Free The Silent Sister by Diane Chamberlain Page A

just saw him. We almost had a head-on collision on the trail.” I dug my hand into the tote bag and pulled out the key ring. “I think one of these is for Daddy’s RV,” I said. “Do you want to check it out with me? Maybe you’d even like to have it?” I asked, hopeful. “It’s not much bigger than yours, so you could move it here to your clearing and have two trailers. More space.”
    â€œI’m fine with what I’ve got.” He pushed his feet into the ground so that the hammock swung a little.
    â€œShould I sell it, then? His RV? Or I could see if the Kyles would like it.”
    â€œWhatever you want to do with it is cool with me.” He held up his beer bottle. “Want one?” he asked.
    â€œNo, thanks.” My phone rang and I pulled it from my pocket and checked the caller ID, though I was already sure who was calling. Jeannie Lyons had been badgering me since our lunch the day before, anxious to get moving on the house. She was way too pushy for my comfort level. I hit ignore and slipped the phone into my pocket again.
    â€œJeannie Lyons,” I said to Danny. “She’s going to help with the house. Did you know that she and Daddy were lovers?”
    He stopped swaying the hammock, and the stunned look on his face told me he’d had no idea.
    â€œWell, I wish you hadn’t told me that,” he said. “Revolting images playing in my head right now.” He waved his hand in front of his eyes as if he could make the images go away.
    I laughed. “It’s just … weird, isn’t it?” I asked. “ She’s weird. It’s been going on for years.”
    â€œDamn,” he said. “I didn’t know the old man had it in him.”
    I reached into the tote and pulled out the framed photograph of Danny with Lisa and myself. “I found a whole bunch of pictures.” I stepped in front of him and held out the frame. “I love this one,” I said. “I love how I’m reaching toward you. Remember how close we were when we were kids?”
    He barely glanced at the picture before lifting his eyes to mine again. “We were babies back then,” he said. “Fucking innocents.”
    I lowered the frame to my side, disappointed. I could hardly bear how lonely his response made me feel. I had a box of treasures but no one to share them with. I wouldn’t show him the others I’d brought with me.
    â€œI found some VHS tapes of Lisa that I want to watch,” I said, “only I had to order a VHS player, so I can’t see them until it arrives. I’m guessing you don’t have any interest in watching them with—”
    â€œYou couldn’t pay me enough,” he said. “I had to watch her perform thousands of times when I was a kid. That was enough.”
    I felt defeated. “Why are you so … disdainful about her?” I asked.
    â€œYou were too little to remember what it was like,” he said. “Lisa was their princess. Their little violin goddess. Their everything. You and I could never measure up.”
    â€œI never felt that way,” I said, defensive of our parents.
    â€œWell, you were not even two when she died, so you lucked out.” He sounded bitter. “The world revolved around her. When she killed herself, she took our parents with her. She turned them into zombies and you and I were left to fend for ourselves.” He shook his head, looking down at the book where it rested next to him on the hammock. “This is pointless,” he said. “Talking about the past. Totally pointless.” He motioned toward the photograph, still clutched in my hand. “Why do you want to live in the past?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t.”
    â€œYou’re looking through old pictures. What’s the use?”
    I looked away from him and into the forest. I could feel the carved wood of the frame beneath my fingers.