any left closer than third cousin, once removed. But maybe this will be a starting place.
“Mama was real sad after Daddy died, and when she didn’t get over it, it turned out that she had leukemia. I stayed with a neighbor while she was in the hospital, and when I’d visit her she tried to pretend everything was going to be all right, but we both knew better.
“Those were really bad times. I remember we played double sol and watched silly cartoons on TV. Sometimes we just sat and held hands. Once we laughed together over what she called my tacky taste, and she said I must have inherited it from her because we both liked big, gaudy hats with tons of fake flowers.”
Cindy reached for the framed photograph on her bedside table, an out-of-focus snapshot of a very young woman wearing bell-bottom pants, a halter, a floppy-brimmed hat trimmed with sunflowers, and a broad, happy smile. Mama at age nineteen, holding her precious old Gibson guitar.
“I’m not going to talk about all that because it still hurts too much, but if anyone ever reads this, I want you to know that Aurelia Scarborough Danbury was the sweetest, bravest woman in the world. That’s all I’m going to say about that.
“Anyway, after Mama died I went to live with Aunt Stephenson and Uncle Henry and my stepcousins, Maura and Stephanie, because in a town like ours, where everybody knows everybody’s family all the way back to Year One, even when some of them live in big fancy houses like Aunt S. does and some live in trailer parks like we did, the whole town knows who’s kin to who. (Or as Aunt S. would say, whom.) So when the social services lady said if the Stephensons wouldn’t take me in they’d have to find me a foster home, poor Aunt S. didn’t have much choice. I guess she could’ve explained, but people would still have talked, and Nice People don’t get themselves talked about, according to Aunt S.
“Uncle Henry was more like family than Aunt S. Actually, neither of them was real family, but you know what I mean. He used to call me Radish on account of my hair, and give me a box of chocolates and a twenty-dollar bill every Christmas. I saved half the money for the Future and spent the rest on gifts, but the candy never lasted through the holidays. Steff and Maura both have a sweet tooth.
“I didn’t really want to live there, but I didn’t know what else to do, and anyway, when you’re only twelve and a half, people don’t listen to you. But I sort of liked Maura and Steff. Maura is two years older than I am, Steff three and a half years older. We’ve never had much in common. Since I’m smaller than either of them, I never have to worry about clothes, though. Maura always buys her jeans a size too small, and when Aunt S. catches her in them, she makes her give them to me. Same with T-shirts. Tight. Maura likes to show off her boobs, but I don’t have any yet. I don’t really like jeans very much, they’re hot in the summertime and cold in the winter, but I guess they’re pretty practical.
“Steff never wears jeans. She gives me dresses she doesn’t want, usually the fancy kind that have to be dry-cleaned. Definitely not practical! Luckily, I’m good at mending and spot-cleaning, which they almost always need by the time I get them.
“You might have noticed I tend to ramble a lot. Mama used to say I had a brain like an overgrown flower garden. There’s good stuff in it if you can ever find it under all the weeds.
“For the record, though, I’m truly grateful for Aunt S.’s kindness, which is why I can’t just walk away and get on with my life, as much as I’m tempted to.”
Oh, how many times she’d been tempted, but soon now…very soon, she would be ready.
“Well, Diary, here comes the hard part. It concerns something Aunt S. knew all along, but I didn’t find out until years later when I finally got up the nerve to read Mama’s diary. Which is one of the reasons I’m doing this—to set the record straight so my children and grandchildren, if any, will know what’s what.
“I’m not a real Danbury. My biological father was a navy pilot who crashed on a training mission before I was even born. Mama said his name was Bill Jones and he was from somewhere in Virginia, which doesn’t help much, but there it is, anyway.
“When Daddy married Mama, he gave me his name, which is probably why Aunt S. took me to live with her. Uncle Henry didn’t mind. About Uncle Henry—he wears three-piece suits and walks to the office every morning and walks home every afternoon for a cigar, a drink and a nap. Maura looks a lot like him, but she’s not as kind.”
With a sigh, Cindy laid the diary aside and stared out the window at the house next door. Hitch was coming back. Which was why she’d dug out her old diary in the first place—because John Hale Hitchcock had figured in so many of her girlish fantasies back in her diary-keeping days.
When Mac had told her Hitch had agreed to be his best man, she’d nearly drowned in all those old daydreams. She would die of embarrassment if he ever found out, but he probably wouldn’t even recognize her. She wasn’t sure he’d really noticed her in those days, yet even after ten years she could remember him as if it had been only yesterday.
Of course, he’d have changed—he might even be married, although Mac hadn’t mentioned a wife. But then, she herself had changed since the days when she’d thought he hung the moon. Not a whole lot, but at least she was no longer built like an ironing board.
Skimming over the middle part of the worn diary, Cindy picked up at her eighteenth birthday.
“Uncle Henry gave me my own car! I can’t believe it! Now instead of bicycling all over town to do my Monday errands, I can drive. Maybe I should paint a sign on the side—something like Send Cindy, She’s Fast, Reliable and Cheap.
“Aunt S. would have a hissy-fit.”
Her uncle had died before her next birthday. She still missed him. “I think Aunt S. knows anyway,” Cindy had written all those years ago. “The reason she doesn’t say anything is because then she might have to give me an allowance to buy the stuff I absolutely have to have. I’ve done my best to earn my keep all these years by making myself useful, but I’ll tell you this much, Diary. I might end up an old maid, but no way will I ever let Maura or Steff fix me up with another blind date. The one last month nearly tore my dress off. The one last week told dirty jokes and laughed when I blushed, and last night’s date was so boring I nearly fell asleep while he was telling me about every job he ever held, from bag boy right on up to produce manager. I might not be rich or well-bred or pretty, but I deserve better than that.”
That was one thing that hadn’t changed, Cindy told herself, laying the diary aside again. She deserved whatever she could make of her life. Once Steff’s wedding was over, she was going to find a tiny apartment she could afford and turn her Monday job into a full-time thing until she saved enough to launch her dream career. One day, women would go back to wearing gorgeous, feminine, romantic hats, and when that happened, she would be ready.
If she still had enough energy left after this blasted wedding!
Chapter One
John Hale Hitchcock quietly hung up the phone and began to swear. He’d finally said yes, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have serious reservations. All his adult life he’d made it a policy to stay as far away from weddings as possible in case they were contagious. Especially weddings that required his active participation. What was it the shrinks called it? A defense mechanism?
Yeah, it was that and more.
He’d always had a feeling his own parents hated each other’s guts, but were far too well bred
