LINDNER - The memoirs of Catherine the Great

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2013 by April Lindner

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the authors intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the authors rights.

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ISBN 978-0-316-21471-1

To Eli and Noah, with love

As I hurtled toward New York City on a Greyhound bus, Id imagined my destination would be a gleaming ultrachic high-rise or a brownstone full of cousins, aunts, and uncles who would gather me into their arms, thrilled to discover the long-lost relative they never knew they had. So the reality was a shock: a hulking windowless concrete block on the corner of Houston and Bowery, painted a forbidding black. There wasnt so much as a doorbell beside the locked front door. Big jagged silver letters spelled out THE UNDERGROUND . Whatever it wasa restaurant? a comedy club? a warehouse?it looked about as welcoming as a maximum-security prison.

I froze on the front stoop, unsure of what to do next. Had my mother really grown up here? Two doors down a woman with fluorescent-yellow hair and a zebra-striped minidress was arranging thigh-high boots in a boutique window, and a mural of a fire-snorting dragon on the side of the building vibrated with color. Though cars blasted past me down the wide street, the sidewalks were surprisingly empty, except for a guy in a long black apron smoking against a wall and a couple of skaters propelling their boards in my direction.

Could I have gotten the address wrong? I dug in the front pocket of my backpack for the letter Id found last Tuesday, the letter that had changed everythingmy past, my present, my future. The return address, in my mothers loopy handwriting, assured me I was in the right place. I pulled it out and unfolded it, hoping for some clue Id managed to miss.

Sweet Chelsea Bell,

By the time you get this letter, I hope youre old enough to understand and forgive me for leaving. As I write, youre probably sleeping in your bed, whats left of your favorite blue blankie clutched to your face, and it hurts to think that the next time I see you youll be older, bigger. Maybe youll barely remember me.

Maybe your dad is reading this letter to you, or maybe youre old enough to read it on your own. Or maybeif Im really luckywell be together soon and youll never need to read this at all. Still, Im writing it just in case.

Youre the best daughter I could imagine, better than I deserve. And your dads a good, kind, responsible man. I need you to know Im not running away from him. Im running toward something. Does that make sense?

I cant explain exactly why I went away, but heres the main thing: Ive been given a chance to undo the biggest mistake of my life. Thats why Ive come back to New York City, to the home I grew up in. I dont know yet how long it will take. There are some people I need to talk to in person. One of them is Jackie, my best friend from high school. I hope youll meet her someday, because I know she would love you, and I bet youd feel the same way about her.

Though Im far away, everything I see makes me think of you. Like today, out on the street, I saw a woman in a pink suit being pulled along the sidewalk by a pack of five identical white poodles. I know you would have laughed at the sight of her flying along, her fussy little pink high heels barely touching the ground as the dogs raced her down the street. You have the greatest laugh, like lots of bells ringing all at once. At night, when Im trying to fall asleep, I close my eyes and I can see your face and hear that laugh.

Remember me always,

Mom

No matter how many times I read the letter, her words still sent a jolt through mean electric current of love, sadness, and even guilt, because my memories of her had worn away, vanishing like that tattered blue blanket. All I could summon was warmth, the tickle of her hair on my face, and the scent of her perfumecut grass and little white flowers.

My discovery of the letter had been completely random. Id had the day off from slinging crullers at Mr. Donut, but it was the worst kind of day off, with nothing to do and nobody to do it with. I finished the last of the mystery novels stacked beside my bed, and the thought of walking to the library to get more in the ninety-five-degree heat gave me a headache. My best (and only) friend, Larissa, was stranded on a family vacation in a part of Cape Cod so remote it didnt even have cell-phone service. Shed be gone for two whole weeks, and though it was pathetic that I had only one real friend, thats what moving every couple of years will do to a person. By the time Dad and I arrived in Marblehead, Id grown so tired of starting over that I couldnt make myself try very hard to fit in. Luckily, Larissa transferred from private school in the middle of freshman year, and she was in as dire need of a friend as I was. But with her out of town, I might as well be a complete pariah.

I could have used a ride to the beach, but of course my dad was at his office, teaching. He never used to teach in the summer; when I was little, hed take me to the beach or the movies, or even to his office, where I would spin around in his chair, make long paper-clip chains, and draw with fluorescent highlighters. But at some point I got too old to hang around with my dad, and he started shipping me off to summer camp to be a counselor in training. This summer I flat out refused to be sent awayI wasnt one of those hard-core camp types who lived to make lanyards and fight color wars. I applied for the job at Mr. Donut so Id have a reason to stay home all summer for once.

So Id gotten my wish, and there I was, hitting refresh at the Nico Rathburn fansite every fifteen seconds, waiting for someone else to make a post. When nobody did, forcing me to face the fact that everyone in the world but me had a life, I decided to look around in Dads closet in search of our old family photos, something I do every now and then so I wont forget my mothers face. She died when I was three, or so my father had always told me.