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The next three days, Adele’s household was a bundle of nerves. Harrison had ordered Gretchen to prepare the entire estate for Rachel’s homecoming. Sheets and quilts were washed and ironed for the guest bedroom, the everyday china was polished and ready in the display cupboards, and fresh cut lilies were set in lovely jade vases in every room. Harrison rose every morning and dressed with an air of urgency, only to spend an hour in his study, staring at the dirt road leading to his house. Adele meticulously primped herself and was very conscious to fill her days with activities her mother could be proud of. She helped Gretchen prepare a salad for dinner. She practiced reciting poetry to her father after lunch. She was poised and ready at every moment for her mother to walk through the door, regal and beautiful, and remark at what an enchantingly perfect daughter she had been missing. But as the sun set on the third day, Adele began to grow restless. Her mother’s letter, though very touching, had not provided much detail as to how or when she would be arriving. Adele was in her bedroom, watching the sparrows outside her window flit after each other in the trees when she noticed Marco, a farmhand, taking his leave for the night. His normally tangled mass of dark hair was slicked back with pomade and his cowhide work books had been replaced with scuffed black converses. Her gaze followed him all the way down the road, until he disappeared behind the willow tree. She knew immediately where he was headed, The Joint. The Joint wasn’t really a club. It was an abandoned millinery shop on the outskirts of Blue Ridge, where the mansions turned to apartments and the Studebaker’s turned to pick-up trucks. The first time Adele had been to the Joint, she was thirteen years old. After weeks of begging Clarice, Gretchen’s then-assistant, to take her to a party, she had finally gotten her wish. Clarice would later be fired for smoking in the kitchen while Adele was playing in the room next door. The stench on her uniform gave her away. But on that cold December evening, when Adele wanted so badly to go out dancing like a real teenager, Clarice couldn’t turn her down. She figured Adele would get all dressed up, tag along, and then be too shy to talk to any of the older kids. She would spend the evening in the corner, sipping on a soda with wide eyes as she watched the boys unbutton their shirt and then the girls’. Instead, the night ended with Clarice carrying Adele home in her arms after the young girl had spent the past several hours drinking whiskey and kissing a boy named Henry, who was sixteen. After that first taste of freedom, Adele kept coming back for more. It was not a hard task to manage. She would simple carry her ‘dance’ clothes in a shoulder bag and get changed in the library rest room, conveniently located one block from The Joint. Unlike most of her wardrobe, Adele’s dance gear was much more progressive. She had pleaded with Gretchen to let her purchase the ensemble, which the old maid had deemed as “unfit for a young lady of such esteem”. The outfit was modeled after what Adele had seen older girls wearing to The Joint on many occasions. She wore white converse sneakers, skin-tighter denim pedal-pushers, and a red button-up sleeveless shirt, tied high on her waist. Her hair was teased and ratted into a bump and a ponytail on top of her head. As she strutted into the hot, noisy crowd, Adele felt that she could pass just another girl looking for a good time. Weaving her way through he crowd, Adele felt waves of memories wash over her, something like nostalgia. This was the place where she had had her first kiss, the place where she had first been asked to dance with a boy, and the place where she had met the boy who would take her virginity when she was fourteen. Her eyes caught Marco’s from across the room. He was surrounded by a few other boys and girls, most of whom had just gotten off work and were looking for a drink to blow off some steam. Adele recognized one of the girls. She was black, with long braided hair and big beautiful eyes. Just the week before, Harrison had taken Adele out to lunch at The Heron, Blue Ridge’s most upscale bistro. The girl was mopping up a spilt pitcher of water when Adele and her father walked past her on their way to their regular booth. Adele had given the girl a small smile and a wink, as if to say, “I know you like to dance and drink and kiss boys just like I do. Even though my family has a bit more money, we’re still the same.” The girl gave her a polite nod which Adele mistook for affection. In reality, the girl, whose name was Ivy, felt the same way about Adele as the rest of the patrons at The Joint. She was an upper-class princess looking for a way to feel tough on the wild side. She annoyed them. A few of the more desperate boys would flirt with her for an evening and maybe even sleep with her. But they were using her. Everyone seemed to see it but Adele. Adele tried to look seductive as she approached Marco and his group of friends. She swayed her hips and played with her ponytail the way that the other girls seemed to do naturally. She just looked fake and self-conscious. “Marco, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you,” Adele said in what she hoped was a throaty, sexy tone. A few of the girls, including Ivy, rolled their eyes and stifled back laughter. “Hello Adele. How have you been?” Marco asked without looking at her. Adele, not taking the hint, leaned down next to Marco’s ear, pushing her cleavage right into his eye-line. “I could really use some help around the house, Marco. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind if you stayed late one of these nights,” she whispered while running her fingers along his shoulder. Marco actually laughed at her. He was a nice enough boy, but after a long day of working in the hot sun and two glasses of whiskey, his patience and inhibitions had both run a bit thin. Shocked, Adele stood up and stared at him, slowly shifting her eyes to meet the other girls watching their exchange. Each of their faces reflected back the same amused, expectant expression. Adele was biting back tears. It was then that she took a moment to compare herself to Ivy. Their clothing was undeniably similar, but Adele’s was lacking an authenticity that any real working-class teen could spot even through all the cigarette smoke. The girls was just gotten off their ten-hour shifts as waitresses and maids. The sneakers were for their aching feet, not for fashion. Their button-up shirts belonged to their brothers and boyfriends, and were worn because they had no nice clothing of their own. Adele’s blouse was feminine and fitted in a way that tying it around her waist seemed superfluous. Even her jeans were not real Levi’s, but rather a department store brand with pink stitching around the cuffs. Adele’s outfit was a poor interpretation of their culture, a costume. She returned home that night, ashamed and in tears. Gretchen was the only one in the house awake when Adele finally came home. She had lied to Harrison, saying that Adele had been invited to sleep over at a friend’s house. Watching Adele climb the stairs and shuffle into her bedroom, Gretchen whispered a prayer for her. She was reminded of a night three years ago, when Adele had come into Gretchen’s private guest room in the middle of the night in tears. The story had come spilling out of the young girl’s mouth like a flood, so quickly that the old maid could hardly understand it. Something about a boy and the stables, some rushed decisions and too much to drink. She hadn’t menstruated in two months. Gretchen held the girl as she wept and wept until her nightgown was soaked with sweat and tears. She cradles Adele head just like she did when she was a baby, crying for her mother. Gretchen had never been married or had any children. But she cared for Adele as if she had been her own. The next night, Gretchen prepared a special sedative out of herbs from the garden. In her youth, Gretchen worked as a nurse in an all-women’s secondary school, and had seen her share of desperate cases. All that was left was a stomachache in the morning. Adele slipped her nightgown over her head and crawled into bed. She was sleeping within moments. An hour later, her sleep was disrupted by the unexpected noise of a car horn coming from the front lawn.