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

daughter’s hip or when a mother’s fingertips dig into her toddler’s arm leaving angry red splotches. The way the tendons in Lester’s neck used to tighten up when Patti started moaning about her back pain. Or the way Lester walked past our bedroom in his raggedy boxers, stroking his crotch when Patti was passed out cold on the living room couch.

When you’re immersed in all that, you learn to make yourself so small you’re almost invisible so you can blend in with the furniture. That’s the only way to survive. I was an expert but Birdie hadn’t mastered the art of disappearing. Until later. When there was no other option.

The first hint of discord was Nancy’s swollen eyelids. Either she hadn’t slept or she’d been crying. As usual she was immaculately groomed and still greeted me with a kiss on both cheeks. But she was jumpy around Gord, as if she was deliberately trying to keep space between them. Her bright smile looked forced and weary and her fingers bunched up on Guy’s shoulders as she clutched him just a bit too tightly. Gord, meanwhile, was on overdrive. He wrapped Guy in a fierce embrace that almost knocked the wind out of him, then he placed both hands around my waist and placed a long, damp kiss on my cheek. I pulled away, fighting the urge to slap him, but he was already on his way to the kitchen.

“Get some drinks together, Nancy. We need to celebrate the arrival of our newest team member.”

She scurried by him but not before he reached out and grabbed her ass in his hand, squeezing so hard she cried out. I glanced at Guy who glared at his father with burning eyes.

“Dammit, Dad – Anna’s here,” he protested.

Nancy froze rigid to the spot until Gord let go, a mischievous grin on his face. “Chill out, son. My wife may be well past fifty but she’s still got a great ass. I’m a lucky man.” He delivered a parting slap to her rear as she scuttled out of the way, then glanced around at us. “C’mon – loosen up you two. Oh no. Have I offended the professor?”

“Cut it out, Dad,” said Guy, moving away into the living room, but Gord followed like a hound scenting blood.

Gord filled the doorway, his face flushed with drink. His eyes fell on me. “Anna, you’ve got a sense of humor, unlike the other ghosts in my family. They wouldn’t know a good time if it stood up and smacked them in the face. As the Brits say, they couldn’t enjoy a piss-up in a brewery. At least I think that’s the saying.” He frowned as if searching for the right words. “But I’ll bet you’ve seen a bit of action in your time.”

I looked at Guy, trying to get a cue from him. What to say? How to respond? And what exactly did he mean by the last comment?

“Cat got your tongue, sweetheart, or has the professor briefed you already on how to deal with his vulgar clod of a father?”

Guy moved forward as if to shield me. “You said we were coming here to celebrate, Dad. You could at least be nice to Anna.”

Gord reached for his half-finished drink and swigged it back. Then he held up a hand to his mouth in fake surprise. “Oh dear. Better show some penitence. Take a hundred lashes. Or maybe I might enjoy that too much.”

A sudden, loud crash from the kitchen had Guy and me up and out of our seats. We rushed in to find Nancy on hands and knees trying to pick up shards of a broken wine glass with her bare hands. A pool of white wine was spreading across the floor tinted with the pale tinge of blood. Her shoulders shook as she struggled to contain the mess.

Guy swept over and pulled her up. “Mom. Stop. Get up.” He cradled her in his arms.

I yanked some kitchen towel from the roll and wrapped her hands. Tiny dots of blood soaked into the white. “It’s okay. Just minor cuts.”

Nancy was almost hyperventilating. “So clumsy. Don’t know what happened.” Her eyes darted to the doorway. Gord stood there. Eyes widening in horror.

For a moment they stared at each other. The silence quivered.

Suddenly his big body seemed to deflate, all the bluster fizzling out of him like a burst balloon. Nancy pulled herself away from Guy and walked towards her husband. She reached for his arm, gently steering him to the couch where he sat, legs splayed, head bowed. We all held our breath, watched and waited until he finally raised his head, then held her injured hands and kissed them.

“I’m a bad drunk,” he said, looking directly at me with baleful eyes. “Been under a bit of stress lately with all this funding bullshit. I hit the scotch too early. Nancy warned me to go easy, but of course I never listen to her. I should, I know I should. She’s my guiding star. I just don’t appreciate her enough.”

He reached for her, nuzzling his head against her waist. I could swear she stiffened at first then took a deep breath and ruffled his hair. Peace was restored for now as Guy and I went to clean up the spill.

Supper went without a hitch. Gord sobered up, then slipped back into professional mode, outlining the data gathering techniques and focus groups I’d be involved with once I joined the project. Everyone was relaxed and loose until the coffee arrived. The cocktails and wine had loosened my tongue enough for me to blurt out, without too much warning, that Guy really wanted to opt back into the homeless kids’ education project. Then all the goodwill fled, as if I’d wiped a whiteboard clean. Gord’s face was tight with anger.

“So you’ve been whining about me behind my back instead of facing me like a man, son?” said Gord, his face contorted into an injured expression.

I gulped, feeling suddenly stone