Child of Darkness (19 page)

I shrugged.
"I guess so. When I was little, my brother and my mother read to me often. They say that works the best when it comes to getting someone to become a good student."

"Your brother? You mean your sister, don't you?"
"Yes," I said.
"How weird all of that must have been. One day I would like to talk to you about it all, but not if it will be unpleasant for either of us," she added quickly.
"I don't remember enough to talk about it," I replied, turning away quickly. Except for Flora and Dr. Sackett, I had never really talked about my past with anyone. Everyone else usually had what I felt to be an almost pornographic interest in the details.
"That's good. Forgetting is sometimes a blessing. Like I'm going to forget all about the nasty things Basil said tonight." She snapped her fingers. "Just like that. See, the ugliness and unpleasantness is gone.
"This is a magical place. We can drive away sadness with the click of fingers or just by going out and buying something new, which is what I plan to do tomorrow while you're in school. I'll get you something special, too."
"You've gotten me so much already, Ami."
"So what? It pleases me to get things for you, things I know will make you look good."
She touched my cheek softly.
"It's like I'm doing it all for myself, anyway. I'm re-living my youth through you, Celeste. So don't worry. You're giving me something very precious in return, very precious," she said, and then leaned over to kiss my forehead before turning to leave. "Sweet dreams," she called from the door. "I insist that all dreams in this house be sweet, and nightmares stay outside the doors and windows where they belong."
I watched her leave and then I rose and prepared for bed myself. Before I went to sleep, however, I decided to go downstairs to get something cold to drink. The water from my bathroom sink was not very cold, and I had a craving for something sweet, like juice or even some soda. I knew there was some in the refrigerator behind the bar, if not in the kitchen.
The halls were dimly lit, and all the rooms downstairs were dark. I hesitated at the kitchen doorway, thinking about Mrs. McAlister and how she guarded it with such determination. I was positive she would know if I disturbed one little thing in that refrigerator, so I went to the bar and found a can of ginger ale. I opened it and took a sip before hearing something in the hallway. Slowly peering around the corner of the door, I looked into the dimly lit corridor. Was it Mrs. Cukor? Did she hover about this house like some sort of ghost?
I didn't see her, but I sensed her. Perhaps she was standing in a shadow near the far door or just inside the den-office. She wasn't haunting this house, I thought. She was haunting me. I waited a few more moments, then started back up the stairs to my room. When I reached the top and turned toward my bedroom door, I heard whimpering coming from Ami and Wade's bedroom.
Wade's voice was muffled, but I could tell he was pleading, cajoling, practically begging her about something. Her response was merely to cry and whimper and then finally to burst out with a scream that made my very bones vibrate with its shrill, terrifying sound.
All was quiet after that, and I felt very guilty about eavesdropping. I hurried into my own bedroom and closed the door as softly as I could, so no one would know I had been out there listening.
What was that all about? I wondered. Was Ami sick? Was Wade doing something that hurt her? Thinking about it and about Mrs. Cukor sliding like a shadow over the walls below kept me awake for a while, but finally I drifted asleep.
I was woken again by my phone.
"Your wake-up call," Wade sang.
Once again I was surprised I hadn't woken up myself.
"I should just use an alarm clock."
"It's all right. I don't mind."
"I never sleep this late usually. I don't know what's gotten into me."
"Wine at dinner," he replied drily. "Ami's dead to the world again, so as I expected, be your chauffeur once more."
"Thank you," I said, rose and dressed, and went down to breakfast, where he was sitting and reading his newspaper as usual.
It made me wonder about living a life as regimented and as organized as his, doing the same things day in and day out and seemingly enjoying it. Some people simply didn't appreciate spontaneity and were uncomfortable with changes, no matter how small, I thought. Wade was one of those people. He wore the same clothes, brushed and styled his hair the same way, arrived at his business at the same time, and read the same paper. Ami, who was so unpredictable, was surely like an extraterrestrial to him.
Mrs. McAlister appeared in the doorway and waited for my breakfast order. I wondered if I would ever get used to having people do so much for me-- cook for me, clean up, and clean up my room as well.
"I think I'd like some eggs this morning, please. Sunny side up."
"Sunny side up," she repeated. "Fried eggs or poached eggs?"
"Fried, I suppose."
"Humph," she said, as if that's what she expected, and backed into the kitchen.
Wade lowered his paper.
"Sorry about Dad last night. He came half tanked as it was, and then waiting for you guys, he drank a lot more. Not that he's much better sober," he added.
"It was all right. He didn't bother me that much," I said, feeling I had no right to complain about anyone in this house anyway.
"No, I don't think he did bother you. You're quite a kid, Celeste. Maybe living in orphanages hardened you more than Ami thinks. I don't suppose you can grow up too dainty there, or too soft-skinned. Whatever Ami thinks is just terrible or horrible, you probably brush off like an elephant brushes off a fly."
"Things might bother you just as much in the orphanage," I suggested, "but you can't complain, and you don't get much sympathy anyway, so you find ways to cover up or hold it inside you."
He nodded.
"What doesn't destroy me makes me stronger," he then said.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing. It's a statement a philosopher wrote, a statement I like."
I thought about it and smiled.
"I like it too," I said. "I'll have to remember that. Thank you," I said, and he smiled.
Funny, I thought, but that was something I hadn't seen him do much of in his own home, smile.
"Is Ami all right?" I asked, thinking about the whimpering I had heard.
"Ann? Sure. I don't know if she told you she would be up early every day to have breakfast with you or what, but it would surprise me if she ever does."
"I don't want to be a burden to anyone," I said.
"Why do you say that?" he asked, a softer smile on his face. "It's no problem for me to take you to school. Realty. I have to go past it to get to work, and I'm up this early all the time, even on weekends."
"Okay," I said, and drank some orange juice.
He reached over and poured the coffee into my cup.
"So, tell me now, now that my father's not bellowing over us, how was your first day at school? Did you meet some nice people?" He smiled. "On occasion, rich people can be nice, too."
"Yes, I did," I said.
"A boy, perhaps?" he asked, tilting his head.
"Yes," I said.
"Well, then, I expect you'll have a real social life, get invited to parties and everything pretty soon," he said.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say I already had been invited to a party here, but I thought that would be a betrayal of Ami and her wishes; Wade might question her restriction, and she might think I had gone complaining to him about it.
"I guess," I said.
Mrs. McAlister entered with my eggs. Once again she practically stood over me while I began to eat. I was afraid to reach for the pepper and salt, even though it needed some.
"Thank you," I told her between bites. "It's just the way I like them."
"It's the way Mr. Emerson himself likes them," she replied, as if that was the gold standard. She nodded at Wade and returned to the kitchen.
Immediately I reached for the salt. Wade watched me with a sly smile. I didn't hear any vacuum cleaner or any other noises in the house and wondered where Mrs. Cukor was. Once again I thought about describing my confrontation with her after dinner, but once again I felt it wasn't my place to start any trouble in this house.
Instead, I talked more about the school, my impression of the teachers, most of whom did impress me, and the nice facilities. He asked me more about my public school experience and listened like someone really interested in young people today.
Later, in the car and on the way to school, Wade continued to tell me about his own youth and how his true secret ambition was to be a college English professor.
"Like you, I read a great deal," he said, "and even tried to be a professional writer. My mother encouraged me, but my father thought I was wasting money on postage, sending my short stories and poems out to magazines. He might have been right;.I never published anything anywhere except the school literary magazine and newspaper, and of course Dad always degraded teachers and the teaching profession because of their poor salaries. He would boast that he made more in one month as a plumber than my high school English teacher made in six. I think that was true, but to convince him that there were other considerations in choosing your career was a waste of time.
"When you do start writing for the school paper, I'd like to see it, if that's all right," he added.
"Of course, although I don't make any claims to be anything special."
He turned and smiled at me.
"But you are special, Celeste. You don't have to make any claims. I can see it already."
I don't know how many moments I had already enjoyed in my life where I would blush at a compliment tossed my way, but I knew my face was on fire. It brought a laugh to his lips and brightened his hazel eyes so that they looked more like polished stones under clear brook water.
"Have another great day," he told me when we reached the school. "Oh." He took out a business card and handed it to me. "In the event our Ami doesn't get here in time or completely forgets to pick you up, call the cell phone number on this card and I'll come get you."
"Thank you," I said, and headed for the school's front entrance.
Feeling his eyes still on me, I turned once to wave good-bye. He nodded and drove off, but his face was framed in such melancholy, it made me sad for a moment.
Everyone I meet outside of the orphanage seems covered in layers and layers of mystery, I thought. Children were naked, their fears and hopes obvious for anyone to see, especially orphan children who were alone, cast on the water like leaves no longer tied to the branches of any tree, unable to remember the tree from which they had fallen.
Both Wade and Ami had families, had heritage, had a foundation under them, a foundation from which they could grow, but inside their world there were so many unheard voices, too. How ironic, I thought. They had one disadvantage we didn't. From the day they could understand, talk, and walk, they were under pressure to please their parents. No matter how much Wade disagreed with his father, I could sense that he still wanted, craved, his father's approval. Why else would he have trapped himself in his father's business?
What sort of approval was Ami seeking, and from whom? I wondered.
How could it be that having a real family was any sort of disadvantage? How foolish it was for me to even think it.
And yet I remembered too well how guilty I used to feel as a child, afraid that I wasn't living up to the expectations my mother, my wonderful spiritual family, had for me. Now that I was out in what we orphans called "the real world," what awaited me? Who would I disappoint now?
I entered the school and began my day. Trevor was with me at every possible opportunity. I saw immediately that Germaine Osterhout was annoyed and upset over the attention he was devoting to me. She glared at me across aisles, whispered to her friends while keeping her eyes burning my way, and turned her back on me whenever she could, especially when was walking or talking with Trevor.
"I really wish you could come to the party," he told me at lunch. "Maybe I could speak to your cousins about it. I'd promise to bring you home early. They should be happy you're getting to know people. It's one of the hardest things to do when you start a new school. Should I try?" he asked.
I thought about it. I wanted to go very much, but I also still felt Ami would see it as some sort of betrayal, some form of ungratefulness. I had agreed to her restrictions and hadn't whined or complained.
"I don't think it would be a good idea. I have to be sure they're comfortable with everything I do. They're doing so much for me," I said, hoping he would understand.
"If they really want to help you, they'd let you make friends," he muttered, refusing to be denied.
He saw my troubled look. I liked him. I really did. I think he saw that too.
"I know what," he said, suddenly brightening. "Forget Waverly's birthday party. I'll pay you a visit instead. How's that sound?"
"What? Pay me a visit? What do you mean?"
"You'll invite me to your house Saturday night, and I'll show up there instead of the party."
"It's not my house."
"So? You're living there. Invite me."
"I don't know." I couldn't help sounding flustered. "I'll--"
"What's wrong with that? People can visit you, can't they? They're not shutting you away in some attic or basement on weekends, are they? Your cousin can be our chaperone the whole time if she likes."
"But you'll miss your friend's party."
"So what? It's not going to be anything great. I've been to parties at Waverly's house before. Don't you want me to visit you?"
"Yes, of course, but . . . okay, I'll ask," I relented, seeing any other answer would make no sense. "Great."
Later, between my creative writing class and the last period, Lynette Firestone caught up to me in the hallway and bumped my shoulder to get me to stop walking.
"You're moving pretty quickly on Germaine Osterhout's boyfriend," she muttered. "Everyone's talking about it and teasing her."
"No one told me he was her boyfriend, and I think he has a mind of his own."
"Just warning you," she said. "She's not the one to turn into an enemy. I know from experience," she added, the corners of her mouth drooping.
"Actually, you have that backward."
"What? What do you mean?"
"I'm not the one to turn into an enemy," I said, and sped up to my last class of the day.
At the end of the day, Trevor walked me out, both of us expecting Ann to be waiting there as she was the day before, but she was nowhere in sight.
"Are you sure she's picking you up?" Trevor asked after a good ten minutes. Most of the other students had gotten into their cars or had been picked up quickly by their parents. We were practically the only ones standing around. The parking lot had nearly emptied out.