Page 157 of Our Little Secret
“Doesn’t he?” Even though alcohol was loosening her tongue, Brooke figured he would need some formal training. “What about sailing?” she asked.
Did the muscles in his neck tighten a bit?
“A little.”
Brooke asked, “Ever own a sailboat?”
“No.” He shook his head, but a bit of a smile touched the corners of his lips.
“For Pete’s sake, just stop,” Leah said. She forced a cold grin, and if there ever was a look that could kill, Brooke would have been dead five minutes earlier. “Let’s have some champagne,” Leah forced out. “I think we need to celebrate!”
She scraped her chair back, found the bottle she’d put in the fridge, yanked it out, and hauled it back to the table. “You can do the honors,” she said to Eli, then rummaged around in the hutch and came up with five champagne flutes, part of a set their mother had owned since her marriage, a gift from a close friend. “I know you’re not legal,” she said to Marilee as she quickly rinsed the stemmed glasses and returned to the table, “but we can fudge a little.”
“Because it’s not every day you decide to get married?” Brooke asked.
Leah took in a swift breath.Wow, she mouthed.Low blow.
Brooke was about to say something more, but Neal placed a hand on her thigh, his fingers tense. The tiny shake of his head was almost imperceptible. But she caught his message: This wasn’t the time.
What he didn’t understand was that there would never be a good time. Ever.
“Pooh, Brooke. Get over it. I already told you, Sean—er, Eli—knows everything about me. About my marriages.”
“And you know everything about him?”
“I’m not going to let you ruin everything!” Leah insisted. “Eli—please. Let’s do this thing!”
“I’m not trying to ruin anything,” Brooke argued as Eli took the champagne bottle from Leah’s quivering fingers. “I’m just asking.”
“Sure,” Leah said icily. Her jaw was set, her lips flat.
“Maybe Leah doesn’t know everything about you,” Eli said to Brooke.
“What?” Brooke couldn’t believe his nerve.
“It happens. Siblings keep secrets from each other,” Eli said and Leah, idiot that she was, actually seemed pleased, as if he’d come to her rescue.
Oh save me!
While Marilee looked as if she wanted to melt into the floorboards and disappear and Neal sat tense as a bowstring, Eli tore away the foil, twisted the wire holding the cork in place, then quickly worked the cork from the bottle. The champagne erupted with a loud pop that sounded like a gunshot.
For a second Brooke was thrown back in time, remembering the gun going off in that cold, dark water. The explosion. The blood. His ghostly face as he drifted away. He was injured that day. He had to have been. There was just too much blood for it to have all been from the miscarriage . . . and yet she’d seen him pull himself from the water. She remembered punching the gas, freaking out, driving away while her insides cramped.
She swallowed hard and felt her own face drain of color. Blinking, she found Eli staring at her as he poured the glasses.
She’d expected to hear from him.
Or the police.
Or someone.
For weeks, if anyone came to the door she’d freeze inside, certain to see him on her doorstep, or a cop on the porch with dozens of questions.
Instead, there had been silence.
Blessed but cold silence.
He didn’t show up at her door, or at the school, or in her vehicle, waiting for her.
