The Cake is a Lie (39 page)

“
You’re the new one in town,
huh?”

“
Uh, uh.”

“
Well, my name’s Annie.
What’s yours?”

“
Renee.”

“
Well, if that don’t sound
like a movie star’s. I don’t know what does. Oh you’re lucky,
honey. I mean what can you do with a name like Annie?” She walked
ahead into the sand and stopped to kick off her slippers.
“Renee…yes, I like that. Well, are you coming? I go down here each
morning, you see, to see who’s come up during the night. I’m still
looking for Marla, dear thing. Hasn’t come to rest yet though.” We
were quite far up the beach now. Driftwood covered the sand, so
that it was difficult to walk, and I followed Annie as she
carefully climbed over it. Every now and then, she would examine a
piece or turn one over. Bored after ten minutes, I picked up a long
white piece and threw it as far as I could.

“
Renee.” She turned around,
her eyes wide and terrible. “You go and get that, y’hear. Are you
mad?” I ran as fast as I could to pick it up, and she came after
me.

“
You must never, ever do
that again, d’y’hear? You just never know who . . . why, Renee, let
me see that.” She grabbed the stick and examined it. “Marla. Why
it’s Marla honey. And after all these years, why–.” She hugged me
and the driftwood together. “Renee, you are a blessing, you
certainly are.”

Frightened, I started crying and tried
to pull away. “Let go of me. I wanna go home.”

“
No, you can’t, Renee,” she
said pulling me down on the sand beside her. “You’ve just gotta
listen here. You’ve just gotta understand.” Through my tears, her
awesome eyes seemed almost soft and pleading as a kitten’s. “You
see, when people die, they don’t just die forever. No, they come
back. I mean, not as people again, but something different, like a
tree or something. Now, c’mon, Renee, I’m gonna show you
something.”

Frantically, she dragged me over the
sand behind her, until we stood high on a mound near the edge of
the marsh. “Now look out there. See all that driftwood.” She
pointed out proudly.

“
But, you know, when I first
came here, there was hardly a piece on the beach. And since I’ve
come—look at it all, Renee, look at it all.” She turned on me
again. “There’s just gotta be a reason. It’s the dead, Renee. They
come here because they know. They just know there’s someone here to
look after them.” She took my hand, gently this time, and laid
Maria carefully on the beach. We turned and walked slowly back to
the house. “Oh, you probably think I’m crazy like the rest of
them.”

“
No, I don’t, Annie.” She
squeezed my hand.

“
Well, there’s one more
thing to show you.” About ten yards from the house, growing
peculiarly in the marsh, stood a giant pussywillow tree. “You see
this tree?” She walked over and patted it. “This is my husband,
Len. He was an old fool, but wouldn’t you know, he came back close
to me.” She laughed. We went in the house then, which was filled
with old clothes, furniture, and magazines. Annie chattered
constantly as she offered me some old crackers and poured a drink
for herself. We sat down and she pulled out an old
magazine.

“
Lookit here, Renee. There’s
an actress in there that looks exactly like you.”

“
Really?” I crossed over and
sat on the arm of her chair.

“
Mm-hmm. And don’t she
though. You’re gonna be a smasher, kiddo, with your hair and all.”
She turned another page. “Oh, lookey here, it’s a Voluptia
Brazziere and Girdle. Now wouldn’t that do something for
me.”

“
Well, I think you look like
the lady who’s wearing it.” I laughed.

“
Now, you’re some kidder.”
She started to pour another drink, then changed her mind. “Nope, I
guess I better save some of this for Stew. He’s coming
tonight.”
“Who’s he?” I asked.

“
Oh, Stew, he’s a wild one.
But he keeps me from being lonely since Len died.”

“
Annie, what’s in the big
peanut-butter jar?”

“
Well, that’s all my sea
things. You know, I just pick ‘em up. Bring it here, and I’ll show
you all…”

Eleven, twelve, thirteen…the years
rolled in and out with the tide. Annie became my close friend; and
except for little Jeff and sometimes Stew, she was my only friend.
I did my homework at her house and together we read stories,
collected sea things, and watched over the driftwood. I asked my
dad about the driftwood, and he said it wasn’t true—that when we
die we go to heaven, but I never let on to Annie that I didn’t
believe her. Dad’s Oceanside Park grew and in the summer the town
was filled with all sorts of interesting people. I never made
friends with the kids my age, though. They didn’t make fun of me;
they just ignored me. Eighth grade came and I watched the girls put
on lipstick, teach each other to dance, and even go to movies with
boys.

Then, one day, as I sat in the lavatory
stall, I heard three of the girls talking while they combed their
hair.

“
She’s so weird.”

“
Well, of course. She spends
all her time with that crazy lady.”

“
She must be crazy herself.
I even saw her collecting some of that old driftwood.”
“You know, she’s not bad-looking, but…I don’t know—weird, that’s
all.” They left, and I finally came out, too numb to
cry.

That night, Annie had been drinking
quite a bit by the time I got to her house. Stew had left for good,
the week before, and it seemed like she hadn’t put the bottle down
since. That made me even sulkier and I kept my head bent over my
books, scarcely saying a word.

“
Well, kiddo, what’s the
matter?”

“
Nothin’, Annie.”

“
C’mon, tell me. You’ve
never been this sulky. Is it, those kids?”

“
No—well…”

“
C’mon, I know it is. You
just tell me what they said.”

Slowly I lifted my head. Ashamed and
angry, my words were too hard and too loud. “They said…they said I
must be crazy to be friends with a crazy old lady like you.” My
head fell back on my books, and I cried until my eyes puffed almost
shut. After a long slow time, Annie walked over and put her arms
around me.

“
You know something, my
movie star. They’re probably right. They’re probably right, you
know. Yes, they…” She walked to the tiny window and looked hard at
the night. Frantically I ran and threw myself around her,
sobbing.

“
No, they didn’t say that,
Annie, they really didn’t.”

“
I’ve watched over that
pussywillow tree for too long a time, I guess,” she said quietly.
Then she turned and lifted me up, pushing me towards the door.
“Now, listen here, Renee. You go home and show ’em. For me,
d’y’hear? You go home and show all them kids for me.”

“
Uh huh, Annie.” Still
crying, I stumbled down the ramp and hurried home.

The next day, after school, I walked up
her little ramp again, but the house was empty. The jar of sea
things was waiting in the center of the table, and I cried for
weeks with the whelping loneliness of a lost puppy, but I never saw
Annie again. The next summer, Dad sold the last lot in Oceanside
Park, so we moved out to Helm Lake, because there was a sudden fad
for lake homes.

Four years have passed now, and I’m a
freshmen out here at Western. It’s Christmas vacation and I’m on my
way home. But we get the city papers up at school, and just last
week, I read where a car hit a drunk woman crossing the street. She
died at the hospital, but all they could get from her was that her
name was Annie Layman and she came from a town on the
coast.

So I’m driving back down Main Street
now, looking for I don’t know what. I leave my car at the edge of
the marsh and trample over to the house. The tree on the side is
still sturdy, but the door is gone now, and most of the things are,
too. Some little girls must have found a new playhouse, for a tea
table is set up with dolls around it, and a coloring book lies on
the floor. I wander out of the house and up the beach. The summer
homes are boarded up and the sea sweeps in rather peacefully. I
watch the sea for a long time. And then I find myself looking up at
the miles of driftwood and wondering which is Annie.