Secret Brother Page 8

  As we passed through the entrance gate, I avoided looking at the house. I had this dark foreboding, this apprehension, that kept me from looking up at the windows I knew to be the windows of Willie’s room. I had no idea yet when my grandfather intended to bring the poisoned boy here, but I was afraid that if I did look up at the windows, I would see him peering out from between the curtains, watching and waiting for me, his tiny face the color of bone.

  When the vehicle stopped, I practically lunged out, ran up the short stone stairway, and burst through the front door. I did not, however, head for the kitchen to see My Faith or Myra, who usually took her cup of tea at this hour. Before Willie’s death, he would rush in there with me, because he knew My Faith would have some special homemade cookies waiting for him with his glass of milk. I enjoyed them, too. Most of the time, there was an aroma spiraling out of the kitchen, hooking us both like fish the moment we set foot in the house.

  Instead, I kept my urgent pace and took the stairway two steps at a time, rushing to get into my room and close the door behind me. Anyone would think I was being pursued by goblins or ghouls. The truth was that there were creatures after me, creatures born out of my own dark thoughts, thoughts that haunted me. How was I supposed to do what I had done for years and years with Willie and not continually think about him and look for him in the places I had always seen him? It had even been weird sitting in the car that took us back and forth to school.

  Our current driver, Mr. Beal, a man who looked like he was seventy but was probably only in his fifties, had said only one thing during the entire round trip: “Sorry about Willie.” When I didn’t respond, he just drove. I avoided looking at him when I got into the car after school. Would he say “Sorry about Willie” tomorrow morning, too? Or was Willie already forgotten, better forgotten? Who wants to have a sick, empty feeling in your stomach every day, especially if all you had to do to avoid it was forget?

  Lila was so shocked at my response just before the last period of the day that she didn’t say anything in class and didn’t hurry to walk me out to the pickup area when class ended. I didn’t wait for her, anyway. Maybe I was being unfair, but I couldn’t help it. All I could think about was being back in my room and away from sad eyes and helpless smiles, all on faces that were like balloons caught in a dreadful gust of cold wind, the wind that hovered around graveyards and waited eagerly for funerals so it could toy with tears streaming down cheeks.

  I sprawled on my bed, burying my face in my pillow. I couldn’t remember feeling lonelier. Seeing my classmates and hearing them talk about their happy, everyday lives just sharpened the pain. Like someone afraid of drowning, I had avoided even dipping into a conversation. When would it be any different?

  I heard the knock on my door, but I didn’t respond. She knocked again and then opened it. If I needed any reminder that everything really had happened, it was the sight of Myra in that cast, the bruises healing on her forehead and cheek. She was still slightly bent over, her eyes registering some ache or pain, because she probably had kept her word and avoided any pills.

  “Hello, love,” she said, and came to my bedside. I turned completely to look up at her.

  “It was dreadful,” I said. “I hated every minute.”

  She nodded and sat on my bed. “I would have been surprised to hear otherwise. All I can tell you is it will get better.”

  “Time,” I said disdainfully. I practically sneered. “I hate hearing that.”

  She shrugged. “What’s true is true. All the king’s horses and all the king’s men . . .”

  I looked at her and then, unable to prevent it, smiled. “My Faith has the Bible, and you have English nursery rhymes.”

  “Together we know it all,” she said, smiling now, too. With her good hand, she brushed back strands of hair from my forehead just the way my grandma Arnold used to and my mother before her.

  I sat up. “Did he tell you?”

  “Who?”

  “My grandfather. Did he tell you about that boy, what he plans on doing?”

  “He did this morning. He told My Faith and me before he left for work.”

  “When is he bringing him here?”

  “He didn’t say exactly. He doesn’t know yet. It’s up to the doctors. He did tell us there would be a live-in private-duty nurse, too, and he would be bringing her around soon to get her settled in.”

  “A nurse? Living here, too?”

  “The boy will need special attention and care, at least in the beginning, I’m sure.”

  “Why bring someone like that to a house? He belongs in some special clinic.”

  “People do recuperate better at home than they do in the hospital,” she said.

  “This isn’t his home!”

  She looked away a moment and nodded. “Well, your grandfather would like us to do what we can to help him feel like it is,” she said, and stood up. “Don’t you want one of My Faith’s oatmeal raisin cookies? She made them today because they are your favorite.”

  “I’m not hungry,” I said.

  “Did you eat your lunch?”

  “What I could.”

  “Well,” she said, sighing as she walked toward the door, “if you get yourself sick, I suppose we’ll be happy that we have a nurse in the house.”

  “I don’t want a nurse in the house. I don’t even want to see her.”

  “Then if you get yourself sick, you’ll have to take care of yourself, Clara Sue. I can’t be running up and down the stairs for a while, and My Faith will be busier than ever.”

  I turned away from her and pouted.

  “It’s all right to be angry, but don’t punish yourself,” she added. “Are you listening?”

  I sucked in my breath and nodded. Of course she was right. It was also like a door had been opened in my mind. I understood now what Uncle Bobby meant when he had told me my grandfather was full of rage and wanted revenge. Grandpa was running on anger. It was helping him survive the grief. Maybe it would do the same for me. “I’ll be down in a little while,” I said, just as the phone rang.

  Myra left when I picked up the receiver.

  “What was it exactly that I did to you?” Lila asked.

  “Nothing. It wasn’t your fault. I was just frustrated and angry at everything and everyone. I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

  I could almost hear her sigh of relief. “All I was doing was trying to get everyone to understand.”

  “If they don’t, that’s their problem. If something horrible happens to them, they will for sure.”

  “I know. You’re right, and I’m sorry. Should I come over? You didn’t look like you were listening too well to anything we did in classes today.”

  I laughed to myself. That was an understatement. “Yes, you’re right. Come over and enjoy some of My Faith’s cookies, too,” I told her.

  “Good. I have a story for you. Ellie Patterson’s parents might be getting a divorce. Her mother caught her father cheating with his secretary. Wait until I tell you how she let him know she had found out.”

  “I’m holding my breath,” I said, and hung up.

  Would I ever care about gossip anymore, delicious or otherwise?

  As usual, I hurried to get out of my school clothes, tearing them off as if they were on fire. Our school had a boring dress code. At least we didn’t have to wear uniforms like students in other private schools, but the restrictions for ours were strictly enforced. More than one girl and boy in my class had been sent home to change and warned that if it happened continually, they could be expelled, and their parents wouldn’t get a tuition refund.

  Our school required that we not dress in anything that revealed underwear or bare skin between the upper chest and mid-thigh. No spaghetti straps, strapless tops, or halter tops and especially no see-through mesh garments. No one could wear shorts
, and girls could be sent home if their clothes looked too tight. Girls could not wear skirts shorter than knee length. The only makeup tolerated was some lipstick if it wasn’t put on thickly. If it was, you were sent to the girls’ room to wipe it off entirely. Everyone hated the rules, and every girl I knew couldn’t wait to get home and change into something else.

  I put on the sloppiest-looking sweatshirt I had and a pair of jeans that were way too tight on me to “pass muster” at school, as Myra put it. I slipped into a pair of sandals without socks and, after unpinning my hair and shaking it around so it hung loose and wild, hurried downstairs. Even though I hated to admit it to myself, I was looking forward to seeing Lila now. Being alone only sharpened the pain and sorrow.

  It was obvious that she had rushed to get here, because she was at our front door almost the exact moment I stepped off the stairway. Myra could be heard bawling out one of our two maids about the poor job she had done polishing furniture in the living room. The look on Lila’s face at the sound of Myra’s voice almost made me laugh. I shrugged to indicate that it was no big deal and led Lila to the kitchen, where My Faith eagerly piled up a plate full of her cookies. We grabbed some sodas and headed up to my room. As we passed Willie’s room, I saw Lila pause to look at it. The door was open. The words wanted to come pouring out, describing what my grandfather intended, but I bit down on my lower lip, and we went to my room.

  “So,” Lila immediately began when we sat in lotus position on my rug, “I was in the girls’ room after school when I heard someone crying in one of the toilets. I listened for a moment and then realized it was Ellie Patterson. I called to her, and she was quiet, and then she threw open the door and, still sitting on the toilet, began to tell me about her parents. She had been holding it in all day, and you want to know one reason?”

  “I think I know.”

  “Yes, because of you. She thought her problem was . . .”

  “Meaningless compared to it,” I finished. “It is.”

  “Anyway . . . these cookies are fantastic. Anyway, her mother must have had a spy or something in her father’s law offices. Somehow she knew to be at this motel outside of Prescott at lunchtime. She was waiting right outside the motel-room door when he came out with his secretary. How’s that for being caught with your pants down?”

  “They’ll all live,” I said dryly. I turned over to lie on my stomach and braced myself on my elbows. I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I was thinking about it even when she was revealing her hot gossip. “He’s coming here,” I said after a few moments.

  “Who’s coming here?”

  I turned over and looked up at the ceiling. “The poisoned boy.”

  “Why?”

  “My grandfather has decided he should stay here to recuperate. He’s hired a private-duty nurse for him, and she’ll move in to live with us, too.”

  “Oh.”

  I looked at her. She thinks Grandpa Arnold is simply being charitable, I thought. She doesn’t get it. “He’s putting him in Willie’s room.”

  Now her eyes widened. “Why? You have guest rooms. This house is bigger than ours.”

  “And giving him Willie’s things, Willie’s clothes, Willie’s toys, everything.”

  She was silent, her mouth slightly open. Lila was far from beautiful. However, she had what Myra called a comely face, a face that could be called pretty but not extraordinarily so. To me, that sounded unflattering, and I hoped nobody ever thought of me that way. If there was one word I had learned to hate, it was “average.” It sounded like everything you enjoyed that was exciting would be through someone else or because you tagged along with someone who truly enjoyed it, someone beyond average.

  Did that make me snobby?

  “Can he fit into Willie’s clothes?” she asked.

  “That’s not the point! I don’t care if he can or can’t. Those are Willie’s things.”

  She nodded, trying to look as outraged and disturbed as I was but so obvious about it that I had to turn away.

  “Well,” she offered, “if he’s just borrowing them for a while . . .”

  “Oh, Lila,” I moaned, “once he uses any of it, it’s his forever.”

  “That’s terrible. I have an idea,” she said after a moment.

  “What?”

  “If there are some things you don’t want him to have, why don’t you go in there now and get them and keep them hidden in your room?”

  I thought for a moment. There were many things of Willie’s that I wouldn’t want anyone else to have, but going in there to retrieve them suddenly seemed intimidating. Would I just start crying uncontrollably? Would I feel guilty taking them? Would it be another way to convince myself of Willie’s death, not that I needed much more to do that? What would Grandpa think? How angry would he get?

  “I suppose if I chose carefully, I wouldn’t need to take that much,” I said, working on convincing myself.

  “Were you in there . . . since . . . ?”

  “Just the first night.”

  She nodded. “I’ll go in there with you,” she said. I could see she was a little scared of the idea but was willing to do it for me. She was a good friend after all.

  “Thanks. Let’s do it,” I said firmly, and got up. She nodded, and we walked out together, suddenly moving slyly, like burglars or something. I certainly didn’t want Myra or My Faith catching me doing this.

  At Willie’s doorway, I paused to make a list of what I would retrieve. It began with the windup train set that our parents had given him when he was only five. Even though Grandpa had replaced it with an electric train set we would bring out every Christmas and set up around the tree, Willie cherished his simple train set.

  There was his favorite winter hat, the one with the built-in earmuffs. It was hard to think of him on a sled or playing in the snow without it on. He never seemed to outgrow it. He wasn’t the sort of boy who would ever play with dolls, but he had a Superman doll that he kept on the shelf built into his bed headboard. Although I hadn’t heard him doing it lately, I could clearly recall overhearing him talk to Superman about some imaginary villain they were both going to get. And, of course, there was his copy of The Complete Fairy Tales by Hans Christian Andersen that our mother read to him and that I read to him after she was gone.

  I feared that once I was in his room, however, I would be like someone told to evacuate their home because a terrible fire was bearing down on it. In a panic, what would they grab to save? Surely, I was in a very similar place. I looked at Lila, nodded, and went in. I went directly to the things I had listed in my mind, piled them on his bed, and paused to look around. There were other toys and books that I knew he treasured. Of course, the Slinky, I thought, and went for it. And what about the paddle ball with the target on it? Yes, and his bag of marbles. There was his baseball bat and the glove Grandpa had bought him last Christmas. He and I had played with it in the snow, which made everyone laugh. I knew I could go on and on, but I didn’t have room in my closet for much more.

  “Okay,” I said. “For now.”

  Lila and I gathered it all and brought it to my room. I put as much as I could in my closet but decided to keep the Superman doll on my desk with his winter hat beside it.

  “If you want to go get more, I’ll go back with you,” Lila said.

  “No, this is enough for now. There’s a lot downstairs that belongs to him, but I can’t imagine the poisoned boy ever getting his hands on any of it.”

  “Sure. He’ll probably be out of here once he gets well enough, anyway,” she said.

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “His family has to be looking for him, right?”

  “His family?” I laughed. “All this time, no one calling the police or getting it into the papers?”

  “You told me there was the possibility that he was kidnapped and the ransom wasn’t paid.”


  “So? Wouldn’t you still be looking for him?” I asked.

  She nodded. “Weird.”

  “Let’s not talk about it anymore,” I said, as if that was the secret to making it all go away. “Homework.”

  “Right,” she said, relieved. “Math first.”

  When we went at it, I realized just how much I hadn’t absorbed. I must have been in a daze all day, I thought, and quietly told myself that I would do better tomorrow. We worked for hours and didn’t talk about anything else. After Lila left, I looked at all of Willie’s things that we had gathered. It gave me some satisfaction. I had told Lila not to talk about it, any of it. She took an oath. I had wanted to invite her to stay for dinner, but I could see she thought she should go home to be with her parents. What was happening to Ellie Patterson, the destruction of her family, frightened Lila. Who could blame her for wanting to cling harder to her loved ones? She knew I had lost most of my family in tragedies.

  When you’re young, even a teenager, you just don’t believe in the possible end of some things. Divorces weren’t as common as they would become. Sickness and tragedy always seemed to happen to someone else. We were gliding on naivete, seemingly just a few days away from the innocence and gullibility we left behind in preadolescence. You didn’t have to live in our privileged world to drift about in a refusal to accept reality. There would be time for that years from now, right?

  Go home, Lila, I thought enviously. Cherish every moment as if it will be your last. Somewhere above or around us, God is turning a page, and you might not like what is written on it.

  Grandpa didn’t come to see me as soon as he arrived. I was half-hoping he would, but he went to his room and then to his office before I went down to dinner.