The Girl I Used to Be: A gripping and emotional page-turner

by Heidi Hostetter

  But she had to.

  Jill opened the door and stood at the threshold, steeling herself for the task at hand. As she crossed the room, she happened to glance at her reflection in the full-length mirror and she slowed, as if seeing herself for the first time. Three years of monthly salon appointments had transformed her hair to a perfect blonde. Regular keratin treatments had taken her curls, and she’d never gotten used to the longer length. Marc preferred blondes so that’s what Jill became, even though it didn’t feel right. Even though she never felt like herself.

  Jill’s attention turned to the clothes she was wearing, the type of outfit she’d worn a million times before. She pinched a bit of the pants fabric between her fingers. Tweed. Expensive tweed, if Jill remembered correctly. And the twinset she wore so casually was cashmere, the cost of which would have fed her for a month in college. On her feet were a ridiculous pair of branded ballet flats that made her look as if she were on her way to the country club, which she decidedly wasn’t.

  She used to live in slouchy jeans and sweatshirts. She was only twenty-six years old. When was the last time she wore jeans? Did she even own a pair anymore?

  Jillian Marie DiFiore was born in South Jersey. She used her hands when she talked, frequently chopping the air in conversation to make her point. She could swear like a sailor—and often did—whenever the situation called for it. She drank beer from a can and ate cold pizza for breakfast. She blasted her music loud enough to feel the thumping in her body. She had friends. She had fun. But most of all, she would not have been caught dead in a pair of fussy tweed pants or an overpriced cashmere twinset. And her body would have rebelled at the idea of branded ballet flats instead of scuffed sneakers.

  She’d changed herself to fit into Marc’s world, to the point where she didn’t recognize herself anymore.

  But that stopped now. All of it stopped now.

  Jill turned on her heel and left the bedroom. Outside, she locked the house and got into her car to drive across town.

  She knew exactly where she was going, and she hoped they were open this early in the morning. A New You, a hair salon on the back side of the Village Green, looked edgy and interesting. The lobby was a tumble of green vines and flowering plants. The walls were hung with work by local artists, and the music inside flowed out to the sidewalk. It was vastly different from Jill’s regular salon, where the staff had been instructed to greet clients by name, with a benign smile and a chilled glass of Chardonnay. Jill hated Chardonnay.

  Behind the reception desk was a woman with cropped hair and a lace of delicate tattoos across her shoulders. As Jill approached, she looked up from her work and offered a smile that couldn’t quite hide the surprise of seeing someone who looked like Jill in this salon.

  “Can I help you?” She posed the question as if she were expecting Jill to ask for directions or coins for the meter.

  “I want to make a change and I hope you have an opening.”

  “I’m not sure. We’re pretty booked up today, but it’s early so let’s see…” The woman ran her finger down the page of her appointment book. “Wow. Okay, that never happens.” She offered a bewildered shrug. “Shasta came in early today and her first appointment isn’t for another hour or so. If you want a change, she’s your girl.”

  Delighted, Jill took the appointment.

  Shasta projected an air of self-confidence that won Jill over right away. Dark and petite, her braided hair was swept into a colorful wrap. A delicate silver nose ring and a swipe of blue lipstick provided the perfect finishing touch.

  Jill settled into the chair while Shasta snapped open an apron and secured it.

  Then she stood behind Jill, frowning at her refection in the salon mirror. As she lifted a piece of Jill’s hair, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Chemical?”

  “Keratin.”

  “Interesting cut. Not one I would have chosen for you.” Her frown deepened as she lifted more sections of Jill’s long hair and let them fall. With a benign smile, Shasta asked, “So what are we doing today?”

  “Cut it off,” Jill said simply. “All of it.”

  Shasta’s brows lifted. “You sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “How short are you willing to go?”

  “I don’t care. I just want to look like myself again.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  Shasta’s smile widened as she practically cackled with glee. “Oh, this’ll be fun.”

  The process was expensive but worth it. Shasta had worked Jill in between clients, excited to be part of her makeover. When Shasta finally turned the chair and Jill looked in the mirror, she recognized herself looking back. The cut was short, the color a more familiar auburn, and Shasta had even been able to recover a bit of curl. Jill left the shop feeling hopeful, as if she just might be strong enough to find her way back to the girl she used to be.

  A few doors down, Jill spied a thrift shop and a display window filled with warm clothes perfect for the changing weather—soft flannel shirts, cozy sweaters, faded jeans. And it occurred to her that her hair wasn’t the only thing that needed overhauling. With a closet filled with cashmere, tweed, and silk, she dressed more like a matronly senator’s wife than a young woman who hadn’t yet turned thirty. Impulsively, she ducked into the shop and left an hour later carrying a shopping bag filled with clothes that felt authentic.

  Twelve

  Sunday morning found Jill and Ellie in the bedroom of the Summit house. Ellie had arrived to help early that morning, armed with bagels and coffee. She’d nearly dropped both when she spied Jill’s transformation. Even now, after Ellie’d had a few hours to get used to Jill’s look, she still had something to say.

  “I can’t get over it.” Ellie lowered the bundle of hangers she’d been holding and paused to stare at Jill yet again. “You look so different. I mean, you look like yourself again. I hadn’t realized how much you’d changed until today.”

  “Yeah?” Jill brought her fingertips to the back of her neck, still getting used to her new cut. “You don’t think it’s too short?”

  “Absolutely not.” Ellie shook her head for emphasis. “It’s exactly right. You look like yourself.”

  “Thanks, El.”

  As Ellie returned to work, Jill allowed herself a smile. It was good to be back.

  Packing up Jill’s old life was easier, and faster, than she’d thought it would be. Marc had made it very clear that everything in the house—apart from her clothing and camera equipment—belonged to his company so there wasn’t much she was permitted to take, though even if she’d had the option to take anything, there wasn’t much she wanted.

  Within a couple hours, they’d sorted everything in her closet—things she thought she couldn’t live without—into three piles: keep, give away, and sell. The first pile was the smallest, fitting neatly into a few suitcases. The donation pile was larger, boxed, taped, and loaded into Ellie’s car, headed for the women’s shelter. Accessories and cast-off clothing made up the last pile, things Jill had no use for but knew thrift shops would love, so they were off to be sold.

  Jill stood, pushing the sleeves of her sweatshirt to her elbows, and surveyed what remained. “There’s still so much here.”

  “I had no idea you were a real-life Cinderella. This, for example, is the most exquisite dress I’ve ever seen.” Ellie held up a navy tea-length from Jason Wu. The sleeves and the neckline were a delicate mesh that melted into a sumptuous cloqué fabric, embossed with a darker navy pattern.

  “You’d look amazing in that dress, Ellie. It’s perfect for the Brockhurst reception.”

  “You think so?” Ellie replied airily as she held the dress against her body and swished the skirt around her calves.

  “I do. And if I remember correctly, the dress has shoes to match…” Jill quickly located a shoebox and opened the lid. Inside was a pair of black T-straps with a gold buckle at the ankle, unworn and perfect for the dress. She laid t
he shoes at Ellie’s feet. “We’re the same size. Try them on.”

  As Ellie slipped them on, Jill remembered that the outfit came with a bag as well—a navy satin Kelly bag with a delicate gold-button closure. She pulled it from the shelf and handed it to Ellie, whose face was bright with excitement.

  “Oh, wait—one more thing…” Jill retrieved a box and presented it to Ellie. Inside was a pair of twenty-four-carat filigree earrings.

  “Jilly… they’re stunning.” Ellie’s breath was a sigh. She held them to her ears and turned toward the mirror. “Just look at how they sparkle.” As she examined her reflection from a dozen different angles, a price tag worked itself loose and fluttered into view. Ellie’s expression faded as she lowered the dress. “What are we doing? We can’t take any of this. What about what the judge said? You can only take clothes that don’t have a price tag.

  Jill reached for the tag and snapped it from the dress. “I don’t see a price tag.”

  “Jillian,” Ellie gasped. “The judge—”

  “Said not to take anything that had a price tag attached.” Jill’s voice muffled as she bent down to rip the tags from the rest of the outfit. As she straightened, she stuffed them into her jeans pocket. “I don’t see one, do you?”

  “Jill—” Ellie began, but Jill stopped her.

  “Wait.” She pulled a branded leather suitcase from the top shelf. “This very definitely doesn’t have a tag, do you agree?”

  “Jilly, it’s—”

  “If you like it, then you should have it. Cinderella magic should be shared.”

  “I don’t know…”

  “Well I do, and I’ll tell you why.” Jill leaned against the doorframe. “Marc has no idea what’s in this closet, so he’ll never miss anything we take. But more important is that clothes this beautiful should be worn and appreciated. It’s like wearing art, El. You feel different. You move different. It’s wonderful and probably the only thing I’ll miss from this life—the clothes.”

  “Then why aren’t you keeping them?”

  “Because I need to remember the girl I was before all this. That’s why.”

  “Okay, then.” Ellie’s excitement returned. “Let’s box it up—but only one outfit.”

  “Great. Just one more outfit—maybe two.”

  Completely ignoring Ellie’s protests, Jill gestured to the rest of her closet with the sweep of her hand. “See anything else that looks good to you?”

  “This is the last of it,” Jill said as she slid a box into the trunk of her car.

  By mid-morning, they’d finished sorting through Jill’s closet. Ellie would drop the donation boxes off at the women’s shelter on her way out of town, and Jill would take the rest to a consignment shop on her way to Dewberry Beach. The extra cash would be a nice cushion after the salon visit.

  Ellie followed with the suitcase Jill had given her. She laid it carefully on the back seat. “Are you sure you want to go to that Dewberry house all by yourself? I’ll be back soon. If you want to wait, we can drive down together.”

  “I can’t afford to wait. I have to sell this house as fast as I can,” Jill reminded Ellie. “I’ll be fine—just a quick trip down to sign with the listing agent and I’ll be back.”

  “Did those real-estate agents reply already? That was quick.”

  “I have a meeting the day after tomorrow. I need a day to open the house and make it appear lived-in.”

  Ellie sighed. “If Brittney really has been trying to sell the house for so long, that’s worrying. If she can’t sell it, I’m afraid you won’t be able to either.”

  “First of all, Brittney’s a moron.”

  “Noted.”

  “And second, I don’t care who buys that house. I plan to sell it at a bargain price, clearing just enough to pay off the mortgage and closing costs—I don’t want anything else.”

  Ellie slid the key into the ignition but didn’t start it. “You’re coming back right after?”

  “That’s the plan. I don’t want to stay there any longer than I have to.” Jill paused to dust her hands on her jeans. “Besides, I still have to find a job.”

  “Okay then.” The engine clattered to a start and Ellie winced. “You have the key to the apartment. I’ll be back after the wedding.”

  Jill reached inside the car to squeeze her friend’s shoulder. “I’ll be fine, El. I’m strangely okay about leaving. I’m strangely okay about all of this.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m positive.” Jill waited while Ellie snapped her seat belt, then she laid her hand on the car door and smiled. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you—I saved the best for last: I changed my name back. At the hearing, after Marc flounced off, I asked the judge if I could and he signed the order right then. Had his clerk file it. I think he was pretty happy about it, to be honest. He didn’t seem to like Marc very much.”

  “Well, well.” Ellie smiled. “Look at you, making things happen. I may have underestimated you, Jillian DiFiore.” She jammed the car into gear. “It’s nice to have you back.”

  After watching Ellie drive off, Jill returned to the house for the last time. There was one thing she had to do before she left. Something she should have done a long time ago.

  Inside, Jill paused briefly to gather an armful of supplies then continued to the master bedroom. It was strange to see the room now, as if she’d never been here. Her vanity table had been cleared of make-up, the bathroom empty of her things—all trace of her had been boxed up and taken away.

  Almost everything.

  Jill seated herself on the cushioned bench of her vanity table. Tucked away in the back corner of her jewelry box was something Marc had given her but she’d never had the courage to wear. Something that never should have been hers. She removed the case, careful of its contents, and placed it gently on the bedroom floor.

  Then she went to work.

  She padded the inside of a sturdy box with bubble wrap and lined it with tissue. When she was sure that nothing she placed inside would jostle or break, she carefully opened the case and removed the items inside. One by one, she wrapped each piece in tissue and then in bubble wrap before tucking it securely into the box. Then she added a final layer of bubble wrap and brought the box downstairs.

  Writing the note would be the hardest part, explaining why she’d kept the items in the first place. She needed to ask forgiveness for her arrogance in thinking these things ever belonged to her. Somehow Marc had taken possession of heirloom jewelry that had rightfully belonged to Dianne, pieces from her grandmother that should have been passed along to her daughters. Shortly after their wedding, Marc had presented the box to Jill, gleeful at what he’d accomplished. Jill had been horrified and had never worn any of the pieces, but neither had she returned them.

  She used the last of her monogrammed stationery, and though it took three attempts to write, she was satisfied with the result.

  Dear Dianne,

  I’m returning something that never should have been taken from you in the first place.

  I’m sorry to have kept it this long. It’s too much to forgive but please understand that I’m sorry.

  Jill

  She tucked the note inside and taped the box closed, then found Dianne’s address in Marc’s office and wrote it, in bold letters, across the box. She’d mail it on her way out of town and would pay for express delivery and insurance. It was the least she could do.

  When she left the Summit house, closing the door firmly behind her, she knew she’d never return.

  And that was okay.

  Thirteen

  The rain that began as a late afternoon patter when Jill left the post office turned into a downpour on the Garden State Parkway, drumming on the roof of her car and spattering across her windshield. As a result, traffic backed up, and what should have been an easy trip of just over an hour turned into a hard three. Ahead of her was an endless line of taillights as cars merged from four lanes to two, so the State Patrol could manage
a fender bender a few miles ahead.

  This trip to Dewberry Beach was a business errand, nothing more. Her task was to list the house and price it low, aiming for a quick sale and a fast close. At least that’s what Jill told herself as she jabbed the radio station buttons on her console. Accepting this house in trade for the fraudulent mortgage was a mistake, Jill could see that now. She should have insisted Marc pay off the loan or gone to the judge if he refused, but she hadn’t. She’d let her emotions take over, she’d been so angry at what Marc and Cush and Nadia had done. Now, all she felt was vibrating anxiety. She should be at Ellie’s, looking for a job, but instead she was wasting time driving down to the shore to sell a house she knew almost nothing about—except that Marc had cheated on her there.

  She did her best to steady herself. Phyllis had said emotion was a trap and she was right. The Dewberry house was an anchor and would pull her under if she lost focus. This was a project, same as any other, and the key was to break the whole into smaller tasks. She’d done her research. She had her to-do list. Stick to both and she’d be fine.

  The house was closed for the season and it would take some time to open it up again, but Jill had a plan for that too. She’d found an affordable motel on the edge of town and made a reservation. Maybe a motel wasn’t the best way to spend her limited money, but the alternative was to sleep in the same house Marc had shared with his mistress and that was almost unthinkable. So she’d get a good night’s sleep and in the morning, an early start to readying the house for the property agent the following day. It was a good plan, solid.

  Now all she had to do was find the motel.

  By the time Jill arrived at the exit for Dewberry Beach, dusk had fallen. The pounding rain from earlier had slowed to a dull patter, and the gathering mist made navigating difficult. The air inside the car felt close, heavy and thick. As she waited for the traffic light to change, Jill cracked her window, hoping the fresh air would clear her head.