Shadows 02 Girl in the Shadows by V. C. Andrews Read Free Book Online Page A

mother's. Even something as ordinary and simple as a hairbrush intrigued and fascinated her. She fingered a strand of hair in the bristles and I wondered what the separation had really been like for her even at that young age. She couldn't recall her mother's voice, but I was sure she could recall the scent of her hair, the image of her face, and the warmth of her touch. After all. I knew what it was like to lose your mother and cling to such memories. Sometimes, the sound of similar laughter, the familiar scent of a perfume or even some familiar gesture brought back a movie fill of sweet
remembrances.
Gazing about the room through Echo's eyes. I suddenly realized that there were no pictures of Rhona, either by herself, with Mrs. Westington, or with boyfriends or girlfriends. Surely there had been some. Where were they? Had Mrs. Westington removed them in a fit of anger? Did Echo have any pictures of her mother in her room? I thumbed through the ASL book on signing and located the word for photograph. If I avoided writing things out and forced myself to use sign language. I would learn it much faster.
To say photograph the right C hand was to be held in front of the face with the thumb edge near the face and the palm facing left. The hand was to be brought sharply around to the open left hand and struck firmly against the left palm, which was held facing forward with the fingers pointing straight up. I pointed to the brush and then did the sign again.
She understood immediately and reached for my hand to lead me out of the bedroom down the hallway to her room. I scooped up the ASL book on sin language and followed her. Although it was smaller than the room I was in, it had a similar canopy bed and matching dressers. I saw she had placed Mr. Panda on her bed exactly as I had the teddy bear placed on mine, between the two pillows. I smiled and nodded my approval.
There was a school desk in the left corner with books and notebooks on it. I saw a few dolls on shelves and some treasured souvenirs from places she probably had visited either with her mother or with Mrs. Westington. I didn't see any pictures of her mother on the shelves, dressers, or her desk, but she opened the bottom drawer in one of her dressers, cleared away the socks, and produced a four-by-eight photograph of a pretty, dark-haired woman in an abbreviated two-piece bathing suit holding a beach ball on some beach and posing like a model.
Echo handed it to me and distinctly pronounced the word "moths,"
"Mother," I repeated. Did I dare take her hand and put it on my neck to get her to say it better? Not yet. I thought. Maybe I'd do something wrong.
I gazed at the picture. "She's very pretty." I said, and then realized I wasn't facing her when I had said it. Immediately. I thumbed through the ASL book and found the sign for very pretty. I put the fingers of my right hand over my right thumb, held it just under my mouth, and then made a counterclockwise circle, ending in the same position, and pointed to the picture.
That brought a smile to her lips. I thumbed through the book again and then I put my two outstretched forefingers together, pointed to her and to the picture, and did it again, telling her she was like her mother. I meant just as pretty.
She shook her head. I nodded emphatically, but she shook her head again, this time just as
emphatically as I had nodded, and then she cried, "No," and looked like she was going to burst into tears.
I hadn't meant she was like her, but just that she looked like her. Had she misunderstood?
"You look like her." I repeated, and she continued to shake her head. Language is so complicated and signing so imperfect. I thought. This could be very frustrating. From what well of tolerance did Tyler Monahan draw the patience? I was sure what he did took years and years of training. Perhaps I wasn't up to this and he was right. I would grow tired and disgusted and leave sooner than I planned. I sat there, musing about it, considering