The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer (Mara Dyer #1)(31)

I nodded.

“I think I might have something,” she said. She brushed past me and disappeared into the depths of her walk-in closet. After a few minutes, my mother emerged holding a garment bag that she cradled like a small child, and a pair of perilously high, strappy heels that dangled from her fingers. “This should fit you.”

I eyed the bag warily. “It’s not a wedding gown, is it?”

“No.” She smiled and handed it to me. “It’s a dress. One of my mother’s. Take my red lipstick and pin up your hair, and you can go as a vintage model.”

A smile spread across my face, matching my mother’s. “Thanks,” I said, and meant it.

“Just do me this one favor?”

I raised my eyebrows, waiting for the caveat.

“Stay with Daniel.”

Her voice was strained, and I felt guilty. Again. I nodded and thanked her again for the dress before I made my way back to my room to try it on. The firm plastic of the garment bag rustled as I unzipped it, and dark, emerald green silk shimmered from inside. I withdrew the dress from the bag and my breath caught in my throat. It was stunning. I hoped it fit.

I went to my bathroom to attempt to put on mascara without impaling my eyeball, but when I looked in the mirror, Claire stood behind my reflection.

She winked. “You two kids have fun.”





20


I SHOT OUT OF MY BATHROOM AND SAT ON MY BED, my mouth dry and my hands trembling. I wanted to scream, but I closed my eyes and forced myself to breathe. Claire was dead. She was not in my bathroom, and there was nothing to be scared of. My mind was playing tricks on me. I was going to go to a party tonight, and I needed to get dressed. One thing at a time.

Makeup first. I made my way back to the mirror behind my bedroom door, but stopped. There was no one there. Just the PTSD.

But why risk it?

I padded down the hallway back to my parents’ bedroom. “Mom?” I asked, poking my head in the door. She sat in her bed, legs crossed, as she typed on her laptop. She looked up. “Will you do my makeup?” I asked her.

Her smile couldn’t have been more enthusiastic. She ushered me into her bathroom and sat me down on a chair in front of the vanity. I tilted away from the mirror, just in case.

I felt my mother line my eyes, but when she pulled out her lipstick, I stopped her. “Pass. It makes me feel like a clown.”

She nodded with mock seriousness and went back to work, twisting and pinning my hair behind my head so tightly that my face ached. When she was done, she told me to look in the mirror.

I smiled at her, the exact opposite of my internal reaction. “You know what? I trust you,” I said, and kissed her on the cheek before leaving the room.

“Wait a second,” my mother called after me. I stopped, and she opened her jewelry box. She withdrew a pair of earrings; a single emerald at the center of each stud, surrounded by diamonds.

“Oh my God,” I said, staring at them. They were incredible. “Mom, I can’t—”

“Just to borrow, not to keep,” she said with a smile. “Here, stand still.”

She fastened the studs to my ears. “There,” she said, her hands on my shoulders. “You look beautiful.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. But don’t lose them, okay? They were my mother’s.”

I nodded, and went back to my room. It was time to deal with the dress. I withdrew it from its garment bag. Stepping into it would be safest—that way, I could stop if it threatened to tear. To my great surprise, it slid on easily. But it dipped dangerously low in front and dangerously low in back, exposing more skin than I was used to. Much more.

Too late now. A glance at the clock told me I had only five minutes before Daniel had to leave to meet his little nerdlet. I slipped on the shoes my mother had given me. They were slightly too tight but I ignored that and, balancing mostly on my toes, walked into the foyer. I met Joseph as he headed to his room.

“Ohmigod, DANIEL! You have to see Mara!”

Blushing furiously, I pushed past him and stood by the front door, itching to fling it open and wait in the car for my older brother. But he had the keys. Of course he did.

Daniel materialized from the hallway in a business suit with his hair slicked back and wet-looking, and my mother appeared shortly after. They stood there and stared for much longer than was necessary while I fidgeted, feigning boredom to hide my embarrassment.

Finally, Daniel spoke. “Wow, Mara. You look like … you look like …” His face scrunched as he searched for words.

A look passed over my mother’s face, but vanished before I could interpret it. “Like a model,” Mom said brightly.

“Uh, I was going to say a lady of ill repute.” I shot Daniel a look of pure poison. “But, sure.”

“She does not, Daniel. Stop it.” The golden boy was scolded. I smirked.

“You look beautiful, Mara. Older, too. Daniel,” my mother said, and turned to look him in the eye. “Watch her. Don’t let her out of your sight.”

He raised his hand in a salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Once we were in the car, Daniel put on some Indian music. He knew I was not a fan.

“Can I change it?”

“No.”

I glared at him, but he ignored me as he pulled out of the driveway. We didn’t talk until we reached the highway.