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

yet another lie. Telling the truth, though? No, I couldn’t do that because it was unforgivable. The ‘yes’ tasted sour, but I swallowed it anyway. Then with every ounce of conviction I could muster, I lied.

‘I promise. No more secrets.’ The song ended but our dancing resumed. ‘Can I ask something of you?’

Lane kissed me, and as his lips drifted away, his eyes hooked on mine. ‘Of course. Anything.’ He winked, and I realized what he was doing. Imitating me. I owned him again. I bet I could ask for the moon and he’d give it to me.

‘I want to start putting the nursery together. For our baby.’

He didn’t reply at first, then he chewed his lower lip. ‘Okay. Let’s do it. I will ask Harper to leave. I think you’re right, that we need time together, alone. It’s been one problem after another since she arrived; I think we’ve earned a break. I’ll talk to her about it in the morning.’

‘Thank you, Lane.’ I nearly jumped into his arms I was so happy.

I grabbed his cheeks and pulled his lips to mine, ripping his shirt off as I scraped my fingers down his chest. Little blossoms of pink budded everywhere my kisses touched. Licking down his naval, his body was my canvas and I wanted to paint it with my tongue. He was the purpose for my hungry lips, my grazing fingers, my bated breath. The sex was intense, passionate, full of apologies and forgiveness. As we sat up, heaving and sated, he looked at me and laughed.

‘What’s so funny?’ I asked, laughing but not knowing why.

‘You look like a zombie.’

I sat up, checking my reflection in the mirror. Mascara trailed down both cheeks, along with smears of eyeshadow across my temples.

‘I’m thinking of trying out goth. You like it?’

Cupping my hand, Lane led me to the bathroom, then held a washcloth under the faucet until the water ran hot. After soaking the washcloth, he pressed it against my face, wiping away the salty residue of tears and makeup. Lane polished me clean, inside and out.

When we returned to the bedroom hand in hand, I scooped up the pile of hair from the floor and the dresser. Only then did I notice that the scissors were gone.

Chapter 22

Harper

There was no light where we were going. Only darkness ahead. At 6:42 I bolted awake with the residue of a nightmare clinging to me. In my dream, the police had arrested me, charged me with murder, and my children had to watch me get hauled off in handcuffs. At 8:26 I finally put my phone down after exhausting every possible Internet search for news updates on Ben’s investigation, Michelle Hudson’s testimony, and affordable criminal defense attorneys. At 9:03 I was officially asked to move out, with nowhere to go.

Nothing I said could convince Lane to leave Candace, my sister-in-law from hell. She was bitter, scheming, and selfish. He saw broken, passionate, and unloved. She was completely untrustworthy, and yet when I came downstairs to find them flirtatiously making pancakes together – a dollop of batter on the tip of her nose, a smear across his cheek, then licking it off each other – my stomach dropped.

I’d overheard enough last night to know that Candace had mastered the art of manipulation. I couldn’t weed the truth from the lies, the woman was that skilled. A true politician, she’d earned the sympathy vote. Knowing how my brother could overlook an abundance of sins – I knew from personal experience testing this – I decided I’d do my own digging. See for myself what the truth was if Lane wasn’t going to bother.

First thing first was this Noah Gosling character. Who was he really? Candace had painted him as an abusive ex-lover, the father of her baby. But I knew there were always two sides to every story. I wanted to hear his side, and I would.

‘Want some breakfast?’ Candace asked between giggles as I made my way to the cupboard behind them to grab a coffee mug. I’d need it extra strong today.

I rolled my eyes. ‘No thanks. I see you both dipping your spit-soaked fingers in the batter.’

‘Oh, c’mon. We’re family. It’s not like we have cooties,’ Lane teased.

‘God only knows what you both have,’ I muttered.

Carrying my java in a laughably large soup-bowl-like mug, I headed outside to the back porch and sat on the swing I had bought Lane as a housewarming gift. It was Amish made, from the foothills of Dutch country Pennsylvania. I wondered if that was anywhere near where Candace grew up … allegedly. Mockingbirds chattered as they scattered across the sky. A pair of cardinals hid in a Japanese maple tree, their red bodies blending with the leaves.

Three gulps later, I was ready to do some research. I opened my Facebook app and did a cursory search for Noah Gosling. Several accounts popped up, so I narrowed it to Pennsylvania. Two accounts, but one looked like an aged version of the boy from Candace’s picture. Cute guy. Tattooed. Lip piercing. Bingo. Bare-chested in his profile picture, and I wasn’t looking away. He lived up to the Gosling name.

I clicked to message him, not sure what to say. So I began typing without thinking:

Hi, Noah. You don’t know me, but I think I know your ex-wife, Candace Moriarty. I was wondering if we could talk sometime? I have a couple questions I’d like to ask you. Thanks, and I hope to hear from you.

As May was nearly over, we were leaving spring and heading into summer, and already the air was ripe with thick heat. Southern heat was moist and suffocating, with a persistence that stalked you in the shade. Through the open windows upstairs I could hear Elise yelling at Jackson about something or other. While her grievances always changed, the volume of her yelling stayed the same.

Except this time, it was different. Two unified shrieks cut through the air. I jumped up and ran