Meg at Sixteen Read Free Page A

said. “The longer she stays there the less it feels like she’s getting married tomorrow.”
    â€œShe needs the time alone,” Sybil said. “She’s burying a few of her own ghosts this afternoon.”
    The sisters were silent for a moment, then Thea changed the subject.
    â€œDo you really think you’ll be happy here?” she asked Sybil. “Megs can rent out the house, you know, and you could get an apartment, or live in university housing. You don’t have to stay here, if you don’t want to.”
    â€œI want to,” Sybil said. “I’ve wanted to since the moment we first moved here. Evvie may hate this house, but it’s where I feel strongest. It’s funny. I even walk better here.”
    â€œIt’s all yours, as far as I’m concerned,” Claire said. “I promise if I marry Schyler or what’s his name, Donald, I won’t reproduce.”
    â€œI wish I had time to,” Thea said. “I wish I had time to sneeze. They run you ragged when you’re an intern.”
    â€œAnd you love it,” Evvie said. “Admit it, Thea.”
    â€œI love it,” Thea said. “And I love all of you, my lousy mood notwithstanding. I even love Clark. What’s he going to think if the bride to be is hiding in the attic reading old love letters when he comes in?”
    â€œI doubt he’ll be surprised,” Evvie said. “Clark doesn’t have any illusions.”
    â€œClark is nothing but illusions,” Sybil said. “He even thinks we’re wonderful.”
    Claire laughed.
    â€œYou too,” Sybil said. “He had your first Vogue cover framed, and gave it to Megs. I thought that was a wonderful thing for him to do.”
    â€œI’ll be nice to the old goat today, I promise,” Claire said. “Sybil, you absolutely have to straighten out this room. I cannot bear to see such chaos.”
    â€œHelp me, then,” Sybil said.
    â€œWe all will,” Evvie said. “Come on, Thea. Let’s show some family unity here.”
    Thea nodded. “Family unity,” she said. “I like the sound of that.”
    The sisters threw Sybil’s things around, trying to make some order out of the mess. They worked mostly in silence, and could hear the sounds of their mother in the attic, moving boxes, pausing to examine things.
    â€œMargaret Winslow Sebastian,” Evvie said suddenly. “I guess today she’s putting that name to rest as well.”

C HAPTER T WO
    â€œWhat a dump,” Margaret Winslow whispered, and then, as she was in the habit of doing at her aunt Grace’s home, she looked around to confirm no one had heard her.
    Not that there were spies listening to her every word. Far from it. As far as Meg could see, no one cared a whit what she said, or why she said it. But there was so much Aunt Grace disapproved of, and calling perfectly lovely places dumps would probably rank high on her list.
    Meg examined her bedroom at Aunt Grace’s summer cottage in Eastgate. It was, she knew, a perfect room. One window overlooked the gardens, the other window showed the ocean. Aunt Grace had had the room redecorated three years ago when Meg had officially moved in with her, and given Aunt Grace’s rather peculiar attitudes toward what young girls liked, she had done a fine job. Or the decorator had, and Aunt Grace hadn’t cared enough to argue. The walls were powder-blue, the woodwork a gleaming white, and there was even a canopy bed. The first time Meg had seen that bed, she’d burst into tears, and that had precipitated one of those dreaded confrontations between her and her aunt.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with it?” Aunt Grace had demanded, not unreasonably, Meg knew then and now.
    â€œIt reminds me of the one I used to have,” Meg wept.
    That turned out not to be an adequate enough reason to get rid of it, so the canopy, and for that matter, Meg, remained.