The Sister-in-Law: An absolutely gripping summer thriller for 2021, Pamela Crane [reading eggs books .txt] 📗

leaned forward, her gaze analyzing and critical. ‘I do believe that – that you’d do anything to get what you want.’

Dropping the towel behind me, I stood, because I knew my height commanded respect. I looked down on her, letting her know I was – and always would be – above her. In life, in love, and with Lane.

‘If you tell him, you’ll hurt him more than I ever could. Could you live with yourself if you did that to the one person who has always tried to fill your void? Could you strip away his only chance at happiness? And if he did end up forgiving me, which I’m sure he would in time, do you really think I’d let you stay a part of our lives? Because I can be pretty convincing, and I can also be a mean bitch. Take the path of least resistance, Harper.’

Harper was a woman who pulled. I was a woman who pushed. In the end, pushing got the job done and was a hell of a lot easier.

‘So what are you going to do, Harper? Keep fighting against the riptide and die trying, or go with the flow for Lane’s sake?’

It was the right question to ask, because Harper had no real choice. If she told Lane the truth, there was a good chance he’d forgive me anyway and we’d still end up together – without her. My tears could be pretty persuasive when I tried. Especially as my belly grew, an irresistible lure to a man with family fever. We both knew she would end up losing no matter what she did. Even though Lane could forgive much, I wasn’t built that way. In fact, the last person who crossed me would never cross me – or anyone else – ever again. And I wouldn’t stop when it came to Harper. I was ready to take her down.

‘So what’s it going to be, Harper?’

Chapter 15

Harper

I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I was afraid of being alone when I do. It seemed both were inevitable.

When I was pregnant with Elise, I spoke a vow so solemn that it was unbreakable. I had been sitting in bed, awake with acid reflux and Braxton Hicks contractions, unable to sleep. Holding my fat belly in my arms, I promised my unborn baby that I would be there for every important moment. The first word. The first step. The first boyfriend. Graduation. Wedding. Grandchildren. I would somehow conquer death, as if I had that power, to be there whenever my child needed me.

Oh, how naïve I was back then. Back in a time of ignorant bliss, when the world was pure and simple and filled with hope. I never expected the crushing blow as life’s hammer swung down and smashed my perfect little dreams into perfect little pieces. I had never anticipated crouching in those shards, waiting for another blow. That’s all I seemed to do these days – wait for it.

Back then, every image I envisioned included me, Ben, and our children. I never fathomed life without him. Why would I? In my mind, I could singlehandedly defy death and divorce, with Ben by my side. It turns out I couldn’t. And it turns out he wouldn’t. Some days, single motherhood felt damn near close to death.

Single mothers are plainclothes heroes. Anyone who, after an exhausting day of work, can multitask helping the kids with their homework while figuring out what to cook for dinner that the kids won’t grouch about, followed by kitchen cleanup, then an hour-long bedtime routine – all of this on her own – deserves a friggin’ medal. Or at least a spa day. If you thought being a police officer or a firefighter or a doctor was hard, think about the single mothers out there. They are the toughest of them all. And I was now cursed to be one of them.

I tried my best, I always did, but there’s a tipping point where no amount of effort seemed enough. I’d spent the past hour coercing Jackson to do his spelling homework, while Elise grumbled through her math problems. There were only a few more days left in the school year, but the kids were already mentally on vacation. It was an uphill battle to get them to do anything.

‘Ew, what smells?’ Elise whined from the kitchen island where she doodled in the margins of her homework. ‘Tell me that’s not dinner.’

‘It smells like rotten eggs,’ Jackson chimed in with an opinion I hadn’t asked for.

‘Guys, knock it off. I haven’t even started cooking yet. That’s Candace’s lunch you smell.’

The fresh salmon I had purchased for tonight’s meal had mysteriously gone missing, though the empty packaging sat on the counter next to Candace’s empty lunch plate. Another dish to pick up, not in the sink where it belonged. As I rummaged in the freezer for something else to cook, rage hit me with the force of a Black Friday shopping mob. I envisioned slapping that sneer right off her face, marking her perfect skin with my perfect handprint.

Throwing together a chicken and rice casserole, dinner ended up a disaster. With Lane working late and Candace tucked away in her bedroom bingeing on Cheetos and Netflix – and probably her salmon lunch leftovers – no one was there to help ease the mood that hung over the dining room.

Elise grimaced as I spooned the casserole onto her plate. ‘It looks like puke.’

Jackson gagged as he pushed his food around with his fork. ‘It tastes like puke.’

‘You haven’t even tried it yet,’ I said. I pleaded. I begged. I gave up.

For the second night in a row, Jackson had refused to eat a single bite of anything. The boy was already a child-sized Gumby, all knobby knees and elbows, but lately he looked even skinnier, like he’d been stretched into nonexistence. As if that wasn’t enough to heap on my already huge pile of worry, Elise fought with me through the