Page 10 of The Heiress
But for all my exhaustion, I was bizarrely happy. Hitting with Taylor had increased my confidence, improving day by day. But it wasn’t just that—I was pretty sure it was the first time I’d seen my mother smile in a long time.
Chapter 4
Elisha
Istood in my roomwith my ear against my closed door, listening for the sound of Beth Van der Wal leaving for breakfast. When she did, I would count to twenty—the slow way, with Mississippi in between each number—and then I’d leave. Beth walked everywhere at a leisurely pace, so with the head start, she’d be seated with her plate of food by the time I entered the cafeteria, and I wouldn’t have to face her.
Beth had not come to my room since I upset her tray of chocolate mints. She wasn’t exactly snubbing me because in Whitney Hall we were constantly thrown together, and she’d join in conversations when we were in a group situation. She was friendly to everyone—just not directly to me. Actually, Beth was doing me a favor by giving me the cold shoulder. You see, I had remained steadfast in my self-imposed vow of being an island. Surviving Covington Prep would be easier without unnecessary friendships and connections.
In fact, Beth wasn’t the only girl I’d alienated in Whitney Hall and the wider boarding residences. Juniors Amelia and Sasha were unimpressed when I’d packed up the jigsaw puzzle they’d been working on in the recreation room. Well, I’d been on the roster for cleanup that evening and nobody told me they’d be coming back to complete the two thousand piece puzzle that I’d packed back into its box. And how was I to know they’d been working on it for a week? I never went into the rec room!
And apparently I annoyed several of the girls because I spent too long in the shower. Well, that wasn’t my problem—a shower took as long as a shower took! Mrs. Pritchard had given me a lecture on the philosophy of Whitney Hall which was about respect and cultivating friendships and mentioned that I needed to be ‘considerate’ of the time spent. I bantered back that others should be more organized. As it was, it was bad enough that I’d had to adjust to sharing a shower!
In the middle of my counting, my phone buzzed. I skipped over to my bedside cabinet and picked it up with a frown, surprised to see another message from my mother. She’d already sent one earlier this morning, her usual clip of her first coffee of the day and a morning greeting with Ruby wishing me a good day, a beautiful day, the best day. I would never admit that I looked forward to her messages, that they brightened my miserable existence. I was still maintaining a frosty veneer, playing the role of wounded victim, pouring on the guilt whenever I could.
But for a moment, my heart surged because the video was in an airport, the wonky filming showing the back of Ya-Ya pulling her Louis Vuitton suitcase. Maybe Mom was about to surprise me, fly to Covington Heights and bring me home early for Thanksgiving. But in the next instance I heard my mother’s breathless voice as she tried to keep up with my grandmother, “Elisha, honey, I can’t talk now, we’re in a rush. I promise I’ll call soon. Love you, darling.”
I replayed the video, the pounding of my heart creating a deafening vibration in my ear, so bad that I had to swallow and pull on my lobes. How strange was it that my mother and grandmother were running through an airport like they were contestants inThe Amazing Race? There had been no mention, not a single inkling that a trip was in their plans.
A worry stirred within me as I dialed Dad’s number, wondering if Mom and Ya-Ya were rushing to visit my great-grandma who lived in Thessaloniki. She might be sick or on her deathbed. If that was the case, I needed to be on that plane too. I needed to be with my family.
My first call went straight to voicemail. I tried again, my father’s voice coming through with a formal, “Good morning, Elisha.”
My heart was quick with palpitations, so I didn’t bother with a hello. “Where are Mom and Ya-Ya going? Is Gramma all right?”
“Yes, your great-grandmother is fine,” he said, his words a relief. For all my proclaimed hate and rage toward them, I loved to hear their voices. It was easy to keep up a stony exterior by text, not so much when on a direct call.
“Then why are they—” I didn’t get to finish my question, Dad butting in.
“Elisha, there’s been a change in plans. They’re going away for a few days,” he said.
“A few days? Where to?” Alarm bells were ringing in my head, especially when we were only four days away from Thanksgiving weekend. I was supposed to be going home for Thanksgiving.
“Elisha,” Dad said, his change in voice plunging my heart as fast as a drop tower ride at an amusement park. And by the way, I hate those rides.
“No, Dad,” I cried, because I already knew what was coming next.
