Changes (11 page)

And beyond that was a handsome library done in dark greens, which was obviously Peter's sitting room. There were walls and walls of books, a small mountain of chaos on the desk, and on one wall an oil portrait of Anne, and double French doors leading into their bedroom, which Peter now slept in alone. It was all done in beige silk, with French commodes, a beautiful chaise longue, and the same rich curtains and sconces and another beautiful chandelier. But there was something about the place that made one want to take off one's clothes and dance around, and defy the formality of it all. It was almost too much, no matter how beautiful it was, and the more Melanie saw, the more she felt that it just didn't look like him.

They took another staircase upstairs then, and on this floor everything was brightly colored and fun, and the open doors showed three large, sunny children's rooms. The floor of Matt's was littered with toys, and Mark's half-closed door showed total chaos within, and the third door was ajar and all Mel could see was a huge white canopied bed, and a woman's back as she lay on her side on the floor near the bed. At the sound of their footsteps in the hall, she turned and stood up, whispering something into the phone and then hung up. Melanie was astonished at how tall and grown-up she looked. If this was his middle child, it was difficult to believe that she was not yet fourteen. She was long and lanky and blond, with a shaft of wheat-colored hair like Val's, and big wistful blue eyes. But most of all she looked like the photographs of Anne that Mel had just seen.

“What are you doing inside?” Peter searched her eyes and Mel felt them both grow tense.

“I wanted to call a friend.”

“You could have used the phone at the pool.”

She didn't answer him at first and then she shrugged. “So?”

He ignored the remark and turned to Mel. “I'd like you to meet my daughter, Pam. Pam, this is Melanie Adams, the newswoman from New York I told you about.”

“I know who she is.” Pamela didn't extend a hand at first, but Mel did, and she shook it at last, as her father began to seethe. He never wanted it to be like this between them, and yet it always was. She always did something to get him upset, to be rude to his friends, to make a point of not cooperating when there was no reason for her not to. Why, dammit,
why?
They were all unhappy that Anne had died, but why did she have to take it out on him? She had for the last year and a half, and she was worse now. He told himself that it was the age, that it was a passing phase, but sometimes he wasn't so sure.

“I was wondering if you could lend Mel a bathing suit, Pam. She left hers at the hotel.”

There was a fraction of a moment of hesitation again. “Sure. I guess I could. She's”—she hesitated on the word, Mel was by no means large, but she wasn't as rail thin as Pam—“she's bigger than me though.” And there was something else too, a look that had passed between them that Pam didn't like. Or more exactly the way her father looked at Mel.

And Mel quickly understood. She smiled gently at the girl. “It's all right if you'd rather not.”

“No, that's okay.” Her eyes searched Melanie's face. “You look different than you do on TV.” There was no smile in the girl's eyes.

“Do I?” She smiled at the slightly uncomfortable but very attractive young girl. She looked nothing like Peter, and there was still an undefined childishness about her face, despite the long legs and full bust, and body that had already outstripped her chronological age. “My daughters always say I look more ‘grown-up’ on TV.”

“Yeah. Sort of. More serious.”

“I think that's what they mean.”

The three of them stood in the pretty white room, as Pam continued to stare at Melanie, as though looking for an answer to something in her face. “How old are your daughters?”

“They'll be sixteen in July.”

“Both of them?” Pam was confused.

“They're twins.” Melanie smiled.

“They are? That's neat! Do they look alike?”

“Not at all. They're fraternal twins.”

“I thought that just meant they were boys.”

Mel smiled again and Pam blushed. “That means they're not identical twins, but it is a confusing term.”

“What are they like?” She was fascinated by Mel's twins.

“Like sixteen-year-old girls.” Mel laughed. “They keep me on my toes. One's a redhead like me, and the other one is a blonde. Their names are Jessica and Valerie, and they love to go out to dances and they have lots of friends.”

“Where do you live?” Peter was watching the exchange intently but he said nothing at all.

“In New York. In a little town house.” She smiled at Peter then. “It's very different than this.” And then she turned back to Pam. “You have a beautiful house, and it must be nice to have a pool.”

“It's okay.” She looked unenthused as she shrugged. “It's either full of my brother's obnoxious friends, or Matthew's peeing in it.” She sounded annoyed and Mel laughed but Peter was not amused.

“Pam! That's not something to say, and it's not true.”

“It is so. The little brat did it an hour ago, as soon as Mrs. Hahn went inside. Right from the edge of the pool too. At least he could do it while he's swimming around.” Mel had to suppress the laughter she felt and Peter blushed.

“I'll say something to Matt.”

“Mark's friends probably do it too.” It was obvious that she didn't enjoy either of the boys, and then she went to hunt for a suit for Mel, and came back with a white one-piece bathing suit she thought might fit. Mel thanked her and looked around again.

“You really have a lovely room, Pam.”

“My mom did it for me just before …” Her words trailed off and there was something desperately sad in her eyes and then she looked at Peter defiantly. “It's the only room in this house that's all mine.” It seemed an odd thing to say and Mel felt for her. She seemed so unhappy and so much at odds with them all. It was as though she couldn't show them her pain, only the anger she felt instead, as though they were all responsible for taking Anne from her.

“It must be a nice room to share with your friends.” Mel found herself thinking of her own girls, and their friends who sat around on the floor of their rooms, listening to records, talking about boys, laughing and giggling and sharing secrets with each other, which they eventually always shared with Mel. They seemed very different from this awkward, hostile girl, with the body of a woman and the mind of a child. It was obviously a very difficult time for her, and Mel could see that Peter had a lot on his hands. No wonder he tried to come home early every day. With a six-year-old child hungering for love, a teen-ager of the older boy's age to watch over, and an adolescent girl as unhappy as this one was, the household needed more than just a housekeeper's care, it needed a father and a mother too. She understood now why Peter felt such a desperate need to be there for them all, and why he felt at times that he was inadequate to the task. Not that he was, but they all needed a great deal from him, and even something more than that, at least this child did. Melanie found herself wanting to reach out to her, to hold her close, to tell her that eventually everything would be all right. And as though sensing Mel's thoughts, Pam suddenly stepped back from her.

“Well, I'll see you downstairs in a while.” It was her invitation to them to leave. And Peter walked slowly to the door.

“Are you coming downstairs, Pam?”

“Yeah.” But she didn't sound too sure.

“I don't think you ought to spend the afternoon in your room.” He sounded firm but she looked as though she were inclined to argue with him, and Melanie didn't envy him his role with her. She wasn't an easy child to deal with, at least not at the present time. “Will you be down soon?”

“Yes!” She looked more belligerent still and Mel and Peter left the room, as she followed him back downstairs to his room and he opened a door across the hall from him, to reveal a pretty blue and white guest room.

“You can change in here, Mel.” He didn't say anything to her about Pam, and when she came out again ten minutes later, he looked more relaxed than he had before, and he led the way back downstairs to the big white wicker garden room. There was a refrigerator concealed there behind white lacquered doors and he took out two cans of beer and handed one to her, as he reached for two glasses from a shelf with one hand and then waved for her to sit down. “We might as well wait a few more minutes for the kids to wear themselves out.” They were already beginning to leave the pool as Melanie looked outside. And she noticed then how good-looking Peter was in his dark blue swimming trunks and a French T-shirt and bare feet. He didn't even look like the same man she had interviewed for the past two days, but rather like someone else. Just an ordinary mortal now, she smiled the thought to herself as he watched her eyes, and then his face sobered as he thought of the child upstairs. “Pam isn't an easy child. She was while her mother was alive. But now she runs the gamut from being intensely possessive of me to hating us all. She thinks nobody understands what she's going through, and most of the time these days she acts as though she's living in an enemy camp.” He sighed with a tired smile as he sipped his beer. “It's hard on the boys at times too.”

“I think she probably just needs a lot of love from all of you, especially you.”

“I know. But she blames everything on us. And well …” He seemed embarrassed to say what was on his mind. “Sometimes she makes herself difficult to love. I understand it, but the boys don't. At least not all the time.” It was the first time that he had admitted to Mel what a problem he had with her.

“She'll come around. Give her time.”

Peter sighed again. “It's been almost two years.” But Melanie didn't dare say what she thought to him. It had been almost two years, and yet all of Anne's photographs were still everywhere in sight, nothing in the place had been touched since Anne died, Mel sensed, and Peter himself acted as though she had only died that week. How could the child be expected to adjust if he himself had not? He was still reproaching himself for what he hadn't been able to convince Anne to do, as though any of it could be changed now. Mel said nothing, as she watched his eyes, and he didn't avert his eyes. “I know. You're right. I'm still hanging on too.”

“Maybe when you close the door to the past, she will too.” Mel spoke in a gentle voice, and without thinking, Peter's eyes drifted to the nearest photograph of Anne, and Mel suddenly asked something she had promised herself not to say. “Why don't you move?”

“From here?” He looked shocked. “Why?”

“To give everyone a fresh start. It might be a relief to all of you.” But he was quick to shake his head.

“I don't think it would. I think it would be more disruptive than helpful, to be in a new house. At least we're all comfortable and happy here.”

“Are you?” Mel didn't look convinced and she knew that he was hanging on, and so was Pam, and she wondered if the others were too, and just as the thought crossed her mind, a stocky woman in a white uniform entered the room, and looked at them both, particularly Mel. She had a face that was well worn by time, and her hands were gnarled from long years of hard work, and yet her eyes were bright and alive and she seemed to take everything in.

“Good afternoon, Doctor.” She seemed to say “doctor” as though she were saying “God,” and Mel smiled. She knew instantly who the woman was, and Peter stood to introduce Mel to her. She was the invaluable housekeeper he had spoken of before, the precious Mrs. Hahn, who shook Mel's hand with an almost brutal shake, her eyes combing the pretty redhead in the borrowed white bathing suit she instantly recognized as Pam's. She knew everything that happened in the house, who came, who went, where they went, and why. She was particularly careful about Pam. There had already been enough trouble with her the year of her mother's death, with that business of scarcely eating a mouthful of food for six months, and then making herself throw up after every meal for months after that. But now at least that problem was in control, and she was much better than she had been. But Hilda Hahn knew that the girl had had a hard time, and she needed a woman's eye on her, which was why Mrs. Hahn was there. She looked Mel over carefully now, and decided that she looked like a nice woman after all. Mrs. Hahn knew who Mel was, and that she was doing a story on the doctor's work, but she had expected Mel to be somewhat arrogant about who she was, and she didn't seem to be. “It's nice to meet you, ma'am.” She was both formal and tight-lipped and did not return Melanie's smile, as Mel almost laughed thinking of the contrast to Raquel. In fact, just about everything was different about their two homes, from their maids to their decor, to their kids, and yet she felt as though she had a great deal in common with him. It was funny how differently they lived. “Would you care for some iced tea?” She looked disapprovingly at their beers, and Mel felt like a wayward child.

“No, thank you very much.” She smiled again, to no avail, and with a curt nod, Hilda Hahn disappeared to her own domain behind the swinging doors that led to the kitchen and breakfast room, pantry, and her small apartment in the rear. She was extremely comfortable here. When Mrs. Hallam had built the house she had promised Hilda her own suite of rooms, and that was what she had now. Mrs. Hallam had been a fine woman, she always said, and would say so again, many times, and did later on in plain hearing of Mel, before she brought the dinner in. And Melanie had noticed Pam's eyes seem to glaze over as Hilda mentioned her mother's name. It was as though they were all still fighting to recuperate and it had been almost two years. One almost wanted to put away the pictures for them, pack them up, and move them to another house. They were all still so devoted to her, as though they were waiting for her to come home, and it made you want to tell them that she never would. They had to get on with their lives, every one of them. The two boys seemed better adjusted to their mother's death. Matthew had been so young when she died that his memories of her were already dim, and he climbed willingly into Mel's lap after they had a swim, and she told him about the twins. Like Pam, he was fascinated by the idea of twins and wanted to know what they looked like. And Mark seemed like a bright easygoing boy of seventeen; there was a look of greater wisdom in his eyes than his years would suggest, and yet he seemed happy as he chatted with both Peter and Mel. He only got annoyed when Pam arrived and complained that his friends were still hanging around the pool. A fight between them seemed imminent until Peter stepped in.