London Escape Read Free Page A

little makeup and slip into my dress. I indulge my vanity a little by primping in front of my full length mirror. The dress is incredible. I guess you could say it matches my eyes, since they are an indistinguishable shade of green. Too bad there will be no one there to notice. I cheer up when I remember I already have the perfect shoes for the dress.
    It takes a little digging, because my closet is a huge mess, but I finally find the box I’m looking for. Opening it, I pull out the shoes and slip them on my feet. Standing in front of the mirror again I lift the hem and survey the results.
    They are perfect. Alexa will be appalled, of course, but that is sort of the point. On my feet are my favorite shoes. No, more than that, they’re my lucky shoes. Only good things happened to me when I wear these shoes. I aced tests I had forgotten to study for. I made it through traffic miraculously fast when it looked as though I was going to be late for curfew. And I was wearing them the night I got kissed by the boy next door for the first time.
    Okay, maybe they aren’t so lucky. But they are bright green, low-top Converse All-Stars.
    Feeling better about the upcoming evening, I make my way slowly down the stairs to where my dad is already waiting. He smiles when he sees me and claps at my appearance. I show him my shoes and he laughs loudly. After that I decide to go ahead and forgive him for talking me into coming with him tonight.
    “You look nice,” I say and mean it. My dad was young when I was born, so even now he’s only in his early forties. I have to admit, he looks nice in a suit, even though it is rare that I see him in anything else. I can’t help but wish he had someone else to go with tonight besides his daughter, for his sake, but I know he doesn’t share that wish.
    “You too,” he says with a smile as he takes my arm to lead me out the front door. “You look like—” He stops midsentence, but I’m already whipping my head around to look at him in surprise so I see it, the flash of pain in his eyes.
    Mom.
    I finish his sentence in my head and feel his pain echo inside of me. He recovers well by remarking the rain has stopped. I realize this will be our “let’s talk about mom, but not talk about mom” talk of the month.
    I wonder to myself when we might actually get around to really talking about her. But it has already been eight years since she left us, so I’m not holding my breath. Besides, we have both gotten so good at pretending like she never existed. I’m not so sure what would happen if we actually acknowledged that she had ever been a part of our lives.  There is a huge part of me that knows it is easier that way, for both of us. I don’t think I could bear seeing that look in his eyes again when we barely mention her, let alone feel the answering hollow pain inside myself.
    It’s weird sometimes, how well I remember her, and at the same time remember nothing. Memories are strange that way. You don’t get to choose what you remember and what you forget.
    Little things, like the smell of her perfume or the songs she used to hum, those I often recall. Not when I want to, but when I least expect it. Riding in the car with my dad I close my eyes tightly. He said I looked like her. I try hard to remember if her hair was long or short, brighter than mine or darker. But I can’t. I try to remember the exact shade of green her eyes were. No matter how hard I try her face remains blurry.
    Maybe it’s better that way.
    I cast my gaze out the window as we pull into the Barrons’ driveway. The day has already been draining. I have spent too much time focusing on things I’d rather forget. And now here I am, faced with even more memories. I can only hope the night will improve from here.

2. MISSING JEWELS
     
    “W illiam!” our hostess, the very Southern Mrs. Caroline Barron, exclaims dramatically as she throws open the front door. “How are you?”
    I shoot my dad a quizzical look. Just as