Read Online Deviant by Helen Fitzgerald - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Helen Fitzgerald
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be well educated. She
would
go to university.
“It’s only a five-minute drive for you,” Grahame added.
“Oh! But I can’t drive.”
“We can sort that out. Melanie, can you arrange things?”
“Of course,” Melanie said. “You can start Driver’s Ed and take a car service in the meantime. You’ll have your license by Thanksgiving.”
“You could get a van like mine!” Becky sounded excited. If Abigail had the choice she’d go for something very different, something with no roof perhaps.
“Or you could go for a soft top like mine?” Her father was still reading her thoughts. “Get some sun on that Scottish skin. What sort of car would you like?”
What sort of car would I like?
She almost laughed at theabsurdity of the question. “I don’t know. You don’t have to get me one, you know.”
“What about something pink?” Melanie suggested. Everyone in her new family seemed to have very firm ideas about cars.
“Think about it.” Grahame put his tea cup down and slapped his hands on his knees. “I feel terrible about this, but I have to go to work. I’ll be home for dinner though. Will you be all right?”
Abigail nodded. “Sure.”
He stood and leaned down toward her. She wasn’t sure why at first, but as he got closer she realized he was coming in for a hug. “Welcome home.”
It wasn’t easy hugging a standing man. She got it all wrong: put her arms under his, so hers landed around his waist, which felt ickily intimate. Plus, because she was sitting, her face was in his chest. She could barely get the words out—“Thanks, Dad”—before patting his back like boys do in order to stop the hug, to stop it right now.
He kissed Melanie then rubbed the top of Becky’s head. “Your sister’ll look after you. You wouldn’t believe how excited she’s been since she found out.”
Becky shrugged. She caught Abigail’s eyes. Her smile grew strained. She removed her father’s hand and straightened her ruffled hair.
“Bye, my three lovely girls,” he said, as if he’d said it all his life.
M ELANIE SPENT THE NEXT half hour talking about the welcome-home event she was planning in Abigail’s honor.
The party of the season! The talk of the town! So much to do!
Abigail’s stomach twisted. The party felt wrong, and not just because she was embarrassed at all the fuss. If her mother’s letter was to be trusted, Grahame hadn’t even known she’d existed until a few days ago. And now her new stepmom was planning a homecoming? On the other hand, her dead-stranger-mother had written that her alive-stranger-father would be kind to her. Clearly his kindness extended to the alive-stranger-father’s new wife. A party was certainly kind, if it was anything.
You look like a size six! I know just the shop!
She liked Melanie, but she was talking too much.
What do the Scotch eat?
Scots! The Scots!
All the men should wear kilts—
“I’m going to show Abigail her room,” Becky interrupted.
“Thanks for the tea, Melanie,” Abigail called as her sister dragged her out into the hall. “Thanks for everything!”
“H ERE, HAVE SOME OF this, it’ll loosen us up.”
Abigail didn’t smoke dope. Didn’t like the feel of smoking, for a start, but most of all, she hated losing control. She never did that, ever. Now was definitely
not
the time to experiment.
When that blue Toyota drove her to a place called “care,” everything was taken away except the clarity of her thoughts. She’d clung to that clarity like a life raft ever since.
Besides, of all the newness to take in, the hardest was this ghost girl sitting cross-legged on the desk across from her. Even the pot smelled different, grown in the Californian sun and not under Scottish lamps, perhaps; or maybe it was the tobacco mixed in. Becky smoked like an old-fashioned movie star, unaware or unashamed. She could hold a joint, inhale and exhale while doing a host of other things, talking and sipping water, whatever the moment
would
go to university.
“It’s only a five-minute drive for you,” Grahame added.
“Oh! But I can’t drive.”
“We can sort that out. Melanie, can you arrange things?”
“Of course,” Melanie said. “You can start Driver’s Ed and take a car service in the meantime. You’ll have your license by Thanksgiving.”
“You could get a van like mine!” Becky sounded excited. If Abigail had the choice she’d go for something very different, something with no roof perhaps.
“Or you could go for a soft top like mine?” Her father was still reading her thoughts. “Get some sun on that Scottish skin. What sort of car would you like?”
What sort of car would I like?
She almost laughed at theabsurdity of the question. “I don’t know. You don’t have to get me one, you know.”
“What about something pink?” Melanie suggested. Everyone in her new family seemed to have very firm ideas about cars.
“Think about it.” Grahame put his tea cup down and slapped his hands on his knees. “I feel terrible about this, but I have to go to work. I’ll be home for dinner though. Will you be all right?”
Abigail nodded. “Sure.”
He stood and leaned down toward her. She wasn’t sure why at first, but as he got closer she realized he was coming in for a hug. “Welcome home.”
It wasn’t easy hugging a standing man. She got it all wrong: put her arms under his, so hers landed around his waist, which felt ickily intimate. Plus, because she was sitting, her face was in his chest. She could barely get the words out—“Thanks, Dad”—before patting his back like boys do in order to stop the hug, to stop it right now.
He kissed Melanie then rubbed the top of Becky’s head. “Your sister’ll look after you. You wouldn’t believe how excited she’s been since she found out.”
Becky shrugged. She caught Abigail’s eyes. Her smile grew strained. She removed her father’s hand and straightened her ruffled hair.
“Bye, my three lovely girls,” he said, as if he’d said it all his life.
M ELANIE SPENT THE NEXT half hour talking about the welcome-home event she was planning in Abigail’s honor.
The party of the season! The talk of the town! So much to do!
Abigail’s stomach twisted. The party felt wrong, and not just because she was embarrassed at all the fuss. If her mother’s letter was to be trusted, Grahame hadn’t even known she’d existed until a few days ago. And now her new stepmom was planning a homecoming? On the other hand, her dead-stranger-mother had written that her alive-stranger-father would be kind to her. Clearly his kindness extended to the alive-stranger-father’s new wife. A party was certainly kind, if it was anything.
You look like a size six! I know just the shop!
She liked Melanie, but she was talking too much.
What do the Scotch eat?
Scots! The Scots!
All the men should wear kilts—
“I’m going to show Abigail her room,” Becky interrupted.
“Thanks for the tea, Melanie,” Abigail called as her sister dragged her out into the hall. “Thanks for everything!”
“H ERE, HAVE SOME OF this, it’ll loosen us up.”
Abigail didn’t smoke dope. Didn’t like the feel of smoking, for a start, but most of all, she hated losing control. She never did that, ever. Now was definitely
not
the time to experiment.
When that blue Toyota drove her to a place called “care,” everything was taken away except the clarity of her thoughts. She’d clung to that clarity like a life raft ever since.
Besides, of all the newness to take in, the hardest was this ghost girl sitting cross-legged on the desk across from her. Even the pot smelled different, grown in the Californian sun and not under Scottish lamps, perhaps; or maybe it was the tobacco mixed in. Becky smoked like an old-fashioned movie star, unaware or unashamed. She could hold a joint, inhale and exhale while doing a host of other things, talking and sipping water, whatever the moment
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