Read Online The Law of Bound Hearts by Anne Leclaire - Free Book Online Page A

that beer—and her mouth was parched, the first sign of the hangover she would have in the morning. The bedside clock said it was eleven. They’d been in bed barely an hour. Lee slept soundly. In the darkened room, she made out the length of him beneath the covers. Oblongs of fractured moonlight fell through the window blinds, striping his body.
    Eventually she would have to tell him about Libby. She wondered if he would understand. How vulnerable love was, she thought, how little it took to damage it. She knew that now. Once, she believed that the love she had for Libby would withstand anything. She could never have imagined it would turn into this loop of love and hatred.
    When she was in grade school she would listen to her classmates talk of how their older sisters were mean to them, and she would hold proudly and possessively to the preciousness of Libby’s love for her. How was it possible that out of such love could come rivalry and hate? Or had she been mistaken? All those years, had she just been a tedious responsibility for Libby? While Sam had believed her fierce love returned in equal measure, had Libby been resentful, annoyed at always having a younger sister tagging along, complaining to
her
classmates about her sister, the pest? Had what Sam seen as joyful been a burden to Libby? Had Sam been blind to it, seeing only what she wanted to see? Was that the explanation, then? All those years, Libby had been harboring a resentment that festered and rankled until it mushroomed into betrayal. All those years Libby had resented the closeness. Fearing what? That she would be consumed? Well, in the end it was Libby who had devoured Sam.
    She slipped out of bed and went downstairs. In the kitchen, air still sweet with the scent of chocolate, she negotiated her way to the sink using only the glow from a small night-light plugged in over the desk. She ran the tap until the water was cold, then drank, assuaging thirst. She swallowed two aspirins—an attempt to derail the morning’s hangover—and drank again.
    Please, Libby had said. Her independent and stubborn sister, who seldom asked anyone for anything, must need her. In spite of herself, Sam couldn’t hold back the glow this knowledge brought. What could have led Libby to break six years of silence? Sam tried to recall the exact tone of Libby’s voice, the exact words. There hadn’t been panic or shock, no urgency, unlike the call informing her of the plane crash that had killed their parents. If it was something about one of the twins, Libby would have mentioned it. Sam was certain of that. Why had she been so cryptic? Why hadn’t she said more? Now Sam regretted erasing the message. She wanted to hear Libby’s voice again. A wave of longing, kept at bay for years, washed over her.
    She checked the clock again. A little after eleven. Ten in the Central Time zone. Not too late. She crossed to the phone, picked up the receiver. Even after all this time, she knew the number by heart. She stood, receiver in hand, for several long minutes before replacing it. In the end, pride—or stubbornness—was stronger than desire.
    All possibility of sleep gone, she flicked on the overhead light and started a pot of coffee. At the desk, she took up her sketchbook. She flipped to her preliminary drawing for the Chaney wedding. Both bride and groom were architects and Sam had chosen vertical stripes for the cake. In hyacinth and apple green, edged with silver. The stripes would be sharp and stylish, confident—architectural— but softened by an overlay of curlicues and sugar-paste tassels. Yesterday she had been pleased with the design, but now, as she considered it, she frowned, dissatisfied. Perhaps something more baroque, each layer a different design. She stared up at the bulletin board over her workstation; on it were dozens of photographs showing couples posed by cakes four and five tiers tall, preparing for the ritual of