The Things We Keep (29 page)

It takes everything I've got not to drop the jug of milk in my hand.

“Does Eric know?” I ask.

Clara nods. “Bert told him the moment he walked in. Rosie's in his office right now.”

“Eric's here? I didn't see his car?”

“He has a new one,” Clara says. “That shiny silver one, out front?”

I blink. “That's
his
?”

Clara shrugs. “The retirement world clearly pays well.”

I run down the hall and don't bother to knock on Eric's door, just fling it open. “It wasn't Rosie!” I say. “It was me!”

It's not until I'm standing there that I realize I have no idea what Rosie has told Eric, what lie she might have spun or angle she might have played—an angle that I might have just ruined. I lift my chin, trying to look confident, but Eric's eyes focus on my shaking hands. “Come in, Eve,” he says. His face is red and cross. “Shut the door.”

Both Eric and Rosie remain silent as I sit in the empty chair.

“So
you
unlocked the door?” he says.

I steal a glance at Rosie. “Yes.”

Why?”

“The thing is,” I start, “Anna and Luke love each other. I found a letter, you see, in Anna's notebook—it says Anna promised to be with Luke until the end. And then, a couple of weeks ago, I found Anna by the window and—”

Eric strums his fingers on the desk. “Can you excuse us, Rosie?”

Rosie leaves. I want to slump, but I sit tall, as if pulled skyward by an invisible string.

“Eve—”

“I've Googled it!” I get to my feet. “Research shows that people with dementia do much, much better when surrounded by those they love. A lot of people with dementia are old and don't have any loved ones left, but Anna and Luke
do.
They have each other. So, to separate them is just … tragic. Can you imagine if the love of your life were in the very next room, but no matter how you tried, you couldn't get to her? Wouldn't you be suicidal?”

“So you just decided to take it upon yourself to unlock Luke's door last night and see what happened?”

I pause.
Last night.
He only knows about last night.

“Well, yes.”

Eric stands and walks around the desk, stopping right in front of me. “Do you understand how serious this is? If Luke had become agitated or confused, our residents could have been in danger. If someone were hurt, Rosalind House would have been liable. I have enough people breathing down my neck without having to worry about this.” Eric sighs, stares off. “Let's say your theory is correct—Anna was blissfully happy with Luke. Why would she try to kill herself?”

My mouth is open, ready to counter any argument he might have … but this is the
one
piece of the puzzle I still haven't figured out. If they didn't start locking Anna's door until after she tried to kill herself … why did she do it?

“Exactly,” Eric says when I come up with nothing
.
He wanders back to his side of the desk. “I'll have to let the families know what's happened,” he says. “If Anna's family is concerned that she's been taken advantage of, they might ask for a medical examination for Anna to establish if she was overpowered or forced. Next time you think about helping her, think about sparing her the trauma of that sort of examination, if you know what I mean.”

I feel the sting of his words, but I take the “next time” as a good sign.

“It goes without saying that this is a one-time warning. And I'd be very sorry to lose you.”

“I'd be very sorry to go,” I say.

As I turn to leave, I notice Angus through the window, digging in the garden. And I realize I'm telling the truth.

 

39

Clementine

On the way to school, Mom worries. Her face is a frown and she says if anything at all happens, I should tell Miss Weber to call her and she will come and get me right away. I worry, too. I don't want to see Miranda or hear her giggle or hear her say things about my dad. What I
really
want is for her family to move away so she doesn't have to be at my school anymore.

Mom talks to Miss Weber for a few minutes at drop-off, and then she kisses my head even though she'd already done that twice already. She asks if I'm ready, and I fight my tears and say I am. Then I spot Ms. Donnelly coming toward us, and Mom leaves in a hurry.

Now, we're in the gymnasium because it's too cold to be outside. The gymnasium smells like feet. I'm on the floor, playing patty-cake with Legs, when I hear Miranda.

“Well,
look
who is back!” Miranda walks in between Legs and me. We let go hands—but it's too late, Miranda's falling. She lands with a smack.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

Miranda doesn't look at me, just gets up quickly and grabs Legs's hand. “Come on, Legs! Don't play with Clem. She
attacks
people.”

I frown. “No, I don't!”

“Liar,” Miranda says. “You flicked a twig in my eye
and
you scratched me at the dance.” She says this quickly, like she's been practicing it. “And now you just tripped me.”

“I don't attack people,” I say quietly. “I only attack
you.
”

Legs covers her mouth because she is giggling.

Miranda's face moves like she's chewing it from the inside. “Anyway,” she says, “my mom has spoken to Ms. Donnelly, and if you do attack me again, you'll be kicked out of the school.”

Legs's eyes widen. I wonder if it's true or if Miranda is making it up.

“Anyway her daddy was a jerk,” Miranda says to Legs. “So
she
must be a jerk, too.”

I get to my feet. I want to slap Miranda's face and tell her
she
is a jerk. But I don't want to get kicked out of school so I push my hands into my pockets.

“Do you know how her daddy died?” Miranda's voice is really loud. Her face is pinched, like she's trying not to smile. I want her to shut it. I want to make her shut it.

Miranda puts her arm through Legs's. “He
killed
himself,” she says in a loud whisper, and she juts out her chin and smiles.

“Shut up!” I yell, and my hands rise up out of my pockets, forming fists. They shoot toward Miranda. I don't care that she is telling the truth. I don't want Miranda and her jutting chin to say it.

Miranda's eyes go wide and scared. But I don't hit her.

“You didn't know my daddy,” I say, and I run out of the gymnasium, out the side door, and I don't stop running until I get to Rosalind House.

*   *   *

When I arrive at Rosalind House, I go right out to the garden. Angus is out there, digging in a garden bed, so I stay hidden behind the tree. The wind blows right through my coat and chills my bones. I shiver.

“Dad?” I close my eyes. “I want to talk to you.”

I let my mind go all empty. Then Daddy starts to form in front of my closed eyes. His face, his black hair.

“Daddy!”

I can see him only when my eyes are closed. His legs are crossed at the knee, and I remember how I used to sit on his foot and bounce like I was riding a horse.

I start to smile, and then I remember. “I am very angry with you, Daddy. You stole people's money, and now everyone hates you.”

I think of Dr. Felder when she asked if there was anything else I wanted to say to Daddy. I decide there is.

“Because of you, Mom doesn't have anyone to talk to in the playground when she picks me up. And Miranda keeps saying nasty things to me. And we live in a horrible apartment that smells like salami! And … you
killed yourself.
That makes me angriest of all. Sometimes,” I say, “I think I hate you.”

There are tears on my face and I want a hug, but I can't hug Daddy, and anyway he is a bad man. So I just cry more.

I keep talking, telling Daddy everything I want to say. When I am finished, I feel a little better.

When I open my eyes, I see Angus, across the lawn. He's standing up, talking to Mom, standing really close. Then Mom leans against him and Angus puts his arms around her. I watch them. She tips her head up so she is looking at his face and he pushes a piece of her hair behind her ear. She smiles. Then he puts his hands on her face and kisses her.

 

40

Eve

I tell Angus everything. How I started opening Anna's doors, how Rosie had joined me. I tell him about my friendship with Anna, and about Eric finding out. Angus's eyebrows rise a couple of times, but his eyes are soft. He puts his arms around me, tucks a piece of loose hair behind my ear. Then he gives me the softest, most wonderful kiss.

“So that's it,” I say.

I wonder what Richard would say if he saw me now. His Eve, whose biggest stressor was what to cook for dinner, has real problems.

“So what are you going to do about Anna?” Angus asks.

“I honestly don't know. I can't lose my job—it's the one thing keeping Clem at her school—”

Angus stares at me.

“Oh. I didn't tell you that part, did I?”

He feigns exasperation, shakes his head. Then he smiles. In the cold garden, it feels so good to be in his arms. I think of last night—of the things we did to each other, and I start to fantasize about pulling him into the shed and maybe …

“Mom?”

I whirl around. Clem is standing there, her cheeks swimming with tears.

“Clem.” I race to her. “What are you doing here? Why aren't you at school?”

She takes a step back, looks at Angus.

“You saw,” I say.

She nods.

“Clem,” I say. “I … I can explain.”

A tear wells and falls onto her cheek, and then another one. “It's okay.”

“Honey, I'm so sorry.”

I half expect her to walk away or yell or stare at me in disgust. But her utter lack of expression is more unsettling than any of it.

“Can we just go inside, Mom?” She shivers inside her coat. “I'm cold.”

“Yes, of course. Let's go inside. We can talk there.”

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“I don't want to talk about”—Her gaze flickers to Angus— “
that.
Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I say, surprised. “That's okay.”

I put my arm around Clem and glance at Angus. He nods soberly. It might be the last time we share a look, I realize. It might be the last time we share anything.

*   *   *

Clem sits in the kitchen on a stool while I call her school. They are very apologetic, clearly concerned I'll be litigious, but they don't need to worry. Especially since if anyone has anything to feel guilty about, it's me.

“So,” I say to her after I hang up. “What happened at school?”

Clem looks at her lap. “Miranda was saying stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“She said that I attack people, and if I attack her again, her mom will get me kicked out of the school.”

I think of Ms. Donnelly's messages that I still haven't returned. And it occurs to me that I might very well get Clem kicked out of school myself.

“Well, you aren't going to attack her again, are you?” I say.

“No.”

“Well, then, you don't have to worry. And I'll speak to Miss Weber, okay?”

Clem doesn't say anything.

“Okay, hon?”

“Okay.”

I start to get suspicious. Had she already done something? But before I can ask her, Eric walks past the kitchen, jolting me out of our little world. I glance at the clock. “Shoot! Clem, I have to do some cleaning. Would you like to help?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you want to go to the parlor and watch TV?”

“Can I just stay here, Mom?”

She looks so tiny up on her stool, legs dangling, and I have a sudden pang of yearning for Richard. Before he died, if Clem was having a problem, I'd call him.

“Put her on the phone,”
he'd have said, and then would have had her giggling within seconds. For all his foibles, he was a good father.

But Richard isn't here so instead, I grab the cookie jar from a shelf. “Course you can. Here. Eat as many as you like.”

She looks at the jar and finally smiles.

“I won't be long,” I say.

I get my cart and drive it past the parlor. Bert is reading the newspaper aloud. Anna and Luke gaze out of different windows. Laurie and Clara sit side by side, in separate chairs. It's funny, usually Clara and Laurie sit in the love seat with an arm linked, or hands intertwined—some sort of physical contact. The fact that they aren't touching now makes me look twice. On the second look, I realize what's amiss.

It's not Clara.

Suddenly I remember how my conversation with Clara ended last time.
“Sometimes sisters can be treacherous.”

I head straight to Clara and Laurie's room, give her door a gentle knock. “It's only me,” I call. “Can I make up your room?”

“Thanks, honey,” she says. “Come on in.” Clara's voice sounds weak and quiet. I find her reclined in bed, in the dark.

“Would you like me to open the curtains?” I ask, and she nods. I set down my bucket and pull back the curtains, securing them with ties. “Is that your sister in the parlor?” I ask.

“Yes. That's Enid.”

“I thought she visited only once a year.” I realize, a moment too late, that I'd learned this particular piece of information while eavesdropping on Clara and Laurie a few months ago in the parlor. But Clara doesn't seem to notice.

“She does. But I asked her to come again.” Clara sighs. “You may as well know. I'm dying.”

I pause, half-bent to dip my cloth into the bucket.

“I've been giving myself breast examinations every month for forty years. Mama had the cancer, too, you see. She wasn't interested in going to see a doctor.” Clara chuckles blackly. “Mama died, of course. And I always said if I found a lump, I'd cut it out faster than you could say ‘cancer.' But when I went to the doctor, he said it was too late. Ironic, huh?”