water in shock. I tried to convince myself I was just hearing things. There were no wind chimes hiding in my bathtub. I’d just add that to the long list of weird things that had been happening to me over the last couple of years. That list was getting way too long for my taste.
“I hope all that racket up there is you jumping into your clothes!” She must have sonar for ears or something.
“I’m almost ready!” I wrapped a fluffy blue towel around me and padded into my room, doing a quick search of my closet to find something to wear. The Hartfords had been planning this party for months and according to Dee ‘everybody who’s anybody’ would be in attendance. Living in the Deep South, Georgia to be exact, I’d become accustomed to Atlanta’s Society and all the trappings (I mean opportunities) that came along with it. But, I hadn’t always lived here. The Whitman’s adopted me when I was 13 years old. They had high hopes that I would turn out to be a perfect southern young lady like their own daughter. Little did they know I was damaged goods from the very beginning. No amount of grooming or etiquette classes would change that. Bouncing around from family to family in the Georgia foster care system, I experienced and witnessed things that would make a grown man cry. I learned the hard way that once you’ve seen evil, it brands you for life. Your heart becomes hardened and you are never, ever the same.
Don’t get me wrong, I tried to live up to my adoptive mother’s expectations, but it had been a futile effort. I’d love to be like the girls I knew who had always known the security of a loving family. Who spent their nights dreaming of debutante balls, parties, and the perfect wedding.
Unfortunately my dreams…or more accurately, my nightmares…were much, much different.
After deciding on a strapless, blue seersucker dress, I threw on a pair of strappy white sandals, a mother of pearl necklace and matching earrings. I fixed my hair and makeup, glancing in the mirror to make sure my look would pass Dee’s inspection. My long, blonde hair was naturally straight, but a curling iron gave it instant bounce. I could have used a couple more trips to the tanning bed, but the blue of the dress brought out my blue eyes. Which reminded me of another pair of dark blue eyes staring daggers into me…I could get lost in those eyes…. I shook my head to rid myself of my most recent nightmare. I grabbed my Coach bag that mom insisted on buying me last Christmas, a pearl bracelet, and added a quick swipe of light pink lip gloss to complete the ensemble. I almost looked like I belonged here. Almost.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I made it to the foyer just in time to crash into my sister, Laura Beth, coming around the corner. After shooting me a look that could wither plants, she marched past me into the formal living room.
“You really shouldn’t run in heels, it scuffs the floors,” I wanted to scuff up her face, but I settled for a dramatic eye roll, instead.
Her fitted canary yellow dress offset her dark brown curly hair perfectly, which she’d pulled back in a low ponytail secured with a navy blue ribbon. Being the same age, you would have thought we’d be closer, but she decided a while back that she saw me strictly as competition. I believe the first words she spoke to me were “I hope you don’t think you’re sleeping in my room”. Nothing says
‘welcome to our home’ like a threat and an icy glare. Dee looked up from her freshly painted toe nails as we entered the room.
“Ready?” She quickly looked us over with intense scrutiny, decided she approved, and then shooed us towards the front door. The heady scent of cigars and old books followed Charles Whitman as we collected him from his study on the way out. We piled into the car and headed to the Hartford Estate.
I saw the cars before I saw the house. Row after row of Mercedes, Jaguars, Range Rovers, and BMWs greeted us, as we turned up the Hartford driveway. After several twists and turns, the house finally came into view. The word house didn’t quite do it justice, however. The Hartfords lived on an old plantation that had been in their family for generations. The long, winding drive wound through the manicured lawn, lined with cherry blossom trees and eventually circled in front of the house. One hundred year old oak trees dwarfed the home on both sides, skirted by a beautiful garden bursting with tulips, lilies and lush vegetation. Large white columns lined the front of the house, allowing you to take in its true massive size. Every inch of the estate oozed history and reverence. It looked like a scene straight out of
I did a quick sweep of my surroundings, from the maple hardwood floors to the overbearing crystal chandelier hanging above our heads. A stuffy looking man played a grand piano nearby, as sophisticated women in brightly colored dresses paraded around the sitting area in small groups. The men could always be found congregating outside on the veranda or in the library smoking; discussing the latest political debate or recent corporate mergers. I noticed Charles had already disappeared and Dee was making her way toward several older women in large brimmed hats.
“Laura Beth! I’m so glad you’re here!” A dazzling brunette in a pink and white polka dotted sundress skipped over to us. Meredith Hartford was drop-dead gorgeous and famous for buying a brand new wardrobe every weekend. Only problem was…she knew it. She looked my way, noticing me for the first time.
“Oh hey Hannah, how are you?” She plastered her best ‘now that I’ve made eye contact I have to speak to you’ smile, then clutched Laura Beth’s arm.
“I can’t wait to tell you what happened last night with Spencer….” As they scurried away whispering and squealing, I saw a familiar face in the crowd, so I made my way to the other side of the room where Sarah Lawson sat with her mom near an open bay window. She caught a runaway strand of auburn hair as the wind blew it across her face. Her moss green eyes brightened as she caught sight of me.
“Hannah! How are you?” When Laura Beth made it her life mission to explain to everyone at school how her family had saved me from a lifetime of poverty and how I’d be going to a therapist for the rest of my life, I was instantly shunned and forever stalked by looks of pity. With ‘charity case’ branded on my forehead from the very start, only a select few treated me like a human being. Sarah was one of those select few.
“Hey Sarah! Hello, Mrs. Braddock.” Sarah’s mother picked me apart with her eyes, gave me a tight smile, and found someone better to talk to across the room.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” Sarah whispered as her mom stalked away.
“It’s okay,” Her mom’s obvious aversion to me stung, but I shrugged my shoulders and smiled anyway.
“So how’s your summer going?” Sarah asked. “Been on any vacations? We just got back from London a couple weeks ago…you would not believe the shopping over there….”
I listened diligently as she told me all about their trip to England and Scotland, making sure to add in a few head nods at the appropriate times. My attention had been drawn to my own adopted mother, who was now making a beeline for our sitting spot.
“May I have a word?” she asked me with one raised eyebrow.
“I’ll be right back.” I assured Sarah and followed Dee out onto the back balcony. Overlooking a massive meadow below, I was struck by the beauty of the plantation all over again before Dee proceeded to shatter it with crude and obvious condemnation.
“How many times do I have to tell you to cover up that tattoo?!” She literally spit out the last word in disgrace.
“What? You’re kidding, right?”
“Wrists. Now. And mind your manners,” She hissed. I sighed and held out my wrists, as she unclasped my bracelet, switching it from my right wrist to my left.
“We can’t have all these people seeing that thing on your wrist, can we?” Heaven forbid.
“Dee, no one is paying attention to my wrists.”
“That isn’t the point young lady,” I hated it when she called me that.
“I don’t care what people think.”
“Hannah, you represent this family and I will not have you parading around like some homeless person with tattoos all over her body!” At least she wasn’t overreacting.
“It’s only one tattoo; it’s not even that big. Honestly, Dee…”
Interrupting me with a harsh look, she quickly continued, “As of this weekend, I’ll be looking into the process of getting it removed permanently.”
I glanced down at the intricate design on the inside of my left wrist. My ‘tattoo’, as I had called it my whole life, consisted of a small upside down triangle, with one spiral extending from each corner. The lines of the spirals
