Chapter 11: What We Wore to a Funeral

The Pine Landing market had exactly two black dresses, and they were both a size too big.

Bree turned in front of the mirror on the back of my bedroom door and tugged the shoulder up.

"I look like I'm going to my own funeral," she said.

"You're going to someone else's."

"That's worse."

She had come back on the six o'clock shuttle from Lakeshore, with dark circles under her eyes.

A photograph of her daughter was in her pocket.

She had left the baby with the night nurse, who had promised to call if anything changed.

"Corey's going to see me," Bree said. "In front of everyone. And he's going to know."

"Yes."

"I keep thinking he'll just look at me and it'll be fine. And then I think about the voicemail."

"Ten minutes."

"Ten minutes." She pulled her hair back and fastened it with a clip. "Did you sleep with him?"

"Who?"

"Calla."

"Not the way you mean."

"What way did you mean?"

I picked my son up out of the bassinet and fitted him into the front carrier.

He opened his eyes and looked at me.

"I'm not discussing it," I said.

"You picked up the landline out of breath, and a man said your name behind you."

"You called me."

"I called you at eleven," Bree said. "You were not alone at eleven."

I felt my face go hot.

She laughed, suddenly, a real laugh, the first one in two weeks.

It cracked in the middle and turned to tears, and I held her until it stopped.

"I'm glad," she said into my shoulder. "Somebody should have a good thing."

Keep reading free with an account. Start The Day Two Sisters Burned for Husbands Who Never Came from Chapter 1, then sign up free to read the rest of this chapter.