Secret Brother Read online

  “So he’s speaking to you?”

  “A little, very little. It will take time.”

  “Time,” I muttered. I hated the sound of that word now. For me, it had become profanity. I leaned forward. “How do you know he’s not lying about being unable to remember his name or what happened to him or his family or anything?” I demanded.

  She thought a moment. Was she pretending I had asked a good question, or had she thought that, too? I decided to pursue it. Maybe I could make her see what was really happening, and she would tell my grandfather, and that would end all this.

  “He could have come from a very poor home, and he sees all we have here, and . . . and he sees how easy it is to take advantage of my grandfather because of Willie’s death, take advantage of everyone in the house, everyone except me.”

  “All that is a little bit sophisticated for a boy who looks about nine or ten, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  “I do, but I will admit that what your grandfather has given him is a way out of his turmoil, the conflict raging in him from what were obviously traumatic events. He has to like and want that, but he’s not conniving.”

  “If he hasn’t said much, how do you know all that?”

  “I have treated children who were caught in wars and have seen horrible violence. It’s not much different. That’s why I suggested your grandfather hire Mrs. Camden. She’s treated war victims.”

  “He’s not a war victim. There’s no war here.”

  “There are different kinds of wars, Clara Sue,” she said. “Family wars.”

  “Right. Like right here, right now.”

  “Oh, it’s not that bad,” she said. “Everyone is concerned for you as much as they are for the little boy.”

  “Says you.”

  “Is it that you don’t want to believe it?” she asked softly. “Because if that’s true, it’s understandable,” she added quickly. “You are not at fault here for anything. And I want you to believe me when I say that I don’t believe you have anything wrong with you that would require me to examine and treat you. If anything, what you’re feeling is understandable, normal.”

  “Good. Tell my grandfather.”

  “But you are also feeling threatened, and that’s a little paranoid, too.”

  “A little paranoid? What’s that, like being a little pregnant?”

  She widened her smile and nearly laughed. “Maybe. Look, Clara Sue, you’re a very important part of this effort to bring him back, if you will. You will be far happier if you accept that. It’s easy to see you’re not happy now.”

  “Yes, everyone says that, but I lost my little brother, and this . . . weird kid is living in his room, wearing his clothes, taking everything that was his, even his name!”

  “Why don’t we think of it more in terms of borrowing it, sort of like hitching a ride from the darkness into the light? You’d give someone in desperate need a ride, wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t believe my grandfather simply wants to give him a ride. I think he’s . . .”

  “He’s what?”

  “Replacing my brother,” I said. “And that’s not a little paranoid. He’s the one who needs your help, not me.”

  “I’ve been helping him,” she said. It stunned me for a moment. My grandfather was going to a psychiatrist? “He’s seeing me twice a week now.”

  “Good for him. He might need to see you five times a week,” I replied.

  “I’m sure you don’t mean to sound this way, Clara Sue. Don’t you think he’s suffering with the loss of your brother, too?”

  I looked away. “Not enough,” I muttered. “Not when he has this weird boy in Willie’s room.”

  “What if it was the other way around? What if it was Willie who had been poisoned and who was helped by someone like your grandfather? Would you be happy for him or angry?”

  “It’s not the other way around! I’m not going to play mind games with you about it, either,” I said, standing. Tears were starting to burn under my eyelids, but I was determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry. I scooped up my books. “Do whatever you want. I’ll stay away from him. You can tell my grandfather that I promise I won’t hurt him. I won’t spoil anything for him. I won’t even look at him.”

  “But no one wants you to stay away from him. It’s exactly the opposite. Everyone wants you to work with us to help him. I think deep down, you want that, too.”

  “I don’t. I don’t care. I just want to be left alone.”

  “Can we talk about this again?”

  “No,” I said, and I walked out of the room and up the stairs. As I passed Willie’s room, I saw Mrs. Camden turn away from the boy, who was sitting up in bed, to look toward me. Before she could say a word, I was in my room. And so she’d understand how I felt about it all, I slammed my door closed.

  I flopped onto my bed, pressed my clenched fists against each other, and looked up at the ceiling. Why was I the only one who saw the injustice? My Faith, Myra, Mrs. Camden, and now Aaron all thought I was being unfair. In their minds, I was the one who needed to change, not my grandfather. The only ally I had was what Grandpa Arnold called a “weak sister,” Lila Stewart, who probably said one thing to my face and another to our girlfriends, anyway. And now this psychiatrist . . . she infuriated me, and yet I couldn’t deny that she had planted some doubt in my mind. Maybe I was being a little paranoid.

  I turned over and pressed my face into the pillow, wishing I could smother myself. That would teach them all. Nothing seemed more important than spiting them, getting even, making them regret every word they had uttered against me, every critical syllable. I fantasized about what it would be like. The house would be a morgue again; only this time, there would be reason for someone in it to feel guilty—actually, everyone in it. They’d all be sitting there moaning and groaning, wishing they had been different and kinder to me. Most of them would look at my grandfather angrily now. Why did you have to bring this boy here at this time? And when you saw how it disturbed Clara Sue, why didn’t you remove him? Uncle Bobby would actually stand up and ask these things out loud. Grandpa Arnold would stammer and stutter and then get up and run into his office. He wouldn’t be able to look at the picture of my grandmother, and the pictures of my parents would be like thorns in his heart.

  All these images made me feel better. I took a deep breath and sat up, wiping my face to be sure there wasn’t a single tear of self-pity trickling down my cheek. Then I went to my stereo and turned it on, deliberately making it louder than ever. I started to change my clothes and then got a new idea. On the floor of my closet, I had my mother’s personal makeup kit. It was old, and most of it was dried out, but with a little water, I might revive the mascara and the eye shadow. Certainly, I could use the lipsticks. Maybe the makeup foundation and the blush were fine. I brought the case into the bathroom and sat before the vanity mirror table in my bra and panties and began. I’ll show them, I thought. I’ll go down to dinner all made up.

  In a frenzy, I began. My memories of watching my mother do it were vague, but I did recall how easily and confidently she put on her makeup, and when she was finished, she looked like a movie star to me. Grandma Arnold was not fond of using much makeup, so I learned practically nothing from her. My girlfriends and I did experiment with it, of course, but the school rules kept us from using it frequently. I wasn’t in quite the mood to be careful about it. Actually, anyone watching would think I was attacking my face. I added too much water to the mascara and the eye shadow. They began to run. The foundation didn’t seem to be the right shade, and the blush, if anything, looked too pale. Adding more seemed to compound the clownish appearance I was building. I knew I had put on too much lipstick, and in wiping it off, I smeared some on my cheek.

  The sound of heavy knocking on my door finally caught my attention. I rose and went to it. “What?”
I demanded before it was half open.

  Mrs. Camden stood there, a wide look of astonishment on her face. She looked like she couldn’t speak for a moment. “Your music,” she managed first. “You can’t mean for it to be this loud.”

  I turned and realized what she meant. Somehow, I had not heard it while I worked on my makeup.

  “They can hear it downstairs. Your grandfather just shouted up for me to see what is happening.”

  Without replying, I went to the stereo and lowered it considerably. “Happy?”

  “What are you doing, Clara Sue?” she asked, stepping in.

  “I’m putting on my makeup for dinner,” I said.

  “Oh, no. Can I help?” she asked.

  “I don’t need anyone’s help,” I said.

  She stood there staring at me. “You’re not feeling well,” she said. “You’re getting yourself too upset.”

  “Getting myself upset? That’s a laugh. Look, I’m busy.” I returned to the bathroom. I sat at the vanity mirror again and looked at my face. It was streaked now. Everything seemed to be running into everything else. I looked like a clown who had gone insane.

  There was nothing to do but take a washcloth and begin scrubbing it all off. I turned when I sensed she was still there, standing in my bathroom doorway.

  “My mother forbid me to wear any makeup, even lipstick,” she said. “I used to sneak it on at school and then wash it off before I went home. Do most of the girls at your school wear makeup?”

  “No. There are rules against most anything but a little lipstick,” I said. “Most schools are built on a cement foundation. Mine is built on cement rules.”

  She laughed. I looked at her, surprised. “You don’t really need much makeup,” she said. “Wait until you’re my age.”

  “My mother used makeup.”

  “Yes, but I’m sure not for everyday life, right? I bet she didn’t use that much when she went shopping.”

  “Still, she used it when she went to parties and shows.”

  “You’re going to a party this weekend, right?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?”

  I didn’t answer.

  “You’ve got to stop punishing yourself, Clara Sue. It won’t change anything. If you change your mind and decide to go, I’ll go shopping with you for something to wear, and I’ll share whatever I know about doing makeup, too.”

  I turned to look at her again. I could feel my eyelids narrowing, the flush coming up my neck. “You know that it won’t do you any good, don’t you?” I said.

  “Pardon?”

  “Trying to be my pal. It won’t change how I feel about him being here. Don’t waste your time.” I went back to scrubbing my face.

  When I turned to the doorway again, she was gone. Half of me felt delight, but the other half felt regret. I sat there in confusion, not knowing whether I should start crying again or start laughing. Thankfully, the phone rang before I needed to decide. I expected it to be Lila, but it was Aaron.

  “Just tell me what I did wrong,” he began. “I like to learn from my mistakes with girls.”

  “You decided to date me.”

  “Huh?”

  “That’s what you did wrong. I’m sure you were undecided about it.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I’ve been trying to get your attention since the first day of school. I just backed off when your brother was killed.”

  “I don’t make anyone happy,” I warned.

  “I’m already happy, and don’t say you’ll make me unhappy. I was vaccinated against it.”

  “You’re such an idiot,” I said, but softly. I looked at myself in my full-length mirror on the closet door. “Do you think I need to wear makeup? I mean, more than just lipstick?”

  “I don’t know anything about makeup, but I wouldn’t want to change anything on your face.”

  “I could be sexier.”

  “My heart can stand only so much excitement,” he replied, and I had my first laugh of the day.

  “Okay. I’m sorry I was so cold before. Come get me in the morning.”

  “Did you hurt the psychiatrist?”

  “She won’t be the same. I pity her next patient.”

  He laughed.

  “Let’s not talk about it. Let’s not talk about any of it, Aaron.”

  “Fine with me,” he said. “I’m satisfied just talking about you. See you in the morning.”

  “Okay. Now you can wash your car for the tenth time in two days,” I told him.

  After I hung up, I did feel better. I didn’t put on anything special for dinner. It was still early, so I started some homework, and then, when it was time to go down, I sucked in my breath, gazed at myself in the mirror, and decided right there to leave that sweet little girl who was once in my body behind. Like a pair of shoes gone out of style.

  Suddenly, that made it far easier to walk past Willie’s room and treat it as if it had been boarded up. There’s no one in there, I told myself. There’s no lift on the stairway and no wheelchair at the bottom. There is no physical-therapy equipment in Grandpa’s den.

  And Mrs. Camden? She was simply some guest Grandpa had invited to stay for a while.

  I could feel the coy new smile on my lips. I would probably become so difficult to tolerate that they would all ignore me. It would be easier for me to forget what was happening here.

  But I wouldn’t forget Willie. Oh, no. Everything I did from now on would be to help me remember him.

  I bounced down the remaining steps and headed for the dining room. When everyone saw me and stopped talking, I smiled again.

  “I’m absolutely starving,” I said, and sat quickly. I reached for a piece of bread and practically shoved it down my throat.

  No one spoke.

  The looks on their faces were priceless.

  It was as if a total stranger had just walked into the house and taken my seat.

  11

  At dinner, Grandpa Arnold didn’t ask me anything about my conversation with Dr. Patrick, nor did he mention anything she had told him about our tense little discussion. Perhaps she had told him that the best way to handle me was to ignore me. I knew that was what everyone was doing now, handling me. They had been doing that since the day Willie died. I had resented it until now. Handle me, I thought. Cater to my every whim and need. I could be as selfish as anyone else, if I had to be.

  As if to underscore what I was thinking, my grandfather and Mrs. Camden talked about everything else but me and the boy in Willie’s room. I didn’t know if he was putting on a show for me to demonstrate that he could be just as aloof about it all as I was, but Grandpa Arnold was even more interested in Mrs. Camden, her early life, her education, some of her nursing experiences, and how she had come to live in Prescott. It was almost as if I wasn’t there, but I was interested in her answers.

  Shortly after her husband had died, Mrs. Camden said, she had taken a private-duty nurse position at the home of one of the founding families of the community, the Brocktons. The matriarch of the family had been a vigorous woman in her early eighties, but she had rapidly fallen into what Mrs. Camden called dementia. It had gotten so she didn’t even recognize her own children and certainly not her grandchildren.

  Of course, I wondered how you could forget your own family. I almost unintentionally turned the conversation to the boy when I asked, “Isn’t that just amnesia?”

  “Amnesia,” she said, “is the loss of facts, personal experiences. Dementia is the loss of mental functions like cognition, the ability to reason, to understand what’s being said or done. There’s loss of memory and even language skills, but it’s a far more severe situation. Amnesia victims can and do eventually remember things,” she explained.

  I looked at Grandpa while she spoke. He was staring at her with such admiration. It
really surprised me, because I knew it wasn’t easy to impress him. I think he realized that I was looking more at him than at her while she spoke. He cleared his throat and turned back to his food.

  “Well, I’m with the Eskimos when it comes to that condition,” he said. “Time to put you on a shelf of ice and set you sailing off into the sunset.”

  “Oh, you don’t really believe that, William,” Mrs. Camden told him. I saw how she reached over to put her left hand over his for a moment. He didn’t pull his away. She lifted hers, and they got started on a new topic.

  Well, they’re happy peas in a pod. Good for them, I thought. I finished my dinner and excused myself to go up and complete my homework. I was so proud of the way I could walk past Willie’s room and not have the slightest temptation to look into it. Perhaps the boy would see how indifferent I had become to his existence and that would discourage him enough to consider returning to his own family. I pushed all that aside, finished my work, and began to think more about Audrey’s party. I wanted to wear something special, something different, something that clearly said She’s no little girl anymore.

  I knew I could have Aaron take me shopping, but I was sure he would be bored, and besides, I wanted to surprise him with what I wore. I was half-tempted to take Mrs. Camden up on her offer to go shopping with me. It would be interesting to see how much of an effort she would make to do it or if it was just something she had said to sound nice, not only to me but to my grandfather. Then I thought, Why is that even slightly important to me? Once the boy goes, she goes out of our lives with him, doesn’t she?

  Just before getting ready to go to bed, I thought about it again and decided to test her and see what she would do if I said I’d like her to shop with me tomorrow after school. If she did come, would she direct me only to clothes she thought my grandfather would approve? I imagined the boy had gone to sleep and she had gone to her room, the room that had been my parents’ room. I listened just outside my door and heard nothing coming from Willie’s room. Moving quickly past it, I went to Mrs. Camden’s door. I was just about to knock on it when I heard my grandfather’s distinct laugh followed by hers. I was frozen for a moment, my fist inches from the door.