Something Borrowed, Something Bleu Read Online Free PDF Page A

Belle had suggested “roundabout” as the technique of choice, but that would take time—and someone better at prevarication than I was. The other problem was that if I got into Tabby’s good graces, even developed a friendship, I’d be shown up as a big fat liar as soon as I tried to casually ask about the contents of the letter. That would only blow up in my face.
No. Better to be straightforward about it if things went well. I’d show the letter to Tabby today if I got the chance. For all I knew, she’d tell me what the heck Bobby Lee had been talking about, and my mission would be accomplished. We would finally know the truth behind my brother’s death.
Problem was, I didn’t have the letter. Anna Belle did. And my parents had already left for the university.
The door to Anna Belle’s den was closed, but not locked. A psychological barrier only, but she had always believed it to be an effective one. She thought no one in the family went in there when she wasn’t around.
Of course, she was wrong.
When I was a child, Anna Belle’s den had been a source of hidden treasure in the form of her secrets—with the added excitement that I’d have been grounded or worse if she’d ever caught me. Bobby Lee and I had sneaked in on dares a number of times, though never together: Someone had to stand guard. And we’d snooped—in drawers, behind books, under cabinets. Bobby Lee found the racy romance novels tucked under the seat cushions of the loveseat. I discovered a packet of love letters from a high school boyfriend in a flat metal box behind the ancient set of Encyclopedia Britannica. But my find had seemed too personal to share with my little brother, so I’d professed utter failure that day.
I opened the door and went in. Bright stripes of sunlight spilled through the half-drawn wooden blinds, alternating with bands of shadow across sofa, desk, chairs, and floor alike. Particles of dust danced in the narrow shards of light. The air smelled of lemon furniture polish and another one of those phony flower candles, this one trying to be rose but not quite succeeding. I wrinkled my nose at my mother’s jaded sense of smell.
The sudden caw of a crow on the other side of the window gave me a start, and I realized I was tiptoeing. Anna Belle would still have a fit if she knew I was in her den, especially if she knew what I was about to do.
First I checked her desk drawers. No letter. Nothing in the file cabinet, either. Hands on hips, I considered the shelves of books. Once I’d found a credit card in a book with the title Your Money or Your Life . Another time I’d discovered a picture of my grandmother, arms folded and a frown on her face, in My Mother, Myself .
I looked at my watch. At least a thousand books lined the walls. Then my eyes lit on the ancient set of Encyclopedia Britannica.
Well, duh.
The box with the old love letters was still there. The envelope with Bobby Lee’s letter wasn’t.
Damn.
I replaced the box and stood back to scan the rows of book spines. Mostly nonfiction, loosely grouped by subject matter. Self-help titles dominated one long shelf.
There. Night Falls Fast: Understanding Suicide . I took it down and flipped through the pages.
Nothing.
As I slid the book back into place, the one next to it caught my eye. The Empty Chair: The Journey of Grief After Suicide .
Bingo. My brother’s letter was tucked inside the front cover.
I replaced the volume and slid the envelope into my tote bag, thinking about all those self-help books. Could they have anything to do with the changes I’d seen in my mother on this trip home? As acerbic as ever, she nonetheless seemed less aloof, more accessible than usual. It struck me that Anna Belle might have been dealing with my brother’s death all along with the aid of books like these. She always had been a do-it-yourselfer.
As was I. Finding out what had tipped Bobby Lee over the edge would be my self-help.
My closure.
At least that was the plan.

     
     
    Outside, the sky was that