Midnight Flight (Broken Wings 2) - Page 173

The only thing is, just like you two, I imagine, thoughts about returning to that place make me shudder as well.

I wonder about Mindy There doesn't seem to be any way to find out about her. For all we know; she might still be locked up in some clinic. Maybe she's too far gone to be cured, ever. I hope not. You ever think about her?

And of course, I think a great deal about Gia, how she kept so much of herself hidden from us, disguised in imaginary people and events. When I think about it, my parents essentially gave me away, too; and I rate my uncle and aunt about the same in the horror factor as Dr. Foreman. You'd have to meet my aunt to see what I mean. The big difference was that my daddy really hoped to have me back.

Well, I guess I'll have to tell you. I've met someone nice. I'm talking about a boy. His name's Ralston Marks. He's on the football team. Actually, he's the quarterback. Teal, don't start bragging about your boyfriends.

Ralston is unlike any boy I have ever been with. He's polite, religious, but not overly so, and he's a very good student. He looks to be a shoo-in for scholarships to important colleges. I don't know why he warns to be with me all the time, but be still my pitter-patter heart, he does. He says I'm one of the most mature girls for our age he's known.

I guess how I am now is a result of what we all went through. Everything other girls are doing seems to be so silly to me lately. I hate just hanging around malls anymore, and when I hear them gossiping in school, I really do think of Natani's chickens clucking. That's how Ralston first saw me, sitting there with this goofy smile on my face. He asked me what was so funny, and I told him and he laughed and we haven't stopped talking and being with each other since.

I should tell you that my foster parents are truly very nice people. My foster mother's name is Coco. She's French Canadian. Her parents emigrated there (How do you like the big word?) from a place called Cap Ferrat in southern France where theywere in the service industry, a nice-way to say butlers and maids. She met Andre in Quebec and they were married in Canada, then came to America and settled in Atlanta because of a business connection Andre had.

They now own a big department store; and Coco is the clothes buyer.

So here's the best news of all, yours truly models clothes at the store on Sundays, the new fashions from Europe. It was Coco's idea, I almost refused to do it because I remembered Dr. Foreman telling me I could be a model and she would arrange for that if I was just a good little Foreman girl. Why should we stop ourselves from doing things we like just because Dr. Foreman mentioned them, however?

I might actually continue doing this on a professional basis. A woman who runs a modeling agency stopped in last week. She said she had heard about me and she wants me to come see her. Coco approves. I really love her. She's so up and happy all the time and her and Andre's three children all like me, too.

All this happiness .frightens me. I keep thinking someone from my past is going to appear on the doorstep and have reasons why I can't continue. Do you have any of those sorts of fears? When will they stop?

Last week, at Andre and Coco's insistence, I - went to the cemetery and visited my daddy's and mama's graves. It didn't seem real to me. I had to keep rereading their names to convince myself that this was where they really were now.

Is there really any way to make peace with your past? I was tempted to crawl into one of Natani's shells, to avoid the tombstones, but I didn't. I couldn't.

And he was right, I couldn't stand there and say good-bye.

I knew I would be back many times and I would tell them good things.

And maybe someday even bring my own children along.

When I think of all this, I realize what it is we've achieved. Again, ironically, what we have achieved is something Dr. Foreman said we didn't have, a future.

We have a future, don't we?

We can hope, and most of all, we can dream.

Write me if you can, if you want, if it doesn't bring back too many painful memories.

I don't ever, ever want to be the cause of someone's painful memories again.

Love,

Phoebe bird

.

Dear Phoebe,

You won't believe this, but I have been after my big-shot brother to use his connections to find out where you are. He promised he would and bragged how easily he could do that. He knew this one in government and that one, and until your letter arrived yesterday, he has been able to find out zilch. That's a new word for your expanding vocabulary.

I am writing you this letter from my dorm. No, I'm not living at home. My parents, after many intense discussions, decided to put me into this Hew prep school. I hate to say it, but its a very good school, and like you, I am doing well in my academic work, and again like you, I haven't been in any serious trouble. Maybe a little trouble. I was almost caught our after curfew, but, and I know you won't believe it, I wasn't doing anything terribly exciting. I wasn't out meeting a boy or carrying on with some other girls or smoking. I was just walking and lost track of the time.

I do a lot of walking alone and thinking. Everyone thinks I'm weird, but I don't care.

My mother has visited me a number of times, more than I expected she would actually. She usually spends the entire visitation talking about her new charity events and planned vacations. She'll interrupt herself to tell me about some fashions she thinks are nice and elegant for me, and then she goes on to talk about some rich people I never knew and couldn't care less about knowing. But I have a new tolerance, for her and I smile and look like I'm listening, and you know what, she's starting to talk more to me and look at me. It as if by not showing her how much I hate what she is, she will start to change. The last time ire spoke, in fact, she talked about just her and me going someplace together and getting to know each other better. She wants to take me to places she enjoyed when she was my age. Once, I would make fun of the idea, but now I've decided I would do it.

I guess what I'm saying is nothing can change quickly, and most might not ever change, but its learning how to live with that realization that makes happiness possible. Otherwise, I return to what I was, always angry, always frustrated, always selfdestructive.

Tags: V.C. Andrews Broken Wings Horror
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