Secret Brother (17 page)

“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.

What was he doing in there? Why was the door closed? I was happy I hadn't knocked. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but whatever it was brought more laughter. I stepped back as if the door had caught fire. There was something about my grandfather's laugh that was different. I hadn't heard it since my grandma's passing. Sometimes, despite their ages, they could act and sound like young lovers. He sounded too much like that.

Maybe it was wrong for me to be angry about it, but I was. How could they be enjoying themselves so much and so soon? What happened to the worry about me? Even the worry about the boy? A new suspicion reared its ugly head. Had my grandfather known Mrs. Camden before all this?
I wondered as I turned and walked quickly back to my room. Maybe all that talk about her being experienced with patients who had suffered serious physical and psychological traumas was hogwash, as Grandpa Arnold would call it. Maybe his real reason for bringing the boy to our house was to get Mrs. Camden here.

I closed my door and sat on my bed, thinking. Lila's comments about my grandfather being such a catch returned. It had bothered me to think of him being romantically involved with anyone back then,
and it really bothered me now. I thought about all those references he continually made to my grandmother. Didn't he mean them? Didn't he miss her as terribly as he claimed? How could he want another woman, and in this house especially? Grandma had decorated it, decided the arrangement of everything that was in it. Mrs. Camden was sleeping in the bed my grandmother had chosen for that room!

Love, I thought bitterly, it was as easy to file away as a library card.

I was fuming until I was in bed and closing my eyes. Even then, I couldn't stop thinking about their laughter. What were they doing now? Having a consultation about the boy?
Hardly that, Clara Sue
, I told myself.
Grow up. They're not playing spin the bottle
.

That's what I would do. Starting tomorrow, I thought. I would grow up. I couldn't grow old enough to leave this house for college fast enough. I chased after sleep for at least an hour before I could wrap my arms around it and make it take me into my new fantasies.

On Thursday, I asked Aaron to take me shopping after school. I told him to go busy himself while I went about choosing a new outfit to wear.

“I don't want you hovering around me. It will make me nervous,” I said.

He laughed. “That's what my mother always tells my father,” he said, and went off.

The clothing store I went into had just gotten some new fashions out of England. I was surprised at how short the skirts were. When I tried one on, it was halfway between my knees and my thighs.
You don't bend
over in this unless your back's to the wall
,
I thought. No way I could wear it to school. It was certainly different. I liked the crimson color and decided to match it with a top that was also just a little too tight to wear to school. Feeling reckless with the money Grandpa had given me, I bought a pair of red boots to match and some new red panties. It was all bagged up for me by the time Aaron returned.

“Will I be surprised?” Aaron asked as we left.

“Oh, I think so,” I said. “Along with everyone else.”

As Friday came around, excitement began to build. All my girlfriends kept asking me what I was wearing, but I told them I hadn't yet decided. Only Lila was a little suspicious, because she had found out that Aaron had taken me shopping. I hadn't told my grandfather or Myra anything, either. On Friday, Mrs. Camden came to my room in the late afternoon. I had bought myself some new foundation, blush, eye shadow, and mascara. The salesgirl in the store had given me some tips on how to put it on, especially the eye shadow. She had helped me pick out a new lipstick, too. I had just showered and done my hair when Mrs. Camden knocked and stepped in.

“Hi,” she said. “I was wondering if you needed any help with your makeup for tonight.”

“How would you know, really? You hardly wear any,” I said.

“Not while I'm at work, no.”

I turned away from her and continued to brush out my hair. “You're not always at work here,” I muttered loudly enough for her to hear.

She was silent. I waited a moment and then looked at her. She was staring at me with the strangest expression on her face.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing. I hope you have a good time,” she said, then turned and walked out.

My emotions were tied in knots. On one hand, I was proud of and satisfied with myself for cutting her off at the knees, as Grandpa might say, but the pained look on her face stirred the softer part of me, a part I had come to believe was more of a weakness. I wanted to ignore it. I was tired of crying, of protesting, of feeling alone and abused. I was tired of playing the victim.
Let them be victims for a change,
I thought.
Tonight I rule.

I started on my makeup.

After I dressed, I stood there looking at myself in the full-length mirror. It really was like looking at a complete stranger. Of course, I was aware of how my body was developing. I saw the eyes of my girlfriends study me in the locker room, just the way I studied some of them, always comparing and being afraid that I wouldn't be as pretty or as sexy as most of them. I actually admired the girls who were not as self-conscious. I wanted to be just as indifferent about the curves developing, the way I was being molded into a young woman. I wasn't as crazy as some, who I knew were measuring everything weekly, if not daily. The girls who were still quite flat-chested looked mournful and envious sometimes.

I had bought two new bras, one I wondered if I would have the nerve to wear. In size, I was somewhere between an A cup and a B cup. The padded bra
I had bought gave me the look of a woman with a definite B size. In the slightly tight blouse, I looked quite voluptuous. Was it too much? Did I dare?

Defiance was still raging in me. I swallowed back any hesitation and, now quite pleased with my hair and my makeup, walked out confidently. Aaron would be here any moment. Mrs. Camden, Myra, and my grandfather were sitting in the living room and talking. I paused in the doorway. They all looked at me, but no one spoke. My grandfather actually blushed. Mrs. Camden looked at him and then at me.

“And who could this be?” Myra finally said.

I knew my grandfather well enough to realize that he was about to voice his displeasure, but Mrs. Camden beat him to the microphone.

“You look very pretty, Clara Sue,” she said. “Very grown-up.”

“Why shouldn't I?” I shot back.

“Clara Sue!” Grandpa said. “You thank people when they give you a compliment.”

They all stared at me.

“Thank you,” I said. “I'm going out to wait for Aaron. He'll be here any moment.”

“Remember to be home before midnight,” Grandpa warned.

I looked at my watch and then at the grandfather clock. “That's five minutes fast,” I said, and walked out of the house.

My legs were trembling, but I felt so good about myself that I nearly broke out in laughter. I did laugh when Aaron drove up. He got out, took one look at
me, and put his right hand over his heart as he pretended to battle back a wave of dizziness.

“Idiot,” I said, moving to the car.

He rushed around to open the door for me. “Are you trying to kill me with beauty?” he asked.

I looked at him, our faces inches apart. “Proceed at your own risk,” I said.

He smiled, looked back at the house, and then kissed me softly. “I think we might have a good time tonight.”

“Depends on your definition of a good time,” I said, and got into his car.

He nearly tripped over himself rushing to get back behind the wheel.

As we pulled away, I looked up at the window of Willie's room. I knew it was my imagination, or at least, I thought it was, but I saw that little boy looking down at us mournfully, the way Willie used to whenever I went anywhere without him. I quickly leaned over and turned up the volume of the radio. Aaron accelerated as soon as we were clear of the gates, and I felt as if I had been launched into space.

Audrey's house was about half the size of my grandfather's, but it was still quite a large ranch-style home, with that famous big basement furnished with fun things like a pool table, a jukebox, and a Ping-Pong table at the far right end. There was a bar, too, but her father had done a funny thing with all the visible bottles of liquor. He had put a piece of tape at the top of any bottle that had been opened so he could tell immediately if Audrey had permitted any of her
friends to have a drink of rye, vodka, gin, scotch, or bourbon. The bottles of beer were in a locked cabinet. Only soft drinks were visible. Charlie Martin immediately suggested that Audrey simply add water to any bottle of liquor we sampled.