Read Daughters for a Time for Free Online Page B

Helen. They meant the world to me. Every day I would check the mail to see if another had come. I lived your adventure alongside of you. Your happiness and zest for life popped off the pages.”
    “Geez, Claire,” I said, almost embarrassed by her sentimentality.
    “I thought maybe you’d like to read them. To reconnect with that part of yourself. Or just for the heck of it!” she said, lightening her tone.
    “Thanks, Claire. Thanks a lot.” I hugged her tightly, breathing in her expensive rosemary shampoo.
    A few minutes later, we turned and began walking down the hill. I glanced back once, only to see that the impressive bouquet had already slid onto its side. I slung my arm around Claire and pointed to the car, hoping that she wouldn’t look back to see that even the sturdiest bunch of flowers could be overcome by its own weight.
    Inside the warmth of the car, I pulled out the stack of letters. The first one was written inside a card I bought from a peddler on the street. It was a typically Parisian scene: couples strolling along the tree-lined bank of the Seine, Notre Dame in the background, one of the impressive bridges straddling the river. I started to read it to myself.
    “Read it out loud,” Claire said.
Dear Claire,
I’m now settled in at the culinary school’s chateau—you’ve never seen a “dorm” quite like this! I cook all day, and at night, a small group of us students who have become friends sit around on the patio of the manor house, looking out over the hillside covered in lavender, sipping the most delicious Beaujolais. You wouldn’t believe this group—everyone is from somewhere different. The accents, the translations, the hand gestures we all use to communicate what we’re saying. It’s so much fun! We’re tentatively planning a trip through Greece and Turkey after graduation.

Believe it or not, there’s this one guy—who is SO good looking, so totally not my usual type (dark, brooding, dangerous). This guy has sandy blond hair and a square jaw and the greenest eyes—very “boy next door.” Guess where he’s from, Claire? Fairfax! I traveled all the way to France to meet a guy from Fairfax, probably ten miles from where we grew up.

Anyway, we’ll see what happens. He laughs a lot. I like that best. I mean, I laugh a lot when I’m with him. It’s like we’re two kids, the way we think everything is SO funny. You’d roll your eyes at us, guaranteed, telling us to “grow up.”

So, Claire. Here’s the thing: I sit with this group of great friends, and I laugh all night with this new guy, Tim, and I love what I’m learning all day long, and while I’m as happy as can be, I can’t help feeling sad for you.

I can hear you already, reading this, saying in your most indignant voice, “Don’t feel sad for me!” But I do because I just wonder: When was your time for fun? Mom died and you stepped right into her shoes caring for me in so many ways I never deserved. I know that I wasn’t good to you and I also know that you never gave up on me. I owe you my life, Claire. You’re the best sister/surrogate mom in the world and I truly hope that now that I’m older and not such a wretched brat all of the time, we can finally be more friends than anything.

I love you, Helen.
    I refolded the letter and wiped the tears from my face. Looked at Claire to see how she was doing. Saw a single tear easing down her cheek. I exhaled noisily, blew my nose, and packed away the letters.

     
    That night, while Tim was in the exercise room, I slipped into the bathroom with two pregnancy tests. I read the directions carefully, though by now I was a pro. I locked the door, spread out the contents, and peed into a cup. I dropped the urine into the test area and then waited. A few minutes later, I had the results. One lonely pink line. One very definite negative sign. I held up the tests at different angles, looked at them in different lights, squinted. Maybe it was too early to tell. I