BooksBarbecue
Back The Favorite Daughter Save as PDF
Chapters (57)
  1. Cover
  2. Back Cover Text
  3. Booklist
  4. Dedication
  5. Quote
  6. SUNDAY
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. MONDAY
  10. 3
  11. 4
  12. 5
  13. 6
  14. 7
  15. TUESDAY
  16. 8
  17. 9
  18. 10
  19. 11
  20. 12
  21. 13
  22. 14
  23. 15
  24. WEDNESDAY
  25. 16
  26. 17
  27. 18
  28. 19
  29. 20
  30. 21
  31. 22
  32. 23
  33. 24
  34. 25
  35. 26
  36. 27
  37. 28
  38. 29
  39. 30
  40. 31
  41. 32
  42. 33
  43. 34
  44. THURSDAY
  45. 35
  46. 36
  47. 37
  48. 38
  49. 39
  50. 40
  51. 41
  52. 42
  53. EPILOGUE
  54. DEAR READER LETTER
  55. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  56. READERS GROUP DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  57. Best Day Ever

The three of us will link arms, walk to the front of the service together, our little family. And then, after the ceremony, David will tell me about our new house and I’ll wrap my arms around his neck as he scoops me into an embrace. The crowd will be so happy that we’ve made it through our loss, that we have found happiness together again. It will be smiles all around, like a dream come true. Even Betsy will be happy, her nose ring sparkling as she nods in approval.

But seriously, I’m going to win them over. Surprise both of them. You’ll see.

MONDAY

THREE DAYS UNTIL GRADUATION

3

6:30 a.m.

My foghorn alarm blares and jars me out of bed. I scamper to the bathroom to turn it off. Shaking fingers jab at my phone. This routine happens every morning. Normal people have a soothing alarm, not this blaring foghorn. But I’m not normal. I’m special. Even though the sound scares me to death every morning. It works, though. I’m awake.

I grab my toothbrush and turn on the water, quickly dampen it before turning the water off again. I’m not worried about California’s perpetual drought. After what happened last year, I’ve developed a fear of water, especially the vast, deep ocean surrounding us. Did you know water covers 71 percent of the surface of the earth? Oceans hold 96.5 percent of the earth’s water. The Pacific Ocean, my view, is the deepest ocean, reaching more than six and one-half miles deep. The California Current moves south along the west coast of North America. I shudder as I tap my toothbrush on the edge of the sink. I learned from the coroner’s office that if you drop something into the ocean north of here, it always drifts this way, even a body.

From the bathroom I glance at David’s empty, cold side of the bed. He’s left for work extra early this morning. But that’s fine. Today’s our coming-out party and he probably has to knock out some things before he can focus all of his attention on me, and Betsy and our remembrance for Mary.

I study my reflection in the mirror above my sink. Not bad. I’m sort of like an actress who’s been on sabbatical and is offered a part: she reluctantly takes it and wins an Oscar. There is work to be done but I can see the beautiful me in there. I slept in yesterday’s makeup. It’s mostly faded away, rubbed off on my pillow, most likely. Dark smudges hang under my eyes from worn-away mascara, but what’s new and a little alarming is the deepening web of wrinkles beside each of my eyes. Botox will get rid of those in an instant.