There Should Have Been Eight Read Online Nalini Singh

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Nalini Singh Advertisement1

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“Yes, that was him,” she said, with no indication that she found anything odd with my apparently infallible memory. “He used to accept calls from me outside of office hours, anytime I needed. Always said I could pay him in cookies.” A shaky smile. “My parents asked me if I wanted a counselor, but I trusted Dr. Cox, could really talk to him, you know?”

Not waiting for me to respond, she said, “He suggested that perhaps the only way Bea could come to terms with her need for her medication was to think of them as another kind of mineral or vitamin.”

Sitting with my arms on my knees, my back against the orange tree, shoulder to shoulder with Darcie, I said, “He sounds like a good person.” I wasn’t sure of the ethics there, talking to one sister about the diagnosis of the other, but it wasn’t as if he’d revealed anything Darcie didn’t already know. “No judgment, just practicality.”

“He was a kind man—and he never told my parents about our talks, even when I was a minor.” Darcie swallowed hard. “What he said? It’s why I think our mother would’ve come around—she was a practical person, too. But what Bea remembered was the mum who told her that she must never, ever let anyone know about the special doctor she had to see.”

Something about the way she’d put that made me frown, turn to her. “I thought you said she got medicated as a preteen?”

“She did. I didn’t say the problems only began when she was a teenager.” Rising to her feet on that, she brushed off the seat of her pants. “Come on, you can help me carry the oranges back.”

Almost able to hear the door slamming shut on the subject of Bea and knowing I’d already pushed it today, I helped her load up the basket to a level she wouldn’t have been able to carry back on her own but that we could manage easily between us. We didn’t talk much more after that, and it was just as well because my mind was full to the brim already, awash in memories of my interactions with Bea.

So many images of her in my mental files, the vast majority of her laughing or smiling, or swooping in to give someone a big hug. Had she been too energetic at times? Too frenetic?

I dug and dug, but I couldn’t see it. Perhaps because that was how I’d always known her to be. High-energy, enough to tire me out with it, but in no way unbalanced. Especially when she also had what Darcie had referred to as her quiet moods. Quiet but not withdrawn.

But Darcie had known her best of all; Darcie had lived with her.

My abdominal muscles tightened.

Suddenly, it made so much more sense that the sisters had lived together in that city-fringe villa worth upwards of two million rather than selling it, putting the money into an investment, and getting a smaller apartment. The upkeep and rates bill on the house had to have been significant.

But, for Beatrice, it had been a safe place; while I didn’t know too much about her specific diagnosis, I could guess that a sense of being on stable ground was important for emotional regulation—especially in the wake of a tragedy like the loss of their parents. It could be that Bea’s doctor had advised that they not change locations, that they try to keep things as static as possible.

I looked over at Darcie, who, to be honest, I’d often thought of as the most vacuous member of our group. Not a person with whom to have deep conversations. And yet, if I were to believe what she’d told me, Darcie had borne the weight of responsibility for her sister in more ways than one.

“Does Ash know? About Bea?”

“He didn’t back then. But I had to have someone to talk to after . . .” She looked off to the side, her jaw set and her shoulders rigid.

It took her several long seconds to speak again. “I couldn’t talk properly about her, grieve over her, without talking about her mental health. It was such an integral aspect of her nature. My too-bright, too-smart baby sister.”

Once again, she’d avoided saying the word “suicide.” But I heard it all the same. Beatrice’s mental health had played a starring role in her death. Maybe that explained Darcie’s secretiveness about the cremation. She’d been keeping her promise to her sister even then, making sure no one would figure out Beatrice’s secret when her suicide had written that secret in neon.

But she was so happy.

It was a theme that had run through the comments after we found out what Bea had done. We’d been young, in shock, and that had been the first thing that had come to mind.


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