Plain Jane Macallister. Joan Elliott Pickart

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      Emily got to her feet and started across the room, stopping in the middle and pressing clutched hands against her stomach.

      “Listen to me, please, Mark,” she said, her voice trembling. “I know you hate me, but don’t destroy my…our son because of your feelings toward me. I know I can’t keep you away from Trevor, but won’t you just be his friend, get to know him, let him get to know you? Then, when you’ve built a firm foundation with him, we’ll find a way to tell him that… Oh, God, how do I tell my child that I lied to him?”

      “Write him a damn letter,” Mark said, getting to his feet.

      “Mark, I’m begging you, please don’t shatter Trevor’s world. Don’t do that to him. Think about him, what it will do to him if you just blurt out the truth. Can’t you find it in your heart to take this slowly and…forget how you feel about me. Put Trevor first.” Two tears slid down Emily’s face. “He’s just a baby who needs to be treated gently, kindly, with love. Oh, Mark, please.”

      Mark planted his hands on his hips and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment, before looking at Emily again.

      “All right,” he said. “We’ll do this your way…for now. For Trevor’s sake. Make certain you understand that, Emily. I’m doing this for my son. I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

      Emily nodded jerkily.

      “I’ll be here to have dinner with you and Trevor tomorrow night.”

      “What?” she said.

      “You heard me. You invited your old school chum, as you so quaintly put it, to share a meal with you and your son. There’s nothing unusual about that. Trevor and I can talk, chat while we eat, which will break the ice. What time?”

      “I…”

      “What time, Emily?”

      “Six o’clock,” she said, her shoulders slumping. “We always have dinner at six.”

      “Fine. I’ll be here,” he said, then started toward the door.

      “Do you still like sun tea with honey, instead of sugar?”

      Mark spun around. “Don’t go there, Emily. Don’t even think of trying that routine. Don’t attempt to soften me up with cute little trips down memory lane because it won’t work and…” He paused and frowned. “Why did you remember a dumb detail like that, my liking honey in my sun tea instead of sugar?”

      Because I loved you, you dolt, Emily thought. You don’t like cloth napkins. You eat the seeds in watermelon because it’s too much trouble to pick them out. Your favorite color is pale pink like the inside of a seashell, but you thought that sounded too girly so you always said it was blue. You like French fries but detest hash brown potatoes. These aren’t dumb details, you idiot. They’re memories. Mine. To keep…forever.

      “Forget it,” Mark said, continuing on to the door and opening it. “Good night, Emily. No, correct that. There hasn’t been one good thing about this night. I’ll see you at six tomorrow.”

      Mark closed the door behind him with a quiet click as he left, but even so, Emily cringed, feeling as though she’d suffered a physical blow. Two more tears slithered down her cheeks, and she dashed them away. She returned to the chair and sank onto it, staring at the door.

      In the next instant she got to her feet and went into the kitchen where she opened the refrigerator freezer and reached for some comfort, some food, her shaking hand gripping a carton of ice cream. She snatched her fingers back as though they had been burned, and slammed the freezer closed with more force than was necessary.

      Nearly running, she hurried to her bedroom, opened the top drawer of her dresser and picked up an exquisite mother-of-pearl hand mirror, which she hugged to her breasts as she settled onto the edge of the bed.

      She closed her eyes and allowed herself to float back to the day in January when her grandfather had asked her to come to his study to receive the special gift he’d spoken of at Christmas. Each grandchild was to meet with Robert MacAllister privately and be given a present he’d selected just for them. Whether they told anyone what it was would be up to them.

      Emily remembered, tracing one fingertip over the edge of the mirror that she had gasped in awe when she’d unwrapped the gift and seen the beautiful mirror.

      It belonged to my mother, Robert MacAllister had told her. It always had a place of honor on her dressing table because my father had given it to her. Now? I want you to have it, Emily, for a very specific reason.

      Emily looked at her grandfather questioningly.

      My mother taught me, Robert went on, with that mirror, to see past the outer trappings of myself and understand, get to know who I was becoming within, to never lose track of the real Robert MacAllister.

      Emily nodded.

      That’s what I want you to do with the mirror, darling Emily. Gaze at your image in a private place when you’re alone. Discover who you really are behind that smile you keep so firmly in place and beneath those extra pounds you’ve put on to put distance between you and the world around you.

      Oh, Grandpa, Emily had said, her eyes filling with tears, it’s…it’s safe being fat and unattractive and… I hide in here, just keep smiling as I’ve always done and say that I’m doing fine and… She shook her head as tears choked off her words.

      I know, Robert said gently. You’re also hiding in your house by running your business from there. It’s time to step forward, Emily. The mirror will help give you the courage you need to accomplish what you must do. I love you, my sweet Emily. Come out of the shadows and walk in the sunshine.

      You’re so wise, Grandpa. This is a wonderful gift that I’ll always cherish and I promise you that I’ll try to do what you’re asking of me. I will.

      And she was, Emily thought, lifting the mirror so she could see her reflection. Right after the new year holidays, she’d gone to her Aunt Kara, who was a semi-retired physician, had a complete physical, then asked Kara to outline a healthy diet and regiment of exercise. Kara had agreed that Emily had fifty pounds to shed, a fact that Emily knew embarrassed her son when his fat mother was seen by his friends.

      Slowly but surely the pounds had melted away, one after another. Thirty gone; twenty left to go.

      “You still look like Porky Pig’s sister,” Emily said to her reflection. “Mark must have been thoroughly disgusted when he saw how you’ve let yourself become a blimp.” She paused and sighed. “No, forget that. Mark doesn’t give a rip about what I look like. He’s too busy hating me because I…”

      Emily got to her feet and replaced the mirror in the drawer.

      There was no purpose to be served by tormenting herself with the long list of Mark’s accusations. He believed that she had never loved him at all, which wasn’t true. It wasn’t.

      She had never stopped loving the Mark Maxwell she had known when they were teenagers. She’d hidden in her cocoon of fat and inside her house, and when she became too lonely she’d reach within herself for that love, wrap it around her like a warm, fuzzy blanket as she relived the memories of what she’d СКАЧАТЬ