Read Online How We Started by Luanne Rice - Free Book Online Page B

wore warm shirts and fleece pullovers. I kept my jacket on. We huddled around the hearth where two logs sparked with a dull glow; a third had barely caught, flames just licking the top edge.
    The brass screen had been set aside, as if to keep the wire mesh from holding back the fading warmth. I glanced around for a poker, but saw nothing to stoke the fire. There didn’t seem to be any more wood either.
    I was afraid to ask about the heat, or lack of it. Anything can trigger Anne, especially when it comes to Frederik. She might have taken my question as implied criticism of his ability or willingness to provide basic needs for his family. She’s very defensive about him. But the truth is, she’s always had a strange, secret side when it came to men. She puts them on pedestals, and then subverts them in ways they’d never guess.
    I’ll confess something else: Anne and I had probably been the closest sisters on earth, but we have never been completely, one-hundred-percent easy with each other. I don’t believe Anne can be that way with anyone.
    While we sat and talked today, she was old Anne, and it felt as if she’d spent the last five years waiting for my visit.
    The children seemed numb at first. They smelled the pearl-white roses I’d brought, and touched the Valentine cards and books, and looked up at me as if they weren’t sure whether they should smile or not. I’d brought my camera, and I took a picture. Their hesitant smiles killed me.
    â€œWho is she?” Gilly whispered to Anne.
    â€œShe’s your aunt,” Anne said.
    He stared, as if he’d never heard the word before.
    â€œI’m your mother’s sister,” I said.
    â€œMommy doesn’t have a sister,” Gilly said.
    â€œI do,” Anne said. “Just like you do.”
    She squeezed my hand so they would see. Grit broke into a smile.
    I asked if they drew pictures, and they both ran to get their drawings. Soon we were coloring together, and Anne seemed happy and almost relaxed, and except for the cold, everything was all right.
    I hadn’t been to the house in five years, since right after Anne married Frederik. They’d invited my mother, Paul, and me to their
Jul
party. That night of the party is stamped in my mind. Climbing out of the car, I had my first look at their formidable glass house on the lighthouse road, surrounded by acres of scrub pines and thick brambles, an incredible habitat for birds. We rang the doorbell, and Frederik answered.
    He kissed my mother and me, once on each cheek, and shook my fiancé, Paul Traynor’s, hand. He took our coats, gestured around the majestic, cathedral-ceilinged room. “I’m king of all I survey,” Frederik said in his elegant Danish accent. “And now Anne is queen.”
    â€œKing Frederik and Queen Anne!” I said.
    Frederik didn’t smile, and he backed away. “Please enjoy my glasswork and help yourself to glogg and the buffet. I must find Anne and tell her you are here.”
    â€œThat was weird,” I said to my mother and Paul. “Did I do something wrong?”
    â€œNo,” Mom said. “Maybe the humor got lost in translation.”
    â€œMaybe it’s not a joke and he really thinks he’s king. He’s definitely an over-shaker,” Paul said, flexing his hand.
    We laughed because Paul was six-three, a rock climber, park ranger, and long-distance runner, and Frederik was five-eight tops, bald, with a slim, even fragile build, dressed head to toe in black. He gave the impression of either a retired cat burglar or a ballet dancer.
    Sarah Cole, Anne’s and my childhood friend, and her boyfriend, Max Hughes, came over, hugs all around.
    â€œHave you seen her yet?” Sarah asked.
    â€œNo, have you?”
    â€œIt’s totally mysterious. We’ve been here half an hour, and no sign yet.”
    Loud voices echoed under the cathedral ceiling. Simple, pale wood