Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
With my brother being five years my junior, we’d never had that kind of relationship. I didn’t think it was because of our genders but rather the age gap. I’d always felt protective toward him, Cable forever the skinny two-year-old our parents had brought into the house when I was seven years old.
He was one of my closest friends, but he was also the kind of friend I looked after and sheltered from the world. That was just how it was between us. I was the big sister, and he the little brother. It’d be harder to share my diagnosis with him than it would be even with my parents.
Beatrice and Darcie’s relationship, in contrast, had been of friends who saw each other as equals. Except Darcie had just told me that she’d been looking after Beatrice the entire time. I struggled to accept her portrayal of events. Especially because I remembered pieces of that vicious fight.
That day, we’d split to explore different areas of the beach while not going too far from each other. Vansi had decided to walk down to the water’s edge to test the temperature of the waves, while I’d hiked up a dune to take distant snaps of my best friend silhouetted against the thick red light, as well as a few shots in the other direction. Capturing the changeable moods of the tangled bushland that rose up over the sands fascinated me as much as the water.
I hadn’t realized that Darcie and Bea had walked behind the dune already, and was almost at the top when I picked up pieces of their conversation. I’d gone to call out, make myself known, then realized Bea was shouting—in a way that I’d never before heard from her.
The sea winds had whipped away many of her words, but I remembered her saying, “. . . not my keeper! You always want . . .”
Darcie’s response had been unintelligible but for a single word: “. . . unstable!”
Then had come Bea’s crystal clear reply. “You’re the only one who thinks I’m unstable, Darcie. Did you ever wonder why?”
Those words rang around and around in my head today. Because while Darcie had known Bea better than any of us, we’d all spent years entwined in Bea’s life. How was it possible that every single one of us had missed indications of mania and severe depression?
“You’re away with the fairies this morning.” Vansi nudged her shoulder against mine as the two of us sat on an overstuffed sofa of hunter green, our plates in our laps and the severed stag heads staring down at us with their dead black eyes.
I scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs to give myself time to think up a reply. The flavors burst to life on my tongue, had my eyes going wide. I pointed my fork at Vansi. “Nix did make all those eggs for me back when I used to visit after you two got hitched!”
I expected Vansi to giggle, admit her small subterfuge, but she bit down on her lower lip, her eyes going over to where Phoenix stood by the fireplace talking to Darcie. He had a piece of toast in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other, while Darcie held a glass of orange juice.
“Did you ever notice how she has to have the attention of every single man in the room?” A quiet comment. “I never saw it before because, well, Phoenix always gave me his attention. But now . . .”
I took in the tableau by the fireplace once more, saw the distance between the two, the way they seemed more interested in the fire than each other. “I love you, chickadee, but at this point, you’ve accused both Bea and Darcie of having the hots for your husband.”
Angling my body so I faced her, I said, “This isn’t like you.” She’d never done the jealous girlfriend thing. “So what’s really going on?”
Vansi’s mouth tightened at the corners, tiny lines flaring out from her lips—and I had the piercing thought that we weren’t university students any longer. Closer to thirty than twenty now, with the odd glint of silver already appearing in some of our hair, the fine lines on our faces beginning to spread.
Only Bea remained ageless, untouched by time.
“You think I’m paranoid?” Vansi demanded in a low hiss.
“Of course not. But remember what we always said to each other—that it’s the job of a best friend to tell the truth when no one else will. I’m going to tell you if you’re acting off, the same way I’d tell you if you had your skirt tucked into your waistband after you came out of the bathroom or toilet paper stuck to your shoe.”
Vansi didn’t speak, didn’t even look at me. Instead, she focused so tightly on her plate that I knew it was conscious. Surprised at her recalcitrance when we’d always talked openly to each other, I decided to give her time and tuned in to the conversation happening over to my right.