Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Later that evening, I pulled a bottle of wine from my fridge.
After leaving the therapist’s office, I’d texted my sisters and asked if they could come over to my place around eight. I was afraid if I waited any longer to confide in them, I’d lose my nerve.
I heard the front door of my condo open and shut. “Hello?”
“In the kitchen,” I called, uncorking the bottle.
My sister Meg walked in, dressed in a skirt, blouse, and heels, as if she’d just come from the office. “Hey,” she said, hanging her purse on the back of a kitchen chair. “How are you?”
“Good,” I said, taking four glasses down from a cupboard. There were five Sawyer sisters, and we all loved wine, but our oldest sister Sylvia was pregnant. “How’s the new job?”
Meg, the middle sister, had recently moved back from D.C. and taken a position as an attorney at a regional branch of the American Association for People with Disabilities. “I love it,” she enthused, rolling up the sleeves of her blouse. “It’s long hours, and I wish I saw Noah more, but the job is perfect for me. Want me to pour this?”
“Sure.”
Noah was Meg’s boyfriend and the reason she’d moved home. He was a K-9 cop with the local sheriff’s department, and they’d always been the best of friends, but last fall while she was home for our youngest sister Frannie’s wedding, they’d finally admitted to themselves what the rest of us had seen all along—they were perfect for each other.
Chloe, the second youngest, arrived as I was putting a platter of cheese and crackers on the table, and she was bubbling over with excitement because our father was finally going to retire for good this month, which meant she’d really get to take over as CEO of Cloverleigh Farms. My parents started the business as a small sustainable farm but it had grown to encompass an inn, a farm-to-table restaurant, a winery, and a brand new small-batch distillery that Chloe and her fiancé Oliver were opening. It was also one of the top wedding venues in the state.
“Dad actually cleaned out his office,” Chloe said, kicking off her heels and dropping into the chair next to Meg. “Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said the job was mine.”
Meg laughed. “Now you don’t have to change the lock.”
Sylvia arrived next, looking a little windblown but otherwise—as usual—radiantly beautiful. The oldest among us, Sylvia had returned to our childhood home over the winter in order to make a fresh start with her two children after being abandoned by her asshole ex-husband. Henry DeSantis, the vineyard manager and winemaker at Cloverleigh Farms, had taken one look at her and fallen head over heels. They were newly engaged and expecting a baby this fall.
“Hey, Syl. How are you feeling?” I asked.
Smiling brightly, Sylvia took the seat between Meg and me. “Pretty good, thanks. Growing out of my pants quicker than I’d like, but that’s okay.”
A moment later, our youngest sister Frannie came bustling in. “Sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Mack was late getting home from work, and I don’t like leaving the girls alone at night.” Frannie was married to Declan MacAllister, the CFO at Cloverleigh Farms, who had three daughters from a previous marriage.
“No worries,” I said as she scooted around the table and sat in the chair to my left.
For a few minutes, I was silent, trying to work up my nerve to tell them my secret. Around me, my sisters jabbered a mile a minute about Meg’s new job and Chloe’s fall wedding and Sylvia’s new house and Frannie’s pastry shop and our dad’s big retirement party at the end of the month, which was also a fortieth anniversary party for Cloverleigh Farms . . . the chatter never seemed to die down.
Eventually, it was Sylvia who noticed I hadn’t said anything. “April, are you okay?” she asked, looking at me with concern.
“Yes.” I cleared my throat and sat up taller. “Yes, but I have something to tell you guys.”
The room grew so silent I could hear the crickets outside the closed kitchen windows.
“What’s wrong?” Frannie asked.
“Nothing’s wrong, exactly, it’s just . . .” I reached for my wine glass and took a sip of riesling.
Next to me, Sylvia put a hand on my leg—somehow she knew. I exchanged a quick glance with her, and she smiled softly at me. It’s okay, her eyes said.
Nodding slightly, I set my glass down. “This is hard for me,” I began, “because I love you and I trust you.” Another deep breath. “But I’ve kept something from you for a lot of years.”
“What is it?” Meg leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “You can tell us, April.”
I placed my hands over my stomach, which was churning. “The summer after I graduated from high school, I got pregnant.”