Free Between Sisters by Kristin Hannah Page A

the matter?” said a groggy male voice. “Jamie?”
    Meghann glanced at the bedside clock.
Damn
. It was almost midnight; that made it nearly three o'clock in New York. “Sorry, Jack. I didn't notice the time.”
    “For a smart woman, you make that mistake a lot. Just a sec.”
    Meghann wished she could hang up. She felt exposed by her error. It showed how little a life she had.
    “Are you okay?” Elizabeth said, sounding worried.
    “I'm fine. I screwed up. Tell Jack I'm sorry. We can talk tomorrow. I'll call before I leave for work.”
    “Just hang on.”
    Meghann heard Elizabeth whisper something to her husband. A moment later, she said, “Let me guess. You just got home from the Athenian.”
    That made her feel even worse. “No. Not tonight.”
    “Are you okay, Meg?”
    “Fine, really. I just lost track of time. I was . . . working on a messy deposition. We'll talk tomorrow.”
    “Jack and I are leaving for Paris, remember?”
    “Oh, yeah. Have a great time.”
    “I could postpone it—”
    “And miss that huge party at the Ritz? No way. Have a wonderful time.”
    There was a pause on the line, then softly Elizabeth said, “I love you, Meg.”
    She felt the start of tears. Those were the words she'd needed, even if they came from far away; they made her feel less alone, less vulnerable. “I love you, too, Birdie. Good night.”
    “'Night, Meg. Sleep well.”
    She slowly hung up the phone. The room seemed quiet now; too dark. She pulled the covers up and closed her eyes, knowing it would be hours before she fell asleep.

C
HAPTER
SEVEN
    T
HEIR FIRST GATHERING AT LAKE CHELAN HAD BEEN IN celebration. Nineteen eighty-nine. The year Madonna urged people to express themselves and Jack Nicholson played the Joker and the first pieces of the Berlin Wall came down. More important, it was the year they all turned twenty-one. There had been five of them then. Best friends since grade school.
    That first get-together had happened by accident. The girls had pooled their money to give Claire a weekend in the honeymoon cabin for her birthday. At the time—in March—she'd been head over heels in love with Carl Eldridge. (The first of many head-over-heels-in-love relationships that turned out to be a plain old kick in the head.) By mid-July, on the designated weekend, Claire had been out of love, alone, and more than a little depressed. Never one to waste money, she'd gone on the trip by herself, intending to sit on the porch and read.
    Just before dinnertime of the first day, a battered yellow Ford Pinto had pulled into the yard. Her best friends had spilled out of the car and run across the lawn, laughing, holding two big jugs of margarita mix. They'd called their visit a love intervention, and it had worked. By Monday, Claire had remembered who she was and what she wanted out of life. Carl Eldridge had most definitely not been “the one.”
    Every year since then, they'd managed to come back for a week. Now, of course, it was different. Gina and Claire each had a daughter; Karen had four children, aged eleven to fourteen; and Charlotte was trying desperately to conceive.
    In the past few years, their parties had quieted; less tequila and cigarettes came out of suitcases these days. Instead of getting dressed up and going to Cowboy Bob's Western Roundup to slam tequila and line-dance, they put the kids to bed early, drank glasses of white wine, and played hearts at the round wooden table on the porch. They kept a running score for the week. The winner got the keys to the honeymoon cottage for the next year.
    Their vacation had evolved into a sort of slow, lazy merry-go-round rhythm. They spent their days by the lake, stretched out on red-and-white-striped beach towels or sitting on battered old beach chairs, with a portable radio set up on the picnic table. They always listened to the oldies station, and when a song from the eighties came on, they'd jump up and dance and sing along. On hot days—like this one had