Secret Brother (13 page)

“Angry all the time?”

“Exactly,” she said, smiling.

I thought a moment. I had no doubt that my grandfather had sent her up here, but I wasn't sure if I should be angry about it or pleased that he cared. “Are you going to stay on this job long?”

“As long as I'm needed,” she replied, and stood.

“You're going to live here practically seven days a week?”

“Yes.”

“Don't you have your own life, your own friends, relatives?” I asked, now curious.

“I am a widow with no children. I have a younger sister who's married and has three children, the oldest being twenty-five. She and her family are in Oregon. I see them only occasionally. When you're taking on private-duty nursing positions, you don't keep as close
contact with your friends as you'd like. I've worked all over the state these past years.”

“And now you'll have a job for years in one place, maybe,” I said.

“I don't think that long. I'm sure he'll outgrow his need for constant care.”

“Maybe you should adopt him,” I said, as she was turning to leave.

She stopped quickly. “What?”

“William. Maybe you can adopt him. If he has a mother who's a nurse, he'll be better off. I think you should suggest it to my grandfather. Maybe he'll pay you to do it. Buy you a new house.”

She just stared at me a moment. I didn't have to be taught what the expression of frustration looked like. I had seen it enough in my own mirror. “Think about the things I told you,” she said, and walked out, closing the door softly behind her.

I did think about them. I thought about them so hard and long that I almost didn't get any sleep at all, but when I woke up in the morning, I didn't feel any different about the boy or what Grandpa was doing. Maybe I wouldn't be as vocal about it since Mrs. Camden had spoken to me, practically begged me, but anyone looking at me when I was in this house would know how I felt. I was sure of that. I was just as Grandma Arnold had described me, “a girl who printed her thoughts on her forehead as she thought them.”

It was the same with my classmates, no matter how hard I tried to resemble the girl I was before Willie's death. I did wear red, and I did enjoy the look of
shock on Mr. Leshner's face when we all walked into his classroom. Every time he saw one of us during the day, he started to laugh, and the story spread quickly through the school. It seemed to make everyone a little happier, and I kept telling myself that I had to stop feeling guilty for every smile, every laugh, and every bit of interest I had in my social life.

Aaron Podwell homed in on me again. He had been just as standoffish and timid about talking to me as everyone except Lila had been, but there was obviously a recognizable change in me that gave him the courage. I welcomed it, even though I was never confident of his true motives. I had had boyfriends, gone on dates to school dances, parties, and the movies. I had kissed and petted but never felt much more than the same curiosity about it all that most of my girlfriends expressed. I knew what stopping before it was too late meant and what condoms were, of course. There had been some nasty jokes pulled on a few of us from time to time, usually by immature losers like Stevie Randolph, who was caught writing dirty things on bathroom walls and slipped condoms we learned he had stolen from his father into girls' hall lockers with filthy notes attached.

But I hadn't yet even been bitten by the “crush mosquito.” There were boys, especially the older boys, who I thought were cute, even handsome, like Winston Kettner, who was often compared to Troy Donahue but who obviously knew it and moved about as if he was already in college and president of his fraternity or something. He did dress better than
any other boy and was probably going to be this year's class valedictorian. I had caught him looking at me a few times, but each time, when I looked back at him, he quickly turned away, as if he had done something wrong. At the moment, he wasn't going with anyone, either. There was a rumor that he wasn't interested in girls, but I laid that at the feet of jealousy.

Aaron was quite different, even though he had been infected with a similar strain of arrogance. He was good-looking, too, but in a more masculine way, more like my grandfather. His features weren't as pretty-boy perfect as Winston's. If anything, his nose was a little too big, and his habitual smile was wry to the point where you felt he was toying with you, but he had his mother's striking green eyes. Under the name Elaine Calvin, she had modeled for major women's magazines. When Aaron looked at you, especially when he looked at me, you couldn't help feeling he was like Superman and could see right through your clothes. He intrigued me, but he often frightened me, too. He was dangerous. I would never tell anyone, especially Lila, what I felt and thought about him.

I couldn't help having similar feelings about most boys. I had the sense that they thought of me as potentially promiscuous because I didn't have parents. They had no idea how tough my grandfather could be with me, but I could feel that there was this underlying belief that unlike other girls, I had no one checking on me, demanding that I behave and obey curfews or even taking interest in what I did socially.

There were two girls in our school who had lost
fathers, one to sickness and one in an automobile accident, both when they were younger, and there was no question that they were what my girlfriends called “loose lips.” They weren't referring only to their mouths, either.

In any case, I tried to be friendlier to Aaron without looking too enthusiastic. Like most Prescott residents, Aaron's family was wealthy. They owned an estate that rivaled my grandfather's. His father owned and operated one of the biggest heating-oil companies in Virginia. Aaron's older sister, Tami, was an acknowledged beauty and was in New York trying to follow in her mother's footsteps at the same modeling agency.

Aaron was instantly at my side in the cafeteria, which resembled an upscale fast-food restaurant. Our tables didn't have tablecloths, but the furnishings were kept immaculate and always looked no more than a day old. There was a very active parent-teacher organization whose members my grandfather referred to as more like stockholders. Often parents inspected the building, especially the bathrooms, the locker rooms, and the cafeteria, as if they wore white gloves and were searching for signs of dust. Anyone transferring in from one of the public schools nearby surely felt like they had to wipe their feet before entering. From time to time, we heard their comments, but like everyone else who had been attending the Prescott private school, I took it all for granted. They might as well have been talking about schools in foreign countries.

“Glad to hear you're going to Audrey's party this weekend,” Aaron said when he sat beside me.

“I haven't spoken to Audrey yet today. How'd you find out?”

“Lila,” he said, nodding at her sitting across from us. She looked as if she had just been caught cheating on a final.

“Lila is my personal public relations officer,” I said, looking at her pointedly.

Aaron laughed, and Lila relaxed. “I could pick you up,” he offered.

“I think Lila's mother's taking us,” I said.

“Oh, I might go with Gerry Okun,” she said quickly. “I forgot to tell you. Actually, he just mentioned it this morning.” She nodded at Gerry, who was making his way to our table. Gerry was Aaron's Tonto, as we liked to call him. Like the Lone Ranger, Aaron had him at his side constantly. Tall and lanky, with a crooked mouth and small, lazy, dark brown eyes, Gerry was nowhere near as good-looking as Aaron. I think having him as a sidekick helped boost Aaron's ego. He was a nice enough boy, far more timid and insecure. I was sure he wouldn't be doing half the things he was doing if it wasn't for Aaron having him tag along. Of course, I was suspicious of his offer to Lila. As Grandpa Arnold was apt to say, I smelled a rat. Aaron had put him up to it for sure.

“Well, I guess it's all right, then,” Aaron said, as Gerry sat beside Lila. “Besides, you'll be the first to ride in my new car. It's my graduation present.”

“You have a while to go before graduating.”

“Oh, my father got a good deal, and he wanted me to get used to driving it before I'm off to college,” he
offered as a rationalization. One thing I noticed about my friends here was that they were rarely embarrassed by how much they had.

“How thoughtful,” I said.

Aaron laughed. “It's a Plymouth Fury. Ever see one?”

“I don't pay much attention to cars except when I'm crossing the street.”

“You will to this one,” he said, with that smile of his that was a cross between a smirk and a playful grin. He aimed those stunning eyes at me like a pair of pistols.

I shrugged and bit into my toasted cheese sandwich. Willie would have been just like him when it came to cars, I thought, and my grandfather would have spoiled him as quickly as Aaron's father spoiled Aaron. Men couldn't help but spoil their sons and grandsons. They saw themselves in them, or maybe they wished they could relive their youth through them. My father would have been the same for sure. It suddenly occurred to me how sad it must be for my grandfather not to feel the same way toward my uncle Bobby. Surely that was why he had put so much of his attention on Willie, and maybe that was why he was now putting it on the boy in Willie's room wearing Willie's clothes.

I shook the idea out of my head almost as quickly as I had thought it. I didn't want to find excuses and explanations like everyone else in my house and in my life was finding for the things Grandpa Arnold did. I didn't want to understand it, and I certainly didn't want to condone it. I didn't want to forgive him for it.

“I might disappoint you,” I told Aaron.

He shrugged that Aaron Podwell shrug that made it seem as if he could ignore or disregard an atomic bomb. “We'll see,” he said. “It's worth the gamble.”

I looked at Lila. She seemed more excited about Aaron and me than I could ever be. “Okay,” I said. “If you're willing to take that chance.”

“What chance?” Gerry asked. He looked at Lila. She shook her head but kept her smile.

“She might not be as excited as we are about my new car,” Aaron told him. Gerry pulled his chin down and in so hard that I thought he would crush his Adam's apple.

I couldn't help smiling, and that felt good, very good.

On the way out to our afternoon classes, Aaron proposed another idea.

“Why don't you call home and tell whoever that you have a ride today and don't need to be picked up. That way, you can experience the car sooner.”

I thought about it. My grandfather always wanted to know who was driving me where. He did it more often than not. I rarely had done anything without first getting his approval. Suddenly, this seemed a good way to assert myself, even though it was a small transgression.

“Okay,” I said, and stopped at the principal's office. We could ask to use the phone if it involved getting in touch with our parents or, in my case, grandparent. I intended simply to call the house and leave the message with Myra, declaring it a fait accompli.

Mrs. Heinz, the principal's secretary, nodded when I asked her permission to use the phone to call home. “You're not feeling unwell?” she followed quickly.

“Why? Do I look like it?” I snapped back. It wasn't something I would ordinarily do.

I could see the surprise widen her eyes. I was sure she was wondering if I was still too deeply in mourning to participate in my schoolwork. “No, no, of course not,” she said quickly, and looked back at her paperwork.

Myra answered the phone as I expected.

“Please cancel my pickup today, Myra,” I said. “I have a ride home with a friend.”

“Does your grandfather know?”

“He will when you call him,” I said. “I don't have time for another call, or I'll be late for class.”

“But . . .”

“Thank you, Myra,” I said, and hung up. I thanked Mrs. Heinz, who just nodded, and then I joined Aaron waiting in the hallway. “All set,” I told him. “Impress me.”

“Will do,” he promised.

The parents of most other students wouldn't think of it as a big deal, but after all that had happened in my family and what was happening now, my grandfather wasn't like other parents.

Aaron couldn't tell as we continued on to class, but I was trembling a bit.

How would my grandfather react?

8

As I left my last class slowly, Lila smiled at me; she knew I was going off to be intimate with Aaron.

“He's just taking me home, Lila,” I said.

“Watch for detours,” she warned, then laughed and walked off quickly when we saw Aaron waiting for me in the hall. I was hoping he couldn't tell how nervous I was about his taking me home, something that should have been no major event. It wasn't for any other girl in my class, even though it was something special. You could only go with a senior who had parental permission in writing that guaranteed their child would not speed or drive recklessly. The dean, Mr. McDermott, was usually out there watching like a traffic cop.

I had done my best to make it seem like nothing, but when the bell had rung to end class, my heart had begun to pound. I was even holding my breath on and off like someone going in and out of deep water as we walked through the hallway to the exit and the school parking lot. I kept my head down and wrapped my arms around
my books, which I was sure resembled some sort of shield over my breasts. Aaron was running on about the amount of homework Mr. Fine had assigned in math, “as if we have no other subjects.” My worst fear was that when we walked out that door, my grandfather would be waiting with little streams of smoke pouring out of his ears. I would never be more embarrassed.

I felt my whole body soften with relief when I realized that he wasn't there. The reason was obvious when we arrived at my grandfather's estate. A large van delivering physical-therapy equipment was backed up to the front entrance, and two men were wheeling something up the newly constructed ramp. Grandpa was there with Jimmy to supervise, and apparently, he didn't even realize we had driven up to the house.

Prescott was small enough so that anything as significant as what Grandpa Arnold was doing would ordinarily be at the top of the chatter pile, heating up telephone lines so much that the birds stayed off them; but from the way Aaron reacted and from the fact that no one at school had asked anything about it, I concluded that Grandpa had not told anyone about the boy in Willie's room and what he was doing for him.

“What's going on?” Aaron asked. Until now, he had been talking about his new car and fishing for me to give it and him more and more compliments.

“I bet you'll keep it cleaner and nicer than your room at home,” I had told him after he had described every gauge and every dial and knob as if they were expensive jewelry.

“You bet I will,” he had confessed. “I'll probably spend more time in it, too. The first night I got it, I seriously considered sleeping in it. I love the scent of a new car.”

Now that we were here, his attention drifted away from his car. His eyes narrowed as he studied the pieces of equipment.

“I know that's a leg machine. Builds up your thighs. Your grandfather putting in a personal gym or something? My father was considering doing that. When he hears about this, he probably will. He's always in competition with your grandfather. I don't know why they play golf together. They're always accusing each other of cheating. So what is this?”

I just sat there, thinking, watching and wondering if I should just let it go at that, a new personal gym. I decided to tell the truth—first, because it probably would get out soon anyway, and second, because I was interested in how Aaron would react to the story. Was I being unreasonable and cruel? Would my complaints sound petty? I knew I couldn't get a true reaction from Lila. She would do or say anything to please me. Keeping my friendship was more important to her even than being true to her own feelings. It wasn't easy to find people who were true to themselves. In fact, it was Grandma Arnold who had told me that one of the things that attracted her to my grandfather was his inability to lie to himself. I did realize that if Aaron heard any unhappiness in my voice, he might be just like Lila and say whatever I wanted him to say. He wanted to go out with me, didn't he?

“Another boy about my brother's age was brought to the hospital practically at the same time,” I began, leaning on the facts and reciting it like a history report to subdue my emotions.

“Another car accident? Who was it? I didn't hear anything about anyone else in Prescott.”

“He wasn't from Prescott. No one knows where he's from. It was no one we knew, and it wasn't a car accident. He had been poisoned.”

“Poisoned? Deliberately?”

“No one knows for sure. Kids can eat the wrong things on their own, I suppose.”

“What kind of poison?”

“Arsenic. Rat poison.”

“How can anyone eat that on his own?” Aaron asked. “Wouldn't it taste bad?”

“Not necessarily. I looked it up in the medical encyclopedia my grandfather has in his library. He has nearly one thousand books of all kinds.”

“He's read all of them?”

“No, I doubt it. He and my grandmother accumulated them over the years. He has a beautiful library in his office. It's three walls from floor to ceiling of books, many leather-bound and collector's copies.”

“I wonder if my father knows that. He probably has only a few hundred. So what did you learn? What about its taste and smell?”

“Depends. If it's mixed in with something, it might not be so easily discovered.”

“So . . . mixed in with something looks more like
an attempted murder, doesn't it? Who would want to murder a kid—and with arsenic?”

“We actually need small amounts of arsenic in our bodies. There are small amounts of it in apple juice, for example.”

“I don't drink that too often.”

“There are small amounts in other fruits and vegetable, grains and fish. We excrete it.”

“Huh?”

“Pay more attention in science.”

“I know what it means. I'm just . . . a little shocked. You think he might have drunk too much apple juice?”

“Very unlikely.”

He thought a moment. “What does all this have to do with that, anyway?” he asked, nodding at the truck.

“My grandfather felt sorry for the boy. He arranged for him to have the best medical treatment, which probably saved his life.”

“Why your grandfather? Where were the kid's parents?”

“No one knows . . . yet,” I said.

“Huh? What do you mean? It's been a while. How did he get to the hospital, anyway?”

“Some man dropped him off at the emergency room and ran away before anyone could question him. It was so chaotic there at the time that no one can even give a good description of him.”

“Wow. And your grandfather did all that while . . .” He turned to me. “While your brother was dying?”

I looked away.

“I'm sure he made sure the best was done for him, too?” he added quickly.

“Willie really died in the ambulance,” I said, amazed that I could even say it. “They were trying to revive him.”

“Wow.”

We were both silent.

“I still don't get it,” he said, nodding at the men now unloading another piece of equipment. “What's this have to do with arsenic and all that?”

“The boy's life was saved, but there were some serious injuries, side effects of the poison. He was undernourished as it was, apparently. As a result, he had some neurological problems, and that's affected his motor skills. What you see there is physical-therapy equipment.”

“Neurological problems? Motor skills? Are you going to be a doctor or something?” He was more surprised than impressed.

“As I said, I read about things.”

“But this physical-therapy stuff is all going into your grandfather's house, not the hospital. He wants that?”

“Yes. He brought the boy here.”

“What? Why?”

“He wants to . . . take care of him.”

Aaron just stared at me and then looked at the house. “Well, don't his parents care?” he asked after a moment.

“I told you. No one knows who they are—or any relatives, as a matter of fact. He had no identification on him, and no one is looking for him, apparently. At least, that's what the police have said.”

“Why doesn't the kid just tell them?”

“He's suffering from amnesia,” I said, now unable to disguise the disapproval and even the disbelief in my voice.

“Amnesia . . . can't remember his own parents?”

“Or his real name.”

“Bull.”

“They call it psychological trauma. It causes you to forget things, block them out of your head.”

“That's what happened?”

“If you want to believe it.”

“So let me get this,” he said. “There's a kid moving into your grandfather's house who was poisoned either accidentally or deliberately, and until the police figure out who he belongs to, your grandfather's keeping him and helping him with stuff.”

“Including a private-duty nurse,” I said. “Who has moved in.”

He shook his head.

“And a psychiatrist as well as the other doctors, not to mention the professional therapist who will be here daily.”

“Wow. Where's Dick Tracy when you really need him?” he muttered, and I laughed. He gave me his best Aaron Podwell smile and then shrugged. “I guess, good for your grandfather for caring about the kid.
I don't think my father would do it. I don't think my mother would even do it, although they do give money to all sorts of charities.”

“Some people say charity begins at home.”

“Huh?”

“Thanks for the ride in your new car,” I said, opening the door. “It is beautiful.”

“Beautiful car for a beautiful girl. Looking forward to Friday night.”

“Me, too,” I said. I closed the door and started toward the front entrance.

“Hey,” Aaron called, leaning out of his window. I turned. “If he doesn't remember his own name, what do you call him, Arsenic?” He smiled.

“My grandfather has decided to call him William,” I said.

He lost his smile. I turned and walked to the house. When I reached the steps and the ramp and looked back, he was already gone.

Grandpa Arnold stepped out the front door and stood there with his hands on his hips. “Myra said you hung up on her before she could learn who was bringing you home.”

“Myra's not my mother,” I said, walking past him. “Or my grandmother,” I muttered. I didn't look back. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw everyone working with the deliverymen. The chair lift had already been installed. There was a wheelchair just off the bottom step. I glanced at it and then started up the stairway.

“Just a minute, Clara Sue,” Grandpa called, walking after me.

I stopped. “What?”

“Since when don't you tell me what you're doing and with whom you're doing it?”

“You were too busy,” I said. “It was only Aaron Podwell, anyway. Jack the Ripper had other things to do today.”

I hated talking to him like this, but it seemed to come out of a well inside me that I didn't know existed, a well filled with ugly, deformed creatures of rage, their faces bloodred. They danced in glee around my heart, which felt like it was on fire. The heat propelled me forward.

When I walked past Willie's room, I saw Mrs. Camden helping the boy out of his other wheelchair and back into bed. He looked at me over her shoulder. He did seem fragile and helpless, his eyes pleading for some sympathy, but I looked away quickly and went to my room. I had put on a good front before my grandfather, but inside myself, I could feel a small earthquake. For a while, I just lay there staring up at the ceiling and trying to calm myself. I was glad when the phone rang. I knew Lila wanted a report about my ride home with Aaron, but for now, I welcomed the distraction. Besides, I was finding I liked talking about him.

“Did he take you anywhere else first?” she asked as soon as she heard my voice.

“No, but he did take a longer route so I could appreciate his car.”

“Did he park for a while?”

“We didn't start groping each other, if that's what you mean.”

“But did you want to?” She giggled after asking. She was going to live her own fantasy through me, I thought. Suddenly, I felt very mean about it. I was eager to tease her.

“Oh, yes,” I said breathlessly. “I was getting hot and wet just thinking about his hands slipping under my blouse, his fingers undoing my bra. I wanted his lips all over me. You know, his face between my thighs.”

I heard her gasp. “You did?”

“Almost,” I added, dropping back to my usual tone. “But then I started thinking about My Faith's cookies.”

“What?” Her disappointment brought a smile back to my face.

“But everyone was too busy with the preparations for the new William's therapy to suggest that I have any. My grandfather is setting up the room for all the equipment.”

“Equipment?”

“The therapy equipment. Now we have a nurse and a therapist and a psychiatrist and doctors parading through the halls.”