Page 22 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 13: Skylar

On March 11th I turned eighteen. My mom made my favorite meal, chicken Parmesan, and Gavin came for dinner. After we’d stuffed ourselves on pasta, Mom brought out the cake. I nearly salivated when I saw that it was coconut, with light pink cherry frosting.

“I’m going to be too fat to ski, Mom.”

“Never,” said my father. “Your metabolism is like your mother’s. Besides, I forbid you to be one of those girls who’s obsessed with her weight.”

“I know, but if I ski next year for Vista College…”

Mom placed a slice of cake on a plate and set it in front of me. “You’re getting into Cornell,” she said. “I have a feeling.”

I wanted to ask if she had any sort of feeling about a scholarship, but I held my tongue. Mom and Dad were solidly middle class, existing in this upper-crust town that had the same diversity as a loaf of Wonder Bread. No college was going to give me a free ride, especially not if they knew who my sister was. But Jo Beth hadn’t offered to help with my tuition and I didn’t know how to ask.

I took a bite of cake and savored the divine taste of butter, sugar, and euphoria. “Oh my God, Mom! This is the best cake you’ve ever made and that’s saying a lot.”

Mom pointed to Gavin. “It was his recipe. Amazing, right?”

Gavin’s cheeks turned as pink as the frosting. “I actually think it could be tweaked a little…”

“No. Don’t change a thing.” I reached over to squeeze his shoulder. “Thank you, Gavin. It’s absolutely delicious.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he replied. “You haven’t even opened your present.” Gavin reached a hand underneath the table, into his jean pocket, and pulled out a tiny box, which he gave to me. “Here,” he said, flicking his bangs out of his eyes. “Happy birthday.”

Judging from the size of the box, it had to be jewelry.

Oh God.

He was giving me jewelry, and in front of my parents, which only quadrupled the awkwardness factor. Hopefully the ring or necklace, or whatever it was, wasn’t heart-shaped. My throat went dry and my panic must have been clearly telegraphed, because Gavin smirked. “Don’t worry, Sky. You’re going to like what’s in the box.”

I lifted the lid. Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton, was a silver book-shaped charm with Jane Eyre—Brontë engraved on the cover. Well, Gavin knew me well enough to know that Jane Eyre was my most favorite book, that I identified with Jane, who believed you could be conventional and still be wrong.

“It’s a key chain,” Gavin said. “You’ll understand, once you open your next present.”

“Huh?”

I looked from face to face in confusion. Dad took a deep breath and handed me a manila envelope, which he’d stashed next to him all through dinner. “It’s from your sister,” he said in a gravelly voice. He used his free hand to scratch at his beard, signaling his disapproval. I opened the envelope and pulled out the papers. There was a note on top.

Happy birthday to the best little sister in the world! Sky, you have goals and dreams that I don’t understand, but never forget how much you have going for you at home. This is going to shock you, but I think you could be as good at skiing as I am, maybe even better. You just don’t push yourself enough. That’s why I want you to have my condo. You can train and you’ll have a place of your own while you go to Vista College. Who knows, maybe the Olympics will be in your future!

Love always,

Jo Beth

Underneath the notes were some legal documents that I tried to make sense of, until Mom spoke up. “She’s set up a trust, Honey. You will get the condo when you turn twenty-one. Until then you can live there, but none of it will legally be yours for another three years.”

“But…why?”

“She was going to give it to you now,” Dad said. “But after we talked, she decided it was better to wait. Your sister has an agenda, Sky. She’s decided that what’s best for you is to stay here and focus on your skiing.”

This was all wrong. My tongue felt so thick, I was surprised my speech didn’t come out slurred. “That’s not what I meant. Why is she giving it to me at all? Won’t she want the condo for herself someday?”

An uncomfortable look passed between my mother and father. “I don’t know,” my mother finally said. “Jo Beth can be erratic. But more than anything, she loves you, and that’s why she’s also decided to draft a will. Should anything happen to her, you will receive everything—all her stocks, all her money—everything.”

“But she’s only twenty-one! Why is she thinking about a will?”

Dad shrugged. “When you’re worth as much she is…”

His voice trailed off, but Dad didn’t need to finish his statement. We all knew what he was thinking. Jo Beth never planned on returning. She would spend the rest of her life in or around Santiago. And for whatever reason, she wanted to be prepared for the worst to happen.