Law by Pamela Crane (best books to read in your 20s .TXT) 📕

were supposed to be working on our friendship today. So I picked the more conservative outfit number two, and hoped it would appease her bland sense of style.

The sacrifices one makes for family.

By the time I made it downstairs, dressed, game face on, and purse in hand, Harper was waiting by the door.

‘You finally ready?’ she asked.

The woman was perpetually in a rush. I was perpetually not. Already we were clashing.

The eerie knock on the bathroom door still echoed in my mind. ‘Yeah. Um, did you knock on the bathroom door while I was in there?’

‘No, why?’

Strange. ‘Are the kids around?’

‘No … I think they’re outside with Aubrey, the babysitter. Lane’s heading to work shortly.’ Her voice lifted with concern. ‘Why do you ask?’

I shook away the strange thoughts floating around in my head. ‘It’s nothing.’

I wondered if Jackson was rubbing off on me.

‘You look nice.’ Harper grinned with approval at my conservative jeggings and retro Fleetwood Mac T-shirt. Her gaze caught for a moment on the holes in the knees and the frayed hems, but at least she wasn’t commenting about my cleavage under her breath. Wearing an adequate bra in public seemed to have scored me an even higher approval rating.

‘Thanks. You do too.’

And she did look nice … for a sixty-year-old lady, not a late-thirties woman. I checked my hobo bag. Lip gloss, wallet, cell phone, all-natural mood stabilizer. Everything I would need to endure a day with Sis!

A week ago, I would have never agreed to a Sisters’ Day Out! as Lane called it. He had been begging me to make some ‘girl time’ with my new sister – in-law, I added in my head – but eventually I caved. Not for me, but for him. So I agreed to a shopping outing. Especially after the tension Harper and I had been wading through the past two days. Shopping was easier than forcing stilted conversation over a meal at a restaurant, and I could easily wander off and browse by myself without injuring her dainty ego.

The best part was when Lane handed me his credit card and told me to treat myself to whatever I wanted. ‘With a growing belly, you’ll probably need a whole pregnancy wardrobe,’ he suggested. Don’t mind if I do!

I had never had someone who wanted to spoil me. I didn’t dress in name-brand clothes or walk in expensive shoes, but Lane made me feel like a designer woman. You deserve nice things, he’d insist when I turned down his gifts, his face droopy and sad. It makes me happy to treat you well.

And so I let him. Soon I realized just how happy it made me too. I was his queen, he was my king, and I felt every bit the part.

‘Don’t you have your own credit card?’ Harper asked.

‘Nah, she can use mine,’ Lane said.

‘But she can’t forge your signature. That’s illegal.’

Oh Harper, ever the rule follower.

‘You’d be impressed with how scary good her forgery skills are!’ Lane laughed.

Harper frowned.

‘When you don’t have parents, you’re forced to learn such skills to get by in life. Permission slips don’t sign themselves,’ I joked, hoping Harper wouldn’t read into it. ‘So, we all set?’

I plastered on a smile and off Harper and I went. As I stepped into the car, the movement of curtains above the front porch drew my gaze upward. A shadow passed across my bedroom window, and a chill prickled my skin. Lately I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

By the time we reached the mall, I’d pushed the stalker sensation out of mind and prepped myself for a shop-fest. The Streets at Southpoint in Durham, North Carolina, had a bit of everything for everyone. Urban Outfitters for me. Lands’ End for Harper. Victoria’s Secret for me. Maidenform for Harper. So when Harper parked the car and proceeded to hang at my hip from one store to the next like a parole officer, I couldn’t help but feel claustrophobic. And when I felt smothered, I rebelled.

We wandered side by side through the mall, the cutesy storefronts made to imitate the street shops one might find in a quaint but lively 1950s town that no longer existed. Harper’s watchful gaze followed me around every clothing rack, through every aisle, never giving me a moment’s peace. You’d think the sisterly companionship would feel comforting, but instead it was unsettling and downright obsessive. Maybe it was because of the earrings I had pinched and hidden in my coat pocket. Or the stolen ring I brazenly wore, as if claiming ownership so publicly entitled me to that ring. I couldn’t help my thieving impulse.

It wasn’t about the items, because Lane’s checking account would easily cover the cost. It was about Harper – and her judgment as she looked down on me as less than. The moment Lane handed me his credit card I felt it. Harper thought I was a gold-digger, but I didn’t need or want Lane’s gold. I could take what I wanted, when I wanted it, and so I shoved my sin in Harper’s principled, entitled face. With pregnancy hormones raging through my body, I needed to feel normal again – myself. And myself was a rebel. A heart thief. And today, apparently, a jewelry thief.

Three hours and six shopping bags later, I could tell Harper was growing weary. Her gait had slowed, her eyes had lost interest in me, and her chitchat had gone stale. My advantage was being ten years her junior, which equipped me with the stamina to shop for hours on end without exhaustion. If shopping were an Olympic sport, I’d be wearing a gold medal.

‘You ready to head home?’ Harper asked me for the umpteenth time.

I felt sufficiently stocked up on all things maternal, so I agreed to cut the poor woman a break. She had given it a good run.

‘Yes, I’m ready. And famished. I’m sure the baby is exhausted too. Let’s go.’ I glanced at her empty hands. ‘You didn’t find