Page 83 of Some Like It Scot
Mom:Is there a way you can get those photos and the article removed? It doesn’t look good, Katherine. Everyone loses their temper sometimes, but as I’ve told you on several occasions, living in the spotlight places you in a vulnerable situation. You have to be aware of how you present yourself even more. I’m sure you’ll clear this up.
Article?
I closed out the texts and opened the link. A photo filled up my screen of the waltzing lesson from the day before when I was reaching down to help keep Miss Dupont from falling, but someone had taken the shot and put a very different spin on it. The headline of the post read: “Miss Adventure Turns Nasty.”
I skimmed over the article.Someonehad spun the lie that I’d gotten jealous of the other guests and started a fight. Another photo from the tennis lesson, with Graeme holding his eyes right after I’d hit him with the tennis ball, read: “The true colors of Miss Adventure shine during competition. She may smile on the screen, but she’s seething beneath the surface, waiting for the opportunity to strike.”
Other photos from different moments over the last few days had been twisted to suggest sabotage of other people’s clothing, tripping Mr. Logan (with a photo of him at the dining table after the big spill), and stealing food.
Stealing food? I mean, that’s the only believable one, but still!
Only one person would do such a thing. Someone inside Craighill. Someone with online connections, plus a bone to pick with me.
I growled and nearly threw my phone. Mark!
I immediately sent off two quick messages to Dave and Brett to provide some clarity, but I paused before responding to Mom.
Appearances were everything to her. Presenting as fine and perfect was everything. She didn’t ask if the information was true. She didn’t ask for clarification. She just wanted me to fix it, because it all boiled down to how it made her look in front of her country club friends and the ladies at church.
I pinched my eyes closed against the pain of another conversation about “appearances.” My life-in-accidents stood in stark contrast to her pristine world—another reason I never lived up to my sister’s perfect reputation. I was too painfully authentic, whether I meant to be or not. The longer I stayed away from home, the more I saw how toxic her mindset was. How debilitating to relationships, especially for those closest to her.
I should have been used to it after years of never measuring up to Sarah’s ghost, but it still stung. It was so easy to make a memory into a saint. As the only other girl in the family, the comparisons fell on me.
Fury wound its way through my chest, but the hurt ached even deeper. Hurt that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusions. That she automatically believed the lie.
I placed the phone down and took a deep breath. I couldn’t change her.
The phrase pinged in my mind.Icouldn’tchange her.
God knew I’d tried. Brett too. Even Dad, when I was younger.
But her mind was too mixed up in how she and her family were perceived. And then, after Sarah died, we all walked around on eggshells, waiting for Mom’s outbursts, trying to dodge them, hoping her sudden reactions didn’t land on us. And then we all started avoiding her. Dad stayed at the office. Chase and Brett joined sports and then went off to college. I ran away. First to my grandparents and then... around the world.
It would have been simple to blame her reactions on the death of her child, but the unpredictability was there before Sarah died. Deathjust made things much worse. A few of us suggested she seek professional help, but she said the problem wasn’t her. It was everyone else.
The weight of it pressed on me.
My gaze flew to the cloudy sky out my window, searching, pleading. What was I supposed to do?
And then, the mantra I’d repeated to myself for years hinged into place with a different click.
Icouldn’tchange her.
And then,Icouldn’t change her.
My breath burst from me like a hit to the stomach.
It wasn’tmyresponsibility. A knot in my chest began to unravel.
It wasn’t myfault.
And it wasn’t something I had thepowerto control.
I pulled up her text and steadied my mind.Keep the response simple, and say more when you’ve had time to think.
Me:The information is false. I’m working on fixing it, but keep in mind that people can say whatever they want online and I have no control over it. Traveling is not the problem—a jealous writer is. I’ll send more later.
I reread the post and made some mental notes before grabbing my Edwardian boots and hat and dashing from the room, braiding my damp hair as I went.
