The Girl I Used to Be Read Online Free Page B

We asked her and asked her. All she would say was ‘Mommy’s dancing.’ After Sharon died, Ariel went into foster care. I heard she got adopted up in Portland. I tried to take her in, but the state wouldn’t let me because of my age and my heart. Her dad’s family wanted her, too. They showed up at Sharon’s funeral, and there was a big fight about it. But of course the state wasn’t going to say yes. Not when Terry’s family refused to even admit he’d killed Naomi. Child Protective Services was worried Terry would sneak back into town and his family would just hand Ariel over.”
    Everything stops.
    So the argument at Grandma’s funeral wasn’t about how people didn’t want me, but about how they did? It’s happening again, the vase turning into the faces and then back into a vase. The center of my chest aches. With difficulty, I concentrate on what Nora is saying.
    â€œWe were all so sure we knew the truth, but we were wrong.” She takes a deep breath. “Terry’s funeral starts in forty-five minutes.”
    I nod, figuring out just now that Nora must be going. How am I going to go to the funeral without her wondering why I’m there?
    She twists her hands again. “I don’t know if I’ll make it, though. I don’t feel real sharp today. It’s not that far, but I’m not sure I’m up to driving.”
    I realize Nora is both the problem and the solution.
    â€œWhy don’t I give you a ride?”

 
    CHAPTER 7
    WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?
    After opening the car door, Nora plops into the seat sideways. Turning, she slowly lifts each leg in, then finally closes the door and tells me which way to go. The cemetery is less than a mile away. The funeral home, a sprawling white building, sits on top of a small rise.
    The parking lot is full. I hadn’t expected more than a handful of people. I follow the drive around to a back lot and finally find a space. Someone has left a shopping cart full of junk at the end, but my car is small enough that I can tuck it in.
    I should have let Nora out at the door. “Want me to go back and drop you off up front?”
    She doesn’t answer, just opens her door.
    I hurry around to help. Nora’s swung her legs out, but she’s still sitting. I lean down, grab her forearms, and haul her upright. She grabs the crook of my arm, and we start to walk.
    â€œAre you okay?” I ask. Nora’s using me for more than just balance.
    â€œI need to do this,” she says, which isn’t really an answer.
    Despite her long legs, Nora’s steps are short and slow. I match her pace. Around us, rows of flat metal grave markers are occasionally broken up by benches, marble statues, or little ponds. It’s pretty here. Peaceful.
    Maybe the woods where my dad has been all these years are peaceful, too. For a minute, I picture white snow lying like a fluffy blanket under evergreens so tall they crowd the sky.
    I stop short.
    Where did that come from? Was it even real?
    Nora tugs my arm. “I’m not dead yet, honey.” Catching sight of someone, she waves her arm. “Frank, you old geezer!”
    An old man walks back to meet us. He’s about my height, five foot seven, but as solid as a fire hydrant.
    â€œGood to see you, Nora,” he says, and then looks at me expectantly. I don’t know what to say, but she does.
    â€œThis is Olivia. She’s my guardian angel. This morning, I told God I didn’t feel strong enough to come, and then Olivia turned up.”
    Outside the wooden doors, about a dozen people are chatting. Everyone’s wearing dark colors, but no one looks like a movie mourner. My black T-shirt and pants aren’t too out of place.
    Frank is holding the door for us when a wiry old man with a cigarette calls his name. “Ladies,” Frank says, before turning back.
    The lobby is full of people milling around. Who are they? A lot of