The Secret Sister by Brenda Novak Page A

and illustrated several children’s books, he would’ve mentioned it. He had no reason not to.
    Instead of Molly Brimble, she found a lot of Dr. Seuss, Guess How Much I Love You —she had to smile at that one—and Shel Silverstein’s hugely popular collection of poems, Where the Sidewalk Ends . In a second pile was a collection of books on kittens and dogs, and Chica Chica Boom Boom , which taught kids the alphabet.
    It looked as though he read to Laney quite often. He obviously loved his daughter very much. Maisey was happy for him—happy for them both—but she found it bittersweet that he had his daughter and she didn’t have hers. As petty as that flare of jealousy was, her gut twisted as she fingered Laney’s books. She knew Rafe and Laney had their challenges, and they’d face more in the future, but Rafe ending up with a child to raise seemed so random and unlikely—not that he’d have a child, necessarily, but that he’d turn out to be such a responsible parent.
    How had Laney come to live with him? What’d happened to her mother?
    Maisey was curious about those things—curious enough that, after stacking the books in their original piles, she headed back down the hall to Laney’s room. When she’d passed it earlier, she hadn’t even paused. She’d been too busy telling herself she had no business snooping, that she needed to get out of Rafe’s house and forget about anything else.
    But knowing she might never have another opportunity, she decided to take a quick peek to see if she’d find a picture of Laney’s mother or something else that would reveal some clue as to why Laney was living with her father, whether or not she had any contact with her mother or her mother’s family and what had caused her blindness.
    Laney had a tall, four-poster bed with lots of frilly pillows and the usual assortment of stuffed animals and toys. Or maybe the assortment wasn’t so usual. All the toys appealed to the sense of touch, or they made sounds when certain levers or bars were pushed or when various shapes were put into the corresponding holes of a ball. An electric piano stood under the window. The keys were well worn, suggesting that it received considerable attention. But, surprisingly, since the walls in the rest of the house were mostly bare, there were things to see in here—stars on the ceiling, a big mirror over the dresser and a large picture of Laney as an infant being held by her father.
    There were no other pictures, no cards propped on the dresser, no letters on the small nightstand next to the Disney princess-themed lamp, no Mommy Hearts Laney T-shirts tossed on the ground—nothing, in other words, to indicate who Laney’s mother was or whether she had any involvement in Laney’s life.
    Maisey moved closer to the photograph of Rafe holding Laney. His hair had been cut differently five years ago, and he looked lighter overall, less muscular. But besides the tenderness on his face, she saw a determined set to his jaw that led her to believe he was thinking something like, “Don’t worry. I’ve got you. I’ll be there for you no matter what.”
    His expression—that smile for the camera—couldn’t quite hide the protectiveness he felt, and that made it almost impossible for Maisey to look away. She wished she could have a copy of that photograph. It reminded her of the love she’d felt from her own father, of how powerful a father’s love could be.
    She thought of the pictures taken of Jack and Ellie. He’d had no reason to assume that Ellie’s life would end the way it had, so the look in his eyes was never quite as fierce. But why had that love not been stronger? Once Ellie was gone, Jack had seemed willing to move on, which was partly why Maisey’s recovery had been so hard. It was almost as if she’d been left to mourn for both of them. He hadn’t