Eye of the Storm Read online

  "Now who's this?" he asked when we drove up the driveway of my grandmother's estate. A silver Corvette convertible was parked in front of the house.

  Could Corbette have another sports car? I wondered,

  I got out and approached the car. Then I heard his voice, calling from the dock. My half brother Brody waved.

  Jake had waited to see if I needed him.

  "Who is it?" he asked. squinting.

  "It's Brody." I said.

  "Megan must have finally told him the truth about me," I said. Jake nodded.

  "I guess you two should have some privacy. I'll be by tomorrow. You know where I am if you need me. Thanks for giving Rain her exercise," he added and drove off as Brody hurriedly approached.

  I stood there. anticipating.

  "I've been waiting here for nearly an hour. I almost gave up. I thought you might have gone away, maybe back to England or something. My mother didn't seem to know anything about your plans when I asked," he continued.

  "Oh?"

  "I knew she and my father had been out here, but she didn't want to talk about it.

  "So," he said shrugging and looking about. "I decided I'd give my new car its first big ride. Do you like it? Dad bought it for me a week ago for my good grades in class and my achievements on the football field-- I made a record number of touchdown passes this year, you know," he said proudly.

  He spoke quickly, obviously nervous, which was uncharacteristic of Brody from the few times I had been with him. He always seemed so self-assured, so confident, almost arrogant. He had some reason to be. He was a very good- looking young man, tall-- six feet two or more-- and his shoulders were so wide they almost filled most doorways. Today, just like the first time I had met him, he wore his blue and gold varsity jacket and a pair of black slacks with soft looking black leather loafers. His hair was as ebony as mine but his eyes were more Green than brown. although I saw hazel specks in them. He had a mouth like mine but a firm, tight jawbone. His complexion was athletic with a rosy tint in his cheeks and full, dark crimson lips.

  "You mean your parents don't know you've come here?" I asked.

  "By now they probably do. I left a note in the kitchen. Last time I did that, though, my bitchy brat sister got to it first and threw it in the garbage can to get me into trouble. I figured out she did something like that when I got home to an angry father. On a hunch. I went into the kitchen's garbage disposal and found the note. When I showed it to Dad, he grounded Alison for a month. Still, as usual, she got her sentence commuted and was out in a week."

  "Your parents are not going to like that you came here. Brady." I said,

  "Why not?" he asked, his eyes frill of innocence.

  So much for my mother's promise to tell him and Alison the truth finally. I thought. Had they even told Brody about Grandmother Hudson's will and its controversy?

  "You've been horseback riding, huh?" he asked,

  "Jake asked me to exercise his horse for him.'

  "I haven't done much of that myself, but I'd like to," he said. He glanced at the house.

  "I keep thinking I'll see Grandmother Hudson. It's hard to think of this place without her."

  "Yes."

  "So," he said. "Why don't I take you someplace nice for dinner?'

  "Don't you have to start for home? I know it's a long ride." I said.

  "What do you think I intended on doing, driving down here, touching the property and then turning around and rushing home?" He laughed, "-It was a long ride. You're right, I've got to do something more to make it worth it," he said, flashing that charming smile at me.

  "I'm a little tired. Brady," I said. "I haven't been horseback riding for quite a while and it takes a lot out of you, especially when you've got to start with a new horse. You can't help being very tense and that wears on you. too."

  "Oh, sure," he said. He looked down and then he looked up, his eyes brightening. "So you won't have much desire to cook anyway. Here's what I'll do. I know a great Chinese takeout not too far from here. I'll go get us a couple of dishes, some soups, egg rolls, and fortune cookies. What do you say?"

  "You really should start far home. Brady,"

  "Don't be silly. Come on. We've really never gotten a good chance to get to know each other and my grandmother was very, very fond of you obviously. If she liked you, you must be special. She didn't like all that many people."

  "Brody, listen..."

  "What do you like, chicken, shrimp, lobster? Forget it. I'll get all three and you can have some leftovers," he said excitedly.

  "Brody..."

  "I insist," he said. He looked at the house, "Technically. I guess, I have a little ownership in this place through my mother. right?"

  I stared at him. He was so exuberant and in some ways so innocent compared to me. What was I to do? Just blurt the truth in his face and make more trouble in this family? Why didn't my mother have the courage to do the right thing so something like this wouldn't happen? If she hadn't. Grant should have, I thought, or is his fear of staining his precious public image so great, he could live with all the lies in his own home. too?

  "Are you expecting someone else? Is that it? That guy you were in the play with last year, maybe?"

  "No," I said quickly. I should have thought about it and seized on the opportunity. but I didn't think fast enough.

  "I know you don't have any other hot date. You said you were tired. Right?"

  "No. I don't have another date." I admitted.

  "So? Then, it's okay, right?' he asked. He lifted his arms.

  "You've run out of all the possible excuses.. Rain. Unless you're afraid to say you can't stand me."

  "Of course that's not it. Brody."

  "So?"

  "Okay," I relented.

  "Great."

  He literally leaped into his car.

  "I've got to take you for a ride in this. It's like a little airplane." he said. He started the engrine and smiled as he gunned it. "I'll get you some moo goo gai pan," he said and spun the car around me. "Be back before you can say kung fu in Chinese."

  I couldn't help but laugh at him. After all, why should I be mean to him or unfriendly?

  He waved and shot down the driveway too fast, slamming the brakes on at the end to let a slow, latemodel station wagon go by. He looked back at me, smiled, raised his hands and then turned back to driving off.

  "This is a mistake." I said. "But it's not all my fault. In fact, none of it is my fault."

  I went into the house, my emotions twisting and turning in torment and confusion. Just when and how would truth come by and finally sweep all the lies from this family?

  4

  Secret Pain

  .

  After I took a shower and quickly washed my

  hair. I put on a plain white blouse and a light blue skirt with a pair of blue and white tennis sneakers. It was all right to do exactly what Brady proposed. I told myself. It was fine to get to know each other better, but I had to be very careful about the level of expectations I encouraged. Under no circumstances could I permit him to leave this house tonight still believing he and I could become romantically involved. He might leave disappointed or even angry, but when his parents finally told him the truth about all of us, he would understand.

  As I ran a brush through my hair. I admitted to myself that if the situation were different. if Brody were just another young man, it would be easy to fall in love with him-- and not only because he was so good-looking. He had sincerity and sensitivity. He was perceptive, too. He didn't pretend his family was something other than it was. He knew our mother's weaknesses and he was certainly objective about Alison. I thought that took maturity. How I wished my secret was out and he and I could truly become brother and sister. I felt confident that when that occurred. I would have a wonderful new friend.

  Despite my self-imposed restrictions and concern. I couldn't leave my vanity table without putting on a little lipstick. I smiled to myself, recalling a conversation tha
t had grown into a little argument with Leslie and Catherine, the two precocious sisters from France who had eventually seduced my boyfriend. Randall Glenn.

  "Women are always conscious of their appearance. cherie, Leslie insisted.

  "We are always on a stage," Catherine added. They laughed. "That is why we are more natural in the theater. eh?"

  "Men can be just as vain," I countered. It was annoying how they would giggle and hide their faces after some of the things I said as if I was so naive about sex.

  "You're not such experts," I snapped at them. They stopped smiling.

  "Even as little girls, we worry about our looks." Catherine said. "We want our papa to think we are lovely. We flirt before we can talk."

  'Oui. We know natural-- is that how you say?" Leslie asked her sister.

  "Naturally." she corrected.

  "Naturally, yes. It's who we are. . . la femme," she cried and laughed. "You cannot be ashamed. cherie. No, no, you cannot help it," she asserted. "Even those men you don't like, even those you still don't want to see you... how do you say?" She looked to her sister.

  "Before breakfast." Catherine said laughing. "Oui, before breakfast."

  "That's silly. You're both just... obsessed with sex," I accused. That made them laugh harder.

  "Oui, Oui, but of course," Leslie said.

  Afterward, often. when I caught some man looking at me, even a teenage boy, I felt the heat rise to my face. My posture improved, my eyes shifted away and then back. Then I would growl at myself for being so... so French.

  Maybe it was time to admit to myself that it felt good to be appreciated, admired, to simply be a woman. I would never admit it to those irritating, confident sisters. but I didn't have to admit it to them for them to know.

  Just be careful. I warned my image in the mirror when I finished putting on the lipstick.

  I went down and set the table for us and then waited in the sitting room. Brody was taking so long I began to wonder if he hadn't changed his mind or called our mother and been told to get back

  immediately. I couldn't help but wish that was true. It would make it all so much easier.

  Ten minutes later, however, his car pulled up. I looked out the window and saw him hugging the bags as he made his way to the front door. For a few seconds. I actually considered not opening it. If only...

  "Sorry I took so long." he said when I let him in. "They were so busy. No one cooks anymore, just like my father tells his friends about my mother." He charged down the hallway toward the kitchen, excited and happy, as though he were being carried along on some magic carpet. He turned back to me.

  "My mother's favorite meal is reservations. Get it?" he asked when I didn't burst into laughter. "Reservations?"

  "Yes. Brady. I get it," I said shaking my head. He set the bags down on the kitchen counter. "The table is already set for us," I told him.

  "Oh. Sure. Great." He brought the bags into the dining room, setting them on the table so he could take out the containers.

  "I can make some tea," I suggested.

  "Tea? What have my English great-aunt and great-uncle done to you? Naw. I bought some good Chinese beer," he said and plucked two six-packs from the second bag. "It's all still hot." he said, nodding at the containers of food. "I'll serve it."

  He started, dipping the big spoons into the containers and filling up a plate for me.

  "I didn't buy any soup. I thought it might be too much." Seeing the amount of food he had bought. I could only laugh. "I'll say."

  "So you'll have lunch tomorrow. Big deal. You're supposed to have leftovers with Chinese food. It's expected. Dig in," he ordered.

  It was good and I said so.

  "Yeah. I remember enjoying a meal at that place. We had come down to see grandmother and my father decided we should all go out to eat.

  Grandmother didn't want to, but he talked her into it and she enjoyed herself." He laughed. "Aunt Victoria checked the bill at the end of the evening and found where they had charged us for a full dinner when it was supposed to be a la carte. She's got an adding machine in her head. I think.'

  I smiled. It was as if some sort of dam holding back his childhood memories had broken and all of the images. Words and events were rushing out.

  "Want one of these beers?" he asked.

  "No, thank you."

  "They're good." He poured a whole bottle into his glass. "Did you always like coming here?" I asked.

  "We didn't come that often. Most of the time. Aunt Victoria would insist we came because she had to discuss same business problem or something. My mother hates talking about business. She doesn't even run her own checking account. My parents have a business manager who calls her when she's overdrawn or something and then she moans and groans about it to my father, claiming it's their business manager's fault for not waning her soon enough."

  "Is she really that irresponsible?" I asked. I couldn't help but be interested in what my mother was really like and what Brody's family life had been and was like.

  He stopped eating and smiled.

  "Naw. She just knows how to manipulate my father. He's supposed to be the politician in the family, but my mother's the champ. I never saw her not get what she wanted."

  "If your father didn't want to give things to her, he wouldn't," I charged.

  He thought a moment then nodded.

  "Probably true. The only advice he ever gave me about women was never to underestimate them. 'When it comes to women, things are rarely what they seem,' he said."

  "Men can be just as conniving, Brody."

  "We try." he said chewing on his egg roll. smiling, "but we're amateurs compared to the supposedly weaker sex."

  "We are weaker." I insisted.

  "Oh sure." he said, losing the smile. "Look at Queen Elizabeth. You lived in England. You should know all about her in history,"

  "That's different. She was a queen. She had to be strong."

  "All women are queens in their own homes," he said. "Hey, don't get me wrong. That's the way it should be. You're right. If my father didn't want it to be that way, it wouldn't. Lately, though. I think he agrees to things and does things more out of a need to avoid any controversy. He doesn't want to be distracted. My father's an ambitious man, but that's only because other people recognize he's very capable. You know, he could end up being president of the United States," he said proudly.

  "So you have a good relationship with him?"

  "Oh. sure. We're buddies. He comes to all the games when I'm starting quarterback. Once he even took a red-eye flight to get there in time and paid for a high-premium ticket. too."

  "That's very nice. Brody. I'm happy for you." He nodded and poured himself another beer. "Don't drink too much," I warned,

  "Hey, if you saw how much beer we consume in school, you wouldn't worry. You develop an immunity or something. I think. I've downed a sixpack on my own lots of times."

  "I just don't want you to get sick or be unable to drive." I said.

  "I've been thinking about that. If you don't mind. I'll stay over tonight. Sleep in my usual room, of course."

  My heart pounded out its warnings like drums sending messages about impending disaster.

  "I don't think your mother is going to be happy about that. Brody."

  "She hasn't called yet?" he asked.

  "No."

  "That Alison, If she found that note and dumped it again so I would get into trouble. I'll wring her spoiled neck."

  "You'd better call your mother. Brody. Please."

  "Sure. I'll call," he promised. He took another long sip of his beer and sat back, studying me.

  "What?" I asked.

  "There's something I've always wondered about. My mother never gives me a straight answer."

  "Oh.'" I looked down quickly, pretending interest in my food.

  "How did Mother get to know you, to recommend you for that program that set you up here with Grandmother Hudson? I never even knew my mother was involved in anything l
ike that. The closest she gets to minority problems is attending the Young Republican teas."

  I continued to look down. I felt like a spider, weaving a web of lies. Only instead of some innocent fly being caught. I would surely catch myself. How much longer did I have to weave?

  "I don't know what she has told you," I said cautiously.

  "Practically nothing. I know she convinced Grandmother to give you a try and Grandmother apparently liked you from the start."

  "It was just a program at the school for students who exhibited promise." I began. One day I was called into the principal's office and your mother interviewed me. I guess you can call it that. Next thing I knew, I was recommended. The rest you know."

  "I just can't figure out when my mother did all that. She actually went to a school?"

  "Maybe it wasn't all that much to do. Maybe some friend of hers told her about the program and she thought it would be a good idea."

  "Too many maybe's," Brody shot back at me. He opened another beer. I glanced at him, my heart pounding. Some lies are so thin you can see right through them. I thought.

  "I remember how surprised my father was about it," he continued. He practically gulped his beer now: it obviously made him nervous to talk about me. too. "What surprised him the most was how quickly my mother had made all the arrangements for you, and how easily she had talked my grandmother into taking you in.

  "My grandmother was very particular about people coming to see her, much less live with her. I think she held a record for firing maids. No

  salesperson would dare come within one hundred yards of this property."

  "She was sick. She needed someone else in the house," I explained.

  "A teenager? I know how Grandmother Hudson thought about today's teenagers. She used to say she would have had to hire a lion tamer if she was a mother of a young person today."

  I laughed.

  He shook his head.

  "It's too mysterious, all of it. Lately, my parents are behind closed doors more than ever, too. I know grandmother left you money in her will, but I still don't know how much. No one will talk about it. My father says, it's being discussed and my mother just shakes her head and says, it's a difficult situation. That's her way of saying I don't want to talk about it. It will make me sad or sick or too depressed. What exactly did my grandmother leave you?"