My Sister's Voice by Mary Carter

Author:Mary Carter [Carter, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2011-09-13T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Lacey couldn’t sleep, and she should be sleeping. She needed sleep or she’d be strung out at her own art show; she’d fit the definition of tortured artist, and Lacey hated the thought of fulfilling a stereotype. At the very least, if she was going to lie awake, she should be focused on her work, excited about showing it to the world.

Showing it to her clients was more like it. Weren’t they the only ones interested in looking at portraits of themselves and their pets? Still, it was her livelihood, and the exposure was sure to generate new clients. But she couldn’t focus on anything but her parents. She was trying to recall what they looked like, an impossible task given that she’d only seen the backs of their heads. They looked tall. Her father kept his hair military short, salt and pepper. Her mother’s hair? It was dark, like hers. Wavier? Why hadn’t she paid more attention? If only she’d seen their faces. Faces of parents who didn’t come to see her, their long-lost daughter, but instead came to see Mike. The fact burned into her brain, along with the business card Mike finally turned over.

Richard Bowman. Bowman Air Rifles. BAR. Portland, Maine. Was this where Lacey’s dream of living in a lighthouse came from? Was it part of her genes? It was insane, thinking like this, as if every scrap of her life—tastes, likes, dislikes, decisions—now had to be reexamined genetically. Who the hell was she if nothing about her was truly her own?

Maybe she would buy a lighthouse, sit in the top with a rifle aimed out the window, and, like a siren on the rocks, lure her parents to shore.

Pow! Bang! Dead!

Her father. Air-gun manufacturer. Oh God. Was he a member of the NRA? A Republican? Were they filthy rich? Should she take them for everything they had? She probably could too. Too bad blood money wasn’t her thing.

Criminal, the mother of the twins had said. It would be criminal. Monica was the key. Their daughter, her sister. Criminal. Air guns. Twins. They Shoot Deaf Daughters, Don’t They?

She would enlist Monica; together they would turn against their parents. A reverse parent-trap. Instead of getting them together, they would rip them apart—

Lacey got out of bed and went to the window. She hated the mean thoughts in her gut, hated confronting what she might be capable of doing. She should just leave them all alone, let them stay in their little fantasy life.

Dangerous? It would be dangerous if the two of them were together? What kind of people were they? She’d be doing Monica a favor by getting her away from them. Surely, once she found out what they were doing, what they’d already done to them, she wouldn’t want anything to do with them. Or would Little Miss Architect of Her Soul forgive and forget? Lacey parted the curtains and held up an imaginary rifle. Sniper. Not a bad career move. Ready, aim, fire. She walked back to the bed, wishing Alan were here.

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