Read Online The Guest List by Fern Michaels - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Fern Michaels
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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 tour, 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 purpleand 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
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 tour, 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 purpleand 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
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