the wedding up to June?” “No. Not really. I’m glad you decided not to wait.” He cleared
his throat a second time. “But that isn’t what I meant about us hav- ing an eventful evening.”
Something in her father’s voice caused her to frown as she stared at her toes.
“Elena, your sister’s come home.”
A spark of joy ignited in her chest, a momentary sense of relief that Roxy was alive. Alive and home again. She was safe at home with their dad.
And Wyatt.
Roxy was there with Wyatt. And Elena was not.
Joy was snuffed out by uncertainty and dread.
“I’d put her on the line, but she’s gone to bed. She came by bus and was exhausted from the trip. We’ll celebrate when you get home on Thursday.”
“Okay. Sure. Sounds good.”
Where was Roxy for the past seven years? Why didn’t she write or call? Why did she cut herself off from the people who loved her? Did she have any idea how much she’d hurt their father?
Does she have any idea how much she hurt Wyatt?
Her stomach twisted into a knot.
“Elena? Are you still there?” Her dad’s voice seemed to come from far away, much farther away than a phone call from Boise to San Diego.
“I . . . I’m sorry. I must be close to a dead zone. My reception’s bad. Tell Wyatt I’ll call him in the morning when I get to the store. Love you.” She flipped her phone closed, ending the connection.
Roxy’s home.
Wyatt had loved her sister once. He’d asked Roxy to marry him. He’d gone on loving her long after she left Boise.
But that was many years ago. Wyatt loved her now. They were
engaged and planning a June wedding.
Wyatt and Roxy had been lovers. Roxy never tried to hide that truth from her sister. Sometimes she’d seemed to flaunt it.
Elena had never been intimate with a man. She’d saved herself for her future husband. She’d saved herself for Wyatt.
Roxy was beautiful and popular and fun to be with. Elena was . . . none of those things.
She recalled the gladness in her father’s voice as he announced her sister’s return, and something ugly curled inside her belly.
R OXY
January 1982
Roxy fidgeted on the bench. She didn’t like playing the piano. It was boring. She’d rather play the guitar, like Mama.
“One more time with those scales, Roxy — ” Grandma Ruth tapped a finger to the piano keys — “and you can stop.”
“Do you suppose Mama’s had the baby yet?” Elena looked up from her school science project, spread over the card table in the corner of the family room. “It’s been forever since Daddy took her to the hospital.”
“I doubt it, dear. Your dad will call as soon as there’s any news to share. You can be sure of that.”
Roxy ran through the scales again, concentrating on the place- ment of her fingers on the keys. It was hard to make her fingers reach. They oughta make pianos for little kids, the way they made smaller guitars. Maybe then she wouldn’t hate practice so much.
“I hope it’s a boy,” Elena said over the staccato sounds from the piano. “I’d like to have a baby brother.”
Roxy didn’t think a baby brother would be such a good thing. Her friend Alicia had a brother, and all he did was make trouble. No, Roxy wanted another sister. Sisters were okay. Most of the time.
Finished with the last practice scale, Roxy glanced at the clock in the entry hall beyond the family room doorway. It was almost two o’clock. If that baby was in such a hurry, why didn’t it get here already?
The telephone rang. Grandma Ruth jumped to her feet and hurried to answer it. “Hello? Oh, Jonathan. We’ve been waiting on pins and needles for you to call.”
Elena left the table and went to stand next to their grand- mother. Roxy stayed on the piano bench, excitement exploding in her tummy like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“Oh, no.” Grandma Ruth turned her face toward the wall. “Oh, Son . . . Oh, dear God. Carol? But what on earth — ?”
The sound of her grandmother’s voice
his throat a second time. “But that isn’t what I meant about us hav- ing an eventful evening.”
Something in her father’s voice caused her to frown as she stared at her toes.
“Elena, your sister’s come home.”
A spark of joy ignited in her chest, a momentary sense of relief that Roxy was alive. Alive and home again. She was safe at home with their dad.
And Wyatt.
Roxy was there with Wyatt. And Elena was not.
Joy was snuffed out by uncertainty and dread.
“I’d put her on the line, but she’s gone to bed. She came by bus and was exhausted from the trip. We’ll celebrate when you get home on Thursday.”
“Okay. Sure. Sounds good.”
Where was Roxy for the past seven years? Why didn’t she write or call? Why did she cut herself off from the people who loved her? Did she have any idea how much she’d hurt their father?
Does she have any idea how much she hurt Wyatt?
Her stomach twisted into a knot.
“Elena? Are you still there?” Her dad’s voice seemed to come from far away, much farther away than a phone call from Boise to San Diego.
“I . . . I’m sorry. I must be close to a dead zone. My reception’s bad. Tell Wyatt I’ll call him in the morning when I get to the store. Love you.” She flipped her phone closed, ending the connection.
Roxy’s home.
Wyatt had loved her sister once. He’d asked Roxy to marry him. He’d gone on loving her long after she left Boise.
But that was many years ago. Wyatt loved her now. They were
engaged and planning a June wedding.
Wyatt and Roxy had been lovers. Roxy never tried to hide that truth from her sister. Sometimes she’d seemed to flaunt it.
Elena had never been intimate with a man. She’d saved herself for her future husband. She’d saved herself for Wyatt.
Roxy was beautiful and popular and fun to be with. Elena was . . . none of those things.
She recalled the gladness in her father’s voice as he announced her sister’s return, and something ugly curled inside her belly.
R OXY
January 1982
Roxy fidgeted on the bench. She didn’t like playing the piano. It was boring. She’d rather play the guitar, like Mama.
“One more time with those scales, Roxy — ” Grandma Ruth tapped a finger to the piano keys — “and you can stop.”
“Do you suppose Mama’s had the baby yet?” Elena looked up from her school science project, spread over the card table in the corner of the family room. “It’s been forever since Daddy took her to the hospital.”
“I doubt it, dear. Your dad will call as soon as there’s any news to share. You can be sure of that.”
Roxy ran through the scales again, concentrating on the place- ment of her fingers on the keys. It was hard to make her fingers reach. They oughta make pianos for little kids, the way they made smaller guitars. Maybe then she wouldn’t hate practice so much.
“I hope it’s a boy,” Elena said over the staccato sounds from the piano. “I’d like to have a baby brother.”
Roxy didn’t think a baby brother would be such a good thing. Her friend Alicia had a brother, and all he did was make trouble. No, Roxy wanted another sister. Sisters were okay. Most of the time.
Finished with the last practice scale, Roxy glanced at the clock in the entry hall beyond the family room doorway. It was almost two o’clock. If that baby was in such a hurry, why didn’t it get here already?
The telephone rang. Grandma Ruth jumped to her feet and hurried to answer it. “Hello? Oh, Jonathan. We’ve been waiting on pins and needles for you to call.”
Elena left the table and went to stand next to their grand- mother. Roxy stayed on the piano bench, excitement exploding in her tummy like fireworks on the Fourth of July.
“Oh, no.” Grandma Ruth turned her face toward the wall. “Oh, Son . . . Oh, dear God. Carol? But what on earth — ?”
The sound of her grandmother’s voice
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