Diary of an Ugly Duckling (28 page)
with one hand as if that would somehow stop them,
but it was like a damn had burst inside her and now
there was nothing to stop the flood of feeling from
its release. And Art Bradshaw kept murmuring, “It’s
okay, it’s okay,” in a gentle, encouraging voice that
made it that much harder to stop, so she kept crying
and crying . . . until finally there was a big empty
space in the pit of her stomach where the tears had
been.
“Andrew Neill . . .” Art said when Audra had
calmed herself enough to listen again. “You say he
died the same year you were born?”
Audra nodded. “That’s what she said.”
“In New York?”
“I—I think so. Why?”
“Maybe we can find out about him. At least some-
thing. Maybe there’s some records. Maybe a photo.
You might even have more family, Audra. Got a
buddy from Gulf War One whose a P.I. now. I could
call him. See what he can find out. Dude owes me a
favor anyway—”
“You’d do that?” Audra interrupted.
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Karyn Langhorne
“If you want me to. If it would help. Do you want
to know?”
“Yes,” Audra said, not needing to think about it.
“Yes, I want you to. Yes, it would help and yes, I
want to know.”
“Consider it done then. Just don’t get your hopes
up. He might not be able to find anything, and even
if he can, it might take a while.”
“Thanks, Bradshaw—”
“Better make it Art.”
“Thanks . . . Art.”
“No problem. But you’ve got to promise me you’ll
do something.”
Audra felt her heart banging hard in her chest.
He’d only made one other request of her since she’d
known him—and that had been the fiasco at Penny’s
party that had had its role in bringing her here, to
Ugly Duckling
. So this moment she wasn’t entirely
sure she was as happy about it as she had once
thought she would be. “W—what?” she stammered.
“What do you want me to promise? What do you
want me to do?”
“Promise me you’ll talk this through with that
therapist—what’s her name again?”
“Goddard.”
“That’s the one.” Audra could hear the smile in
the man’s voice. “Remember in
Now, Voyager
, Bette
Davis had Dr. Jaquith? Well, she’s your Dr. Jaquith,
and if you’re any kind of Bette, you’d better use
her.”
“I don’t know . . .” Audra protested. “I really
don’t want them using this stuff in the show . . .”
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
233
“Didn’t Shamiyah promise your mother all this
was off-limits?”
“Yes, but—”
Art silenced her with the force of his voice. “You
talk to her, and I’ll talk to my friend. Deal?”
“Is that it?” Dr. Goddard nodded toward the
thick brown mailing envelope Audra held
pressed to her chest by a single brown hand.
Audra nodded in the affirmative, unsure that she
could get her vocal cords to cooperate. Art’s friend,
the private investigator, had worked amazingly fast
and now she was holding in her hands an envelope
from his office. An envelope that, she knew, held
both the keys to her past, as well as, in many ways,
the hope of her future.
Shamiyah had shown up to deliver it personally,
handing it to her just a few moments before Au-
dra had arrived for this appointment. She stood in
the hallway, just outside Dr. Goddard’s office, turn-
ing the thing over and over in her hands.
“I assume you’ve been waiting for this,” she said
with an eagerness that didn’t match the vibe of the
moment, and she held the package toward the cam-
eras for a second too long before she stuffed it into
DIARY OF AN UGLY DUCKLING
235
Audra’s hands with a quickly murmured, “Oops.”
“I’m dying to hang around and see what’s in it, but I
guess I’ll just have to wait,” she said, squeezing Au-
dra’s shoulder. “Good luck!” Then she set off down
the halls, humming a little to herself, swinging her
round hips in yet another pair of designer jeans.
“Would you like me to open it, or would you like to
do it?” the good doctor asked gently, when Audra
had done nothing more than turn the envelope in
her hands a few times. The cameraman had taken a
spot across from her and she felt the light on her
face, but she’d become so accustomed to him, it was
like he wasn’t there.
All that mattered was the envelope, and yet, Au-
dra realized with a sudden jolt of fear that shook her
to her heart’s core, she was absolutely terrified of
knowing what lay inside. Instead, she focused her
eyes on the doctor.
“Do you think she loved him?” she asked at last.
“That it was more than just . . . Oh, I don’t know.
Some kind of cheap thrill?”
“Oh, I’m certain she loved him,” Dr. Goddard
said without hesitation.
“How can you be so sure?”
Dr. Goddard smiled. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“There’s no ‘but.’ That she chose to have you is
love. She raised you and kept you and took care of
you—”
“I know all that, but . . .” She shrugged. “Maybe
she felt like she had to. Maybe—”
“Even
that’s
a kind of love, Audra,” Dr. Goddard
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Karyn Langhorne
said, sounding suddenly ancient, suddenly wise.
“She loves you, doesn’t she? You fight, you misun-
derstand each other, you drive each other crazy . . .
but you’ve never
really
doubted that she loves you,
have you?”
Audra considered. Dr. Goddard was right: What-
ever else stood between them, however odd the
form it took, Audra had never doubted that Edith’s
love for her was genuine. But still she paused,
stroking the envelope, pinioning the doctor with,
“She didn’t deny that when she looks at me . . . she
feels ashamed.”
“Of
herself
, Audra. Not of
you
.”
Audra shook her head, her eyes filling with tears.
“No.”
“Yes.” The doctor handed her a tissue from a very
full dispenser placed on the coffee table between
them. “Close your eyes, Audra.” Audra complied.
“Now, think about it, Audra. Put yourself in her
shoes if you can. You’re a married woman and
you’ve fallen in love with another man. You’re preg-
nant by this other man, but before you work up the
nerve to tell your husband and leave, he’s killed in
an accident—or at least that’s how much of the story
we’ve been able to piece together so far.” She leaned
into Audra’s space from her armchair. “Now if that
were you—and I personally think you and your
mother have to be a lot alike—if that were you, how
would you feel? Would you be mad at the baby—”
“Of course not—” Audra began, but Dr. Goddard
kept speaking right over her.
“Or would be mad at yourself? And every time
you looked at that child, you’d be thinking,
Why
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237
didn’t I act sooner?
or,
I wish I’d done this differently
, or
even,
God, why did you take him?
But you wouldn’t be
mad at the child. Sad, maybe. Maybe you feel bad.
For yourself. For the child . . .” She let her voice trail
off and for a long second there was silence in the
room. “But you wouldn’t be mad. And meanwhile,
that child would be watching your face, thinking
she’s the thing that’s making you feel sad, bad and
mad. And that would be just wrong. Dead wrong.”
Audra couldn’t form words to respond. A huge
lump rose in her throat, choking off everything but
an odd feeling of release. It was like a golden key
had been slipped into a secret lock somewhere deep
in Audra’s heart.
“I think it’s time you met your father,” Dr. God-
dard said gently, nodding toward the envelope.
“When a young woman makes peace with her fa-
ther, she opens herself up to have loving relation-
ships with men. Open it. There’s nothing but love
for you in there . . . if you’re willing to see it.”
Audra nodded. Through a haze of tears, she posi-
tioned her fingers at the lip of adhesive running
along the top of the brown paper and tugged.
It ripped easily, sending a small stack of miscella-
neous papers spilling out over the coffee table in a
sudden disorganized jumble. Later, Audra would
know the investigator had included his report, a few
official documents, and a folded letter, handwritten
on what appeared to be paper torn from a notebook.
But at first her eyes followed the snapshot as it
floated from the envelope to the floor, landing face
down on the doctor’s thickly carpeted floor. Audra
bent to retrieve it.
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Karyn Langhorne
Her own face stared out at her, only it was settled
on a thick chunk of masculine body, leaning against
a land yacht, a two-toned Cadillac from back in the
day. He had deep chocolate skin, smoky black eyes
and full lips, and was smiling a smile that seemed
tailor made for this moment of reunion.
“Hi, Dad,” Audra whispered as fresh tears
streamed down her face. She stroked the photo with
her fingertips. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
July 25
Dear Petra,
Glad you were able to get a message off to Ma about
your deployment. I was pretty worried, not hearing
from you for so long.
I’m doing okay. Starting to heal. Been doing a lot of
thinking . . . a lot of self-discovery. Or rediscovery, as the
case may be. It sucks . . . but it’s easier than worrying
about how I’m going to look when all this is over with.
I stopped using the lightening cream. I told Dr.
Jamison that now that I’d met my father, I thought I’d
had enough. He didn’t argue—actually he didn’t say
much of anything about it, except to remind me to stay
out of the sun unless I want to look like a checkerboard.
Apparently once you start using this lightening cream,
weird things can happen to your skin when you stop.
But it seems to have done the job: I don’t have any
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Karyn Langhorne
keloid scars. In fact, I don’t have any scars at all. I
guess that’s why Dr. Jamison let me stop without a
word. Even Shamiya hasn’t said a thing. Which, in a
way, makes me more nervous than if they’d all lined up
in the hallway, trying to persuade me.
I’m not quite as light as you are . . . but I think this is
enough.
I have a lot of conflicting emotions about this whole
thing, now. On the one hand, I want to see it through.
But I wonder, if Ma could only have told me sooner . . .
would I have still wanted to go through with it? I look
just like him, Petra. Or I used to. Would I have wanted
to bear the face of a man I never even knew?
I have no way of answering that . . . and it’s too late
now anyway. Most of the bandages are off and I’ll be
starting the exercise regimen soon. Talking to Bradshaw
helps. Did I tell you he calls almost every night? No, it’s
not like that. Nothing romantic (though I confess, I still
have some pretty hot dreams about him). It’s weird.
He’s turned out to be kinda like my best friend. I wonder
if he still will be when I get back to New York.
Anyway, write when you can.
Be careful out there,
Audra
“Bradshaw . . .”
It was one of those conversations that
began with a focus and lapsed into an easy silence
before picking up and sailing into fresh waters.
They’d been lulling for a while, enjoying each other’s
silent company, when the question tickled at the
back of Audra’s brain.
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241
“Can I ask you something?” she said before she
changed her mind.
“Can I stop you?” Bradshaw quipped, then chuck-
led, sounding completely at ease. Audra couldn’t
stop a little trill of desire from chasing through her,
but she beat it down with a mental
We’re just friends
and pressed on.
She backpedaled a bit, trying to think of a way to
phrase the question that wouldn’t sound either too
angry or too desperate and ended up with, “Well,
you’re a man, right?”
Bradshaw’s mellow basso chuckle deepened into
a hearty belly laugh. Audra imagined his handsome
face turned up with laughter and wished for the ten
thousandth time she were in New York, enjoying the
pleasure of his laughter face-to-face. “Yeah, Audra,
I’m a man. Or at least I was last time I checked. You
want me to verify it again before we go on?”
“Never mind.” Audra rolled her eyes in exaspera-
tion. “I didn’t mean it like that and you know it. I