Secret Lives (23 page)

He was already at the table when I came
downstairs. Just a couple of other boarders are left now, and he
spoke to them, not to me. We walked upstairs together after dinner
and he said that I could have the larger suitcase if I liked, and
that he had a box we could put our books in. His friend, Pete, can
drive us to the train station tomorrow, he said, and he hoped they
serve us hotcakes for our last breakfast here. He talked all around
that moment in my bedroom, made circles around it with his words
and never got close enough to touch it. I am not sure if he feels
he is at fault for walking in on me or that I am at fault for not
warning him. I am not sure if either of us is embarrassed. The only
thing I am sure of is that if I could choose over again whether to
answer his knock or not, I would not change a thing.

–
23–

Eden spent the morning in her room. Twice
she'd turned on the word processor and read what she'd written over
the past few days, and twice she'd set her fingers on the keys,
waiting for inspiration that never came. Three or four times she
lay down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Now she sat once
again in the rocker, studying the picture of her mother. Katherine
Swift, the public Katherine Swift, with her thick honey-colored
braid and perfect white teeth, smiling broadly up at the camera
from her seat in the pit. Eden had always taken this picture at
face value, never wondering what lay hidden behind that smile. So
much lay hidden. Too much. She felt overwhelmed at how to present
it on the screen.

Her mother had described her emotions far too
well. As she read the journal earlier that morning, Eden felt
herself inside Kate's skin, sometimes to the point that she had to
set the journal down and stare out the window to break the mood.
She'd pinched the inside of her own arm to see how much pressure it
would take before she drew blood. She dug her nails into the skin
until tears sprang to her eyes, but she had still barely left a
mark.

She started at a knock on her door. “It's
one-fifteen, Eden,” Kyle said through the door. “Don't you want
some lunch?”

One-fifteen? She'd been brooding in her room
half the day. She opened the door to face her uncle's furrowed
brow. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes. I'll come down.”

He walked ahead of her down the stairs.
“Lou's out with a friend at one of the scenic overlooks. She goes
there about once a week to paint. Not really her favorite subject
matter, but she enjoys the company.” They'd reached the kitchen and
he opened the refrigerator door. “I made some tuna salad. Can I get
you a sandwich?”

“I can take care of it, Kyle. Have you
already eaten?”

“Yes, but I'll sit with you.” He poured
himself a glass of iced tea and proceeded to tell her about the
woman Lou was out with. She was from Georgia, he said. She had
three grandchildren and was a nut for African violets. The chatter
was not at all like him. She sat and listened, picking at her
sandwich.

After a while he stopped talking to take a
long drink from his tea. Then he looked across the table at her.
“You're very quiet,” he said.

“She needed psychiatric care, Kyle.” She
hoped her tone didn't sound accusatory. She didn't mean it to
be.

He ran his finger down the long iced-tea
glass. “Yes, she most definitely did. But it was 1946. Things
weren't like they are today and—”

“I know there was a stigma attached to seeing
a psychiatrist back then, but God, Kyle, she really needed
help.”

“It wasn't the stigma that worried me. Kate
didn't know it, but I talked to people about her. Stan Latterly,
for one. Trying to get advice on what to do for her. Everyone
thought there was a good chance they'd lock her up. I wasn't about
to let that happen.”

“Oh.” She hadn't thought of that. “You must
have felt so helpless.”

“Well.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully as
though he hadn't considered that possibility before, “I guess that
was part of how I felt.”

Eden smiled at him. “You certainly had your
share of women. I can see what Lou meant about you being
randy.”

Kyle laughed. “Tame me down a little in the
film, okay?”

She'd felt intrusive reading about Kyle and
Julia, Kyle and Sally, Kate and Matt. Kate had left nothing to the
imagination. But she was writing in a journal meant for her eyes
alone. Of course she wouldn't censor what she had to say.

“Her writing was so…graphic,” Eden said.
“Maybe she never meant for anyone else to see it.”

Kyle shook his head. “It would never occur to
Kate to mince words, no matter who she thought might read them. And
I know for a fact she wanted you to have the journal.”

“Did she actually say that?”

“Uh huh.”

“At what point?”

“You'll have to read on. I think she liked
writing that way. Making it graphic, as you say.” He drew another
stripe through the condensation on his glass, then looked up at
her. “After she died, I went into the cave to take the journal out.
I knew she kept it on the ledge above her desk. Well, way on the
back of that ledge I found a stack of stories that were definitely
not written for children.”

“Pornography?”

“That would depend on your definition of
pornography. I wouldn't have called it that. They were similar to
the journal in that they were written in the first person, but the
writing was more elegant, like her stories. And they were pure
fantasy.”

“Maybe they weren't. Maybe she had a secret
lover who crept into her cave when no one else was around.” Eden
could already picture it on the screen—a dark, wolflike man
stealing into the cave at dusk, finding himself in Katherine's
willing arms.

“I wish that had been the case,” Kyle said.
“She deserved a little more pleasure than she got out of life.”

“Do you still have the stories? They'd be
worth a fortune now.

“No. I read them through and then destroyed
them. Burned them. Lou was appalled. She said they were works of
art, some of Kate's best writing—I didn't even notice the writing.
I was afraid they'd get into the wrong hands.”

Eden nodded, thinking that Kyle had probably
been right to destroy them. The wrong hands were everywhere.

“When does Katherine finally make love to my
father?” she asked.

Kyle laughed. “You have no patience at
all.”

“It's hard to work on the screenplay when I'm
not exactly sure where I'm headed.”

“That must be a challenge.” He obviously had
no intention of helping her out.

“I'm struck by how different she and I were
at that age. All she wanted was to be able to stay at home, and all
I wanted was to run away.”

“Oh, I don't know. I think you were more
alike than different,” Kyle said. “You were both just trying to
find a way to feel safe.”

He understood, and she felt forgiven. But he
had no idea how much there was to forgive. She stood up and dumped
the rest of her sandwich in the garbage. “I'd better get back to
work.”

She returned to her word processor, her
thoughts in better order but a lingering uneasiness in the pit of
her stomach. She and Kyle had not talked about that last entry in
the notebook, his walking in on Kate. She had wanted to say
something about it and perhaps he had as well, but neither of them
had known what to ask, how to respond, and she wasn't sure if their
silence on the topic gave it greater significance or none at
all.

–
24–

It was dusk when she curled up on the living
room sofa to call Cassie, and for the first time Wayne
answered.

“It's Eden, Wayne.” She could hear laughter
and a few childish screams in the background. Three little girls.
She could imagine the giggling, the teasing, the hugging, that
filled that house. “I just wanted to talk to Cassie,” she said.

“How's the screenplay coming along?” Wayne
asked.

“Slowly, but I'm pleased with what I have so
far. I still have a ton of research to do, though. How's
Cassie?”

“She's having the time of her life. Hold on,
I'll get her. She's out in the pool.”

Cassie was breathless by the time she reached
the phone. “Mommy, you know what?” she asked.

“What?” Eden could picture Cassie in her
ruffled pink bathing suit, clutching the phone, dripping on Pam's
clean kitchen floor.

“I can hold my breath for twenty whole
seconds under water! It's the longest of anybody.”

“You're turning into a real fish this summer,
aren't you?”

“What kind of fish?”

“Well, I don't know.” She usually had an easy
rapport with Cassie. Now she was struggling for words. Why couldn't
she get her tone right? Why couldn't she sound a little more
upbeat? “What kind would you like to be?” she asked.

“Mommy, you're not making any sense.”

“Isn't it getting too dark to swim up there?”
She looked out the window. The forest was black.

“We've got lights right in the pool, Mom.
They make your skin look all white and fat. And the water's real
warm. Can you come over and swim with us?”

“I'm too far away, Cassie, you know that.”
Hadn't Cassie gotten this straight yet? “You'll be coming down here
to Virginia before you know it, though, and then we'll have lots of
time together.”

There was a short silence. She could hear
Cassie's teeth chattering. “But April and Lindy won't be
there.”

“No. But I’ll be here and we can canoe
together and”—what else?—”we'll have fun and then we'll go back to
Santa Monica and you can start nursery school and make lots of new
friends.”

“Daddy says I have to go there.”

“Go where, honey? Santa Monica?”

“He says I have to go to Virginia.”

Eden waited for the fierce little arrow of
pain to leave her heart before she spoke again. “Don't you want to
come here, Cassie?”

“I want to stay here 'cause of the pool and
April and Lindy.”

God. When would Cassie be old enough to at
least make an attempt at sparing her feelings? “But I really miss
you. I want to have some time with you this summer too.”

“Then come here.” There was an about-to-cry
quality to Cassie's voice that Eden recognized all too well.

“Sweetheart, that's just not possible.”

“But I have a kitten here. Mommy let me get
it and I can't—”

“Mommy?” Eden shut her eyes as the arrow
struck home again. “Do you mean Pam?”

“Yes, Pam. She let me—”

“Do you call Pam Mommy?”

“Sometimes.” Cassie's voice was still a
little rough, but the answer was matter-of-fact. She had no concept
at all of how her words cut.

“Cassie, I can hear your teeth chattering.
You'd better warm up and I'll call you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay. 'Bye.”

“I love—” The phone clicked in Eden's ear.
She sat still for a moment, then picked up the small leather
address book from the end table and opened it to Alexander. She
started dialing without stopping to think.

“Hello?” Ben's voice was anticipatory.

“Can I come over?” She didn't bother to
identify herself.

“I wish you would,” he said.

She didn't take the time to change out of her
shorts and T-shirt, or to fix her hair where it was pulling loose
from her clip. She glanced in the dimly lit rearview mirror as she
drove up the winding road to his cabin and wrinkled her nose at her
reflection.

He opened the door before she knocked.
“You're upset,” he said.

“I just spoke to Cassie.” She looked at him
as she walked into the cabin and knew instantly why she had come
here: he would understand. “I feel as though I've lost her.”

He motioned toward the sofa and she sat down.
“Wine?” he asked. “Beer?”

“Wine,” she said. “And a lot of it. I want to
feel numb.”

He poured them each a glass of wine and sat
down on the arm of the upholstered chair. He was wearing his mauvey
T-shirt again. “What makes you think you've lost her?” he
asked.

She took a few sips of her wine and set the
glass on the coffee table. “She's so happy up there with Wayne and
Pam and Pam's daughters. She doesn't want to come down here. She
actually said that. She's adjusted so easily, as though I'm
expendable, you know? I don't think she misses me at all. She calls
Pam Mommy.”

He winced. Oh, yes, he understood.

She curled her legs under her on the sofa.
“Then I think, if she's happier with them—they can give her a
mother and a father plus two siblings and stability and a normal
life—then what right do I have wanting her to live with me? I have
to admit she might be better off with them. Where I live…” She
shook her head, not certain if Ben could possibly comprehend what
her life was like. “Wayne says it's all plastic. Fake. The people
are fake, and he's right. I'm fake.”

Ben scowled. “Bullshit.”

“No, he's right. You're not seeing it here.
I'm different here. In Hollywood I'm nothing but a caricature of
myself. And I'm raising Cassie in that unreal world. The only good
reason I have for making her live with me is a purely selfish one:
I want her.” Her voice cracked. “I can't give her up. It would be
like starting over and—” She stopped herself as a look of quiet
resolve came into Ben's eyes.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “That's what you're
doing, isn't it? Starting over?”

“Yes. And you're right to be scared of it.
It's hell. But I think you're worried about nothing. You've
forgotten the relationship you and Cassie have. She still loves
you. Little kids—they just say what's on their minds. They don't
mean to hurt anyone. Right this second she might think she wants to
live with her dad forever, but…What was she doing when you
called?”

“Swimming. Wayne got her out of the pool to
talk to me.”

“There you have it. She's having a great time
and you start talking about leaving.”

She took another swallow of wine. “Maybe,”
she conceded. “I really am glad she's happy up there. She's adapted
so well.”