Read Online Taboo (A Classic Romance) by Mallory Rush - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mallory Rush
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talk about it." She gave her a weak smile. "But thanks for asking anyway. You're not just a good sister, you're an even better friend."
Trish considered her as she took another puff. "That bad, Cammie?"
"That bad."
"Well, you know I'm always on your side. No matter what."
"Same here. And Trish, if I talked to anyone about... the problem, it would be you."
"Not Grant?"
Trish eyed her shrewdly, waiting while she fanned the smoke outside.
Cammie took a deep breath, hoping her usually transparent face didn't betray her.
"Guess we'd better get back before they send a search party." Some answer, she thought, but it was the best she could do. Lying wasn't her forte, and that last question she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
"Good idea." Trish smiled in a very strange, pleased sort of way, as though she'd gotten the answer she was looking for. "Let me get rid of the evidence first. Can't have Mom and Dad thinking we're less than perfect."
"Trish!" Cammie gasped in genuine astonishment. "It's not like you to say something like that."
"No," she agreed, dumping the smoldering cigarette butt into the commode, along with the ashes she'd flicked into her hand. "But I think it a lot. Sometimes I get tired of living up to the image— you know, the perfect, all-American family. Mom and Dad and apple pie. If they weren't so great, it'd be a lot easier on us. I mean, then we wouldn't have to always worry about letting them down or hurting their feelings."
"I, well, actually, I never thought about it that way, Trish. They've done so much for me, I only know I'd hate myself if I ever brought them grief."
"Yeah, me too. Guess that's why I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom and swishing mouthwash so they don't smell it on my breath."
Trish gargled for emphasis, then spat the mouthwash into the sink.
Cammie laughed for the first time in what seemed ages. What Trish had said made her feel better. Whether Trish suspected the truth about Grant, she didn't know for certain, but at least she was reassured that Trish would understand the ordeal she was going through.
Cammie reached for the doorknob, her flagging spirits buoyed. With a giggle reminiscent of days gone by, she turned to Trish.
"I wonder how many bottles of White Shoulders Aunt Mabel goes through a year?"
Trish wrinkled her nose and fanned the air. "I don't know, but at least enough to compete with Aunt Frieda's basementful of blue-ribbon picante sauce."
They rolled their eyes and groaned in unison, before dissolving into a much-needed fit of laughter.
When they caught their breath, Cammie impulsively reached for Trish's hand and squeezed it.
"That was good, Trish. I needed it more than you could know."
"I needed it too. Hey, tell you what, Cammie. Since you covered for me stealing a smoke, why don't I return the favor?"
"You'll be the Guest of Honor?"
Trish snickered. "Don't push it. But I will do my best to get the ritual sing-along going, so you can disappear for a while without too much fuss. Uncle Harold's been after me to play the piano all morning so he can do his rendition of 'The Yellow Rose of Texas.'"
"If only he weren't so hard-of-hearing, maybe he'd know how off-key he is."
Trish reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of earplugs. "I came prepared this year. It's murder trying not to laugh. Now scram before you miss your chance."
"I owe you, Trish. Thanks for buying me some time."
"Sure." They stepped out into the hall, and Trish cocked her head in the direction of the "study room" where they used to do their homework. "Grant's in there."
Before Cammie could manage more than an unintelligible stutter, Trish was already in the overcrowded living room and announcing that the sing-along was about to begin.
Did she know? Cammie wondered. Surely Grant hadn't told her. So why... how?
The heavy steps behind her sounded suspiciously like they belonged to Aunt Mabel. Quickly ducking into the foyer leading to the
Trish considered her as she took another puff. "That bad, Cammie?"
"That bad."
"Well, you know I'm always on your side. No matter what."
"Same here. And Trish, if I talked to anyone about... the problem, it would be you."
"Not Grant?"
Trish eyed her shrewdly, waiting while she fanned the smoke outside.
Cammie took a deep breath, hoping her usually transparent face didn't betray her.
"Guess we'd better get back before they send a search party." Some answer, she thought, but it was the best she could do. Lying wasn't her forte, and that last question she wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole.
"Good idea." Trish smiled in a very strange, pleased sort of way, as though she'd gotten the answer she was looking for. "Let me get rid of the evidence first. Can't have Mom and Dad thinking we're less than perfect."
"Trish!" Cammie gasped in genuine astonishment. "It's not like you to say something like that."
"No," she agreed, dumping the smoldering cigarette butt into the commode, along with the ashes she'd flicked into her hand. "But I think it a lot. Sometimes I get tired of living up to the image— you know, the perfect, all-American family. Mom and Dad and apple pie. If they weren't so great, it'd be a lot easier on us. I mean, then we wouldn't have to always worry about letting them down or hurting their feelings."
"I, well, actually, I never thought about it that way, Trish. They've done so much for me, I only know I'd hate myself if I ever brought them grief."
"Yeah, me too. Guess that's why I'm a thirty-one-year-old woman sneaking cigarettes in the bathroom and swishing mouthwash so they don't smell it on my breath."
Trish gargled for emphasis, then spat the mouthwash into the sink.
Cammie laughed for the first time in what seemed ages. What Trish had said made her feel better. Whether Trish suspected the truth about Grant, she didn't know for certain, but at least she was reassured that Trish would understand the ordeal she was going through.
Cammie reached for the doorknob, her flagging spirits buoyed. With a giggle reminiscent of days gone by, she turned to Trish.
"I wonder how many bottles of White Shoulders Aunt Mabel goes through a year?"
Trish wrinkled her nose and fanned the air. "I don't know, but at least enough to compete with Aunt Frieda's basementful of blue-ribbon picante sauce."
They rolled their eyes and groaned in unison, before dissolving into a much-needed fit of laughter.
When they caught their breath, Cammie impulsively reached for Trish's hand and squeezed it.
"That was good, Trish. I needed it more than you could know."
"I needed it too. Hey, tell you what, Cammie. Since you covered for me stealing a smoke, why don't I return the favor?"
"You'll be the Guest of Honor?"
Trish snickered. "Don't push it. But I will do my best to get the ritual sing-along going, so you can disappear for a while without too much fuss. Uncle Harold's been after me to play the piano all morning so he can do his rendition of 'The Yellow Rose of Texas.'"
"If only he weren't so hard-of-hearing, maybe he'd know how off-key he is."
Trish reached into her pocket and pulled out a pair of earplugs. "I came prepared this year. It's murder trying not to laugh. Now scram before you miss your chance."
"I owe you, Trish. Thanks for buying me some time."
"Sure." They stepped out into the hall, and Trish cocked her head in the direction of the "study room" where they used to do their homework. "Grant's in there."
Before Cammie could manage more than an unintelligible stutter, Trish was already in the overcrowded living room and announcing that the sing-along was about to begin.
Did she know? Cammie wondered. Surely Grant hadn't told her. So why... how?
The heavy steps behind her sounded suspiciously like they belonged to Aunt Mabel. Quickly ducking into the foyer leading to the
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