The Girl I Used to Be Read Online Free Page A

didn’t mind if the frosting came out in big globs or if I used too many sprinkles.
    Nora is the one I ran to that terrible day when I came home from school and found my grandmother on the kitchen floor. Grandma was lying in a puddle of cold coffee, surrounded by the blue-and-white shards of what had been her favorite cup. Her skin was cold, her open eyes dull.
    â€œI’m Olivia Reinhart.”
    But there’s no answering spark in her eyes. I’m sure she remembers—maybe even still loves—seven-year-old blond Ariel Benson. But I’m not her. Now I’m seventeen-year-old brown-haired Olivia Reinhart. If I tell her who I am, she’ll have all kinds of questions. And then she’ll tell someone else, and pretty soon every eye will be on me. It’s better to keep my distance. I don’t want to be the center of attention, of whispers and questions. My plan is to slip in and out without being noticed.
    Ten years ago, I was just a kid, but I can tell that Nora is basically the same person she was then. Just older.
    Underscoring that idea, she says. “I have lived in this neighborhood forever, so if there’s anything you want to know, just ask.”
    â€œUm, I’m not actually sure I’m going to rent this house. I’m still thinking about it.”
    â€œThe murders didn’t happen here, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Nora says.
    â€œMurders?”
    She stamps one of her black knockoff Keds, mouth twisting with annoyance. “Oh, now you’ve gone and done it, Nora Murdoch. You and your big mouth! If there’s one thing a potential renter doesn’t want to hear, it’s the word ‘murder.’” Her eyes flash up to mine. “You need to know that nothing bad happened in this house, Olivia. Ever. This house has nothing but good memories.”
    â€œThen why did you say ‘murders’?” I’m sweating all over now. Even the bottoms of my feet feel slick.
    â€œIs it okay if we sit down?” Nora is already lowering herself to the steps, which are shaded by a tall oak tree. “I’m feeling a little light-headed myself today.”
    I sit next to her, glad to have something between me and the white ball of the sun.
    â€œThe story’s been all over the news,” she says. “That’s why I thought you knew. My friend Sharon used to live in this house with her daughter, Naomi, and Naomi’s little girl, Ariel. But almost fourteen years ago, Naomi and her boyfriend, Terry, went out with Ariel to get a Christmas tree and never came back. Someone killed Naomi in the woods. Not here.”
    I try to think of how a stranger might react. “Oh my God. That’s terrible. Who killed her?”
    â€œNaomi and Terry fought sometimes. For years, everyone thought Terry must have snapped and killed her and then just took off. But now his jawbone has been found in the woods. And the police think both of them were murdered by someone else.” In a near whisper, Nora adds, “And I spent all those years thinking he did it.”
    I understand far better than she can imagine. “But you said everyone thought that. Not just you.”
    â€œI was too quick to judge.” She sighs. “Anyway, Naomi dying just about broke Sharon’s heart. In fact, she died of a heart attack a few years later. I’m sure it was losing her daughter that did it.” She falls silent. Her lower lip trembles. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have a bad heart. Never thought I’d still be here all these years later.”
    Will Nora put two and two together if I ask about myself? Then again, if I don’t, I might seem cold. “What happened to the little girl? Your friend’s granddaughter? Was she killed, too?”
    â€œShe was found three hours away. After the police figured out who she was, Ariel ended up back with Sharon. She was too young to say what had happened.