Diary of an Ugly Duckling by Langhorne, Karyn (general ebook reader .txt) 📕

she

could finish—“like it or not, you’re still my daughter

and you can still come home.”

But instead of prompting anger, a surprising feel-

ing of gratitude welled up in Adura’s heart.

“Thanks, Ma,” Audra said softly. “But it’s really

too late. I’ve come this far.” She shrugged. “I guess

I’ll see it through.”

Edith was silent for a long moment and Audra

half expected her next words to be in the “you’re out

of your mind” vein the woman had been mining for

the past month. But to her surprise, her mother

asked, “You scared?”

“A little . . . I guess.”

“Well, I am,” Edith declared with a little more of

her usual fight and fire. “I got one daughter in Iraq

and the other on a reality show.” She made an odd

strangled noise that sounded like a laugh gone bad.

“From where I’m sitting, I got two children in the

crosshairs and there’s nothing I can do about it but

pray.”

Audra wanted to respond, to reassure her that all

would be well . . . but with thoughts swirling in her

head like the debris picked up by a tornado—each

thought more confusing than the last—she knew

there wasn’t much she could say that would be

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201

credible. It was one thing to submit a tape, visit with

doctors, smear some cream on your skin. It was

something else to spend three days in surgery with

only a picture generated by a computer to guide your

expectations of what you’d look like when it was all

done. It was something else to let people start pick-

ing and prying into your most private of memories

and motives . . . and something else yet again to try

to go home again after the picking and prodding—

both physical and emotional—was through.

“All the ladies down at the shop can’t wait to see

you when this is done,” her mother was saying. “I

keep telling them they won’t know you, but I don’t

go into the details. I mean,” and again she spoke

quickly as if to prevent interruption, “no one really

knows how all this is gonna come out. Let ’em see

for themselves, that’s what I say—”

“Ma—”

“I don’t want to talk about none of that, Audra,”

her mother’s voice rose to strident. “You already

said you’re gonna do it anyway, so what’s the

point?”

“Ma—”

“Aren’t you listening? I said I don’t want to talk

about any of it, so don’t even try to—”

“Shut up, Ma, and listen!” Audra shouted into the

phone. She inhaled deeply into the silence that fol-

lowed. “I just wanted to tell you . . . in case some-

thing happens to me—”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you. Nothing’s go-

ing to happen to you or Petra—”

“In case something happens to me,” Audra re-

peated loudly, drowning out her mother’s words,

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“that there’s a little document box under my bed—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know about the box under your

bed.”

Audra frowned. “How do you know about it?”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then her

mother said, “I found it when I was . . . cleaning . . .

one day.”

“You haven’t cleaned my room since I was thir-

teen, Ma,” Audra said skeptically. “Now what were

you doing—”

“Okay, okay,” Edith sounded annoyed. “I was

snooping, I admit it.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter now, I guess,” Audra said

smiling in spite of the violation. It was so typical . . .

so Edith. And from three thousand miles away,

there really wasn’t anything else to do but smile.

“It’s late,” Edith said abruptly. “Thanks for call-

ing, but you really should be getting to sleep.”

“Yeah . . .” Audra agreed, but her heart wasn’t in

it. Any other time she would have been glad to es-

cape from the nagging that was Edith, but tonight,

she wanted her mother, could have talked to her

mother all night long.

“Well, then,” Edith inhaled, gathering herself to-

gether to perform a difficult task. “Good night.”

“Good night, Ma.”

But neither of them hung up. The connection

stayed open, recording their breathing, each for the

other to hear.

“I love you, Audra,” her mother said at last, and

her voice had the tight, strangled sound of a person

who was trying very hard not to let anyone know

she was crying.

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203

“I love you, too, Ma,” Audra replied, her own eyes

filling with tears, and it was only then that she heard

the light click of the receiver and knew that her

mother had finally hung up.

Audra sank down on the bed, her mind reeling.

The doctors had advised her to get a good night’s

sleep . . . but that seemed to be shot to hell now.

There was too much to think about, too much to

worry about . . . too much to regret.

With the touch of a button, the television sprang

to life and Audra was transported, mid-story, into

another time, another place. Gene Kelly was danc-

ing . . .

She must have fallen asleep, because when she

came to herself again, the phone was ringing. Audra

almost pulled the pillow over her head to block out

the sound, until she remembered where she was and

grabbed for the phone.

“Officer Marks?”

Audra sat up, alarmed. The voice was female,

youthful, formally polite, unfamiliar. A thousand

thoughts swarmed through her mind as she came

fully into consciousness . . . but only two had

names.

“What is it? Is it Petra? Michael—”

“No, Officer Marks . . . it’s me. Penny Bradshaw.”

Penny Bradshaw?

“How did—” Audra began, but the girl inter-

cepted her.

“My Dad got a call from the show. Asking if we

would come to the Reveal . . . and for permission to

use my name and . . . uh . . . comments.”

Of course. Audra rubbed her forehead. “They

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certainly are thorough, aren’t they?” she muttered.

“How much trouble are you in?”

The young woman at the other end of the tele-

phone line twittered a nervous little laugh. “I’m call-

ing you, aren’t I? To apologize?” Her tone changed

into one flat and carefully rehearsed. “I was very

rude to you, Officer Marks, and I apologize. I hope

you’ll forgive me for what I said to you”—she low-

ered her voice to an eager stage whisper—“but I

think what you’re