Page 152 of The Right Kind of Wrong

There was a strange comfort in that, even as she leaned back in her chair and gave her sister an appraising stare.

She’d shown up to Blake’s office, so it only seemed fair that Grace be the one to kick off this discussion.

The only surprising thing about this visit was that Grace hadn’t already been camped out by the front door when Gumby’s opened.

Or, Blake supposed, that she hadn’t come over last night and knocked on her door when her two calls and six text messages had gone unanswered.

But that would have required disrupting the kids’ nighttime routines, which had probably been Blake’s saving grace.

And, truly, Blake wasn’t punishing her sister.

She just didn’t have much to say.

Finally, Grace broke their stalemate. “What is going on with you, Blake?” Arms folded across her chest, she lofted her words like an accusation.

Blake gestured toward the extra chair in her office. “Hey, Grace. Good to see you, too. It’s been too long. Want to have a seat?” She glanced toward the microwave. “Lunch is starting soon, though, so I can’t promise that we won’t have unprompted visitors.”

Grace huffed indignantly and looked at the worn chair. But seething whispers were easier to pull off in close proximity, which was likely why she grudgingly took the seat offered to her. She rolled her lips before launching into her next litany of, well, Blake didn’t exactly know what she was going to say.

She knew the high-level theme that would be coming, but the specifics were a mystery.

Yippee.

Blake leaned back and crossed her legs. “How’s the family?” she asked cheerfully.

Grace met her sister’s own stare with one of deep annoyance. “Cut the crap, Blake. It’s all over town about you and that woman.”

Blake shrugged, running her palms down her jeans. “I’m not sure what that actually has to do with me. Is that what you were calling me about last night?” she asked innocently.

She could see Grace’s hackles rising.

Grace was a complicated woman, even though she would do everything in her power to disabuse people of that notion.

It was like she wanted desperately to be known as nothing other than a Sunday school teacher and PTA mom and wife.

Grace used to have interests. Hobbies. She’d been a gifted athlete in high school, and she’d gone through a wild streak when she’d been eighteen, away for the first time at college. Blake knew that she had a tattoo, in a place where absolutely no one would find it unless she showed them—a tiny butterfly that always fell safely inside of her bathing suit line.

Blake didn’t quite know when she’d gone from a vibrant, unique person to a cardboard cutout of a Texan Stepford wife.

And Blake would have been okay with that if it seemed like the life Grace was living made her sister happy.

But Grace had been unhappier for a lot longer than Blake had.

It wasn’t something that they’d ever talked about, but Blake had been able to tell as the years had worn on. Another baby would improve her sister’s temperament for a while, but then, inevitably, the sharp, distant edges of the new Grace would return.

Still, Blake wasn’t going to let the closeness she thought they used to share cloak the real person sitting in front of her right now. Grace was only here because she’d heard that Blake was dating a woman and suddenly had to give her opinion on that subject. After months of what amounted to cruel silence. “You don’t seem to have an interest in my life these days, so why do you care how I’m living it?”

Grace smoothed out her furrowed brow with her fingers. “I just don’t understand what you’re trying to accomplish here. Is this your equivalent of dyeing your hair black and getting a bunch of piercings so that people will notice you?”

The laugh that bubbled up from Blake’s throat took them both by surprise. “Is that what you think is going on?”

“Well, I know that you’re not a lesbian,” Grace said, speaking in that seething whisper that Blake had known was coming. “You were married to Noah for years.”

Blake nodded along. She felt, strangely, like she was having an out-of-body experience. Like this was happening to someone else. “Do you think that maybe me getting with my future husband at fourteen had anything to do with my delayed realization?” she asked.

Grace reeled back. “Blake. Come on. I know that you like attention, but this is a lot, even for you.”

Now, it was Blake’s turn to reel back. “Excuse me? I would argue that out of anyone in this town, I like attention the least. I never liked being paraded around by Noah. Or being lumped in with the Duvalls. Or playing the popularity game.”