My Secret Sister: A gripping and emotional novel of family secrets and lies by Lauren Westwood

Author:Lauren Westwood [Westwood, Lauren]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-08-30T23:00:00+00:00

Out of courtesy, Stella told me first, in confidence. It took a while for us to arrange this meeting because she’s been doing other interviews for the program, and I’ve been focused on Jess. Apparently, even Dave Steiner doesn’t know about this new match. He’s been busy with his work and travels, and I haven’t seen him since that day at the hospital. Stella said that it’s up to me to tell him if I want to. In the meantime, she will assume that either I want out of the project, or I only want to connect with my more distant Genetic Cousins like the Larssons and their ilk.

She left me a printout of the information and made me a cup of tea. Left me to deal with the radioactive fallout.

Somewhere along the way, after Dad said his goodbyes and “see you soon”s, he went away and got another woman pregnant. The sibling – half-sibling – is two years younger than me. While my mom was at home dealing with a two-year-old, Dad was off on a frolic of his own.

Did Mom know? Her final decline was swift, but she had periods of lucidity. She could have told me – made a dying declaration. Except most of the time, Dad was there with me at the end. In the room, across the bed, holding one of her hands while I held the other. I want to cling to the memory. Dad loved us. She and me. This I believe to be an absolute truth.

Or do I? I take a sip of the tea, which is now lukewarm. Another law of science and physics that is immutable, some law of thermodynamics, I think. Hot liquids cool down. Even the universe will someday reach a state of heat death. The liquid tastes brown, if that’s a thing. Stella didn’t put any sweetener in it. I drink it down anyway. It is a tiny taste of sanity in my gone-mad world. I push aside the empty “World’s Greatest Mother” mug, turning it around so I can’t see the words.

As I withdraw my hand, the charms on my bracelet jingle. I have an almost uncontrollable urge to rip the thing off and slam-dunk it in the trash can. Instead, I stare at the charms one by one. The Golden Gate Bridge. A dolphin, a pineapple, the Statue of Liberty. The US Capitol… in Washington, D.C.

Where Marianne lives. Marianne. I could call her up. Surely, that course of action has to be considered. Talk to her, introduce myself – find out that it’s all a misunderstanding, a hoax, even. Uncover the hidden camera that will reveal all. Marianne is a stand-in. It’s all a clever, if not very funny, joke.

But what if it’s not?

“Mom, where’s the bicycle pump?”

I’m startled out of my ugly fog of thoughts by Becky coming downstairs.

“How should I know?” I barely even register her hair, which has turned a hideous shade of acid green.

“But my tire’s flat. I need it.”

The anger coils up inside of me like a tornado.

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