The Sister-in-Law, Pamela Crane [have you read this book txt] 📗

to squeeze the identity out of me. I was happy living in my own shadow, not theirs.

I shivered in my drapey Cyndi Lauper T-shirt and hiphugger panties, closing the window beside my bed where last night’s rain had left dewy droplets along the windowsill. After slipping on a plush robe and slippers, I piled my hair into a top-knot, then headed downstairs, greeted by … nothing.

No scent of coffee brewing.

No gurgling of hot water pouring over coffee beans.

Someone had unplugged the coffeemaker and instead plugged in a cell phone. Harper’s cell phone.

Ripping her cord from the outlet, I jammed the coffeemaker plug in and pressed the brew button, cursing her under my breath. Last night’s dinner dishes were already cleaned and put away – thank-Harper-very-much – but the drying rack was full of clean pots and pans. If she’d carelessly unplug my coffeemaker, then I’d carelessly put the pots and pans away. After clattering them loudly into the cupboards and slamming the cabinet doors shut, the house returned to deathly silence.

It hadn’t worked.

So I headed for the closet and lugged the vacuum out. It didn’t matter that the floors were mostly hardwood and a mop would work better; vacuuming would be so much more fun. I plugged it in and with the click of a button it roared to life. Zooming around the first floor, I made sure to bump into tables and floorboards, scraping chairs across the floor as I moved furniture around. It only took a couple minutes of this before Harper tiptoed down the stairs, waving her hands at me to stop.

I turned off the vacuum and smiled. ‘Good morning!’ I doused my tone with plenty of morning chipper. ‘Just getting a head start on the cleaning.’

‘At six in the morning?’ She cocked an eyebrow at me.

How dare she cock an eyebrow at me in my own home!

‘I figured I was already up, so why not get started on the chores? The early bird gets the worm and all that.’ A saying I never agreed with. Birds found worms at all hours of the day; why did only the early risers get the credit?

‘The rest of us are trying to sleep, Candace. Can’t you wait until after the kids are up? They need their sleep.’

‘First you criticize me for not playing house, and now you criticize for doing it? What the hell do you want from me, Harper?’

She exhaled, either in irritation or retreat. ‘I just want you to show some consideration. We’re trying to sleep and you’re purposely making a bunch of noise.’

Apparently Harper’s voice carried louder than the vacuum, because Elise’s whining traveled through the closed door, landing on my ears. ‘Mommyyyyyyy, you woke Jackson up!’

‘Sorry, sweetie,’ Harper called back to her. ‘Try to go back to sleep.’

‘I caaaaaan’t,’ Elise answered with the same annoying pitch. ‘Jackson’s hitting himself again!’

‘Thanks a lot. Now the kids are up, and Jackson will be such a treat, thanks to your sleep deprivation,’ Harper mumbled as she stormed up the stairs. ‘I hope you like loud cartoons.’

By the time Harper reached the top landing, both kids were crying and screaming at each other … and having a wrestling match, I wagered, from the thumping sound of something – or someone – hitting the floor.

Mission accomplished.

Half an hour later, Lane rolled out of bed – had I mentioned he was a deep sleeper? – as I placed a skillet of scrambled eggs beside a plate of buttered toast and crispy bacon on the kitchen table, just how Lane liked it. I preferred my bacon a little chewy and made of pig, not turkey, but this was all about Lane, not me.

‘Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey! Breakfast time,’ I sing-songed over the migraine-inducing SpongeBob SquarePants theme song. Of course Harper had picked the loudest show she could find to entertain the kids.

It was on, bitch.

The kettle whistled as the kids sat around the kitchen table spooning eggs onto their plates. I picked out a mint chocolate oolong tea – my current favorite – and set it to steep. Beside me, Harper poured a cup of coffee into an oversized mug, no cream, no sugar. It figured that Harper liked her coffee bitter, just like her personality.

When the scent of mint reached my nostrils, I knew my tea was ready. I added a dash of cream, two spoonfuls of sugar, and sipped it. Perfection.

‘No coffee this morning?’ Harper asked me, lifting her mug.

‘I prefer tea. I’ve just never taken to coffee. It stains the teeth.’

She scrunched her upturned nose. ‘That’s what whitening toothpaste is for. And who doesn’t like coffee? That’s just wrong.’

I could have retorted with everything wrong with her, like how her voice scratched my eardrums, or how her caked-on foundation wasn’t doing her fine lines any favors or fooling anyone. Or that God-awful hairstyle that looked like a monkey with scissors cut it. But no, I kept my mouth in check. Not for her, but for Lane.

When I escaped to the breakfast nook, I picked the chair furthest from the children and their bickering over who had more bacon. The table followed a long window that overlooked the backyard. I usually enjoyed the daily visits from the hummingbirds that hovered by the feeder that I’d hung from the back porch. But not even their cute squeaks or vibrating wings could cheer me up today.

Harper followed me, sitting cattycorner to my chair. I had no desire to make idle chitchat with a woman who could care less about respecting me in my own home, so I returned to sipping my tea and nibbling my eggs while Harper scrolled through her phone. The cursed thing was like an extra appendage, always at her fingertips.

At last her eyes broke contact with her device and she glanced up. ‘I searched for you on Facebook but I couldn’t find you. What name are you under?’

Searching for what, exactly? I wanted to ask but didn’t. Because I knew she didn’t want to be Facebook buddies.