Between Sisters Read Online Free PDF Page B

kiddie-required amenities—pools, water-slide parks, and Jet Ski rentals.
    The road curved along the lakeshore. They passed dozens of condominium complexes. Then the shore became less inhabited again. They kept driving. A half mile upshore, they saw the sign:
Blue Skies Campground: Next Left.
    “Look, Mommy, look!”
    The sign showed a pair of stylized trees bracketing a tent with a canoe in front.
    “This is it, Ali Kat.”
    Claire turned left onto the gravel road. Huge potholes caught the tires and sent the car bouncing right to left.
    A mile later, the road took a hairpin turn into a grassy field dotted with trailers and motor homes. They drove past the open field and into the trees, where the few coveted cabins sat in a cluster along the shore. They parked in the gravel lot.
    Claire helped Alison out of her car seat, then shut the door and turned toward the lake.
    For a split second, Claire was eight years old again, a girl at Lake Winobee, standing at the shoreline, wearing a pretty pink bikini. She remembered splashing into the cold water, shrieking as she went deeper and deeper.
    Don't go in past your knees, Claire,
Meghann had hollered out, sitting up on the dock.
    For Christ's sake, Meggy, quit bein' such an old fuddy-duddy.
Mama's voice.
Go on in, sweetums
, she'd yelled to Claire, laughing loudly, waving a Virginia Slims menthol cigarette.
It won't do to be a scaredy-cat.
    And then Meghann was beside Claire, holding her hand, telling her there was nothing wrong with being afraid.
It just shows good sense, Claire-Bear.
    Claire remembered looking back, seeing Mama standing there in her tiny bicentennial bikini, holding a plastic cup full of vodka.
    Go ahead, sweetums. Jump in that cold water and swim. It doesn't do a damn bit o' good to be afraid. It's best to get your yuks in while you can.
    Claire had asked Meghann,
What's a yuk?
    It's what so-called actresses go looking for after too many vodka collinses. Don't you worry about it.
    Poor Meg. Always trying so hard to pretend their life had been ordinary.
    But how could it have been? Sometimes God gave you a mama that made normal impossible. The upside was fun times and parties so loud and crazy you never forgot them . . . the downside was that bad things happened when no one was in charge.
    “Mommy!” Alison's voice pulled Claire into the present. “Hurry up.”
    Claire headed for the old-fashioned farmhouse that served as the campground's lodge. The wraparound porch had been newly painted this year, a forest green that complemented the walnut-stained shingles. Big mullioned windows ran the length of the lower floor; above, where the owners lived, the smaller, original windows had been left alone.
    Between the house and the lake was a strip of grass as wide as a football field. It boasted a Lincoln Log–type swing set/play area, a permanent croquet course, a badminton court, a swimming pool, and a boat-rental shed. Off to the left were the four cabins, each with a wraparound porch and floor-to-ceiling windows.
    Alison ran on ahead. Her little feet barely made a noise on the steps as she hurried up. She wrenched the screen door open. It banged shut behind her.
    Claire smiled and quickened her pace. She opened the screen door just in time to hear Happy Parks say, “—can't be little Ali Kat Cavenaugh. You're too big to be her.”
    Alison giggled. “I'm gonna be a first grader. I can count to one thousand. Wanna hear?” She immediately launched into counting. “One. Two. Three . . .”
    Happy, a beautiful, silver-haired woman who'd run this campground for more than three decades, smiled over Alison's head at Claire.
    “One hundred and one. One hundred and two . . .”
    Happy clapped. “That's wonderful, Ali. It's good to have you back, Claire. How's life at River's Edge?”
    “We got the new cabin done. That makes eight now. I just hope the economy doesn't hurt us. There's that talk of a gas price hike.”
    “Two hundred. Two hundred and one . .