Secret Brother (22 page)

“You mean, like you're handling me,” I said, and she laughed.

Then she put up her hands. “No more psychiatrist's lingo. I promise.”

“Some of it I don't mind,” I said with a shrug. I had been doing some reading on the side to see if I could determine how much Count Piro was really suffering and how much was pretend. I even began to wonder if pursuing a career in psychotherapy was possible for me.

“Okay. I think you've broken through a little with him, and I think that will lead to some promising results. Your grandfather has told me that you want to invite a boy to dinner tomorrow night, and chances are, William . . . oh, what do you call him? Count . . .”

“Piro. After the fable I read him.”

“Right.” She smiled “Very clever.” She nodded at
me. “I promise another thing, not to underestimate you. Anyway, getting back to exposing our Count to more people, especially a teenage boy. I think that could be very good. What I would like to see, however, is no one cross-examining him. For now, no direct questions about him or his past. Too much pressure on him can set him back. Can you explain that to . . .”

“Aaron, Aaron Podwell. He's a senior, and he's sensitive enough to understand, especially in the presence of my grandfather,” I added. “Anyway, it's more of a truce dinner between him and my grandfather and me.”

“I heard.”

“Yes, I'm a real rebel. But with a cause,” I said, tucking in the corners of my mouth.

She nodded, obviously thinking about what to say next. “I'm not here to give you any personal advice, but . . .”

“But?”

“But I'm also a woman who has a history full of disappointments and successes, anger and elation.”

“You're not going to tell me now that you've been to a psychiatrist, too?”

“Oh, yes. That's part of our training, our education.”

“Really? Okay, what personal advice do you have for me, Dr. Patrick?” I challenged.

“Call me Katherine.”

“Katherine.”

She leaned forward. “When we're unhappy with what we think is unfair treatment of us or simply
angry at people we think don't love us as much as they should, we sometimes do self-destructive things as a way of striking back. We do things we would not normally do and things we know in our hearts we shouldn't. On the surface, it looks like we're doing it to get even.”

“Why do you say ‘on the surface'? Maybe it is.”

“Your grandfather tells me you have always been a very responsible person. You take care of your things. You don't procrastinate when it comes to your homework. You took on the responsibility of looking after your little brother when your parents died in that horrible accident and consequently sacrificed a lot of your own time and fun. That's a lot for a girl your age. He is very proud of you. In fact, he tells me he couldn't have gotten by until now without you. Maybe he's guilty of not saying it enough, but I believe him.”

I saw where she was going, and it did make me feel bad, but I didn't like it. “I just did one bad thing by not telling him where I was all day. I didn't kill anyone,” I said. “Why make a federal case of it?”

“Oh, I agree. In proportion to some of the things young people your age do, it's relatively minor, but it's a start in the wrong direction. It makes it easier for something more.”

“‘Steal a pencil, and someday soon you'll steal a car.' We hear that all the time.”

“Well, maybe there's some exaggeration, but it's out there like the forbidden fruit waiting to be plucked, especially by a rebel with a cause.”

She sat back, and we just stared at each other for a few moments. My heart was beating faster, and I thought my temperature was rising, but I tried to look unaffected by her comment.

“I make a living trying to figure out why people do things, young people. Almost always, I discover they don't always do things because they really want to do them. With young people especially, they do them because their peers do them or they want to be liked or, yes, they want to get back at their parents. All I'm saying, advising, is that whenever you're thinking of doing something you wouldn't ordinarily do, ask yourself why you're doing it. Do you really want to do it? Stay in control. Don't let anything or anyone else make decisions for you,” she concluded. She stood up and smiled. “It ain't easy, especially with those hormones raging.”

“Is that all from some textbook, or did you live it?”

She held out her hand. “Go on, touch it,” she said. I pulled my head back and smirked. “Go ahead.”

“Why?”

“Humor me.”

I touched her hand. “So?”

“Notice? Flesh and blood. I've been there,” she said. “Invite your boyfriend to dinner,” she told me, and started out.

I watched her go and heard her leave the house. The truth was, I couldn't stand how well she had gotten under my skin. She was right about what Aaron and I had done. I had kept my grandfather worrying
about me all day just to get back at him. There was no question that I had been more sexually active with Aaron than I had been with any other boy, too. I had almost gone all the way. Was it like she had said? Had I done things because I wanted to, or was I looking for another way to strike back at everyone who was my family now?

I hated having to think of all this. It made my life so much more complicated. You don't worry about a pain so much if no one tells you it could be cancer or appendicitis, something to keep you up at night.
Who needs her to come here and peel away my scabs?
I thought.

But another part of me thought that maybe I should be grateful. If I wanted to be honest about it, I
would
be grateful. She didn't have to waste her time on me . . . or was my grandfather paying her to do so? Had I unknowingly become another one of her patients? I didn't deserve that, or was it necessary?

I hurried upstairs, feeling like I had suddenly been turned into my own parents worrying about me. I felt more like someone's parent. I cursed fate and the devil for making me grow up faster than I wanted. My childish smiles and laughter were gone long ago, along with my childish, innocent body. She was right. My hormones were raging, demanding to be heard and recognized. Every part of me was changing just when my whole world seemed to crumble around me. How would I reform it? I wanted to like who I was, but I feared looking in the mirror now.

I rushed to my room without looking into Willie's
and, as usual, began stripping off my school clothes as if they were contaminated with bedbugs or something. I was down to my bra and panties when I turned toward my open doorway and paused in shock.

Count Piro had wheeled himself to my room. He remained there staring at me. The way he looked at me made me want to grab something to cover myself. It was as if his face, the expression around his eyes, was suddenly more mature, as if some vivid memory of sexual things had risen to the surface. The embarrassment I felt receded as my interest in him sharpened.

“Come in,” I urged. “I'm just changing out of my school clothes.”

He thought a moment and then wheeled forward. I didn't look at him.
Act casual
, I thought.
Don't frighten him
. I went to my closet.

“I hate my school clothes. Did you have to wear school clothes, a uniform or something? We don't wear a uniform, but we might as well.”

I plucked a pair of jeans off its hanger and looked at him. He was nearly to my bed. He looked around my room and then at me.

“Boys usually don't come into girls' rooms when they're dressing, not even brothers and sisters, you know. You don't have to leave,” I added quickly.

He shook his head.

“What? Do you have a sister? Did you go into her room when she was dressing?” I held my breath and practically froze in position, my jeans on but not zipped.

He nodded.

“You have a sister? What's her name? Where is she?” I demanded. “Don't you want to go see her, go back to her?”

A trembling seemed to rise from his neck and ripple through his face.

Oh, God
, I thought,
he's going to howl or scream, and everything I've done will
be destroyed in an instant
.

Grandpa would be very angry at me again. Dr. Patrick had just made a big point of our not pressuring him with questions. They'd all think I was doing this deliberately.

“Wait!” I cried. “I have something I wanted to give you very much.”

I went to my closet and grabbed Willie's Superman figure.

“You know who this is?” I asked him. He shook his head. “You don't know who Superman is? Faster than a speeding bullet? What kind of a childhood did you have?” I asked, of myself more than him. I brought him the figure. “Superman can fly. Bullets bounce off him. He's the strongest man in the world.”

I put the figure in his lap. He took it and looked at it closely.

“I'll tell you all about him,” I promised. “He was my brother's favorite hero. See the cape? My brother had a Superman cape, too. I know where it is. I'll be sure you get it so you can wear it when you want, okay?”

He looked at the figure again and then nodded.

“I'll find one of Willie's Superman comics, and I'll read it to you.”

He wasn't smiling, but the trembling was gone. I took a deep breath of relief.

His eyes were on my breasts now. He looked interested but not so much sexually.
His memory is stirring
, I thought. What was his sister like? Was she older? Did he have more than one? What about his mother? How was nudity treated in his home? So many questions were bouncing about in my head. I was just as driven by my own curiosity about him and his past as I was by the desire to get him to remember and go home.

“I'll finish dressing,” I said. “Then we'll go back to Willie's . . . to your room, and I'll find Willie's Superman comics and read one to you. You know what a comic book is, right?”

He shook his head.

He's from another planet
, I thought.
That's it
.
We have an alien creature in our house.
I laughed at the idea, found a blouse, and put it on while he watched me, seemingly fascinated with everything I did for myself and everything about me. I wasn't feeling embarrassed by it anymore, either. I was feeling . . . important.

Smiling at him now, I got behind his wheelchair and began pushing him out of my room.

I'm going to solve all this
, I thought.
I'm going to do what private-duty nurses and psychiatrists haven't
done.
I'm going to find out exactly who he is.
And how he came to be here.

But until I did, it was probably better if I didn't tell anyone anything.

I didn't want them to come up with a reason I should stop.

16

At dinner, my Count Piro was more fascinated by Aaron than he was by me or anyone else. He stared at him and hung on to every word he said. Aaron knew he was under a spotlight and a microscope and had come prepared. He just didn't expect that spotlight to be held by the poisoned boy. He was thinking more about my grandfather. That was clear the moment I greeted him at the door.

Grandpa Arnold only wore a tie at dinner when we had his business associates and their wives for dinner or someone from the government. He dressed up for holidays, but usually, if he still wore a sports jacket, he didn't wear a tie. Aaron had come in a dark blue jacket and slacks and a light blue tie, and he wore an expensive-looking watch I had never seen him wear.

“Well,” he whispered, standing back for my approval, “think I'll pass muster with the old man?”

“You look very handsome, Aaron. He's not an old man,” I said, even more sharply than I intended.

He just smiled. “He's older than my father, and my father is an old man to me most of the time.”

“Whatever,” I said, and led him to the dining room, where everyone had already gathered. When Dorian complimented Aaron on his watch, he explained that it was a gift his paternal grandfather and grandmother had given him on his sixteenth birthday.

“I wear it only on special occasions,” he added.

Grandpa didn't say anything, but I could see from the twinkle in his eyes that he was pleased to hear that dinner at our house was a special occasion for Aaron. But I was paying more attention to Count Piro's reaction than to Grandpa's. The boy watched how Aaron ate, eating when Aaron did, and whenever Aaron paused to say something or listen to something, Count Piro paused, too.

Although Dorian knew that I had given him Willie's Superman figure and had read some of the Superman comics to him, showing him the pictures as I did, she knew nothing about my questions concerning his family. Just as something about me had reminded him of someone, I thought something about Aaron now was reminding him of someone, someone he looked up to. Was it an older brother or his father?

Aaron realized how closely Count Piro was watching him. He was cool about it, winking at me when he could but pretending he wasn't as aware. Because I had told Aaron what Dr. Patrick had advised, I hoped he wasn't going to do or say anything that might disturb the boy, even in a small way. He knew that would upset my grandfather, too. I relaxed after the first few
minutes. There was no reason to worry. Aaron was working everyone well. He was very smooth and convincing. He even complimented My Faith on the food, claiming she was better than the cook his parents had. Grandpa really liked that. Aaron was so good at handling everyone that I couldn't help wondering if he was handling me in a similar way, saying things he knew would please me but in a way that suggested he had planned. I kept wondering if I was simply too trusting and naive.

Before the dinner ended, however, Aaron surprised me even more by showing real interest in the physical-therapy machinery.

“That's a field that fascinates me,” he told Dorian. “Sports medicine, the whole thing. I'm thinking of pursuing it as a career.”

“That's very smart, Aaron. It's a growing field. If it's all right with Mr. Arnold, I'd be happy to show you the therapy equipment,” she said, and looked at Grandpa.

“It's all right,” he said. Then he peered at Aaron more like he peered at someone he didn't believe. I held my breath. Aaron was putting it on too heavily. “Your dad's not trying to get you to become part of his business, get you to go to business school?”

“Oh, he's trying,” Aaron said with a smile. Dorian laughed. Count Piro's face even brightened.

“I don't blame him for it,” Grandpa said wistfully. I knew he was thinking about Uncle Bobby and how he had refused to have anything to do with Grandpa's trucking company. “A man builds a business to
support his family. He feels he has something he can pass on. It's one of the reasons he works so hard at it. You keep that in mind, son,” he said. “What you can pass on to your children is what's most important in this world.”

Aaron's smile evaporated. He nodded and glanced at me.

Yes
, I told him with my eyes
, my grandpa is a tough man, and just being diplomatic isn't going to get you there
. Too many times, he'd told me that he had a built-in bullcrap meter. “It comes with the territory when you're in business,” he said. I wanted to whisper to Aaron to stop trying so hard or to be less obvious about it. That could be worse.

After dinner, Grandpa went into the living room to read his
Wall Street Journal
while Dorian, pushing Count Piro, led Aaron and me to the room now dedicated to Count Piro's physical therapy. I was impressed with just how much Aaron did know about the equipment and the areas of the body each device was meant to improve. Was he sincere about all this? Perhaps I was judging him too severely.

While he and Dorian talked about it, both Count Piro, who suddenly looked bored, and I felt as if we weren't even there. Then Aaron turned to the boy and told him how confident he was that if he followed Mrs. Camden's directions, he would get better and better.

“Maybe I'll come here one day and work out with you,” Aaron said. “Would that be all right with you?”

Count Piro smiled and nodded. Aaron was making
a bigger hit with him than either Dorian or I had. She looked at me and smiled.

“He works out when we're in school,” I said.

“Oh, we can arrange a weekend or two,” Dorian quickly suggested.

“Perfect,” Aaron told her. “I have nothing better to do on my weekends.”

He made a fist and put it next to the boy's hand. Count Piro looked at it and then made a fist, too, and Aaron gently pressed his to the boy's. I saw how impressed Dorian was. She smiled her approval at me. This was going so well, but I couldn't help being even more nervous just because it was.

Afterward, when we all joined Grandpa in the living room, Aaron surprised me again by volunteering to read a Superman comic with Count Piro after I had mentioned my earlier introduction. Grandpa looked up from what he was reading, pleased and surprised. He looked at me. It was obvious that Count Piro was very excited about it, so I ran up to Willie's room and brought down a new Superman comic.

Aaron told Count Piro that Superman had always been one of his favorite comic characters. “When I was your age, I even had a Superman cape, and it gave me powers,” he added.

Count Piro's eyes widened.

“Don't we have one of those for him?” Grandpa asked me.

“I gave it to him,” I said, and Grandpa smiled.

Before the reading began, my grandfather told us about men he had met in his life who were
extraordinarily strong. Of course, he bragged about Jimmy and the things he had seen him lift on our property. Aaron winked at me and turned back to Count Piro, telling him that the comic I had happened to bring was one of his favorites.

He's really piling it on
, I thought.
Grandpa's going to realize it and be very displeased
. I anticipated him calling me into his office after Aaron had left to tell me he was just as he expected, a phony like his father.

For now, Dorian and my grandfather sat back and watched Aaron read, show the pictures, and describe the events with such enthusiasm it was as if he ­really believed there was a Superman. I could see from Dorian's expression that she thought this evening was one of the best the boy had had since he was brought here to recuperate. Would my grandfather agree?

Finally, she decided it was time for him to go to bed.

Count Piro hadn't said anything until now, and no one had tried to draw anything out of him, but as Dorian began wheeling him out to the stair lift, he turned, still clinging to the comic book, and said, “Thank you,” to Aaron. He hadn't said thank you to me like that. I looked from Aaron to Grandpa Arnold, who was smiling with the same sort of joy he had shown Willie whenever Willie had done something to please him. He looked at Aaron with respect and admiration, too.

Of everyone, I think I looked the most dumbfounded. Aaron had no younger brother and had never struck me as someone who enjoyed being
around children, but Dr. Patrick had suspected that he could make better contact with Count Piro. And maybe not only because he was a boy
. She must know more about the poisoned boy than she's told me, perhaps.
He's revealed more, and she's sharing that with only my grandfather and Dorian
. This wasn't the first time I suspected I was being kept in the dark. That wasn't fair. I was just as much, if not more, a part of all this than Dorian. When I looked at Aaron, I even had the sense that he realized more than I did.

The suspicion and annoyance twisted into a small ball of rage that grew hotter and larger inside me. Right now, I felt like the only one who was not part of this.

“Is it all right for me to show Aaron my room, Grandpa?” I asked.

He thought for a moment and shrugged. “Sure. Before he leaves, you might bring him to my office. I think he would enjoy some of the photographs and plaques. He can tell his dad about them,” he added with his impish smile.

“Oh, absolutely, sir. Thank you,” Aaron said.

I walked ahead of him to the stairway. He paused to look at the stair lift when we reached the top.

“Never saw one of these,” he said. “My father was talking about getting one for my grandmother or else selling her house and getting her a single-level house.”

I didn't say anything until we were in my room. We both looked at the door. Would I close it? “You can close it,” I said.

He hesitated. “Maybe your grandfather wouldn't like that.”

“Oh, give me a break, Aaron Podwell!” I cried, and shut the door myself. “You don't have to worry about what you'll be, Aaron. You'll be governor or something.”

He smiled weakly. “Why do you say that?”

“You're a natural politician, as smooth as sleet on a country road,” I added, which was one of Myra's expressions.

He lost his smile, now either feigning that he was hurt or really feeling hurt. I couldn't tell. “I was only trying to do my best for you, for us,” he protested. “I thought you would be pleased. You think I like wearing this suit? Even my mother was shocked when she saw me leaving the house. It's my family straitjacket. Jeez, Clara Sue. I spent twenty minutes getting this tie knot perfect. I figured your grandfather would notice.” He flopped into a chair as if I had pounded him with a sledgehammer. However, the fog of suspicion didn't lift from my eyes.

“You never told me you were interested in sports medicine and that sort of thing. Where did that come from?”

“Yeah, well, I've been thinking about it a lot lately.” He rose and walked around my room, looking at my pictures and posters, and then sat on my bed and loosened his tie. “I like the nurse. She's not bad-looking, either. Maybe I can get her to come over to my house to give me a bath,” he added, smiling licentiously. That was more like the Aaron Podwell I knew.

“Be careful what you wish for,” I said.

He reached out for me. “I'm wishing only for you,” he said. “C'mon. Loosen up. I'm going to get those chains off you.”

I sat next to him, and he kissed me quickly.

“The first step to make my dream come true,” he said. “Nice bed.” He ran his right hand over my top sheet with his eyes closed and that smile still blooming on his face. “Now I can better picture you dreaming about me.”

“You're not just conceited, you're convinced,” I said.

He laughed. He continued to run his fingers along the bed and to my skirt, lifting it a little above my knee. “You look more delicious than any of the food tonight.”

“I look better than food? Thanks.”

“Hey, I'm trying to be romantic. I could live on a deserted island for weeks on just bread and water and you.”

“Boy, do you know how to get yourself out of trouble,” I said.

“If you're trouble, I don't want to ever get out.”

He surprised me by leaning down and kissing the inside of my thigh. No other boy had ever done that. I hadn't even imagined it, but the sensation it sent up my thighs was so fast and hot that it took my breath away. He looked up at me, smiled, and kissed me again, only higher up, moving my skirt as he did. I had been bracing myself with my hands flat against the bed. My arms weakened when he kissed me a third
time, again higher, and when I fell back on the bed, he moved to kiss me between my thighs. I couldn't smother the moan. He sat up and leaned over to kiss me on the lips. The fingers of his left hand slipped under my panties. If there was any protest in me, he drove it back with another, longer, more demanding kiss. I felt my whole body soften.

“We can't,” I managed, the words reluctant to be spoken.