The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) Sheehan-Miles, Charles (good beach reads .txt) 📖

been so disturbing, I don’t think I’d processed it yet.

“Again? That’s gotta be tiring.”

“You have no idea.” I paused for a few seconds. “I wish I was with you.”

“God, babe, I do too. Only a couple more days.”

“So what have you been up to?”

He made a disgusted sound. “Mostly dodging questions from my dad about why the FBI and Army have been questioning me.”

I closed my eyes. “Has it been bad?”

He sighed. “I can’t say it’s been great. They’ve shown up several times. It’s ... it’s like reliving it all. I want to chew my arm off, to be honest. And my mom and dad are hurt I won’t talk about it, but ... for God’s sake, you can only say so much, and to so many people.”

We were silent for a few quiet moments. Then I asked, “Ray, what do you think’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know, babe. I suspect they’ll file charges. And I’ll have to testify. It’s going to be ugly, whatever happens. I just wish ... I just wish it was all over. I want to be with you.”

“Well, you can. Have you heard from Georgetown yet? Or American University?”

“Nah, I think it’s going to be a while.”

“Come to Washington anyway.”

He chuckled. “I just might. Until I’m back in school, I feel kind of shiftless. I’m not suited for lounging around all day.”

“I’m serious, Ray. I know we haven’t known each other that long. But ... I know what I want.”

His voice dropped about an octave, and he whispered, “Can you spell it out for me?”

“How about I do that in person when I get to New York?”

“Deal.”

I stretched and sighed. “I should probably go face the morning now. I’m afraid of what kind of disaster I’m going to find when I leave my room. Sarah and Jessica woke me up slamming doors and stomping up stairs.”

He chuckled. “I always thought twins were like ... totally in sync. Telepathic.”

“I don’t know any other twins, but these two are definitely not in sync.”

“Good luck.”

“Thanks. I love you.”

“Love you, Doctor Babe.”

We hung up with a laugh, and I started getting myself sorted out and ready for the morning. Somehow I had the feeling that it was going to be a long, stressful day.

Showered and mostly recovered from a night of restless sleep, I made my way down the stairs. In the living room, quiet Christmas music was playing. The tree was lit, but no one was in sight. It was only seven o’clock, and given the behavior of the twins of late, we wouldn’t be seeing them for a little while. I could smell coffee brewing, so I made my way through the dining room and into the kitchen.

Mother was at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of her. Her face was downcast, and unusually for my mother, her hair was in disarray.

“Good morning,” I said as I walked straight to the coffee pot. “Merry Christmas.”

Mother looked up at me as I was pouring my coffee, and I was horrified to see that her eyes were red-rimmed. She’d been sitting here crying?

“Merry Christmas,” she said. Her voice was rough.

I finished making my coffee, then slipped into the seat across from her. “What’s wrong?”

She burst out, “Was I that terrible a mother to you girls? I only wanted you to have a good life.”

I took a breath. I really didn’t know how to answer that. Yes, she loved us. Yes, she did everything she could to give us a decent life. But she’d also been ... spiteful. Angry. Driven by anxiety and fears that had nothing to with us, but colored our childhood in ways I couldn’t even begin to describe.

I looked at the table and said, “You’ve mellowed out a lot over the years.” Which wasn’t the answer she was looking for, and just seemed to distress her a lot more.

“Then why won’t Julia come home for Christmas? Or Alexandra?”

“Mother, you know Crank had a concert last night. And ... Alexandra’s getting married in a few months. Sometimes ... we do get older.”

Why, I wondered, did she only mention Julia and Alexandra? Andrea wasn’t here either, but no mention of that. What had I missed? I stared at her and thought about it, but I wasn’t coming up with any answers. Finally, I just asked, “Mother, why don’t you ask about Andrea?”

She closed her eyes and answered with a final tone that was chilling. “Andrea doesn’t want to come home.”

“Why not?” I whispered.

She shook her head. “Don’t pry into this, Carrie. I know you’ve always watched out for your sisters, you’ve always tried to fix things for them. And I’m grateful for that ... especially ... during those times when I couldn’t be a good mother. You were a mother to them.”

She leaned forward and grabbed my hand. “I mean it, Carrie. Don’t even think I’m not grateful that my daughters had someone to look out for them. But you don’t want to get into this.”

I sat there, and I could feel my face flush with heat. I knew that she’d gone through something. The anxiety meds, the anti-depressants ... all of them made it clear that my mother was dealing with some heavy emotional issues. But I had no idea what they were. And I certainly didn’t know that she’d recognized the role I’d somehow taken in our family, as protector to my sisters. It made me feel ... embarrassed. Like I’d been caught out in a lie, sneaking behind her back. Which of course, I had. I’d covered for my sisters to the point where it became second nature. I’d taken their punishments as my own. I’d been their confidante and sounding board and helper, even after I left home.

Now she just looked tired. Red-rimmed eyes, and somehow, in the ten years since I’d left home, deep bags had formed under them, along with deepening wrinkles on either side of her mouth. Mother was a severe woman. Unhappy. But I’d never thought of