The Secrets Sisters Keep Read Online Free PDF Page A

had chest hair, let alone any on his back. And though they’d been married for so long that they rarely examined one another’s follicles, Amanda would have sworn his pubic hairs were exactly as they’d always been: springy and intact.
    She’d done a mental scan of his existing underarms and outer arms and his calves that had stayed muscled since his soccer-playing days. Nothing was different, nothing was . . . gone. Which left only one reason for Jonathan to need a back-waxer in his life.
    Amanda gripped her stomach now as if she was going to vomit. She closed her eyes according to the teachings of her yogi and tried to force herself to visualize happy things: St. Barths in April, the Hamptons in August. But even those images could not erase the scene she had witnessed three nights earlier when she’d stalked her own husband to an apartment block in Queens, then watched from an alley—a dark, filthy alley!—for more than two hours until he’d casually exited, straightened his hair, rearranged his Brooks Brothers tie, and checked to be certain he had properly zipped up his fly.
    E llie smelled like a pond and looked even worse. After going upstairs, she’d noticed the door to the green room was closed. Carleen surely wouldn’t have usurped Amanda’s space, so Ellie’s prayer had been answered.
    With a grateful sigh, Ellie had grabbed clean clothes and gone straight to the shower, where she now stood, letting the hot spray singe her flesh, wondering what Edward, the sneaky old goat, had done this time and what would happen next. Surely he had disappeared on purpose, as she’d suggested to Henry. Surely he had carefully arranged it to teach his nieces some sort of lesson.
    Yes, of course, that was the answer.
    She lathered her hair and tried not to wonder, If that were the case, why hadn’t he told Henry his plans to trick them? Why had he risked upsetting Henry, too?
    “Ellie,” Edward had said that morning as they’d sat in the breakfast room, his eyes scanning page one of the New York Times, which Kevin, the paperboy, had just delivered. Edward’s fingers had been tapping his poached egg at the top, the same way he’d been tapping every day for years. “We’re going to have a busy weekend. I trust the caterers and florists are prepared?”
    “And the bands and the magicians and the fireworks technicians.”
    He lifted a small finger. “Pyrotechnic specialists,” he corrected.
    She smiled, wryly, she supposed, because sometimes Uncle Edward’s silliness grated on her nerves. Of course he knew the caterers and florists were prepared: he’d left her in charge, hadn’t he?
    “And the rooms are all made up?” he asked, that time sipping his tea and flicking his gaze from the newspaper to Ellie with a slight hint of . . . what? Remorse? Regret for having been impulsive?
    “Yes,” Ellie replied. “Amanda’s children will stay in the guest rooms on the third floor. Amanda, Babe, and”—she took a tiny breath—“Carleen will each have their old rooms. As you requested.”
    He nodded, nibbled on the egg white, then dipped a triangular toast point into the sunny yolk. “And the girls all know to bring a white outfit for the family picture on Sunday?”
    “Yes. Of course.” Ellie had wanted to ask again if he were sure about having the party, if he were sure it was a good idea to reunite them all under such public conditions. She’d wanted to point out that it was not too late to call it off, that paying cancellation fees might make more sense than going through with it. But except for that one flick of a gaze, Edward was in a jolly mood, and tomorrow was his birthday, after all.
    “You still think I’m a fool,” he’d said abruptly.
    She shook her head. “Whatever you want is fine.”
    “Including your sister?”
    It went without saying that he’d meant Carleen.
    Ellie had stood up to clear the table. “Whatever you want,” she repeated, then went to her uncle and kissed his cheek.