Reunion Beach Elin Hilderbrand (best selling autobiographies .TXT) 📖

tidy room on the eighth floor of a nondescript apartment building in Atlanta. One of several similar buildings grouped in a cluster around a smallish park. Void of any architectural charm, she’d rented it seven years ago because of the wall of bookcases the previous tenant had installed. That and its proximity to public transportation and the view of a park rather than a highway. A librarian, Kristina’s life revolved around books. In childhood, books had been her only friends.

She felt herself lucky to have one friend now, seeing Ann leaning against the kitchen counter reading the newspaper. Ann was a fellow librarian at the DeKalb Public Library. She was short like Kristina, but unlike her own painfully thin frame, Ann had a full figure to match her big heart.

“Ready to go?” Ann asked, straightening.

“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. Thanks so much for taking care of Minnie for me. I’ve never left her before,” she added, turning to glance again at her beloved cat.

“That’s because you never go anywhere,” Ann said with a grin. “Don’t you worry one bit about Minnie. We’re fast friends already, aren’t we, precious?” Ann bent to put her hand out to the cat. Minnie immediately sat where she was and haughtily turned her head away. Ann chuckled and, rising, said, “We’ll be fine. Don’t give us a thought. You have enough on your mind.” She shook her head with wonder. “Meeting your birth mother. That’s big. Huge. So,” she asked, stepping closer. “What are you feeling? I’d be a nervous wreck.”

“I am,” Kristina admitted. “But it’s what I wanted, so . . .”

“Why did you wait so long to look for her? You weren’t curious?”

“Of course, I was. But . . .” Kristina shrugged. The memory of her mother raging, forbidding her to search for her birth mother, flashed in her mind.

“Your mother,” Ann finished for her.

Kristina paused then nodded. Ann knew the story.

It was only a year ago that she’d received word that her mother had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and only had a few months to live. Deborah wanted to see her. It felt like her own death sentence when Kristina had agreed to pay a visit. She still felt as though lice were crawling up her spine when she recalled once again walking into the small brick house in Gwinnett that she’d been raised in. Her wheelchair ramp still led to the front door.

When her mother had opened the door, Kristina had hardly recognized her. Deborah Hurst peered from a dark vestibule, gazing at Kristina through sunken eyes. She’d grown so thin and her hair, once dyed a vibrant red, was all white and so wispy her scalp was visible.

“Well, here you are. My sweet little adopted daughter.” Deborah turned and said over her shoulder, “I didn’t think you’d come.”

When she opened the door wide to let her in, Kristina brought her hand to her nose. The scent of stale food, must, and mildew made her gag. She followed her mother into a house crammed full of tilting boxes, piled up junk, and broken furniture. There was no discernible distinction between the living room and bedroom. Blankets were strewn over both couches and bed. The entire place was a mishmash of rubbish.

Kristina brought her fingers to her eyes, feeling the onslaught to all her senses. She hadn’t had contact with her mother since she’d escaped her clutches at eighteen. Not because she didn’t try, but because her mother had been so furious, so outraged, that Kristina had dared to leave the house, she’d broken all contact with her. Kristina had known her mother was an obsessive compulsive. It appeared once she didn’t have Kristina to fixate on, she’d transferred her sick, singular focus on hoarding.

Kristina had spent weeks emptying out garbage, getting servicemen in to fix the broken appliances, and scrubbing dirt, grime, and mildew from almost every surface. Her mother had never been a good housekeeper. Kristina had been her live-in maid most of her life. From the looks of the house, it didn’t appear anyone had cleaned since she’d left. Everything was a mess—except for the hall closet. Opening it, Kristina found it just as pristine as it had always been. All the shelves were chock-full of neatly stacked and labeled medicines.

“God rest her soul,” Kristina said, succinctly closing that memory. She looked at Ann’s face, finding comfort in the compassion she found there.

“And now you’re free to find your birth mother.”

“Right. And here I go,” Kristina said, mustering enthusiasm. “I left you a list of instructions for the cat,” she told Ann, walking to the long granite kitchen counter that was open to the living room. The large window over the sink overlooked the small park and allowed sunlight to flow into the cramped space. “And here’s the vet’s phone number.”

“I’m sure we won’t need it. I’m all set. How about you? Do you have everything? They say you should bring pictures of you growing up.”

“I have a few baby pictures. That’s enough, I think.” She huffed. “I don’t want to show the others . . . with me so sick. I don’t think I’m ready to go into all that just yet.”

“I get that. It’d have to be hard for the birth mother to realize you were placed in such an abusive home. You want this to be a joyous reunion,” Ann said, throwing her hands up in party mode. “And you’ll be at the beach! Isle of Palms. Lucky you. Sure you don’t want me to come along?”

Kristina laughed and shook her head, sending her hair falling forward. She promptly tucked it back. “I’m sure. You have to watch Minnie. Besides, it could be a nightmare. You know my luck with mothers. Don’t be surprised if you see me back tomorrow night.”

“Don’t be negative. It’ll be nice.” Ann smirked. “I mean, your birth mother can’t be worse than your adopted mother.”

Kristina made a face. “Who could?” She put out her hands in a calming motion. “She’s nice,” she declared. Then let her hands