Secret Brother (23 page)

“I know,” he whispered, kissing my ear softly and then my cheek before finding my lips.

His fingers were touching me. I didn't pull away. I lifted myself toward them. He took a deep breath when we heard footsteps in the hallway. I turned sharply and quickly away from him.

“I know what I'll dream about tonight,” he said with a moan, and lay on his back.

I quickly straightened out my skirt and sat up. The footsteps stopped. It was either Myra or Grandpa going to Willie's room.

“Sorry,” I said.

He groaned, rose, and went into my bathroom. While he was in there, I went to one of my windows and looked out at the driveway and the gate, at the lights and the stars. Every time I was with Aaron, I felt myself moving closer and closer to that moment. I wasn't totally blinded by the light in his eyes and the passion raging inside me. How do you decide when and with whom to do it? Very likely, there was someone else out there for me when I grew older. Aaron was going off to college next year. Even if we vowed to
be faithful to each other and Aaron was as sincere as I was, there was so much out there that would challenge such a promise. I knew that.

What if he found someone else while he was in college? And what if I found someone else when I went to college? Would it matter to whoever fell in love with me that I wasn't a virgin? Would his view of me change enough to diminish his feelings for me? Would I regret having given myself to someone who would not mean that much to me years from now? Did my mother have these thoughts when she was my age? When did she lose her virginity? Was it with my father?

It wasn't enough to talk about it with other girls, even Lila. Deep inside, I was skeptical of anything any of them said. We were competing with one another too much for male attention, whether we would admit it or not. Everyone would lie or embellish just to look more sophisticated. My mother was the only other woman I could trust, and she was gone.

Everyone thought that losing your parents was the worst for you when you were young, but that wasn't true. I had never needed my mother as much as I needed her right now. I took a deep breath and nodded to myself.
What decisions you make, Clara Sue Sanders, you really make yourself from now until forever. You have lost the luxury of being able to blame someone else.
That was really what becoming an adult meant. Why were we all so eager for that to happen?

I turned when I heard Aaron coming out of the
bathroom. He looked like he had washed his face in cold water, even his hair.

He shook his head at the surprise on my face. “I felt like a stick of dynamite with a lit wick,” he said, and laughed.

“Sorry.”

“Okay,” he said, slapping his hands together and rubbing his palms. “I have a plan.”

“Plan? For what?” Did he mean our making love? When and where?

“For the investigation, silly. I want to help you discover who he is, where he's from, and what happened to him so you can get rid of him,” he replied, as if it was obvious. “That's why I was doing all that downstairs.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

“Of course. I thought you could see that. I was winning his trust. That's what we'll do together. We'll do a lot better than the psychiatrist and the nurse,” he said. He lay back against one of my oversized pillows. “I'll be over more often, too, and when we can do it, we'll take him for some rides or something, so we get as much private time with him as we can, see? We just won't be obvious about our reasons. We'll just come off as sincerely concerned about him. He'll believe it, too, and he'll open up.”

“Aren't you the schemer,” I said.

“Who isn't? Even him, maybe. You thought that was possible, didn't you?”

“I don't know about that anymore.”

He smiled. “See? He's winning you over, too.”

“He's not winning me over. Dr. Patrick says he can't be that clever at that age, and I think she knows a little more about it than you do.”

“Don't believe it. I was that conniving at his age, especially when it came to handling my mother or getting my father to loosen up the rules. I still am. How do you think I got my new car so soon?”

“Don't you think that's wrong? They're your parents, your family.”

“What's wrong? Getting what you want?” He raised his arms.

“It's like lying to them, Aaron.”

“It's the American way,” he said, and laughed. Then he looked at his expensive watch and leaped up.

“What now?”

“We'd better go down so your grandfather can show me his pictures and plaques. He said he wants me to tell my father all about them. I know why, even though I'm playing innocent.”

I looked up at him as he smiled wryly at me. I wanted to do everything he was suggesting, but I felt guilty about it now. Surely my Count Piro was betrayed by people who should have loved and protected him. If we did something like that to him, too, we might hurt him beyond repair.

And yet even having these feelings of conscience made me feel even guiltier, for after all, I was not thinking of Willie. Wasn't it my original purpose to get Count Piro out of our lives because it kept us from mourning Willie as we should?

Aaron was probably right. We could make more
progress with Count Piro than my grandfather, Dorian, or even Dr. Patrick. It was so much easier to fool children, because the world looked so simple to them. There were good things and bad, ugly and beautiful, bitter and sweet, and never once until they were old enough to understand could they imagine anything being both. Black and white turned to gray. Hesitation and distrust were born with the loss of innocence.

My eyes brightened with a thought.

Maybe all that had already happened to my Count Piro. Maybe he wasn't terrified by memories as much as he was terrified of what was in the future. Once he felt safe, he would tell everything.

“Don't look so serious, Clara Sue. It makes people suspicious,” Aaron said, reaching for my hand to lead me out of my bedroom.

I rose and followed Aaron down to Grandpa, who, despite his success and his power, was unaware of the deception Aaron was creating right before his eyes.

“Well,” Grandpa said, perhaps surprised at the sight of us so soon. “Get the tour, did you?”

“A little. I think the layout of your house is much smarter than ours,” Aaron said. “Our guest bedrooms are very close to my sister's, mine, and my parents' bedrooms. Not that we have that many guests,” he quickly added. “Dad has this big sign up in the entryway. ‘Guests and fish smell in three days. Benjamin Franklin.' ”

Grandpa laughed. “Very wise. My office is just down here,” he said, rising and pointing to the right.
Aaron took my hand again, something that Grandpa didn't miss, and we followed him out.

Was Aaron right? Was my grandfather showing him all this just because of his constant competition with Aaron's father? There was talk occasionally of my grandfather running for mayor of Prescott, and almost every time I had heard that, Aaron's father was mentioned as another possible candidate.

Aaron was so good at his reactions that I couldn't tell if he really was impressed with my grandfather's pictures of famous Virginia politicians, U.S. senators, and Navy officers. Grandpa had chamber of commerce awards, letters and plaques, and a national Better Business Bureau award. And then there were his pictures with famous baseball players and one with his favorite movie actor, Humphrey Bogart. And of course, there were the trophies for the landscape award. Grandpa had to mention that Aaron's father hadn't won one yet.

“He thinks he will this year,” Aaron said. “He's been planning on some dramatic changes on the property.”

“Is that so?” Grandpa said. “We'll see.”

Aaron looked at his watch. “I'd better get going. My sister's coming home for Thanksgiving a little early, and we're kind of close. I'd never admit it, but I miss her.”

“That so?” Grandpa said. His admiration for Aaron seemed to have no limit.

“Yes, sir. Thanks for showing me all this, Mr. Arnold, and thanks for inviting me to dinner.”

“You're welcome,” Grandpa said.

I walked Aaron out.

“Your grandfather isn't as tough as you think,” he said when we were at his car. “Anyone who wants to help a little boy like that has soft spots, Clara Sue.”

“Don't underestimate him, Aaron. Those who do regret it.”

Aaron looked a little taken aback. Despite everything Grandpa had done that upset me, I had to come to his defense, and quickly, too. Actually, I didn't like deceiving him.

“I'll be careful,” Aaron said. “I'll call you in the morning to see if the chains have been taken off you since my political performance. Maybe we'll go to a movie or something.”

He kissed me quickly and got into his car. He looked so confident and, for a moment, unattractive. I watched him drive off and then lowered my head and started to walk back into the house.

I looked up quickly when Grandpa said, “Very polite young man.”

“Yes,” I said.

“Hard to believe he's Lester Podwell's son, but sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree, especially if the tree's at the top of a hill.” I knew he was really thinking more about Uncle Bobby.

“Everyone should be his or her own person, Grandpa.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I like how he was with William. Seeing other young people could help him recuperate faster. When he's more able, you and Aaron might do some things with him, even if it's just around here.”

I stared at him. He was walking right into Aaron's plan. Why didn't I feel happier about it?

“Anyway, your punishment's over, but don't let something like that happen again,” he warned, and returned to his office.

I started up the stairs. The door to Willie's bedroom was slightly ajar, but the room was dark. I didn't pause to look in at Count Piro. When I got to my bedroom, I flopped onto my bed and looked up at the ceiling.

As I lay there thinking, I felt as if the burden of all my rage had slipped away. Ever since Willie's death, I clung to anger. It was a shield, helping me block any other emotion from taking hold of me. I still wanted to keep sadness at arm's length, leave it outside my door if I could, but what I hadn't expected to feel so strongly right now was guilt.

Aaron's sudden interest and determination were putting me off when I should have been encouraged by them. I had my ally, someone in whom I could confide all my troubled feelings, someone who would sympathize and understand my feelings and resentments, didn't I? He was better than Lila, who, deep down, wasn't really that concerned. Yet the way I had come to my grandfather's defense just before seemed to open another door, one I had been ignoring.

Despite everything that was happening, I really didn't like conspiring against my family, against those who loved me in this house. It even bothered me now to take advantage of Dorian Camden. Yet Aaron was planning that we would go behind Grandpa's back and
work on Count Piro until we had the information that would send him away.

But if Count Piro was blocking out his memory of his family and where he came from, even if he was pretending to do that, how horrible must that be? How would I feel if the people who had done this to him drove up here one day and took him away, mainly because of what we had forced him to remember? And there was nothing Grandpa could do about it, either. Would I feel better, successful, happier?

I recalled something My Faith was fond of saying: “God's in his heaven, all's right with the world.” Once I overheard Myra ask her what she thought that ­really meant. Without hesitation, My Faith said, “God's watching over us, but he's not down here making us do the right thing. We've got to do that ourselves and just know he's watching us.”

Myra hadn't replied, but I had thought more about it and was thinking about it now.

God didn't stop that pickup driver from killing Willie, and even if the pickup driver ended up in hell, it wouldn't bring Willie back.

And even if Aaron and I found out the truth about Count Piro, that wouldn't bring Willie back.

His room would be empty again.

All would not be right with the world.

17

Aaron was surprised at my lack of enthusiasm when he called me the following morning.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I was in such deep thought when my phone rang that I didn't hear it until the third ring. I was sure he asked how I was because my “hello” sounded like that of someone who was under hypnosis.

“Yes. Just a little tired. I didn't sleep that well.”

“Because you were dreaming of me?”

“No. I didn't sleep enough to dream.”

“Sorry. We'll have to do something about that. I was thinking I would come over.”

“Not today. I have too much homework to leave for Sunday night, and I've got to make significant progress on my history term paper. Fortunately, my grandfather has some books I can use in his library.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to ruin a Saturday. Are you sure? It's nice out. Maybe they'll let us wheel the
kid around the property or something, and we can pry the truth out of him.”

“Not today,” I said, my words as final as death itself.

“Okay. You still want to go out tonight, though, don't you? We have plans to make for the immediate future.”

“I don't think so. My grandfather is thinking of getting our Christmas tree today. It was always a big thing for all of us to decorate it,” I said. “We'll be doing it all day and tonight. We always had a little pre-Christmas dinner when we finished the tree.”

“We've never done that. My mother gets it delivered all done by some decorator.”

“How cold,” I said. I didn't mean to say it so critically.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said. “I've always been more interested in presents, anyway, and barely noticed the tree, but maybe I should come over to help you with yours. It'll give me an appreciation for what I've missed.”

I didn't say yes.

“But I imagine it's something you want to do with your grandfather,” he added after my silent response.

“This time, more than ever, I think,” I said.

“Sure. I understand,” he said, his voice dropping off with the weight of disappointment and clearly indicating that he didn't understand or didn't want to understand. “Well, maybe I'll catch you tomorrow, and we can do some planning then. I mean, you can't be doing homework all day Sunday, too, right?”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Maybe?” He was silent a moment. “You're not mad at me or anything, are you?”

“No. I'm just . . . trying to catch my breath. So much is happening, has happened. I want to think about it all quietly.”

“Right. Think about it,” he said, his voice sharp with annoyance. “Okay, I'll call you to see if you changed your mind. In the meanwhile, have a good tree thing.”

I said good-bye and stared at the phone after I hung up.

What was I doing? There wasn't a girl in my school who wouldn't want Aaron Podwell to be her boyfriend. In my mind, I had committed myself more to him than I had to any boy. Why was I blaming him for trying to do the very thing I had told him I wanted to do? Why was I blaming him for caring?

Or was I doubting now that he really cared? Did I have more reason to suspect that everything he did was for one purpose, to make it with me, to add me to his list of conquests? Was I getting smarter, wiser about all this?

All the girls in my class now believed I was one of the most sophisticated among us, that somehow I had leaped beyond them when it came to romance and sex. Certainly, I wouldn't make any mistakes or be just someone's little conquest. They assumed too much. I wasn't the person to go to with a romance question, but I didn't let them know it, because I was happy that they saw me this way, happy that my ego was
being stroked just when I was falling into a deeper and deeper hole of self-pity. It had pushed back the veil of darkness that had threatened to overwhelm and bury me in sorrow.

Everything negative could have followed if Aaron hadn't shown interest in me. I could have given up on my schoolwork, on caring about my looks and my social life, on life itself. No one would have blamed me. I'd have been the primary one seeing a therapist, and my self-image would have dwindled until I was a mere shadow of who I had been. I might as well have crawled into the ground beside Willie. Shouldn't I be thankful that Aaron came along? Why was I so confused about it? The mental turmoil was making me angry.

But this constant questioning wasn't really surprising. At some point when you're growing up, you suddenly realize that life is very complicated. I think that makes us all mad. We realize our childhood faith was an illusion. I had discovered that truth much earlier than other girls my age. My parents' deaths had turned everything inside out and left a hole in our lives so big and deep that it seemed we would never crawl out again, never enjoy anything we ate, anything we were given, anything we used to enjoy. The emptiness inside us threatened to expand until we were two children with vacant eyes who didn't know how or when to laugh or smile again. Our grandparents and Myra and My Faith brought us up for air, and we began to live again. However, like some giant pushing my head back under every time I emerged from the cold darkness, death visited us again and again.

I was coming up for air once more, and now I wondered if I was only bringing the darkness back by forcing Count Piro to face his own horrid memories. As I had unfortunately learned at an age not much older than he was, emotional and psychological wounds could be more painful than physical ones. He, however, was suffering all three kinds. How well did he sleep? What clicked on and off in his mind when he opened his eyes in the morning? A wall separated us, but somewhere in the darkness, we were both screaming.

I shook off these chilling thoughts and joined my grandfather, who I knew was waiting for me to go with him to pick out a Christmas tree. At first, Dorian thought she would come along herself and bring Count Piro, but he had developed some stomach trouble, and she thought it was best that he remain in bed for a while.

“I don't think it's anything serious,” she said. She thought a moment and then shook her head and held her tongue. Maybe she didn't say anything because she would be saying it in front of me. It was difficult to navigate through all this mystery. Secrets gave birth to more secrets. They multiplied like rabbits in this house.

“Don't worry. The tree will cheer him up,” Grandpa Arnold assured her. “We have all the fixings, and we'll get out the electric trains, right, Clara Sue?”

I looked at him with surprise. I had forgotten about the electric trains and the tiny people and little houses. Putting that all together had been Willie's
prized Christmas assignment. He hated to have anyone, even me, help him. But what good would it do in boxes left in a closet? Of course we should take them out. “Right, Grandpa,” I said.

He nodded at Dorian. I caught the silent words they exchanged with their eyes and knew they were all about me. Were they suspicious about my willingness to cooperate now? I didn't like not being trusted, but I couldn't deny that I had earned it.

Moments later, we were off to hunt for the best darn tree in Virginia, as Grandpa would say. I felt him looking at me, trying to read my thoughts and feelings, especially now that we were doing this for our Christmas. The first time he, Willie, and I had done this after our parents' deaths, he had talked all the way to the tree farm and back. I knew he didn't want us to concentrate too long on our memories of decorating the Christmas tree with our mother and father. It was Willie who remembered that Mommy wanted the angel put on first. Every Christmas, she would tell us, “The angel has to look down and approve of what we do to her tree.”

“I don't know how we do it,” Grandpa Arnold suddenly said. It was as if he was thinking aloud. He kept his attention on the road. I waited for him to continue, but he didn't.

“Do what, Grandpa?”

“Come back to the living. Every time something terrible happens in our lives, something terrible to someone we love, we think,
Why bother going on?
” He turned to me. “Yet we do, don't we? We go on.”

“I guess I believe Mommy or Daddy, Grandma, or even Willie would want us to,” I said.

“Exactly. That would be like adding insult to injury if they didn't. I mean, who's to say they can't feel guilty about something like that, even in heaven?”

I smiled. “You telling me you believe in heaven now, Grandpa?”

He looked at me, that subdued but loving smile trickling through his face as if the firm, serious face he habitually wore had become a transparent mask through which I could now see the true William Arnold. “I can't think of anyplace else they'd be,” he said. “But don't go and tell My Faith I said that, or she'll smother me in Bibles,” he quickly added.

He tried to look serious about it, but we both laughed.

This is something we haven't done for a while
, I thought,
laugh together at the same thing
.

After we reached the tree farm, we walked among the rows, inspecting. We needed a rather big and tall tree for a living room our size. Grandpa was not only good at picking out a tree that had a perfect shape, but he was also good at negotiating the price for it.

“You always try to negotiate when you're buying things, if you can,” he told me after we loaded the tree onto the small pickup he kept for odd jobs. Jimmy used it mostly and would have come with us if it wasn't his day off. “People respect you more. I wish your uncle Bobby understood that. Artistic people are softies when it comes to the real world.”

“He's a talented and lovely man, Grandpa. You should be proud of him.”

“Lovely, huh? Anyone ever called me lovely, I'd have their two front teeth.”

“Growl, growl,” I muttered, and he laughed.

Then he turned serious again. “Bobby knows he can go his own way, and I'll still do whatever I can for him. Your grandma Lucy would rise from the grave and give me what for if I didn't.”

“You'd do it anyway, Grandpa. You're the softy at heart. That boy wouldn't be in our house if you weren't,” I said, thinking of what Aaron had told me.

He glanced at me. His expression revealed that he was caught between arguing and agreeing. Instead, he just drove on. To our surprise, Jimmy had returned on his day off and was there to help unload the tree and help Grandpa set it up in the tree stand in the living room. While they did that, I went to the storage room and began bringing out the Christmas decorations and Willie's electric trains and model village. Before we got started, My Faith announced lunch, and Dorian came down to tell us William was feeling better and she thought he might be up to watching or even helping in a small way to decorate the tree.

“What did he say about it?” I asked.

“Oh, I haven't told him about it yet. I thought I would just get him down here and surprise him with it.” She gave Grandpa one of those conspiratorial glances and told me that Dr. Patrick had suggested it and asked her to take note of his reaction. “We're not
even sure he ever had a Christmas tree in his home,” she pointed out.

“Well, he should believe in Santa Claus,” I said, and nodded at my grandfather. “Not Saint Nick but Saint William.”

Dorian widened her eyes. They looked at each other, and Grandpa surprised me with a smile. I thought I had sounded sarcastic, but apparently, I didn't know my own thinking anymore.

Grandpa brought in a ladder after lunch so one of us could place the angel at the top of the tree while Dorian went back up to get Count Piro dressed and into the chair to be brought downstairs. I spread all the decorations out carefully, trying to recall how we had each one placed on the tree last Christmas.

I heard the chair coming down, heard Dorian transferring him to the wheelchair waiting at the bottom, and then turned to the doorway to watch as she wheeled him into the living room. Grandpa stood there holding the angel in his hands. I stood up, thinking I would invite the boy over to attach some of the sparkling crystal balls to the lower branches. He could do that easily while in his wheelchair. He looked from me to Grandpa to the tree, and then his face began to tremble as if it was made of putty and he was being shaken.

It was clear that the tree was connected with a strong memory for him, and now the sight of it brought back some horror like a gust of wind slapping him in the face. He screamed what I thought sounded like “Carry!” and then his head jerked back, and the trembling in his face rippled through his body. Dorian
looked shocked, actually stunned, and for a moment, I wondered if she could do anything.

“What . . .” Grandpa cried.

Dorian quickly turned Count Piro's wheelchair and pushed him out of the room and back toward the stairway. Grandpa and I followed. Before she reached the stairway with him, his head fell to the side. She paused and felt for his pulse. I knew Grandpa was holding his breath like I was while we watched Dorian examine him.