Secret Brother Page 18

  “You’d better make sure no one goes home plastered,” Aaron told Tommy Koch. “They’ll trace it to you, and Audrey will get into big trouble, too.”

  Tommy laughed but looked a little worried.

  “What are your plans for tomorrow?” Aaron asked when we drove away from Audrey’s house.

  I told him I was riding my bike to the cemetery in the morning, and he offered to take me. “Thanks, Aaron, but it’s my private time with Willie,” I said.

  “No problem. I’ll wait for you in the car,” he said. “What’s the difference how you get there as long as you get there?”

  “Okay. I’d like to go about nine.”

  “I’ll be here.” He leaned over to kiss me good-night. “I had a great time,” he said. “I’ve got the hottest girl in the school. And besides, you’re now the big topic of conversation for sure.”

  “In my house, too, I bet,” I said.

  He got out and came around to open the car door for me. I wondered if he had treated every girl he dated the way he was treating me. He reached for my hand to help me get out. “Your grandfather isn’t watching us from some window, is he?” he asked, his back to the house.

  “No,” I said, smiling. “He’s hiding in the bushes.”

  “What?” He laughed. “Okay. See you in the morning.”

  I started toward the front entrance. I could feel him still standing there watching me walk away. Did all girls wonder what the boys who stared at them or watched them walking in the hallways were thinking? Was it always some sexual fantasy? Aaron was my first real boyfriend. I almost felt like I was learning a new language. I turned at the door. He waved, his signature wave that began as a salute and then careened above his head. He got back into his car. I waited until he had driven slowly down the driveway and out, and then I entered the house, eager to go to bed and relive every moment in Audrey’s bedroom.

  All the lights in the house were dim. I had seen the house this way late at night, but it looked different tonight. My home really has changed for me, I thought. I didn’t feel it was my home as much as I had. Shadows seemed deeper. The rooms were vacant, despite the elaborate furniture. Was I being overly dramatic in thinking that love had left this house? The silence seemed to say yes. I expected it would follow me to bed. However, as soon as I closed the door behind me, I heard my grandfather call my name from the living room.

  He was sitting in his favorite big, cushioned easy chair. I could tell he had dozed off and just woken. He wore his light blue robe over his pajamas and slippers, all Christmas presents from Grandma Arnold, from the last Christmas before she died. We had all gotten up at the crack of dawn to gather around the tree. Willie still believed in Santa Claus.

  I glanced around. There was no one else in the room. I was expecting to see Mrs. Camden, maybe even Myra. Normally, she would be up waiting for me, but she was still recuperating from her broken arm and bruises.

  “So how was your party?” he asked.

  “It was all right,” I said.

  “All right? Funny way to put it. When I was your age and I went to a party, it was either great fun or boring.”

  “It was great fun,” I said. I knew I said it like he was pulling it from me.

  “Good. I want you to be as happy as you can be, Clara Sue. I know you’re not happy with how things are at the moment, but I’m hoping you’ll settle down.”

  “Settle down? I’ve lost everyone in my family, Grandpa.”

  “You haven’t lost me.”

  Oh, how I wanted to answer that, but I didn’t. I looked down instead and pressed my lips together so hard that it hurt.

  “Now, I was hoping your uncle Bobby would be here for Thanksgiving, but apparently, that’s a very busy time for his show, so he can’t come.”

  I looked up sharply. “We’re having Thanksgiving?”

  “We’ve always had Thanksgiving, Clara Sue. There were many years when your parents came here for it and, although you were too young to remember, when your grandmother and I went to your home.”

  “How could we have Thanksgiving? What are we thankful for?” I asked him. It was on the tip of my tongue to add, the poisoned boy?

  “Do you think your grandmother or your mother and father would want us to ignore it? You and I are still alive and healthy. We have much more than most people in America. Should we just pretend that isn’t true?”

  “Who would be at our dinner?” I asked.

  “Well, My Faith will make quite a dinner for us, I’m sure. I’ll ask Myra to sit at the table, and Mrs. Camden will be here, and maybe . . .”

  “That boy? He’ll sit at our table?”

  “If he’s able to. It can’t hurt him. Dr. Patrick thinks it might stimulate more healing.”

  “So you think a turkey might help him remember who he is?” I asked.

  He just stared at me for a moment. I could see the conflict going on in his mind. He wanted to shout and send me to my room, but he didn’t want to create any more tension and anger in this house, either. “Thanksgiving is more than a turkey, Clara Sue,” he said softly.

  “Right. I’m tired, Grandpa.”

  “Okay.”

  I started to turn but stopped. “Aaron is coming for me at nine tomorrow.”

  “You going on some picnic?”

  “No, Grandpa. I’m going to Willie’s grave. I’m going to go there every weekend I can,” I said. I waited for him to reply. He didn’t, so I turned and walked away, the silence fleeing at the sound of my footsteps as I pounded my way up the stairs. I had no intention of pausing at Willie’s room, but Mrs. Camden, in her nightgown, stepped out and closed the door partway behind her.

  “Oh,” she said, because I surprised her. “How was your party?”

  “Fine and dandy.”

  “He had a troubling nightmare,” she said, nodding toward Willie’s room.

  “What was it about?”

  “I don’t know, exactly. More or less a typical nightmare a young child might have. You know, some monster hovering over him.”

  “So he didn’t say anything important?”

  She hesitated.

  “He did, didn’t he? What did he say?”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Nothing that makes any sense, at least to us. I’ll share it with Dr. Patrick.”

  “You should share it with the police,” I said, and walked on to my room, thinking, Why should I trust her? She would keep everything a secret as long as she could so she could stay on this job . . . and maybe be with my grandfather. One way or another, I thought, I’ll let her know I’m on to her.

  I was more wound up than I had expected to be before I went to sleep. I wanted to think only about Aaron and me. That poisoned boy ruins everything for me, I thought, even my dreams.

  I made sure to rise early enough in the morning to be ready for Aaron at nine. Grandpa Arnold was at breakfast, but we didn’t say much to each other. While reading the newspaper, he was mumbling about some congressman pushing to have tighter restrictions on the trucking industry, especially regulations about drivers and how long they could go without time off. He left before Aaron arrived, and there was no mention of where I was going. When Aaron pulled up and got out, I thought he still looked half-asleep. He wore his school baseball cap, a school sweatshirt, and jeans.

  “Do you sleep-drive the way some people sleepwalk?” I asked him when he opened the car door for me.

  “I’m awake. I dreamed about you so much last night that it carried into the morning. My mother said I ate breakfast in slow motion and ruined her appetite. My parents make a big deal of weekend breakfasts. Sometimes they go out to brunch.” He looked back at the house and then leaned in to kiss me, pausing to look closer. “You look wide awake.”

  “I’m probably just running on rage,” I said.

  “Oh? Now what?”
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br />   I waited until he got in and we started down the drive. “We’re having Thanksgiving.”

  “So?”

  “I think my grandfather wants it mainly for the boy. They think it might help him recuperate faster.”

  “Ah,” Aaron said. He thought a moment. “Who else will be there?”

  “His private-duty nurse and Myra. My uncle can’t come. He’s in a successful show.” I looked at him. “Why? Do you want me to have you invited to my house?”

  “I’d love it, but I don’t think I can get out of ours. My sister will be home, and my parents invite friends. It’s a big deal.”

  “It always was for me, too, but unlike my grandfather, I’m not very thankful this year.”

  He nodded. “Maybe you should think of it like this. If it does help the boy, he’ll be out of your life that much faster.”

  I grunted.

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No. I think my grandfather sees him as never leaving, no matter what he says to anyone else.”

  “The boy might not feel that way after a while. His life before can’t have been so bad that he doesn’t want anything to do with anyone in his family. Hell, he probably misses his mother or father, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” I said. “And if I voice an opinion, everyone practically jumps down my throat. I’m trying to ignore his existence, but it’s not easy with stair lifts and wheelchairs and therapy equipment, not to mention a nurse parading about as if she is already part of the family.”

  We grew quiet as we approached the famous Prescott cemetery. He drove in slowly. I told him where to turn, and then I told him to stop. He turned off the engine and sat back. I got out of the car and walked the path to Willie’s grave. There was just a marker on it now. The monument was being prepared. It was going to be very special.

  I couldn’t even conceive of Willie being down there. He hated being contained, especially kept in his room when he was sick. He even disliked being in a car too long. I recalled how he would charge out of the house as soon as he could and race around the front, holding a toy sword or a cap gun, pretending to chase some villains. Every part of his body needed to move, to be exercised, to grow. He despised clothes that were too tight, and when Grandma Arnold used to put him to sleep and tuck him in, folding his top sheet under the mattress as if she thought he might fall out during the night, he would complain. I always went into his room after she had left and loosened it up for him.

  I couldn’t loosen anything for him now. I went to my knees and lowered my head.

  “See,” I said. “I promised you I would be here, and I am. I know I treated you like a pain sometimes, and I was probably cruel, but I miss you very much. I miss you more than anyone, Willie. Believe me, more than anyone.”

  I paused and looked around. It was a partly cloudy day. The breeze was stronger, and I could feel the underlying winter air invading. It wouldn’t be long before we had our first snow, something Willie always looked forward to. It was as if the flakes had bells and played a wonderful tune as they fell, inviting him to go out and roll about in them. It was never cold to him. Would it be now?

  I glanced back at Aaron. He was deliberately not looking my way. Were his eyes tearful? Was he afraid of how I would be when I returned? He must really like me to want to do this, I thought. I couldn’t imagine any other boy from school doing this. I couldn’t blame them. Who would want to be with a girl who was still mourning heavily and was so angry, much less go with her to a cemetery? This was very nice of him. Maybe he just has a bad reputation developed by the girls he’s dropped, I thought. Sour grapes make for a bitter drink.

  “I have a boyfriend now, Willie. I think he’ll be my boyfriend for a while, maybe even the whole school year. You didn’t really know him, but you would have liked him, I’m sure.

  “We’re going to have Thanksgiving this year, Willie. I will hate it because you’re not there. I’ll write my letter to you afterward, and then, when I can, I’ll return to tell you more.

  “Never think I might forget you. Never,” I said. I touched the marker with his name, and then I stood up, took a breath, and walked slowly back to Aaron’s car. I saw a crow fly over it and then past me. I turned as it flew lower and landed on Willie’s marker.

  He has a pet, I thought. That will make him happy.

  Aaron didn’t say anything after I got in. He started the car, and we drove out slowly. He didn’t speak until we were back on the street and heading to my grandfather’s estate.

  “You want to do something this afternoon?” he asked.

  “Like what?”

  “Sort of a picnic. I thought we might drive out to Three Wrens Lake and go rowing. We can get some sandwiches and sodas at the shop on the lake.”

  “Okay,” I said. “The less time I have to spend in my house, the better.”

  “You want to go back to change or something?”

  “I’m good. Just go,” I said. He turned to me, looking surprised. “My grandfather will figure it out,” I said. “Or not.”

  Three Wrens Lake was a good hour’s ride south. I knew Aaron was desperate to get me talking about anything except what was happening in my home and what had happened to Willie. He tried one subject after another, talking about school, his classes, our teachers, and his plans for college next year. He was hoping to be accepted at the College of William & Mary in Williamsburg. His father was an alumnus and made significant contributions, so he had a pretty good chance of that happening. Baseball was his sport, and William & Mary had a good team.

  “My father wants me to major in economics,” he told me. He talked almost continuously for the first half hour of our trip. I wasn’t talking, because I was having trouble getting the sight of Willie’s grave out of my head. “He’s always telling me I don’t sing and I don’t dance, so I’d better have a good head on my shoulders for business.”

  He paused, waiting for me to say something. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t think I’d had one thought about my future for weeks. “That’s nice” sounded stupid, so I just kept silent.

  “You ever go rowing on Three Wrens Lake?” he asked, trying a new topic.

  “No.” I thought about it. “I don’t remember ever going rowing, actually.”

  “Really? Great. I’ll teach you how, and then I’ll lie back and let you row us for hours.”

  It was like a small crack in the ice. I smiled and sat back, a little more relaxed.

  As the day continued, the clouds were swept out of the sky, and it grew warmer than I had expected. It was obvious that Aaron had been to the lake many times. The clerk at the shop even recognized him. He ordered our sandwiches, some potato chips, and sodas, and then we went down to the dock to rent a rowboat. Three Wrens Lake was a little more than two miles long and a mile wide. There were light motorboats on it and dozens of people in rowboats and small sailboats. The man renting the boat insisted that we put on the life jackets provided. Aaron got us off with graceful and rhythmic rowing. His obvious effort to impress me was working.

  “Dad bought me a rowing machine for our little basement gym,” he said. “Makes me a stronger hitter. I had four home runs last year. Did you know that?”

  “No. I didn’t go to any games.”

  “You will this year, or else,” he said, and I laughed. I could feel my body loosening up. I closed my eyes and bathed my face in the sun. Then I undid my hair and shook it before I reached over the edge of the boat to feel the cool water.

  “I see little fish,” I said.

  “Let me know if you see any sharks.”

  “What?”

  He laughed. “You want to try this?”

  “Sure.”

  Carefully, I moved to the seat. He put the oars in my hands, showing me how to hold them. He sat right behind me, his arms against mine, and began to show me
how to lift and pull the oars, how to turn the boat, and how to avoid splashing. “You’re doing well,” he said, but he didn’t move away. He pressed his lips to my neck and then gently moved them along with small kisses.

  “I can’t concentrate on my rowing.”

  He laughed and sat back.

  I was really enjoying it now and feeling like I was accomplishing something. A motorboat came a little too close, the waves in its wake bouncing us about. I screeched with delight.

  “You should rest,” he said. “You’ll get blisters on those dainty palms of yours.”

  I paused and looked at my hands. They were red.

  “Let’s just drift for a while,” he suggested.

  He came forward and lifted the oars out of the water, resting them on the sides of the boat. Then he lowered himself to the floor of the boat and urged me to do the same, with my upper body against him. It was peaceful and warm, mesmerizing. The sounds of other people laughing and shouting floated gently over the lake, and the engines of motorboats droned softly around us. A very pretty little sailboat passed by, the man and the woman waving. I closed my eyes again. Aaron moved his fingers over my face to my lips. Then he slipped down beside me, and we embraced and kissed.

  “Feeling better?” he asked. I was, but I didn’t want to say it. He could tell. “Don’t feel guilty for feeling better, Clara Sue. Surely no one wants that.”

  I nodded. He was right. It just wasn’t easy.

  “I know what could really make you feel better,” he said. He was moving his hands under my skirt.

  “People can see us,” I protested.

  “Not really. Besides, making love on the water adds something. You know, the bobbing and all.”

  Casanova raises his head again, I thought, and squirmed away. “Let’s get back to what we came here for,” I said.

  “I was.” He smiled. “All right, all right.”

  He rowed again. We talked about other lakes he had been to and then about some other things we might do when our Christmas holiday began. His family wasn’t going to travel this year, because his sister was coming home again, although there was a chance they would go to New York City to see a show. I told him about my uncle Bobby’s show, and he said he would go to New York to see it with me. It seemed like we could make an endless list of promises and plans. He was even thinking ahead to when he went to college. William & Mary wasn’t far away. He would come home on weekends to see me so we’d never break up.