Claire's Not-So-Gothic Romance by Blythe Bonnie

Author:Blythe, Bonnie [Blythe, Bonnie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2010-10-09T04:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

More than I could trust myself to say—

more than words had power to express

As the credits of Picnic at Hanging Rock roll down the screen, I draw my knees up to my chest where I sit on my bed watching the end of the movie through a blur. The movie rouses long-buried memories and a sense of eerie detachment from reality. Scattered on the bedspread are old scrapbooks filled with photos from happier times—pictures of Shelly before she became man-hungry and cynical. Am I any better?

Unfortunately, I don’t have the answer to that question just yet.

After returning home from the ice cream shop and brooding for hours about Shelly’s words, I picked up Jane Eyre, hoping to get my mind off my troubles. But Jane’s stresses only projected onto me and I shut the book with a snap. Watching a movie to distract my swirling thoughts was a worse decision.

I grab some tissue and blow my nose. In some ways, I wish we never had to grow up. I miss sleepovers, making plans for a glorious future, promising each other that we’d remain best friends forever. Where did it end? When did Shelly decide to take a different path?

Why did I let her go without a fight?

I release a shuddering sigh when I remember the contempt in Shelly’s eyes. Is she right? Do I live with my head in the clouds? Maybe I do, but I can’t help it if the view’s better.

And Sam. The vision of him with other women sears my brain. I try to remember what he said specifically about his past, other than that it was dark. At this point I’m prepared to be content with generalities, but the poison dropped into my ear wends its way to my heart before I can stop it.

What do I expect? Some kind of knight in shining armor with a celibacy vow until marriage? Do they really exist? I suppose they must, but is that my primary goal for a man? It’s a wish, sure, but should I dismiss out of hand someone who’d once made bad choices? What about my past choices? They might not be the same, but I’ve had my own issues that needed God’s forgiveness.

Maybe the real question is why am I more horrified by Shelly’s admission than Sam’s probable past sins? Am I involved in a double standard here?

I stare unseeing at the wall. The difference is that Sam has apparently departed from the lifestyle that Shelly is jumping into without a qualm.

My mother’s voice reverberates up the stairs. I scrub my eyes with the heels of my hands and get up from the bed. I find her in the kitchen ladling lentil soup into a large bowl. Glancing at the clock, I see that it’s after eight.

“You called?”

My mother carefully places a plastic lid over the bowl then pulls a freshly baked loaf of herb bread from the oven and wraps it in a towel. “Do you think Sam has any butter at his house?”

I blow a lock of hair from my eyes.

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