BeautifulMalice - (EPUB全文下载)

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For Hilary
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Part Two
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Copyright
PART ONE
I didn’t go to Alice’s funeral.
I was pregnant at the time, crazy and wild with grief. But it wasn’t Alice I grieved for. No, I hated Alice by then and was glad that she was dead. It was Alice who had ruined my life, taken the best thing I’d ever had and smashed it into a million unfixable pieces. I wasn’t crying for Alice but because of her.
But now, four years later and a lifetime happier, finally settled into a comfortable and routine life with my daughter, Sarah (my sweet, oh-so-serious little Sarah), I sometimes wish that I had made it to Alice’s funeral after all.
The thing is, I see Alice sometimes—at the supermarket, at the gates of Sarah’s day care, at the restaurant where Sarah and I sometimes go for a cheap meal. I catch glimpses of Alice’s glossy corn-blond hair, her model-like body, her eye-catching clothes, from the corner of my eye and I stop to stare, my heart pounding. It takes me only an instant to remember that Alice is dead and gone, that it can’t possibly be her, but I have to force myself to move closer, to reassure myself that her ghost isn’t haunting me. Close-up, these women are sometimes similar, albeit never, never as beautiful as Alice. More frequently, though, they look nothing like her.
I turn away and get on with whatever I was doing before, but all the warmth will drain from my face and lips, my fingertips will tingle unpleasantly with adrenaline. My day is, invariably, ruined.
I should have gone to the funeral. I wouldn’t have had to cry, or feign despair. I could have laughed bitterly and spat into the pit. Who would have cared? If only I’d seen them lower her casket into the ground, watched them throw the dirt into her grave, I would be more certain that she was really dead and buried.
I would know, deep down inside, that Alice was gone for good. ............

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