“More like eighteen,” she corrected. “I was pregnant with Cam at the time. Which is probably why I wasn’t thinking clearly.”
Dad nodded slowly, lips pressed together as he tried not to laugh.
“There’s no need to be petty,” Mom huffed.
“Certainly not,” he agreed.
“You see, Mary, it’s never too late to put things right.” Mom smoothed the hair at my temples. “Finish your tea, take a nice bath, and get some sleep. Things will look better in the morning.”
I sincerely doubted that. Then again, the thought of waiting two decades for the situation to right itself was not particularly appealing.
The phone rang in the front hall. After a quick look at me, Mom rose to answer. “Yes,” I heard her murmur. “She’s here. No. It’s fine.”
I held my breath as she walked back into the living room. “That was Cam,” she said. “Making sure you got home safely.”
The last ember of hope died. Of course it was my sister. Who else would be calling me, ever again?
Dear Diary,
I’m not going to write anything down because I will never ever want to remember this time in my life.
Maybe I should just throw you in the fire.
No offense.
M.P.M.
Chapter 28
If there was any justice in the world,I would have caught a dramatic illness on my dash through the freezing rain. Then at least I would have an excuse to spend the next few months lying pale and wasted in my frigid garret, coughing spots of blood into a lace hankie. Instead, I woke with nothing worse than a headache and swollen eyelids to betray my inner turmoil.
Overnight the precipitation had turned into a solid layer of ice, coating branches and sidewalks. Or so it looked through the window of my bedroom, where I spent most of the day. I would have taken to my bed on a more permanent basis if I thought I could get away with it, but my mother didn’t believe in malingering. There was no way she’d let me skip school just because I’d laid waste to my entire existence in a single miserable evening.
Thus it was that on Monday morning I dragged myself out of bed and dressed in an appropriately gloomy brownish-gray sweater.
“You look veryWinter of Our Discontent,” Van commented when I walked into the dining room. Jasper watched this exchange with interest, no doubt waiting to chime in with a helpful observation of his own.
“Don’t forget your father and I are having dinner with the provost,” Mom said, casually stirring a pat of butter into her hot cereal. “There are leftovers in the refrigerator.”
On cue, my siblings began arguing about who got the lentils and who got the stew. I suspected the diversion had been deliberate, especially when Mom flashed me an encouraging smile. Which was all well and good, except that the real challenge was yet to come, and unless I could think of a way to bring my mommy to school with me, I’d be facing the rest of the day on my own.
There was no dramatic confrontation. I avoided my friends, and assumed they were doing the same. Even amid the noise of the hallways, silence surrounded me, slowly thickening until it felt like a solid enclosure, cutting off air and light.
This was how it happened to a fallen woman: once your transgressions came to light, you were walled off from polite society. Invisible. Forgotten. They might as well set you on the SSDisgraceand shove you out to sea. By the end of the week, I could count my social interactions on one hand.
Monday, someone in my English class asked to borrow a pencil.
On Tuesday, I was so hungry by the last bell (having skipped lunch for the second day running) that I found myself detouring to Tome Raider on the way home. Every time a car passed I stiffened, forcing myself not to whip around and check whether it was Arden’s. The balance tipped back and forth between wanting to see them and dreading the possibility. What if they cruised right past me, pretending I wasn’t there—thecut direct?Or gave me dirty looks and whispered behind their hands? Or maybe they would mournfully shake their heads, regretting every second they’d wasted in my company.
“Hello, Mary,” Doug called as I stepped inside, stomping the slush off my feet. “Table for four?”
My bottom lip quivered. “Just one today.”And probably forever. But no, that wasn’t fair. Maybe I could send my former friends an anonymous note, deeding them the rights to Shaggy Doug’s. I would hang out at home instead. In my room. With the curtains drawn.
“No problem,” he replied, a little too heartily. “One is fun!”
I attempted a smile as I slouched across the room. Judging by Doug’s anxious expression, it wasn’t a success.
“I’m doing myAnne of Green Gablesmenu,” he said, wiping his hands on the towel tucked in his waistband.
