Abby sat down on the top step and hugged her knees. “I’m not sure. I’d like to, but this is a busy time for me. I have exams coming up. I’m working on our school yearbook, and I’m on the prom committee. And if that’s not enough, I have to get ready for my own graduation.” She rested her chin on her knees and wondered how she was going to manage it all as it was. “God, I haven’t seen Mallory in five years.” She turned her head and glanced up at Carol. “It seems like somebody should be there to see her graduate. I know this is going to hurt your feelings, but she doesn’t want you or Donovan there.”
Carol made a sound of disgust. “We’re good enough to pay forty thousand dollars a year for her education, but we’re not good enough to be invited to her graduation. I think that’s pure Mallory.” She shook her head in exasperation. “Don’t let her letter manipulate you into doing something you don’t want to do.”
“Manipulate me? You told me her counselor said she’s well adjusted now, that she could have left there a couple of years ago if she’d wanted.”
“That’s true. She could have left, but I’m glad she didn’t. I hate to admit this, but I didn’t want her coming back here, and neither did Donovan. We offered to continue to pay for her schooling if she stayed where she was.” Carol saw Abby staring at Mallory’s letter. “You surprise me, Abby, that you would even consider going to her graduation after all the hurt she caused you.” She ruffled her ponytail. “Maybe I’m not so surprised. You always did have a big heart. I think it’s wonderful that you can forgive her. I wish I could, but I can’t.” Carol crossed her arms and rubbed herself as if she’d felt a chill.
Abby stood up. “Hey, where’s that brother of mine?”
“Bobby went to one of those roller-skating birthday parties. I have to pick him up at four.”
Abby was on her way up to her room when Carol stopped her. “Oh, wait a minute! I almost forgot,” she said, reaching into her pocket. She handed Abby an envelope. “Isn’t that from that teen magazine you sent your short story to?”
Abby gasped, then froze, her eyes fixed on the imprint on the return address. “The envelope is too small for them to have sent back my manuscript with a rejection,” she said as she slid her index finger under the back flap. “Maybe I forgot to put in an SASE or … Look at this!” She pulled out a contract and scanned what appeared to be an acceptance letter. “American Teenager is going to publish my short story! For two hundred dollars! And they want to know what else I have. Here, read their letter!”
Carol reached for the letter and quickly read it. “Abby, this is so wonderful. If I remember correctly, you sent that story out at least a year ago. I all but forgot about it.” She threw her arms around the girl and hugged her. “We have to celebrate. I’m going to call Donovan right now! Where do you want to go for dinner?”
“Magnolias. I want those fried chicken livers!”
Carol laughed. “Magnolias it is. You’re probably the only kid in the world who likes chicken livers. I’m so proud of you, honey.”
Abby’s voice turned shy. “Someday when Bobby is older, I want him to read my story so he’ll know what you and Donovan went through to adopt him, and how excited I was to get a baby brother.”
“I’m sure he’d love to read it but give him a few more years. Ten-year-olds are kinda … well, you know.”
“I know,” Abby said as she rolled her eyes.
“Bobby adores you, Abby. He’ll be as proud of you as I am. And Donovan is just going to bust wide open.”
Abby hugged Carol, her eyes full of tears. “You have been so good to me, Aunt Carol. I couldn’t love you more if you were my real mother. Sometimes I think I should have called you mom. Why didn’t I?”
Carol hugged Abby back. “Because that title is reserved for your real mother. No one else. I know how you feel about me. That’s all that is important.”
“My mother, she—She didn’t even like me,” Abby said, remembering the hurtful things her mother had said to her— things Mallory had taken delight in repeating. “I know it was because of my face. She used to call me a freak.”
“She was a shallow, selfish woman, Abby. And she didn’t deserve to have a daughter like you. But that’s all in the past now. Don’t go dredging it all up unless you’re sure it’s a place you want to visit emotionally.”
“I suppose you’re right …”
“I’m troubled about Mallory,” Carol said, changing the subject. She stood back and stared at the wall.
Abby wished now she hadn’t mentioned Mallory’s letter, at least not until she’d decided what she wanted to do. For almost as long as she could remember, the mere mention of Mallory’s name had sent Carol into a tailspin. She wasn’t sure what Mallory had done that made Carol and Donovan send her away, but it must have been bad. Neither of them ever did anything without a good reason. “You know what? Now that I’ve thought about it, I think I’ll just send Mallory a card and a graduation gift. She’ll understand.”
A look of relief washed over Carol’s face. “I want you to do whatever feels right to you. Mallory is your sister, your only living blood relative. Maybe she’s changed. For her sake, I hope so.”
“Me too,” Abby said, nodding.
The two stood in thoughtful silence for a few moments, before Carol said, “Let’s do something wonderful with our hair and makeup tonight.”
“I say we pile it on top of our heads and use those new little butterfly clips that I got. Hair jewelry, it’s called. Then we’ll do our eyes—liner pencil, mascara, eye shadow—the works. And I’ll wear my pancake makeup. With that on, and at night, no one will even notice my birthmark.” Abby twirled around, giggling, “Look out Charleston, here we come!”
“I’ll call Donovan and pick up Bobby. I have to stop at the grocery store for cold cuts. I should be back in about an hour or so. Take some time to reread Mallory’s letter and to bask in your good fortune.” She gave Abby a quick hug. “I’m so happy for you, honey. This is just a wild guess on my part, but I bet someday you are going to be a famous writer. Donovan and I will be able to say we knew her when.”
Abby flushed, the port-wine stain turning a deep, purplish color.
Carol fought off the tears at the sight of the ugly birthmark.
“You’re right as usual,” Abby replied, her mind already someplace else. “That’s exactly what I want to do. When you see me next, I’ll be one-half of the ravishing Mitchell team.”
Abby headed for her bedroom and closed the door behind her. The sudden silence was so startling, she looked around to see why. Normally Bobby was in the next room, whooping and hollering or had his television blaring. The silence unnerved her. Or was it Mallory’s letter? Why did it have to come today of all days? Why not tomorrow or the day after? “You always had a knack for spoiling everything for me, Mallory,” Abby muttered as she sat down at her desk.
If only Mallory hadn’t been so mean-spirited and difficult, Abby thought. She would have liked growing up with her, would have loved sharing this room with her. They could have had pillow fights, fought over the shower and the blow-dryer, worn each other’s clothes, whispered about boys in the dark, shared secrets, and been friends.
It was a perfect room for two sisters. Extra large—Donovan had seen to that when he had the house built five years ago. There were twin beds with deep rose quilted spreads that matched the drapes and thick, pale pink carpeting. The furniture was a girlish pristine white; even the extra-long desk to hold her computer and printer were white. She had her own television and VCR and her own private phone. Special heavy-duty bookshelves were full of bright-jacketed books. Books that she’d read, not books for looks or show. There was a walk-in closet full of skis, roller skates, a hockey stick, ice skates, and her Flexible Flyer, whose runners she waxed every year when they went to the mountains in North Carolina. A comfortable room. Her own private sanctuary.
The house had been under construction during Mallory’s last visit. Donovan had given them all a tou
r, pointing out whose room was whose. When he’d come to the extra room, he’d called it the “spare bedroom.” Until this moment, Abby had forgotten that day. She wondered if Mallory had.
Abby squared her shoulders as she marched her way to the closet to take down a box Bobby had made for her in his kindergarten class, five years ago. She smiled as she looked at the shoe box covered with faded red construction paper. Goldsprayed macaroni dotted the top to spell out her name. She carried it to the desk and set it down next to the two letters.
The letter from Mallory was exquisite, her penmanship beautiful, the stationery expensive and regal-looking. Abby turned the letter over, half-expecting to see a royal seal on the back. At the very least, a glob of red wax on the envelope.
Dear Abby,
I imagine this letter is going to be a bit of a shock. I apologize for that. I also apologize for sending it to you in care of the school. I thought it best so that Carol and Donovan don’t have to deal with old memories. Of course, it’s up to you if you share this letter with them or not.
I’m writing to invite you to my graduation. I know you must be up to your chin in activities of your own, as you are graduating, too. Yes, Donovan wrote and told me that you would be graduating a year ahead of schedule and that you’re valedictorian of your class. I am, too. I think it’s weird—you and me class valedictorians! He also said you were admitted to the University of Wisconsin. Congratulations! I got accepted at Georgia Tech. I’m not going, though. College doesn’t interest me in the least. I want to see the world, and I want to live. I can do that with my inheritance. I’m tired of locked doors, curfews, rules, regulations, doctors, shrinks, and wardens. I know I could have left a couple of years ago, but I was afraid. Of what, I’m not sure. I believe these last years have given me the confidence I need to face the world.
You probably won’t understand this, but I don’t want Donovan and Carol to come to my graduation. It’s just better for all of us. This way none of us will have to pretend things are normal. Most of the graduates here are in the same position I’m in. We talk about it in counseling sessions. If you don’t want to come or if you’re too busy, I understand. I’ll be in touch.
Your sister,
Mallory
P.S. I’m taking back our old name of Evans as soon as I can.
Abby folded the letter and slid it into its envelope. She lifted the top off the shoe box to stare down at the contents. Souvenirs, mementos, snapshots, movie stubs, a tarnished silver bracelet Mallory had left behind, and the picture. She wished she knew how many times she’d stared at the picture. It was a cruel picture, a caricature of her with half her face colored in purple and the word UGLY printed in big block letters and underneath in even bigger letters, the words, I HATE YOU.
Abby pinched herself so she wouldn’t cry. It would never do to have red eyes when she was going to a celebration dinner. She carried the box back to the shelf in her closet.
Did she want to go to Mallory’s graduation? Did she want to see her sister? No and no. Should she turn the other cheek, be more forgiving? To what end? Donovan and Carol would probably consider it a personal betrayal.
Abby reached for her pen and tore a sheet of paper from her marble notebook. She scribbled furiously.
Dear Mallory,
I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to come to your graduation. As it is, I don’t know where I’m going to get the time to do all that I have to do before I leave for college. I wish you would change your mind about Georgia Tech. Education is critical these days. Whatever you decide to do I know you will be successful. I wish you well.
I have some exciting news! I just sold a short story to American Teenager magazine. I might turn out to be a writer after all!
One other thing, Mallory. I don’t know too much about financial matters, but it would seem to me that you should invest your inheritance. Please don’t fritter it away on a good time. I’m not jealous, Mallory. Mama wanted you to have her insurance money, and that’s okay with me. I just urge you to spend it wisely.
Enjoy your graduation.
Abby
Abby addressed the envelope and slid it to the side of her desk. A wide grin split her features when she reopened the second letter she’d received that day. She rolled her eyes as she hugged her chest. “This is so wonderful! So very wonderful! Thank You, God! Thank You very much.”
“I can’t believe that you’re actually going off to college,” Carol said tearfully as she sat down between the boxes she’d been helping Abby pack. “I’m going to miss you so much, honey. I swore I wasn’t going to cry and what am I doing? I just want someone to tell me where these last three months went.”
“You’re crying,” Abby said, leaning over and wrapping her arms around Carol. “Christmas isn’t that far off. I’ll be home then for three whole weeks. By the time I’m ready to leave, you’ll be sick of me because I’ll be a know-it-all with all this higher education that’s going to be jammed down my throat. I’ll call and write. I promise.”
Carol mindlessly folded Abby’s sweaters. “You’d better, young lady. Are you still up for your first surgery? You aren’t going to change your mind, are you?”
“No, I am not going to change my mind. I’m going to go through with it, but I think we both know it isn’t going to work. I read all the latest articles on port-wine stains, and I can tell you, mine is too large and too deep.” She touched the side of her face. “God gave me this birthmark for a reason, and I don’t think He’s going to allow some doctor to take it away. I’ll do it this time on the off chance that it might help, but I can’t promise any future surgeries.”
“I understand, and I don’t blame you one bit. Donovan has himself convinced it’s going to work.”
“I know. I hope he won’t be too disappointed when it doesn’t. I saw the date circled on the calendar. It’s scheduled for the day after I get home.” Abby took the stack of sweaters from Carol, put them in the box, and taped it shut. “I think that’s the last of it.”
Carol pulled her list from her pocket. “Sheets, pillows, blankets, down comforter, towels, toiletries, winter clothes, fancy clothes, writing materials, mittens, mufflers, shearling jacket, your little television, radio, tape recorder, computer, printer, pencils, family pictures. Oh, my God, where’s Bailey?”
“In my carry bag. He goes with me in case they lose my luggage. Do you think I’m silly for taking him, Aunt Carol?”
“No, of course not,” Carol said, smiling. “He’s been your best friend for as long as I can remember. He’s been washed, stuffed, and sewn so many times I’ve lost count. I wish he could talk.”
Abby’s face sobered. “No, you don’t, Aunt Carol. Believe me, you don’t.”
“C’mon, ladies, let’s shake it, or we’re going to miss the plane. Don’t tell me you’re bawling! You are,” Donovan groaned. “That’s great. Now you both have red, puffy eyes. How’s that going to look?”
Carol latched her arm through Donovan’s. “It’s going to look like Abby has a family who’s going to miss her, and may I ask why your eyes are all bloodshot, Donovan Mitchell?”
“Because I was cleaning out the fireplace and soot got in my eyes.”
Abby wedged herself between them. “You two have given me such a good life. I want to say something special, something meaningful, but I don’t know what the words are.” She looked from one to the other. “You never let this thing on my face bother you. You were always there for me. I hope I haven’t disappointed you. I’ll do my best to make you proud of me.”
Carol burst into tears.
Donovan cleared his throat. “Get in the car, both of you. Bobby’s waiting. He’s liable to start up the car. That kid is so inquisitive. He’s worse than you ever were, Abby.”
Abby linked her arms through Carol’s and Donovan’s. “I love you both so much.”
Donovan’s shoulders started to shake.
“Easy, big guy,” Carol hissed in his ear. “She’ll be home for Christmas.”<
br />
“Yeah, probably with a boyfriend in tow. That’s how it usually works,” he said matter-of-factly as he went around the front of the car.
Carol held back, stunned by his comment. She’d never given a single thought to Abby having a boyfriend. She’d had a date from time to time, but usually the boy had been a friend or one of Donovan’s employee’s sons. She’d never had a boyfriend, not in the true sense of the word.
All these years Carol had had Abby to herself. She’d dried her tears, bandaged her knees and elbows, patched her dolls, and given her a shoulder to cry on. She’d made her into the little girl she’d never been able to have because of a botched abortion as a teenager. The thought of Abby having a real boyfriend, then maybe a fiancé, and eventually a husband … The thought of her not needing her anymore, leaving …
A suffocating sensation tightened her throat.
“I swear, Abby Mitchell, you must have been out of your mind to come out here to college when you could have stayed in South Carolina where it’s warm. It’s five degrees below zero with a windchill of twenty below. Look at you, you’re freezing. Here, borrow these long johns of mine,” Bunny Webster said, tossing a bundle of clothing toward Abby.
“You want me to go on a date wearing long underwear? A first date, and a blind date as well? No thank you. I’d rather freeze.”
“It’s part of the wardrobe. Everyone here wears long johns. You’re wearing slacks and boots. You aren’t planning on showing off what you have, are you? On top of that, Connor Bradford isn’t exactly a blind date. You already met him, he met you, we all ate lunch together. He wears long underwear and will tell you so. He is not put off by your birthmark, so what’s our problem here?”
Abby headed for the bathroom. “You’re just like my Aunt Carol. I never won an argument with her either. Tell me more about Connor.”
“He’s a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person. Kind of in-your-face, like me. He’s incredibly brainy, like you, but not a nerd, again, kinda like you. You two will have a lot in common. He wants to be a reporter for the New York Times. The investigative kind. He’s majoring in journalism just the way you want to. Third-year man and belongs to the best frat house on campus.”
The Guest List Page 6