Free The Bakery Sisters by Susan Mallery Page B

“I had a panic attack, but I worked through it.”
    â€œDon’t expect an award for showing up,” Nicole muttered.
    Claire’s embarrassment shifted to annoyance. “Did I ask for an award? Did I ask for anything at all? My recollection of recent events is a phone call from Jesse asking me to come home because you needed help. I dropped everything and flew out the next morning, showed up here to do exactly that—take care of you. I’ve brought you meals and snacks, helped you to the bathroom, carried in whatever you’ve asked for, helped out at the bakery and in return you’re nothing but mean and sarcastic. What is wrong with you?”
    Nicole dropped her fork onto the tray. “Wrong with me? You’re the one who totally screwed up. You think I should be grateful that you brought your oh-so-special self to the peasant world for a few days? You think that makes up for anything?”
    â€œAll your labels, not mine.” Claire’s voice rose. “As for finally showing up, I’ve been trying to connect with you for years. I send letters and e-mails. I leave messages. You never get back to me. Ever. I’ve asked you to join me on tour. I’ve asked to come home. The answer is always the same. No. Or more accurately—go to hell.”
    â€œWhy would I want to spend time with you? You’re nothing but an egotistic, selfish, mother-murdering princess.”
    And I hate you.
    Nicole didn’t say those last words, but she didn’t have to.
    Claire stared at her sister for a long time, not sure what accusation to take on first. “You don’t know me,” she said in a low voice. “You haven’t known me for over twenty years.”
    â€œWhose fault is that?”
    â€œNot mine.” Claire drew in a breath. “I didn’t kill her. We were driving together. It was late and rainy and another car came out of nowhere. It hit us on her side. We were trapped and she was dying and there was nothing I could do.”
    Claire closed her eyes against the nightmare of memories. The coldness of the night, the way the rain dripped into the shattered car, the sound of her mother’s moans as she died.
    â€œI lost her, too,” Claire whispered, looking at her sister. “She was all I had and I lost her, too.”
    â€œDo you think I care?” Nicole yelled. “I don’t. She went away. She went away because of you and she was all I had. She left and I had to take care of everything here. I was twelve when she left. I was twelve when I figured out she would rather be with you than with me or Jesse or Dad. She was just gone and I had to do everything. Take care of Jesse and the house and help out at the bakery. Then she was dead. Do you know what it was like after that? Do you?”
    Claire remembered the funeral. How she’d stood with Lisa rather than her family because they were strangers to her. How she’d wanted to cry, but there were no tears left.
    She remembered wanting to be with Nicole, her twin. How she’d longed to have her father say it was time for her to come home. Stay home. Instead Lisa had explained about Claire’s schedule and concert dates and that she was very mature for her age and capable of handling her life without a guardian or chaperone around. Her father had agreed.
    Ten-year-old Jesse had been a stranger to her and Nicole had been distant and angry. The way she still was.
    â€œGo back to your fancy life,” her sister told her now. “Go back to your stupid piano and your hotels. Go back to where you don’t have to earn everything you get. I don’t want you here. I’ve never wanted you here. Do you know why?”
    Claire stood her ground, sensing her sister had to say it and it was Claire’s job to take it all in.
    Nicole’s blue eyes burned with white-hot rage. “Because every night after her death, I prayed God would turn back time and make it you