AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She hurried inside the house and up the stairs. In her room, she frowned at the blue three-quarter sleeved dress laid out across the made bed. It was slightly warm for the first of July, but she looked ‘nice’ in it, or as close to nice as Tildy could apparently get.
Tildy had a slim frame and was only 5’5”. Her hair was dark chestnut, and according to her mother it was her only really good feature. It hung well past her shoulders and framed Tildy’s too-plain face.
She kicked off her sandals and flung her button-down blouse over the large dollhouse that sat in the corner of the bedroom. She wiggled out of her designer jeans and tossed them aside as well. She carefully unclasped the chain of her St. Christopher medal and gathered the necklace into the palm of her hand. Bypassing the jewelry box that sat on top of the dresser, she headed toward the bed with its pink and white frilly comforter. She picked up a pillow and slipped the medal into the pillowcase. She replaced the pillow, fluffing it, and straightening the corners.
She turned and headed into the adjoining private bathroom and turned on the shower. She quickly showered and washed her hair. It took a long time to dry, even with the hair dryer, too long.
Tildy stepped from the bathroom at the same time her mother entered her bedroom. The look of irritation that seemed nearly permanently affixed to the older woman’s face was clearly visible.
“Matilda,” her mother sighed. “You’re not ready? I left that dress out for you hours ago.”
Tildy said nothing, knowing there was no point. She crossed to the dresser and pulled out a clean pair of panties and a matching bra. Her mother came up beside her, and Tildy fought the urge to flinch.
But Deirdre Fletcher merely opened the small jewelry box and selected a pearl necklace and matching earrings. She laid them out on the dresser.
As Tildy quickly dressed, she barely listened to her mother drone on about having been at the caterer’s to double check the quality of the food being served tonight. Tildy pulled the dress down over her head and shimmied it down past her hips. As she was zipping it, her mother came up behind her and ran a hand through Tildy’s hair.
Tildy froze.
Deirdre declared her daughter’s hair dry, miraculously, and left the room. Tildy applied just a tiny bit of makeup and a dash of eyeliner in the silence of her bedroom. Then she slipped on the high heels that had been left on the floor by the bed. She checked her final appearance in the full-length mirror, for all the good it would do, and declared herself ‘good enough.” She headed downstairs.
The living room was full of Tildy’s parent’s friends. The Fletchers were having their annual Fourth of July party. It was always held the Friday before the holiday so as not to interfere with anyone’s weekend plans. The sun had just set, but it would be an hour before the fireworks.
Tildy followed the sound of her father’s voice toward the patio doors. He was laughing his Banker’s laugh, which is what Tildy had always secretly called it. He never laughed that way at home, not that he ever really laughed. It was a laugh reserved for people associated with the bank that Tildy’s grandfather had owned and then left to her father.
She stepped through the French doors and maneuvered around a waitress carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Tildy’s father was in the middle of a fishing story- his only fishing story.
Her parents had a cabin further north, on the edge of the Black Hills. They owned it for no other reason that Tildy could see except to say they had it. Tildy’s mother spent their entire cabin getaways complaining, and Tildy’s father had Wi-Fi installed partly to appease his wife and partly because an hour at the cabin was as much getting back to nature as he seemed to be able to stomach.
Tildy was fine with or without internet access and simply schlepped her books with her. She mostly read at night though, as she seemed to be the only member of the Fletcher family who actually enjoyed the outdoors. Her days were spent hiking the hills, far away from her parents, which suited Tildy just fine.
Tildy waited patiently knowing better than to interrupt. Apparently, the bank’s youngest associate, Henry Cross, hadn’t quite figured that out. In an ill-advised attempt to ingratiate himself to the boss, he laughed and said that no matter how many times Mr. Fletcher told that story, it was always funny.
The Banker’s laugh must be contagious, thought Tildy. The rest of the men laughed out of surprise more than anything and Tildy’s father joined in, but Tildy didn’t miss the hard set of his jaw. Henry Cross would pay for that remark in some form or other.
