The Secret Sister M. DeLuca (read 50 shades of grey .txt) 📖

me. The warm tang of sweat and soap drove me to distraction. Instead of worrying about Birdie I imagined his naked body in the shower. I felt him watching me, studying my every move, until he finally asked.

“What’s eating you? I can tell something’s up.”

I put down my book. I’d read the same page of Madame Bovary at least three times. The part where Hippolyte’s reeking, gangrenous leg is finally amputated.

I shrugged. “Just can’t take this stuff right now.”

“It’s pretty screwed up that all this shit was going on in nineteenth-century France. I always thought those Victorians were supposed to be so prudish.”

“I guess when you’re trapped and everything seems hopeless it can drive you to extremes.”

“Is that how you feel?”

I turned away from him. “Don’t want to talk about it.”

He leaned forward and touched my arm. My skin trembled. “Let’s cut class. Go somewhere we can talk.”

We walked through Mill Ruins Park along the river. Halfway through, his hand slipped into mine and my heart softened. That’s when I told him about Birdie and the drugs. That’s when he stopped in his tracks and clasped both of my hands.

“You have to get out of there. Both of you. I’ll help you.”

My phone buzzed in my pocket anchoring me once again to the present. It was Guy. I couldn’t speak. The choked up feeling in my throat was for Colby. Another man. I’d forgotten about my husband. And then I remembered what Robin said earlier.

Thanks for bringing Guy into the school.

“Anna – I tried to call you at school. Robin said you’d left early and you seemed upset. Is everything okay?”

Robin was right. I did want to meet him. But I couldn’t think of it at that moment, when Guy was questioning me.

“I’m fine,” I said, watching a mother jog across the bridge pushing a stroller. “I told Robin I was quitting, so I needed a walk to clear my head.”

“Hey, I totally understand. You’ve put in a lot of time there. Invested your heart and soul into those kids.”

“It’s tough to turn my back on it all.”

“I know, I know, but you’re doing the right thing. Those kids would suck you dry and you wouldn’t have made one iota of difference to them.”

“How can you be so sure of that?”

“I’ve met plenty of idealists who want to change the world. You have to work with the kids who want to improve themselves.”

“Is that what Gord told you?”

“Anna, you agreed to join us. Right now you’re just feeling sore about leaving, but you’ll get over it, and besides, Dad wants to get together to talk about the project. Give you a head start. You’ll feel better once you get your teeth into something. See the light at the end of the tunnel.”

I shuddered. Now Guy was spouting clichés. But maybe I just hadn’t noticed him doing that before.

“I just have to finish up at school,” he said, “then I’ll meet you back at home. We’ll drive over to Mom and Dad’s together.”

Talking to Guy had left a flat, heavy feeling in my heart. I wandered down the steps towards the car park, but something drew me in the other direction towards the sloping road that led underneath the arches of the bridge.

Colby and I had walked this same path, hands clasped together, palms damp with apprehension, head fogged with possibilities. I trailed my finger along the metal railing until it ended at the arches. Clambering up the gravel incline I stood underneath the arch inhaling the river’s scent of mud and rotting vegetation. The stones polished by years of rising and retreating waters. Maybe I could still find the place where Colby and I had carved our initials. I stood on tiptoe, running my fingers across the scummy gray stones. Surely there was something left to remember the place where he’d run his hands down my body, his head bent into the crook of my neck, his breath coming fast and warm on my skin, his hair tickling my face.

He’d looked into my eyes like couples do in movies. I pushed in closer to him as he fumbled with his belt. His breathing was raspy and fast. The sudden rush of air chilled my legs when he pulled down my sweats and thrust forward. Urgent. My body molded to his, warming me all over. His hand grasped mine and guided it to his erect penis. Hand job. Do you know what to do? I remember laughing and saying, Yes, I think so, even though I hadn’t a clue. Then we were pushing and shoving against the stone until it scraped the skin from my ass, but I couldn’t let go of him. I buried my face against his neck and moved my hand up and down until he reared and called oh, oh, oh when he came. Afterwards he kissed my face. Tiny, shivery kisses all over. And when he swept his hair back to look at me, I saw his whole face for the first time, rather than the half-shaded one he presented to the world.

It was beautiful.

Now fifteen years later I had to stand on tiptoe to read the letters scratched into the weathered old stone. He’d taken a penknife from his pocket and carved our initials. I saw the CA, Colby Anderson on one side of the heart but the initials on the other side blurred out of focus. I looked again at the letters. BH.

Birdie Holt.

Straining my legs to reach higher I studied the B. There was no mistaking it. The original A was clear but someone had scraped over it and changed it to a B. I swayed backwards, lost my footing and flopped onto the ground. A cyclist screeched to a halt nearby. A young guy in racing clothes.

“You okay up there?” he shouted.

I turned around, barely registering his face against the glare of streetlamps.

“Do you need help?” he said, more urgently.

Everything snapped into focus, as if a spotlight was shining down behind