Sisterly Love is a serialized novel. To savor the full narrative experience, start at the beginning and work through the chapters in order. You can find chapters on the Home page or in the Archive.
CHAPTER 28
The afternoon sun moved off the balcony at Rose’s apartment and left a chill in the air. Summer slid her phone into her pocket and mulled over the conversation with Frankie just now. It was early morning in Canberra, and Frankie brewed a pot of coffee as she told Summer about a job offer from the Australian High Commission in the United Kingdom. They spoke excitedly about the offer, both agreeing that the opportunity would enable a spell from Australia and the 1950s mentality that had taken hold since Gail Marcus was ousted by her party.
The P.M.’s downfall had been swift. The party leadership—those faceless men who put her into power then disemboweled her—had gone behind her back, whipping up concerns about the fiscal impact of the referendum then secretly anointing a new leader, a man younger than Gail Marcus with center-right leanings. In his first act as Prime Minister, he pushed the referendum back six months then refocused the nation on tensions between Australia and China. Warships were dispatched to defend the country against foreign interference. By the time they returned home, Australia’s appetite for equality had taken a back seat to the more visible issue of border security.
The conduct of the party and its tactic to distract constituents had not surprised Summer and Frankie. It was the behavior of their countrywomen that unsettled them; the chorus of voices weighing in on Gail Marcus’s faults—the very women who had celebrated her ascent to the top job. It was this that was devastating. The media had seized on the resounding consensus: How sick the women of Australia were of Gail Marcus’ name in the headlines; how tired they were of her picture splashed across the front pages of newspapers. “I was never a Gail Marcus fan,” Summer’s hairdresser shared, “but I do think she could have done better.”; “She just wasn’t normal,” the receptionist at Frankie’s dental clinic observed; “There was something about her that irritated the bejesus out of me,” said a young mother on late night radio; “It’s just the way she looks down on everyone... ” And on and on it went for months after Gail Marcus left office.
But it was not these events that troubled Summer as she paced around Rose’s balcony. She eased herself back into the deck chair and tried to unpack the part of the conversation with Frankie that had almost descended into an argument after Summer admitted she had not yet told Rose she was getting married.
“I’m waiting for the right moment,” Summer had said, defensively.
“But why wasn’t our news the first thing out of your mouth?” said Frankie.
Summer didn’t have an answer. She herself did not know why she could not broach the topic with her sister; what it was that was holding her back. And feeling first pressured then frustrated, she accused Frankie of not trusting her to know her sister.
“You can’t just drop a bombshell on someone you haven’t seen for twenty-three years,” she said.
To which Frankie replied, “You can when it’s your sister.”
That’s where their call had ended. And now, Summer felt she might have been unreasonable, unfair even, to Frankie. As she pondered this notion, she became aware of voices in the neighbor’s yard below. She climbed out of the deck chair and peered over the railing to where a droopy-faced Neapolitan Mastiff was standing its ground.
“He’s his own person,” a woman told a man who was tugging impatiently at the dog’s leash. “It’s obvious he doesn’t want to go!”
Summer observed the animal looking miserably from owner to owner. He’s a dog! she said to herself. He’ll go with whoever’s in charge. Her thoughts went to Hammer, the rescue she and Frankie had acquired from the animal shelter in Canberra. Hammer’s was an exotic breed, or at least that’s how the handler had described him, and Summer thought it apt, diplomatic even. The handler had been leading Summer and Frankie along a passage to a holding block where abandoned dogs awaited reassignment, when Frankie spotted Hammer alone in a cell. Summer recalled the peculiar cast of his overly large head, his asymmetric ears, his tail that stood erect and to this day refuses to wag, even in Hammer’s happiest moments.
“Who’s this?” Frankie had asked, sliding back the bolt and stepping into Hammer’s cell.
Frankie immediately assumed a disinterested stance, and Hammer began to pace nervously as Frankie refused to make eye contact. Summer had felt a slight menace, but she knew Frankie’s way with animals, and when at last Hammer approached, ears back, head hung low, and dropped his battered torso at Frankie’s feet, Summer had been overcome with pity.
“Hello old man,” Frankie said, stroking him.
Hammer pressed his wet nose into Frankie’s hand, and Summer experienced vicarious gratitude for Hammer’s luck. They went directly from the shelter to Pet Barn, where Frankie chose a smart new collar, yellow, to which she affixed a purple heart with Hammer’s name engraved in script. Underneath was their phone number. In the parking lot they discarded his worn leather collar with missing studs and the dented black disc that bore only his name. He had been wearing it when he was found, ribs protruding, tethered to the bumper of a burned-out Ford on a deserted road. Frankie had been adamant that Hammer would not undergo the confusion of a new identity. And so, Hammer he remained.
Summer stepped away from the railing and took in the spacious balcony, which extended the length of Rose’s condominium. It could have been a welcoming space, decorated with plants and outdoor furnishings, as the neighbors in the apartment below had done with their balcony. But Rose was transitioning into her new life with Alan and did not want to get too settled. A sliding door gave into the kitchen, and further along, the window to Sofia’s room where Summer had been sleeping these past two nights, was pushed open. Earlier, before Rose left to pick up Sofia from camp, she had cleaned the room. Summer offered to help but Rose said Sofia was picky about how things were arranged. So Summer stood in the doorway chatting while Rose made the bed, swept the floor, and wiped over handles and surfaces, so distracted by her task that she could barely hold up her end of the conversation. Summer had put Rose’s behavior down to her sister’s excitement for Sofia’s return and their much-anticipated family reunion.
Summer checked the time on her phone, then went inside to begin the dinner preparations. She was making Chicken Curry Pie, an Australian favorite cooked with the chicken inside a pie casing. Rose had loved the savory dish as a child, but Sofia had never tasted it. For this evening’s meal, Summer would include a variation to the curry that Frankie had created especially to satisfy Summer’s low tolerance for spices.
In Rose’s galley kitchen, Summer laid out the ingredients on the countertop then began chopping the onions. Frankie’s right, she told herself. There’s no logic to my behavior. Her admission returned a feeling of empowerment, and she set aside her reticence and began mentally rehearsing her announcement, injecting joy and celebration into her delivery as she imagined her sister and her niece toasting her happiness and excitedly inquiring about Frankie’s family. She was crimping the pie crust with a fork when Rose and Sofia came through the front door forty minutes later. Hurriedly, she pulled Rose’s apron over her head and stepped into the hallway.
“Well, hello!” Summer said, extending her arms toward her niece.
Sofia paused, glared at Summer, then stormed down the hallway and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind.
“Sofia Audrey Avela! You come right back here this minute,” Rose called after her. She turned to Summer, “She’s just a little tired,” she said, apologetically.
“Shall I go into her?” Summer offered.
“Actually, Summer, maybe just give her time.”
Rose’s cheeks flushed, she looked embarrassed, but Summer sensed there was something more.
“What is it, Rose?”
“I might as well tell you. She’s upset because I let you sleep in her room,” Rose confessed.
Summer was at a loss for words. She felt like laughing, but something in Rose’s tone worried her.
“But I’m her aunt, I’m family, what’s the problem?”
Rose considered this for a moment, nodded and made her way along the hall. Summer retreated to the safety of the kitchen where she listened to Rose rapping on Sofia’s door. She tried to erase from her thoughts not the teenage tantrum, but the look Sofia had given her when their eyes met. It was as if she despised her, but for what?
Rose reappeared, “It’s been a tough year for her with so much change and now with Alan and me—” Rose trailed off and gave a nervous laugh.
“Let’s have a glass of wine?” Summer offered, opening the fridge. “I found a lovely Australian sparkling in your local bottle shop today!”
“You’re just like Nana Laurel,” Rose teased. “She always poured a drink when things got rough.”
Summer popped the cork and considered telling Rose about her and Frankie, but she was feeling off kilter again and decided to set aside her announcement. Besides, they had to be up early for their flight to New York and her introduction to Alan, her brother-in-law to be, the man who had not only helped her sister through a difficult time but who now loved her. She wanted to be refreshed for this encounter. Her news could wait.