Beautiful Malice Read Free Page A

when I moved and now go by my grandmother’s maiden name, Patterson. It was surprisingly easy to cast off my old name—so easy, at least on paper, to become a new person. I miss my old name. But it goes with the old me, the happy, carefree, sociable me. Katherine suits the new, shyer version. Katie Boydell is no more. Rachel and Katie Boydell—the infamous Boydell sisters—both are gone.
    “Mom.”
    “Sweetheart. I was just about to call you. Daddy and I were talking about your car.”
    “Oh?”
    “Yes. Now, don’t argue, darling, please. But we’ve decided to get you a new one. It will be safer than the old one. We’ve got the money and it just feels ridiculous to let you drive around in that old bomb.”
    “It’s only eight years old, Mom.” I drive her old Volvo, which is already a very new and conservative car for someone my age.
    She continues as if I haven’t spoken. “We’ve found this lovely Honda. It gets great mileage, it’s a sweet little car, but best of all it scored really well on all the safety tests. It’ll be perfect for you.”
    There’s little point arguing, I don’t want to upset her or make a fuss. Since Rachel’s death my parents have been obsessed with my safety, with doing as much as is humanly possible to make sure that I stay alive. I have no choice but to accept their gifts, their concern.
    “Sounds great, Mom,” I say. “Thanks.”
    “How’s school going? Have your grades picked up at all?”
    “Yes,” I lie. “I’m doing much better.”
    “I’ve been reading about the pre-med program at the college here. It’s really highly rated, you know, and has a reputation as good as any in the country. In fact, it really seems to be the place to study the sciences and medicine these days. And there are a lot of outstanding doctors teaching there. It’s something I’d like you to consider, darling. For me. You could live with us, and you know how pleased Daddy would be if you did that, and you could really concentrate on your studies without worrying about rent or bills or your meals. We could take care of you, make it all easier.”
    “I don’t know, Mom, I don’t know. I’m enjoying English right now, and history, too.… Science isn’t … anyway, I thought I might get a degree in art history, maybe. And, Mom, I really like living here.”
    “Oh, of course you do. Vivien’s place is perfect and I know she’d be more than pleased to have you stay there. And what you’re studying now is a wonderful beginning to your education. But it really is only a beginning, darling. You will need to get back on track. Eventually. When you’re ready.”
    Back on track. When you’re ready . This is as close as Mom can get to mentioning what happened to Rachel, to acknowledging our loss, the life we had before she died. I was top of my class and doing very well. I’d hoped to do well enough to be pre-med in college and then go on to medical school. Obstetrics had been my ultimate goal, I had everything planned. But when Rachel died, my plans fell apart, things went completely off track. The track itself was ripped from beneath me, torn from the ground, obliterated.
    And I discovered, during that horrific time, that science and mathematics, all the precise and utterly dependable stuff I used to love so much, were completely useless when it came to understanding grief. Or dealing with guilt.
    And now I doubt that I’ll ever be ready to get back on track. I’m on another track now, just slowly, slowly gaining some momentum, and I don’t think I can, or want to, make the sideways leap off.
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “Good. And I’ll mail you some of these brochures.” My mother laughs then, but I hear the little catch in her throat, the sign that this conversation has made her want to cry. “I’ve collected quite a few of them.”
    I touch the mouthpiece of the phone, as if by doing so I can give her some comfort. And yet there is no comfort to be given. Her life is