Sister, Sister: Three Novellas

by Donna Hill, Janice Sims, Carmen Green

Overview

From three favorite authors, Sister, Sister brings you three short stories about the trials and bonds of sisterhood.

Donna Hill introduces sisters long divided by their mother's favoritism--now reunited in Washington, D.C., one sister's sudden illness is the catalyst for a long waited reconciliation.

Carmen Green takes two very different sisters to beautiful Martha's Vineyard, where a week in the warm and healing sun brings mutual understanding.

Jamice Sims unites two estranged sisters in new York City where their childhood loyalty is tested, a new life is welcomed--and a family restored.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781429905541
Publisher:	St. Martin's Publishing Group
Publication date:	04/01/2007
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	324
Sales rank:	229,138
File size:	1 MB

About the Author

Donna Hill has had three of her more than fifty books adapted for television. She has been featured in Essence, the Daily News,USA Today, and Black Enterprise, among other publications.

Carmen Green is a nationally bestselling author of more than thirty novels and novellas. She is an English Professor at The Art Institute of Atlanta.

Janice Sims is a genre-hopping author of more than thirty novels and novellas. She won an Emma Award for Favorite Heroine for her novel Desert Heat.

Read an Excerpt

Sister, Sister

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By Donna Hill, Carmen Green, Janice Sims

St. Martin's Press

Copyright © 2001 Donna Hill
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4299-0554-1

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CHAPTER 1

Angela Richards put her glass down on the smoked-glass top of the kitchen table, barely able to meet her husband's incredulous stare. Mark's question bounced back and forth in her head until it throbbed. She knew he was right. Every fiber in her body screamed at the absurdity of her decision. But it was family — a totally dysfunctional family — but a family nonetheless.

When she'd walked away from her mother, her sister, her niece, ten years earlier, she swore all the way from D.C. to New York that she would never go back. That she would never allow them to inflict that kind of pain on her again. She'd broken her self-imposed promise once when she'd returned to put her grandmother to rest and stand stoically at her grave site. Now it was to keep vigil over her ailing sister, Gayla.

Mark pushed away from the table and paced the black-and-white tiled floor while stroking his goatee. This was the room where decisions were made, Mark mused, not in the bedroom, where passion could be confused with reason. It was here in the kitchen where he and his wife cooked, cleaned, shared meals and their dreams, where they planned their lives.

Until now they'd always found a means to meet halfway, no matter what their issues may have been. But today, there was no compromise, and the table that separated them barely represented the rift that had sprung up between them like a leak in a sinking boat.

"Answer me, Angie," Mark suddenly shouted, halting his pacing.

The boom of his voice snapped her to attention. Her reluctant gaze found his stony one.

"Make me understand why you would go back there. After everything they've done to you."

"My sister is sick, Mark," she mumbled. Even to her own ears she didn't sound convincing.

"When was the last time Gayla did anything for you, Angie? Where was she when you had pneumonia? ... Busy," he answered for her. "And when you had the operation for that fibroid a few years back, where was your family then? Occasionally on the other end of the phone."

She sat there, staring at her hands as he continued his verbal assault.

"And how many times have you lain in my arms crying about how it had been growing up in that house, how you felt like a servant instead of a member of the family? Angie, how many school functions did your mother miss? How many birthday parties? You had to practically drag yourself out of your own sickbed to make arrangements for your grandmother because Gayla 'just couldn't handle all the pressure.' "

He stared at her for a long, hard moment, his sandy brown face flushed with his ire. Angie watched the pulse pound dangerously in his temple.

Mark pulled in a deep breath and stepped to the table. Bracing his palms on the smooth wood top, he leaned toward his wife.

"I love you, Angie." He reached out and covered one of her clenched fists with his open hand. "More than life itself. I've seen how broken you were inside and the time and strength it took to get you where you are." Slowly he shook his head. "Going back there ... will negate everything you've worked for — we've worked for."

She fought back tears, shielding her face with her free hand.

"Baby," he whispered. "You've got to know that."

Angie finally looked into her husband's loving gaze, saw the depth of the concern and sincerity there. She also felt his pain.

"Mark, I don't think I'll ever be able to explain it, explain why I believe in my soul that going back to D.C. to take care of my sister is something I must do. And not for Gayla or my globe-hopping niece, Tiffany — not even for my mother, but for me."

"I'm coming with you," Mark said adamantly. "I ca —"

"No." Gayla squeezed his hand and looked unflinchingly into his eyes. "I've got to do this on my own. And we both know that."

Knowing from the determined look in Angie's eyes that this was a battle he couldn't win, Mark resignedly lowered himself into a chair opposite her. Silently holding her hands, he prayed that this wouldn't be the trip that crushed her spirit for good.

CHAPTER 2

Angela stared out of the train window as it sped out of Manhattan, hurtling toward New Jersey, Philly, Delaware, Maryland, and finally Washington, D.C.

Her stomach suddenly clenched. All during the night she'd debated about her decision. Each time she was on the brink of changing her mind, she'd hear the panic in Tiffany's voice: "Auntie, please — you've got to come. Mom can't do this alone. She's too proud to ask you herself."

Angie squeezed her eyes shut, feeling all her old buttons being pushed. The need to be needed — wanted.

"Why can't she get a nurse?" she'd tossed out like bait.

"Auntie, you know how Mommy is about strangers. The only one who can do this is you. Besides, she'll be happy to see you. It's been a while. And you'll only have to stay for a couple of weeks. Just until I get back from this photo shoot. I promise."

"Tiffany, your mother and I haven't spoken since your grandmother's funeral. I just don't —"

"Please, Auntie."

Angela pushed out a breath, envisioning her haughty, self-centered sister wrinkled in discomfort and helpless. The angst that she would endure just to see that would almost be worth the trip, she thought, and hated herself for feeling that way. "Two weeks, Tiff. That's it."

"Thank you, thank you," she'd gushed. "Can you be here by Friday? My flight to the coast takes off at eight A.M. on Saturday morning."

Angela pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. It never even occurred to Tiffany to change or cancel her plans. But Angela couldn't fault her, not really. That was the way Gayla had raised Tiffany — to be an exact replica of herself.

"I'll see you Friday, Tiffany."

"Thanks, Auntie," she sighed in relief. "You won't regret this."

Angela thought about that conversation now as she sat on the hard plastic chair in the Union Station waiting room, waiting for the arrival of her niece. She tried to peer around the nonstop press of flesh in the massive station with the hopes of spotting her.

Her train had arrived nearly forty minutes earlier and Tiffany had sworn she'd be there to meet her. People continued to flow around her. The waiting area patrons had changed faces three different times since she'd arrived.

Typical, she mused, scanning the crowd once again. Of course her time wasn't important. And the longer she sat there, the more she began to feel that this was a big mistake.

Finally Tiffany arrived, turning every head, male and female, as she strutted confidently toward her aunt. Tiffany carried herself like someone important, someone you needed to know, and the questioning whispers, wide-eyed looks, and less than subtle gawking was just the effect that Tiffany Lawrence lived for.

She was breathtaking, Angela admitted. The young woman had the face of an angel and the body to go with it. The combination of her picture-perfect looks and get-ahead personality would take her far in the demanding life of high fashion.

"Auntie," she beamed, sweeping her glasses from her nose with a practiced flourish. She leaned down and planted an air kiss in the vicinity of Angela's cheek.

Angela was certain that the onlookers were bewildered as to how these two unlikely souls could in any way be related.

"I'm so sorry to have you waiting like this. Traffic was horrible. Ready?" Tiffany turned on her heels without a backward glance and headed toward the exit.

Angela shook her head, picked up her two suitcases, and followed in Tiffany's wake.

The first ten minutes of the twenty-minute drive were spent with Tiffany telling her aunt all about the exciting places she'd been, the gorgeous men she'd met, and the scads of money she was earning. "My next goal is television," she said with determination. "Then it's on to the movies. I'm going to be a star."

There wasn't room in Tiffany's rapid-fire dissertation to get a word in edgewise, so Angela just nodded in all the right places. Finally Tiffany took a breath and Angela leapt at the chance.

"How is your mother?"

For the first time since Tiffany confidently strutted into the waiting area of Union Station, Angela caught a hint of pain, perhaps glimpsed vulnerability casting a shadow across her niece's perfect features. But like the practiced performer she was, in a breath that hint of uncertainty was replaced with a smile.

"Oh, you know Mom. Never one to complain. She's a real trooper." She sighed. "I don't know how she does it."

Angela frowned. They couldn't be talking about the same woman. Gayla's middle name was "complain." "Really?" she muttered. "I guess I have been away for a long time."

Tiffany snatched a quick glance at her aunt. "What happened between you and my mom?" she asked, her voice suddenly reed thin and childlike.

What happened? Angela wished she could pin it on one incident, one moment in time, but she couldn't.

Angela cleared her throat. "A lot of things, Tiff. For a very long time," she answered in a hollow tone.

"Mom never talks about it." She twisted slightly in her seat. "She doesn't talk to me about much of anything," she ended on a weak chuckle.

Angela reached over and patted her niece's thigh. "You know how your mom is. She's very much into herself. But that doesn't mean she doesn't care. Gayla ... well, Gayla ... is Gayla."

Tiffany's smile wobbled at the edges. "Sometimes I wish things could have been different, you know."

"Different, how?"

"That I would have a real family like all my friends. That holidays would be happy occasions and not snide-fests. Most of the time I feel like I'm all by myself ... an orphan. Dad's been gone for forever. If he calls once a year it's a lot. The most I've seen of him was his signature on the child support checks. And those stopped years ago."

"Have you tried to talk to your mother about how you feel?"

"Sure. Mom simply tells me how hard she works to give me a life my friends are jealous of, and all I can do is complain."

Angela was quiet for a moment, more from the surprise of the revelations than her inability to comment on her sister's behavior. She struggled for something to say, something to ease the hurt that underlined Tiffany's poignant words. But the truth was, she had no comment. Over the years the wall that had been erected between herself and Gayla had become a hurdle she was no long able to clear. And unfortunately, Tiffany sat on the top unable to be reached by either side.

Angela stole a glance at Tiffany's profile, perfect in every way, except for the emptiness that hung like weights beneath her eyes. She reached across the short distance that separated them and clasped Tiffany's hand that held the gearshift in a death grip and gently squeezed it.

"Don't give up on your mom," Angela offered as her only bit of counsel. "She loves you ... and so do I."

Tiffany offered a tight smile as they pulled into the driveway of the two-story town house.

Angela tugged in a breath, not knowing what to expect in the days ahead. One thing she was certain of: it wouldn't be easy. "Let the games begin," she muttered.

CHAPTER 3

When Angela stepped inside Gayla's four-bedroom home, she was immediately thrown back to the last time she stood in this very same foyer, the night that had marked the final break between the two sisters.

Angela shivered slightly as the rush of the ugly words hurled that night rode through her in waves. Briefly she shut her eyes and pulled in a steadying breath.

"You ok, Auntie?" Tiffany asked, placing a light hand on Angela's shoulder.

Angela pushed a smile across her mouth. "Yes, fine," she lied smoothly. "Is your mom in her room?"

Tiffany's countenance darkened. "She rarely comes out." Her eyes darted away. "Let me take your bags upstairs. I'll put them in the guest room at the end of the hall while you visit Mom." Her closing comment was more like a plea than a statement.

Angela stood there for a moment, watching Tiffany trot up the stairs. She shifted her shoulder bag from the right to the left, patted her hair, and wondered if she should freshen her lipstick. She dug in her purse, then stopped, realizing that she didn't need to freshen her lipstick any more than she needed a toothache. She was stalling for time, delaying the inevitable — seeing her sister for the first time in five years. What she wanted was five more years. Maybe Mark was right. She should have stayed in New York where she belonged, or at the very least accepted his offer to come along.

Tiffany appeared at the top of the stairs. "Auntie?"

Angela's gaze snapped upward as she smiled weakly and headed for the stairs.

Gayla's bedroom, like every other room in the house, was perfect, from the sleek wood furnishings, hand-sewn throw pillows, silk drapes, and overstuffed down comforters to the gleaming hardwood floors and the queen resting on her four-poster throne.

Slowly Gayla turned her head toward the door, her gray-green eyes instantly appraising her sister. "You've gained weight again," Gayla greeted.

Angela clenched her teeth and crossed the threshold. "How are you feeling, Gayla?" she asked, determined not to step onto any of the land mines.

"How would you be feeling if they had to ..." She covered her mouth to muffle a feigned sob.

Angela wanted to roll her eyes or at least smack Gayla, just once, but held herself in check. "Gayla, women have hysterectomies more often than you think and come out of it just fine. Be thankful that it wasn't something more serious."

"The doctor said I need rest," she whined. "That I shouldn't try to do much of anything for at least two weeks."

Two weeks, fourteen days ... an eternity, Angela mused. "You'll be fine before you know it," Angela assured her sister, praying that it was true. "I'm going to get myself settled; then I'll come back and check on you."

"Can't you bring me something to eat first? I'm starved, and Tiffany was in such a hurry to pick you up," she pointedly indicated, "that she didn't have time."

Angela could feel the old resentment stir inside her, slowly rise, and settle like a lead ball in her throat. "Sure," she murmured from between her teeth, then turned on her heels and headed downstairs.

"The menu is on the fridge," Gayla called out feebly. Angela cringed.

* * *

Angela familiarized herself with Gayla's kitchen as she prepared a bowl of chicken broth and a sandwich. Posted on the refrigerator door was a list of Gayla's dietary requirement during the recovery process — outlined by the hour, day, and quantity. Angela was hard-pressed to believe that Gayla's doctor had been this specific in his or her instructions. It read more like Gayla's penchant for exactness. Angela was surprised that there wasn't a team of specialists hovering around waiting to be pressed into duty.

She placed the light meal, along with a cup of herbal tea, onto the silver serving tray and marched back upstairs. This was going to be the longest two weeks of her natural born life.

Gayla maae three additional requests: more tea, her pills with water, and a tedious adjustment of her pillows — all before Angela had the opportunity to set foot in her own room.

By the time she sat down on the side of her temporary bed, she felt like screaming — or crying. She was no longer Angela Richards, high school guidance counselor, wife of Mark Richards, and friend to many. She'd been recast in her childhood role of Cinderella.

Angela covered her face with her hands. Why had she come back? What masochistic bent did she have that would compel her to hurt herself this way? She removed her hands and gazed around the pristine room.

In her heart of hearts she knew why. She knew the real reason.

CHAPTER 4

Angela found Tiffany in the living room sifting through a stack of CDs. She turned at the sound of her aunt's footsteps and put her smile in place.

"Hey, Auntie. Get settled?"

"Yes, after several delays," Angela answered drolly.

The corner of Tiffany's mouth flickered. "Mom." The one word said a mouthful.

Angela crossed the parquet floor and took a seat in the corner of the mauve leather sectional couch, curling her bare feet beneath her.

"So," Angela exhaled, "catch me up on your career. What's this latest shoot about?"

Tiffany turned from her sorting and faced her aunt. "She's jealous of you, you know."

The statement was so out of the blue, delivered so matter-of-factly, it left Angela momentarily stunned. She could imagine damn near anything about her sister, but jealousy wasn't one of them. She chuckled nervously. "Gayla isn't jealous of anyone. Especially me."

"Then you don't know your sister very well," Tiffany returned as she crossed the room to sit opposite her aunt. She pushed aside a loose spiral curl. Her gold bracelet twinkled in the waning afternoon light.

Angela sat up straighter. "What do you mean?"

"She's always believed you were the one who succeeded at everything — your marriage, your education, your career." Tiffany slowly shook her head and reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. She tapped one out, brought it to her lips, and lit it, all before asking, "Mind if I smoke?"

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from Sister, Sister by Donna Hill, Carmen Green, Janice Sims. Copyright © 2001 Donna Hill. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Thicker than Water by Donna Hill,
Loving Lola by Carmen Green,
Best Left Unsaid by Janice Sims,