Birthdays of a Princess by Helga Zeiner Read Free Book Online Page A

upbringing to major problems associated
with her. He couldn’t really imagine what it was, but it was certainly relevant
to the case and he wanted to find out what was behind it.
    The girl was guilty, it didn’t need much police work to establish
that, but something about her mother and her grandmother bothered the hell out
of him. He couldn’t put his finger on it. It was just a hunch, one that
wouldn’t let him rest until he figured it out.
    He would zero in on those two ladies. The mother first. He made a
mental note to go and see her. Put the pressure on. But first he had to talk to
the girl once more. Figure her out. Even if she doesn’t tell you much, there’s
always something to gain from an interview. Her background, her upbringing.
Anything. You’re a detective, you’re good at this. You can crack her, she’s
just a young girl.

 
     
     
    Chapter
12
     
     
    It’s Sunday night in the big city. All the people out there can move
around and do whatever they fancy while I’m locked up in a cell of maybe eight
by eight feet. Does it bother me? Not really, I wouldn’t know what to do with
myself out there anyway.
    What I do find disturbing is the thought of having to sit in a class
room tomorrow morning, with other girls next to me. It scares me quite a bit.
So much so that I can’t sleep.
    After the third control round by the security guy who shines his
torch into my room and probably smiles when he sees me wave at him from my bunk
bed like a dolphin flapping its fin, I get up. I open my journal and fish for
new images from my childhood. It really is like fishing. Thoughts appear on the
surface, and when I try to grab them, most of them slip through my hands and
wriggle away again. I can hold on to only one, it’s another birthday.
     
    Birthday Three
    The cake has pink icing, and is decorated with silver candy pellets.
Mom lights the three candles, and I’m supposed to make a wish. What does a
three year old wish for? Not what grown-ups imagine. Kids that age live in the
moment.
    Gracie says: “Don’t you want to have a pretty little doll? One you
can dress up? I’ll make her a dress just like yours, and the two of you can be
like sisters? Do you want a new dress? Shall I make you one? With a matching
bonnet?”
    Mom claps her hands and shrieks yes, that would be lovely.
    Gracie always makes stuff for me. She is so good with her hands,
better, much better than Mom. She spends a lot of time and money on me. I
should be grateful, but at age three I don’t understand the concept of
grateful. I don’t feel indebted yet.
    Now I want cake. I grab for the pellets, and Mom slaps my hand, very
lightly, but still. I start crying.
    “How often do I have to tell you, don’t slap my little girl!”
    “Oh, it’s your daughter now?” Mom yells back louder to
overpower my screeching me, want, cake.
    “See what you’ve done. You’ve upset her!”
    “ Tia…wanna…cake!”
    That does it. Gracie swoops me up, I stop crying because I can’t
breathe and she shushes me and tells me her little angel will get cake as soon
as she says I’m sorry. All I need to do is say two little words. So sorry.
    Gracie lets go a little, enough for me to breathe.
    “Soo…”gasp, sniff, gasp “so…soddy!”
    She gives me cake. I’m on her lap, protected by her softness.
    “My poor little baby. Don’t cry. Gracie loves you.”
    Mom wants to say something but the words of comfort she should be
saying stick in her throat. Instead, she apologizes. In the end she always
apologizes to Gracie, that is part of all my birthdays and in-between. Every
single day in between birthdays there is something to apologize for, and I
learn very quickly that this is the fastest way to get the cake.
    Of course, Gracie makes the dress she wants, in lime green with
white teddy bears printed on it, and the bonnet too. For me, and for a doll
with a painted porcelain face. I put the doll in a corner and forgot about it,
never touched it again, and