The ‘57 Thunderbird careened around the curve barely missing the guard rail that overlooked the bluff to the ocean below. She was always late, always in a rush. He would be worried. He never got angry at her though. He simply accepted her for who she was.
She missed the turn. She spun the car around and turned down Mallard Lane. She checked her make-up in the rear-view mirror. Not good. Oh, well. No time to fix up now. She slammed on the brakes in the loose gravel behind the chalet, grabbed her overnight bag from the passenger seat, and banged the door shut.
No answer. She looked back out into the driveway. His car was here.
“Are you here? Hello!”
Still no answer. She looked out onto the lake. He was in the canoe — fishing? What the…? He never fished. He hated fishing. She went to the kitchen and poured herself a glass of merlot. He always kept her favorite in the cupboard. He was so thoughtful.
A knock at the door. Who could that be? She didn’t think they were expecting anyone. It was supposed to be an evening of movies and barbequed hotdogs — just the two of them.
An attractive young woman with mocha hair and deep dark eyes looked back at her tentatively. “Hello? Is this David’s place?”
“Yes. May I ask who you are?” A horrifying stab of jealously nearly cracked her heart. Her knees felt weak. She did not want to share her evening. This was their night.
Hesitantly, girl said, “I’m Margreet. I’m here to see David Perkins.”
Lana didn’t know what to do. Should she let her in or stake out her territory and send this woman packing?
“Come in. I’m Lana. David’s on the lake. Glass of wine?” What the hell.
Margreet looked terribly nervous. “Sure. Thanks.”
They were about to settle on the front deck, when a knock announced another visitor. They looked at each other questioningly. Margreet shrugged as if to say beats me.
Another woman; she was a little younger than Lana and Margreet with dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Another beauty.
“And you are?” Lana queried.
The girl looked around, bewildered, and said, “Sharon. I… have the wrong place? I’m looking for David Perkins.”
“Come in.” Lana silently uncorked the bottle and poured another glass of merlot. They certainly were young! And beautiful! She could feel the hackles rising.
David finally appeared at the front door, looking skittish. Well, he should. Her fist clenched involuntarily.
“Please. Sit down, ladies.”
They obliged, sitting in the brightly painted Adirondack chairs.
“Ladies, I… um… have something to tell you.”
No one moved a muscle. The confession. Nothing like getting right to it. Pull the band aid off quickly. Son of a…! Lana’s anger flared.
“I’ll come straight to the point.” He looked at each woman in turn before he continued. “For years, I thought I was doing the right thing. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and a lot of poor decisions. All this time I was wrong. I’m sorry. It’s time you met your sisters.”