Page 91 of Counting On You

Chapter Twenty-Two

Vicky

“So, this is where you’re staying.” My sister drops her handbag on my bed, her frown displaying her displeasure. Dressed in her business suit, with her hair styled into a bun, she looks as though she’s here to make an investment rather than visit her sister.

“Where’s Mom?” I ask.

“She’s not coming.”

My mood reaches a new low. “She is still upset, isn’t she?”

Grace doesn’t reply as she sits down on my bed and crosses her legs. She runs her hand through her hair and shifts uncomfortably—the only two signs that this is a topic she’d rather not talk about.

She’s strangely quiet today. Too quiet. Something’s up.

“Aren’t you going to answer the question?” I ask. “Mom promised she’d visit. She’d never break her word. So, where is she?”

“She can’t see you suffering,” Grace replies flatly. “She can’t see you even more hurt.”

I laugh. “That doesn’t make any sense. I’m here to get help. That’s why we have therapists and professionals available round the clock. The only bug I could possibly catch in here is from eating too much junk food. Or I could get pregnant.” I catch her frown. “I’m kidding.”

I expect Grace to laugh. But she doesn’t. She looks guilty as hell, and that’s not something I’d ever expect from my sister. My mom and I have always been close. That she doesn’t want to visit hurts.

“Grace, you make me feel like I’m some kind of criminal. Is Mom ashamed of me?” The realization hits me hard.

“No.”

“Then, what’s going on?” I sit down next to her, my heart racing as I mentally go through all the possible reasons why Mom couldn’t or wouldn’t want to see me. “Is it Will? Did something happen?”

“Will’s okay. Don’t worry about him.” She takes a deep breath. Then another. Then yet another, still not talking.

“You’re making me nervous. God, Grace. You act like someone just died.”

“Sorry.” She grabs her bag, and I realize her hands are shaking. “I’m not even sure I should be giving you this. Mom told me not to. That she wouldn’t come if I did, but…” She pulls out a letter. “It’s from Bruce. She actually pleaded with me, but I really think you should know.”

Her gaze pierces into me, her eyes imploring, apologizing, stubborn.

“Know what?” I mumble?

“I should give you some privacy while you read this.” She grabs her handbag.

I take the letter from her outstretched hand. “What is this? Jesus, Grace. What’s going on? Why’s Mom not here?”

“He’s getting married, Vicky,” Grace says slowly.

“Who?” Her words make no sense to me. Who’s ‘he’ and what does he have to do with Mom’s decision not to turn up?

“Bruce.” Her tone is soft, almost a whisper. “We heard it from friends who were invited to the engagement party.”

“What engagement party?” My brain fails to register the meaning of her words. Everything’s racing: my heart, my mind. Even the ground beneath my feet seems to want to slip away. Inside me, I can feel a rift forming that threatens to rip me apart. Pictures begin to flash before my eyes. Bruce and Nat at the beach, clinking champagne flutes, cuddling with the sun setting in the background.

All so beautiful and romantic.

The big rock on her finger makes so much more sense now. I initially thought she had purchased it from an accessory shop because it looked so huge and fake.

I should have known the diamond ring was real.

“Bruce is getting married this summer.” Grace’s voice draws me back. “I just thought you should know.”

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