Elizabeth Mitchell The Ghost of Yesterday

CHAPTER 1

“Dear Diary, today is Thursday, October 2, 2014.

It’s been four months since Mom and I moved from the suburbs to Indianapolis, and just as long since my last entry. So much has happened that I don’t even have the strength to tell it all at once. The move, how I handled it, my relationship with Mom… all of that is important, sure, but the reason I’m writing now is different. It feels foreign to me, and that’s exactly why I want to capture it.

When we moved, I was certain my life was officially going off the rails. A new neighborhood, a new school, strangers, and finally, a new house Mom bought without even consulting me. A true “clean slate’ — all forced upon a socially awkward teenager. I was bracing for the worst, but I must have unknowingly sold my soul to the devil, because reality turned out to be the exact opposite of my fears.

The school in the Near Northside area where I was enrolled surprisingly wasn’t as crappy as my last one. In a month of classes, I haven’t dealt with bullying even once. Plus, they have a great system here: every newcomer (there are three of us this year) is assigned a mentor from their future classmates to help them adapt.

I got Judy Anderson. On the first day, I took her for a pushy bitch, but later I kicked myself for it. In reality, Judy turned out to be sweet and friendly — she just really loves to talk.

On the very first day, she gave me a long tour of the school and campus, introduced me to the kids who were supposed to help me pick extracurriculars. And on the second day, she introduced me to her friends, and they accepted me into the group surprisingly fast.

This kind of hospitality is still new to me. I’ve never had more than one friend at a time, and here there are five of them at once, and they’re all wonderful:

Rachel Torres is Judy’s best friend. She’s an honors student but not a bore at all. She has a great sense of humor and a musical taste similar to mine. Her parents are from Mexico, which explains her striking Southern looks. I like her.

Tom Calhoun is Judy’s boyfriend. They started dating last summer when they had barely turned fifteen. Personally, I think starting a serious relationship that early is risky business, but that’s their deal. Tom, unlike most students, comes from a wealthy family but is very well-bred. He’s helpful, gallant, sits on the student council, and is gunning for school president this year. Every parent’s dream.

Sam Davis — this is going to sound stereotypical, but Sam is a tall Black guy who’s been obsessed with basketball since he was six and plans to make a career out of it. He talks about it so often that sometimes he seems like a total bore.

Miles Evans is Sam’s best friend. I barely know anything about him except his last name and his passion for arguing with the World History teacher (we have that class together). We also cross paths in Geography and Chemistry, but it seems only Mr. Grol is “lucky’ enough to listen to his fierce debates about military battles. Sometimes it’s annoying, but overall Miles is sweet. Though, in my opinion, he smokes way too much.

And, of course, Judy. I’ve already written about her. I’m so glad we became friends. Without her, I doubt I would have found anyone in this school.

And I definitely doubt that Miles, whom I’ve barely spoken to, would have offered to walk me home today.

Does this mean he likes me? I don’t know. Но he asked the question right in the cafeteria, in front of everyone, after which Judy and Rachel didn’t give me a moment’s peace all day. Gossiping in the restroom, Judy confessed: Miles had been whining to her for two weeks that he didn’t have the nerve to ask me out. Rachel, for her part, got annoyed that she was out of the loop and left without wanting to share in the collective joy.

As for me, I still find it hard to describe my feelings. It’s like winning a thousand bucks in the lottery: everyone around you is cheering, and you’re just standing there not knowing what to do with the winnings.

I’ve never been in a relationship. I’m only fifteen. I don’t know what love is, how it’s born, what it feels like to touch, or if it’s even necessary — if, in the end, someone can suddenly replace it with pain. I’m scared, but also terribly curious. So, even though I froze up in the cafeteria, I still said yes.

We agreed to meet at the main entrance. I was a bit late after Math, and Miles was waiting for me outside the gates, finishing, as he later admitted, his third cigarette. Sam and Rachel vanished the moment they saw me.

As soon as I walked up, Miles licked his full, chapped lips, took a final drag, and flicked the butt into the trash can. My knees were shaking slightly, but I tried not to show it. I wanted to seem more experienced with guys than I actually was, even though I wasn’t even sure if anything would come of us.

To my surprise, we found plenty of common ground. And while Miles was usually the one initiating the conversation, every topic resonated with me. We chatted about everything under the sun, getting to know each other and not noticing time slipping away.

I still remember the cool wind rustling the fallen leaves under our feet and how quickly it got dark. At first, I chalked it up to the overcast weather, but it turned out our walk had stretched into two hours instead of the usual thirty minutes.

I’ve never been able to talk to anyone for so long about the things I love. It’s funny: just yesterday I knew almost nothing about Miles and didn’t see him as a potential boyfriend, and today I’m writing about him in my diary as the most pleasant person in the world.

Is this really how love is born?”

Smiling at the thoughts of the day, Allison closed the thick notebook with its hard, sticker-covered cover. She hid her secret stash at the bottom of her desk’s lower drawer, burying it under a pile of small junk.

Allison was a typical teenager with her own quirks: she loved the music of long-dead rebels and cold cereal for breakfast; she wore oversized sweaters and old sneakers until they were full of holes. She spent most of her time in her room, teaching herself to play an old, out-of-tune guitar while her parents spent their lives at jobs they hated.

And although Allison’s family situation differed from that of her peers, in every other way she was just like everyone else: desperately trying to hide her true self behind a screen of normalcy to feel like she “belonged.”

The clock on her bedside table showed almost ten in the evening. It was time to go to bed. Allison lazily changed into her pajamas and hopped onto the bed, which had been unmade since yesterday. Lying in a star shape under the dim light of the lamp, she replayed moments of the walk in her memory, playfully kicking her legs to the beat of the quiet music in her headphones.

Suddenly, there was a soft but distinct knock. Allison instantly switched off the music and jumped out of bed.

“Allison, are you asleep yet?” a tired female voice asked from behind the door.

The door creaked open, and Amanda, Allison’s mother, entered the room. Every movement betrayed her exhaustion.

“No… I was just about to. Did something happen?” the girl asked, flustered, putting her phone aside and trying not to look her mother in the eye.

Amanda leaned against the doorframe, adjusting a heavy dark-green robe that was about two sizes too big for her. She kept wrapping the wide terry sleeves around herself as if trying to hide inside them. Crossing her arms over her chest and clutching a glass of wine in one hand, she said:

“No… nothing happened. I just wanted to see how things were going at the new school. How are your grades? Have you made any friends? We barely talk, and I just… wanted to know how my favorite daughter is doing.”

“Everything’s fine, Mom. You don’t have to worry. I signed up for the music club the other day… You know that; you asked me literally yesterday,” Allison replied without looking up. She was afraid to see the usual smoldering contempt in her mother’s eyes.

“Mmm. And I can’t ask again?” Amanda’s tone shifted sharply. “I’m your mother, and I have the right to know what’s going on in your life every day. Every hour, if I want! I do so much for you… Don’t you dare distance yourself from me.”

Amanda’s voice rose with every word. Allison knew this tone — the inflections became fluid, words tangled, and sentences blurred into one continuous accusation.

“Mom… you promised…” Allison finally looked at her. Her gaze held nothing but disappointment.

“Yes, and so what?! Don’t you dare reproach me!” Amanda shouted in a trembling voice. “If it weren’t for your father…”

She cut herself off sharply, suppressing a flash of hatred. Even two years after the split, the pain hadn’t subsided. Every cell in her body was saturated with malice toward the world, and her daughter, a carbon copy of her father, was the heaviest and most hated reminder of the past.

“Mom, why are you doing this?” Allison was on the verge of tears.

“I repeat: don’t you think for a second you can blame me!” Amanda’s voice thundered. “You have no idea how hard it is for me! The divorce, the move, the custody battles! I’m working my skin off to raise you to be a decent person, closing my eyes to everything that happened!”

Amanda bored her gaze into her daughter’s emerald eyes. A lump formed in her throat. She didn’t even understand why she had started this conversation, which had once again turned into a screaming match. Allison, meanwhile, finally realized: her mother, who had promised to quit drinking and forget the past after the move, was too weak. This weakness bred a responsive rage in the girl.

“And you think it’s easy for me?!” she screamed. “Easy to know that I’m just as much of a ‘blank space’ to my father as I am to you? Do you know how the people I thought were my friends bullied me? The whole school pointed fingers! And then there was Dabria…”

Tears finally burst from her eyes. Amanda had nothing to counter, it was the truth. But she always placed her own suffering above all else, dismissing her daughter’s feelings as mere “teenage rebellion.”

“Don’t you even dare… raise your voice at me, you brat!” Her mother’s voice broke. “You think I moved here out of ambition? No, I was thinking of you, you ungrateful girl! So that people wouldn’t look at you sideways because of our divorce and your imaginary friend! And you pay me back with this pathetic behavior. And you even dare reproach me for my drinking. I have the right to relax after a day like this!”

Amanda drained the glass in one gulp, trying not to spill a drop. Despite her daughter’s state, she finished in a voice that was now ice-cold:

“I came here to talk… That’s it. Go to sleep. I don’t want to see you, you damn egoist.”

She slammed the door with a crash. Allison heard her mother go into the living room to watch a show about celebrity chefs, grabbing a new bottle of red on the way.

The girl collapsed to the floor, burying her face in her knees and sobbing hysterically. Every one of her mother’s words stung like a hundred knives. The one person who was supposed to protect her like a lioness protecting her cub had herself turned into a predator, ready to tear her apart.

All the euphoria from the walk with Miles, the feeling of being wanted and the fairy tale her life was beginning to turn into, evaporated. That rainy June morning flashed back into her mind — the morning when her carefree childhood ended, replaced by gray weekdays full of disappointment and loneliness.

CHAPTER 2

Once, in the late nineties, as she was finishing her degree in economics, Amanda was certain that boundless prospects lay ahead of her. She had aced her penultimate exam and had already chosen a lavish graduation dress reminiscent of a Princess Diana outfit. Amanda knew exactly who would be on her arm at the ball: Ben Green, the top graduate of Huntington University’s Class of ’98, a handsome guy with great promise.

They started dating in their junior year. At a student party, Ben played a song he’d written on the guitar; the last line was an invitation to a date. It touched the heart of the once-unapproachable Amanda Phelps. Two years later, they were spinning in a slow dance at their graduation night.

The most ambitious couple in the university was the center of attention. Ahead lay a long, happy, and successful life — at least, that’s what the professors predicted, and Ben himself had no doubt.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment, you have no idea,” he whispered. “You and me, graduates, dancing our dance…”

“I’ve been waiting too, Ben.”

“I don’t see much excitement on your face. Is it because you didn’t fit into that red dress? Forget it, you’re even more beautiful in this one. I love you in any look. Have fun, it’s our celebration!”

Ben put his arm around Amanda’s waist and gently kissed her forehead.

“Ben,” she said anxiously. “I need to tell you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

“Just promise me you won’t react too harshly. I don’t want people to hear us.”

“What are you talking about?” Ben froze in confusion.

“Ben, I’m… I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father.”

He stopped abruptly. The melodic music died down, and the hall exploded with rhythmic tracks by the band Modest Mouse.

“What did you say? Wait… you’re joking, right?”

“No. I’m already four months along. That’s why I didn’t fit into that dress.”

“You… what?”

Ben’s eyes filled with rage. Looking at the flustered Amanda, he saw only the collapse of the future he had worked for all those years. His stubbled face flushed red, which genuinely frightened the girl — she had never seen him like this.

“Ben, I thought you’d be happy. We’re going to have a baby, I even know the gender…”

Amanda tried to put her arms around his neck, but he pushed her away roughly.

“Do you even realize…” Ben wiped sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his light-blue shirt, grabbed Amanda by the wrist, and dragged her toward the exit. “Come on. We’re discussing this outside.”

Lighting a strong Marlboro, Ben paced back and forth. A lone streetlamp illuminated the campus courtyard, making the atmosphere even more oppressive.

“How long have you known?”

“Two months.”

“Dammit!” Ben kicked the railing hard.

“Ben! We were so happy…”

“I don’t know what to think, Mandy! You stayed silent for two months while I was laying out career plans for you! You smiled to my face, knowing all of this was going to hell. My parents won’t forgive this… You…”

He stood flush against Amanda, bracing his hand against the wall and piercing her with a heavy gaze.

“Ben, I…”

“What? Did you do it on purpose to tie me down?

“No!”

Amanda burst into tears, no longer able to hide her fear. Ben smoked one cigarette after another until the pack was empty. They didn’t return to the hall that evening. Ben called a taxi, helped her into the car, and, slamming the door, walked silently into the darkness.

Amanda risked being a single mother, but Ben, raised in a religious family, made a difficult decision. His parents wouldn’t have tolerated an abortion, but an out-of-wedlock child was a disgrace to them. After three weeks of heavy silence, Ben came to the Phelps house with a bouquet of peonies.

“You?” Amanda opened the door, hiding her eyes.

Ben immediately noticed her stomach. By this time, it had become clearly visible. Hiding the pregnancy was now pointless.

“I… came to apologize for that night. And for my silence, too.”

“I thought you’d run off to the other side of the country,” Amanda said quietly, wiping her eyes.

Ben smirked sadly.

“I know the baby wasn’t part of your plans,” she began to justify herself. “It’s my fault. You don’t have to… build your career, I won’t file for child support.”

“Amanda, wait. Yes, the news was a shock. I wasn’t ready… But I’ve thought it over. Here, this is for you.”

Ben, forcing a smile, held out the bouquet. Their conversation was interrupted by Mr. Phelps, Amanda’s father, who suddenly appeared behind Ben with heavy bags of groceries.

“Dad, did you forget your glasses in the car again?” Amanda smiled weakly.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Phelps,” Ben stammered.

“Oh, it’s you. You came to your senses, then?” Her father shot the young man a stern look. “Well, don’t stand on the threshold. Come in. We won’t eat you. Fiona baked a tart.”

That evening, over tea and pie, Ben officially apologized to the Phelps family and proposed to Amanda. Three weeks later, they had a modest civil ceremony in the presence of their parents.

Amanda moved in with the Greens. A week later, Ben got his first serious job at Heights Finance Inc. The company saw immense potential in him. Ben’s joy knew no bounds, but he didn’t yet know the price at which this luck had come. Amanda, meanwhile, at seven months pregnant, began to realize: her career might never start. She enjoyed the role of a homemaker, but the question of unfulfilled dreams haunted her for years.

Twelve years passed. Their daughter, named after the actress Allison Hayes, turned thirteen. Ben had made a brilliant career, becoming a lead analyst, bought a house in Greenwood and a brand-new Honda Accord. He never once betrayed his dream of being the best, but as his colleague used to say: “Huge success at work is a collapse in your personal life.” She was right.

One overcast summer morning, Amanda woke up to find an A4 sheet on the nightstand, written on both sides:

“Dear Amanda, as much as I didn’t want this to happen, it has. I’m leaving. For good. I didn’t want a scene in front of our daughter, so I’m writing this letter. Please don’t show it to Allison. Tell her I’m on a business trip. I don’t want to hurt her with my sudden disappearance.

Right now you’re sleeping, certain that I’ll be back by morning. And you’re right. I’ll be back, but only for my things. Mandy, it hurts me to say this, but I stopped loving you the day I found out about the fourth month of pregnancy. All these years I’ve lived with guilt and disappointment.

I’ll tell you a secret: that day, I really was going to leave for another state. But before coming to you with the peonies, I ran into your father at Kroger. That damn guerrilla cornered me at the counter and set a condition. He promised to get me into his friend’s firm if I proposed to you. And if not, he promised to find me under the earth and ruin my life. I had no choice.

Your father has been gone for three months now, and I am simultaneously grateful to him and hate him for what he did to us. Now I’m leaving with a clear conscience, knowing you know the truth. For thirteen years, I’ve been a prisoner. Even Allison couldn’t revive my feelings for you.

And one last thing: for the past two years, I’ve been having an affair. I often hung out with my colleague Daria, the same one who was over for Thanksgiving.

I’m sorry, Mandy. I’m a scoundrel, and you have every right to hate me.

Daria and I have been scouted by a major firm in New York, and I’m not missing this chance. I’ve already filed the divorce papers. The house and the pickup are yours. I won’t fight for custody of Allison, but I’ll send two thousand dollars every month for her support. I hope you stop being a boring housewife and take care of yourself.

Goodbye. No longer yours, Ben Green.”

This letter shattered their world. In an instant, Allison became a victim of bullying at school and abuse at home, fighting PTSD alone. Amanda, meanwhile, sank into depression, drowning her pain in cheap alcohol.

Only two years later did Amanda decide to start with a clean slate by moving. Но even now, sitting by the fireplace in the new house, she reread that treacherous letter over and over, washing down every sentence with a semi-dry red.

CHAPTER 3

The second hand smoothly reaches twelve. Exactly seven in the morning. The alarm begins its obnoxious beeping until Allison, trying in vain to finish a final dream, switches it off.

Rising with difficulty, she walked over to the mirror on the closet door. She turned on the floor lamp standing nearby and immediately regretted it: even the dim light ruthlessly highlighted the consequences of the previous night.

Until almost three in the morning, she had lain in bed, buried under the covers, trying to drown out the sound of Amanda’s crying from the living room while swallowing her own tears. Exhaustion had only claimed her toward dawn.

Heading to the bathroom, Allison glanced at the living room. Amanda had ended up sleeping there. Apparently, she hadn’t had the strength to make it to the bedroom during the night, and now she lay curled in a ball on the small sofa, her legs barely fitting. Clutching a piece of paper like a teddy bear and wearing Ben’s heavy robe over her pajamas, Amanda was sound asleep.

On the coffee table sat two empty wine bottles and a plate with dried-out pasta. Passing by, Allison accidentally nudged a glass lying on the rug. Afraid of waking her mother, she froze, then quietly took the remote and turned off the TV, which was silently broadcasting a rerun of a cooking show.

The room went dark. Allison cast a sad glance at her mother through the light spilling from the hallway and, shuffling in slippers that were too big for her, went to the bathroom.

Locking the door, she turned the shower on full blast. Sitting on the toilet lid, the girl began to sob again. To keep her mother from hearing her over the noise of the water, Allison pressed her hands over her mouth with all her might until the hysterical fit subsided.

She knew what piece of paper Amanda was clutching. Covered on both sides in black gel pen, with those sweeping capital letters, her father’s handwriting was more recognizable than ever. Allison had hoped all the horrors of Greenwood were in the past, but the pain inflicted by Ben hadn’t gone anywhere. It had moved into this house with them.

Nearly an hour passed before Allison regained her composure. She showered and washed her face several times with ice-cold water to reduce the swelling. Carefully brushing her thin light-brown hair, she pulled it into a loose bun and tried to use her mom’s concealer to hide the shadows under her swollen hazel eyes.

The thought that her appearance would scare Miles away wouldn’t leave her alone. She was afraid their connection would end as abruptly as it had begun.

Returning to the room, Allison noticed that the sofa in the living room was empty. The letter and the bottles were gone as if they had never existed. For a moment, she felt afraid: what if her mother had woken up from her crying? But she quickly dismissed the thought, hoping Amanda had been woken by something else. In their family, showing weakness wasn’t a thing, it was the result of the harsh upbringing by Mr. Phelps, a Vietnam veteran.