Helens-of-Troy Read Online Free Page A

needed her more than
ever, lately Helen’s own words of wisdom had been coming out all
wrong, or worse yet, not at all.
    “I could follow you in the Beemer. I
know how to drive,” Ellie pleaded hopefully.
    “How do you know how to drive?” Helen
screeched, without realizing she was doing so. “Never mind. I don’t
want to know. No, you can’t drive the coupe. Tony bought it for me,
and I will not have you smashing it up. It took a lot of dead
cockroaches to pay for that car, I’ll have you know.” She adjusted
the rear view mirror. The sun was beginning to set behind them.
“Wait, maybe I do want to know. Who taught you to drive? Did Tony
teach you how to drive? Because he’s a really bad driver, so don’t
listen to him.”
    “Tony’s bad at a lot of things, so I
don’t ever listen to him. What happened to Dave?” Ellie asked,
changing the subject. “I liked Dave.”
    “You were five and Dave liked you a
little too much. You’re not much of a judge of
character.”
    “Tony doesn’t like me at all. So much
for your own character assessing abilities. I would have thought
that would have mattered to you, you know, that your new husband at
least be civil to your daughter. What makes you think we need a
protector anyway? We were doing fine with Bill. Remember Bill? Bill
was great. People used to say I looked like him, even though he
wasn’t my dad. Why would you leave Bill for Tony?”
    “It’s complicated,” Helen answered. As
much as she tried to be open with her daughter, there were some
things she just couldn’t tell her.
    “That’s your answer to
everything.”
    “Well everything is
complicated.”
    “Fine,” Ellie sighed, and began to chew
her black, polished fingernails. She avoided looking at her
mother.
    “Are you nervous about something,
Ellie?” Helen finally asked. “This nail-biting thing is relatively
new for you. There’s some gum in the glove compartment, if you’d
prefer to chew on lovely mint flavor rather than old nail varnish.”
It seemed like only a few months ago that she had argued with Ellie
about cutting the very same fingernails. They had grown so long
they were starting to curl downward on their own.
    “You’re taking me to live with a woman
I hardly know, in a town I’ve never heard of, where I have no
friends. What’s there to be nervous about?” Ellie asked
sarcastically, reaching for the glove compartment door. She opened
and closed it quickly. “Don’t even ask what’s in there,” she said,
her eyes opened wide in shock.
    “Ah, so underneath that cool Goth
exterior you’ve personified for yourself, the old, sweet,
apprehensive, Ellie of old still exists,” Helen smiled to
herself.
    “Something like that. It’s
complicated.”
    Her daughter was a bright one, Helen
knew. Sometimes it made dealing with her all the more difficult. “I
know you think I’m the most un-cool mother on the face of the
earth...”
    “Don’t flatter yourself, Mom. You’re at
least the third,” Ellie smirked, the corners of her mouth curling
up goofily like some character on MAD TV.
    That was it. No more late night
television for her, Helen decided. “As I was trying to tell you
before you immaturely made that face at me—and I hope it stays that
way just to teach you a lesson—I know a little about the Goth look
myself, you know. It’s not exactly a new statement you’re making
there. It’s been around for generations. It’s a very old European
style, dating back centuries. As in, ancient. You don’t want to
look ancient, do you?”
    “I don’t know about ancient, but
nineteen would be good. What are you trying to say,
Mom?”
    “Ellie, do you think maybe you could
take off the Goth make-up before we get to Nan's?”
    Ellie looked at her mother as if she
had lost her mind. “It’s my style.”
    “Look!” Helen said, pointing out the
van window. “There’s a Biggie Mart. Maybe we can find you a new
style.”
    “Mom, we’ve discussed this