Secret Brother (14 page)

“Oh,” she said.

“Anyway, Aaron now knows all about it, so you don't have to keep your lips zipped. Maybe if more people ask my grandfather about it, he'll realize what he's doing.”

“I already told my parents,” she confessed.

“Good. And what about Gerry? Did he try to park with you?”

“Oh, no.”

“Did you want him to?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Ugh, Gerry? Please.”

“Then why did you let him take you home? Never mind. I know why. I'll call you later,” I said.

“You'd better. You did really well on that math. I'll need your help.”

After I hung up, I freshened up in the bathroom and then went downstairs. I really had a craving for one of My Faith's cookies. As it turned out, she had made them, but more for the new William than for me.

I paused to watch the men setting up the equipment in my grandfather's den. He had left for the office to finish some things. Mrs. Camden surprised me. I was thinking so hard that I didn't hear her approach.

“Would you like to know about all this?” she asked, nodding at the equipment.

“Not really.”

“He was asking some more about you,” she said.

“Who?”

“William,” she said.

“Really.” I tried to sound as if I didn't care, but a part of me was very interested.

“It's a good sign. He's reaching out. It's like someone folded up inside, the way you might make a fist, and gradually, the fingers relax and the hand begins to open again. You could be a big part of that happening.”

“Whoop-de-do.”

“Aren't you in the least bit interested in him, in where he comes from and what happened to him?”

“If it leads to him going home, yes,” I said. “He's living in my brother's room and using my brother's name.”

She considered. “Well, it might lead to that,” she said. I looked at her hopefully. “Depending on whether it would be a good idea for him to be sent back to that home, of course. It also could lead to an investigation that would result in his going to live with relatives or someplace else.”

“Someplace else? Like a foster home? An orphanage?”

“Possibly.”

“My grandfather wouldn't permit it, I bet.”

She looked at the equipment. “Well, it's nice, rewarding, to help him find his way. Just give it a chance, and you'll see what I mean.” She smiled at me and walked on to the kitchen.

“Not everyone dreams of being a nurse,” I called after her. I was sure she was pretending she didn't hear me. “Forget this,” I muttered, and went back up the stairs to begin my homework. As I passed Willie's room, I thought I heard a small voice call my name.

“Clara Sue.”

I stopped and listened, but I didn't hear it again, or maybe I had imagined it. Maybe I wanted to hear it, because it did sound like Willie calling me the way he used to when I tried to ignore him because I wanted to talk to friends or get homework done. Whenever I had done that, I had suffered aching guilt. There was no doubt that he missed our parents even more than I did
and that after Grandma Arnold passed away, he sank even deeper into himself, moving about like someone who had been stung so many times by angry bees that he was terrified of stepping outside. He was still a child at heart. He needed more love than I could give him, and to be truthful, I doled it out the way travelers in a desert rationed water.

Hearing nothing more, I continued to my room and closed the door. I attacked my homework with a vengeance. Every ordinary thing I did now seemed fueled with just as much anger as ambition or responsibility. I was still striking back at the world. I wondered if I would ever stop.

As if he could hear my thoughts hundreds of miles away, Uncle Bobby phoned me. “Hey,” he said. “How's my Clair de Lune?”

“Surviving,” I said.

“That's a start. You're back in school, right?”

“Right. I'm going to a party on Friday, too,” I said, as if something like that was an amazing accomplishment. Perhaps it was.

“Good. Get back into the shake and roll of things. We had a good opening with the show, and I can tell you for sure that I'll be in New York next year.”

“I'm so happy for you, Uncle Bobby.”

“Thanks. So how's the general?”

“Busy. You'll have to check visiting hours before you come next time.”

“What?”

“He's moving therapy equipment into the den.
He's hired a private-duty nurse and a therapist to be here daily. And there's the psychiatrist. I'm not sure how often she comes yet. I live in another world.”

“What's the nurse like?”

“She's . . . she's okay. She wants me to help her with the poisoned boy, who, you know, is now William.”

“Just because he uses his room?”

“No, Uncle Bobby. Grandpa wants him to be called that until he remembers his real name, if ever. He's William Arnold the Second right now.”

“He didn't mention that,” Uncle Bobby said. “I guess he has to be called something, but . . .”

“But not my brother's name!” I practically screamed.

“Take it easy, honey. Go with the flow for now. I'm sure things will change once the boy improves.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Are you coming for Thanksgiving?”

“Can't. It's a big weekend for us here. Maybe Christmas,” he said. “I sent the playbill to you today. You should get it soon.”

“Thank you.”

“Keep your chin up. Have a good time at your party. I want to hear some nitty-gritty details when I call next time.”

“I'll work on them,” I said.

He laughed. “Love you, Clair de Lune.”

“I love you, Uncle Bobby. More than ever,” I said, and he was silent until he managed a good-bye.

After I hung up, I lay there thinking. It was all
going so fast, this recuperation from grief. The presence of the poisoned boy only sped that up. Willie was in danger of fading away. How could I stop it?

I looked at my desk, and then I rose slowly and sat. Was this silly, even sick?

I took out my perfumed stationery and uncovered my special fountain pen. And then I began.

Dear Willie,

I wonder if you can look down and see us,
and if you can, if you are as unhappy about what Grandpa is doing as I am. I think you are. I know how precious all your things were to you. You should know that I've hidden what I knew to be the most precious, and this new boy, the poisoned boy, won't get his hands on them. I promise.

I wish I had been able to say more to you at the cemetery, but I couldn't stand seeing you closed up in that coffin and being lowered into a grave. My Faith tells me that your soul had already left your body and it would never be imprisoned. She claims you were most likely standing there beside me. Sometimes I laugh at the things she tells me, but I didn't laugh at that. I wanted it to be true.

Grandpa and Myra and My Faith, maybe even Uncle Bobby, want me to care about this strange boy Grandpa has decided to rescue. I'm afraid that if you can see us and hear us, you
now know Grandpa has given him your name, too. I feel so bad about it. I swear, I'll never call him Willie. I will try not to call him William, either. I'll call him “you” or something if I have to speak to him for any reason.

I'm back in school. I'm back with friends. I'm going to attend a party, not because I've forgotten all about you but because I can't help what has happened. The truth is, I want to think about other things so I don't cry so much, and I certainly don't want to think about the boy in your room.

Don't be sad about it. I decided tonight that on Saturday, I'm going to the cemetery to visit your grave. I will never forget you or stop thinking about you. I'm sure I'll think about you every day forever or at least until I can't think anymore.

If you can still think and feel, please think of me. Please still care about me.

Love,

Your sister, Clara Sue

I reread my letter and then folded it and put it in the envelope. I dropped it into the drawer with the others. I was sure I would write many more.

I returned to my homework until it was time to go to dinner. I was surprised to see that Willie's door was nearly closed completely, but I didn't pause to see why. I hurried downstairs, then stopped just before I
entered the dining room, because I could hear laughter coming from Grandpa Arnold's office. I hadn't heard him laugh since Willie's accident. I recognized Mrs. Camden's laugh. They both turned to me when I stepped into the doorway. He wasn't behind his desk. They were both sitting on the pearl leather settee, and it looked like they were having a cocktail. The stunned expression on my face wiped the smiles from theirs. I wondered what had made them laugh.

“How was your day at school?” Grandpa asked. “We didn't get to speak very much when you got home.”

“It was okay,” I said. “Isn't dinner ready?” I asked, looking more at Mrs. Camden.

“We were about to go to the dining room.”

We
, I thought.
So she's a regular at the table from now on?

“I want you to know that I'm going to a party Friday night,” I said. “It's at Audrey O'Brian's house.”

“That's very nice,” Mrs. Camden said.

“You don't even know who she is,” I snapped back.

“I just meant it's nice that you're getting out, seeing your friends,” she said.

“Am I taking you?” Grandpa asked

“No. I'm going with Aaron Podwell. He'll pick me up and bring me home.”

“By eleven.”

“Eleven?”

“That's a bit early, William,” Mrs. Camden said softly. “She's old enough to be Cinderella.”

He looked at her and nodded. “It's hard to think of these kids growing up so quickly.”

“These kids?” I said.

He lost the softness in his face. “Twelve, then,” he said. “And don't be late.”

“Or Aaron's new car will turn into a pumpkin,” I said.

Mrs. Camden widened her smile.

“Worse than that,” Grandpa said. “His father will hear about it.”

Mrs. Camden held on to her smile.

I turned and walked on to the dining room.

What I hated about her was how hard it was becoming to hate her at all.

9

They were too chatty at dinner, but I finally had my old appetite back, especially when it came to My Faith's cooking. We had often had dinner guests, especially when my grandma Lucy was alive, but since she had died, I rarely saw my grandfather as interested in anyone as he was in Mrs. Camden. By now, they were both addressing each other by their first names, Dorian and William. It was Mrs. Camden more than my grandfather who tried to include me in their discussions, but they were talking about singers and actors I never knew. When I said so, they both seemed surprised.

“If we didn't teach history in our schools, kids today wouldn't even know who George Washington was,” Grandpa quipped. I couldn't get over how quickly he was returning to himself.

“Not true,” I said. “We'd know every time we had a dollar.”

Mrs. Camden laughed so hard that I couldn't keep a smile off my own face. Grandpa laughed, too.

“She's very clever,” she told him.

“Her mother was sharp like that, too, and her grandmother wasn't anyone to trade witty remarks with and come away without wounds to your pride.”

He paused as if he could see her sitting across the table. Then he shook his head and returned to their conversation. After one of My Faith's famous lemon tarts, Mrs. Camden turned to me and asked, “What do you girls wear to house parties these days? We used to get so dressed up that you'd think we were going to the Waldorf or something.”

“Nothing very fancy,” I said.

“She probably needs something new,” Grandpa said. “Never saw a female who didn't use an occasion to get something new.”

“I have enough,” I said.

“If you'd like someone to go shopping with you after school this week, I'd be happy to do it. Not that I know what's in style these days,” she told my grandfather.

“You can be sure I don't. I haven't bought myself much of anything since . . . since I lost Lucy,” he said.

“The offer is good for you as well,” Mrs. Camden told him.

I had never seen Grandpa Arnold blush, not like this. He mumbled something and then announced that he had some financial homework to do. Before he left, he complimented My Faith on her dinner. Mrs. Camden added to the praise, and then Myra appeared and the three of them began to talk about the week's menu for the boy in Willie's room. My Faith said she had
kept his dinner warm. Apparently, Mrs. Camden had thought it better to let him sleep.

“He's still mending so much,” she said. “The poor thing probably doesn't weigh fifty pounds. He must be about nine or ten. I feel like I might break his bones when I lift him.”

“And that's not all from the poison, is it?” Myra asked.

I sat there, unable to feign disinterest, especially with Mrs. Camden's response.

“It could have damaged his appetite, of course, but Dr. Friedman believes he was kept on a diet lacking in the basic caloric intake a child that age should have, probably for some time. It's stunted his growth somewhat. We're treating his pituitary gland.”

“Sounds like he was kept imprisoned or something,” Myra offered.

Mrs. Camden shook her head. “I hope we'll know someday, but that part has to come later.” She looked at me. “When he feels more trusting.”

I rose. “I have to finish my homework,” I said.

“That offer still stands,” Mrs. Camden called after me. “Whatever day you choose. I'll work it out.”

I didn't reply. I kept walking away, even though my body was fighting to turn around on its own to accept her offer. It had been so long since I had gone shopping with my grandmother and, of course, way longer since I had gone with my mother. On a few occasions, Myra accompanied me, mainly to get some necessities. She was all business, in and out. Lingering over displays, seeing new fashions, and
window-shopping were things she never wanted to do. She always had something waiting for her to do at home, even on her day off. What I had bought lately I usually had bought with some girlfriends, especially Lila, whose mother took me along with them. But a special day for myself was something that seemed lost forever.

I didn't pause. I intended as usual to walk quickly past Willie's room, but as I approached, I could hear the boy moaning. I stopped to listen and then looked back to see if Mrs. Camden was coming up. There was no sound of footsteps on the stairway. Slowly, I went to Willie's door and pushed it slightly open. The boy's moans were a little louder. Should I go back and call for Mrs. Camden? I wondered. What if he was dying? If he died here after all my grandfather had done for him, how would that affect my grandfather? Would he think he had been wrong even to have begun all this? Would he blame himself? A terrible part of me wished for it as vengeance for his giving so much of Willie to this stranger. I didn't like that mean and vicious part of me, but I couldn't deny those feelings.

I opened the door farther and stepped into the room. Mrs. Camden had left the curtains open, but the late-afternoon sun had fallen by now, and the sky was just past twilight. I could see some stars growing brighter. My Faith had once told Willie and me that the stars were the souls of the beautiful and good. Willie was always asking me which ones I thought might be our parents.

The stars weren't bright enough yet. The spill of
hallway illumination was all the light in the room. The boy wasn't moving. He was on his back, his head sunk into one of Willie's big, soft pillows, his face so pale that it was ghostlike. Sometimes Willie fell asleep with his arms wrapped around that pillow, clutching it as if it was our mother, who slept beside him when he was sick or frightened. Grandma Arnold never did, but I had often after our parents were killed.

I heard the boy moan again. Was he dreaming or calling for help? What if he was dreaming, and in his dreams, he was talking about his family and what had happened to him? I could overhear it and then tell everyone what I had learned,
I thought. I inched closer.

I was standing right beside the bed when he moaned again and then shook his head with his eyes closed and clearly said, “Mickey sick.”

Mickey? “Who's Mickey?” I asked. His eyes were still closed. “Mickey who? Are you Mickey? Is that your real name?”

He didn't speak.

I looked back at the doorway and listened. I didn't hear Mrs. Camden coming, so I touched his shoulder gently and asked again, “Are you Mickey? You're sick, right?”

His eyes looked sewn shut. His lips opened slightly, and he shook his head again and again said, “Mickey sick.”

I shook him harder. “Who's Mickey? Talk. Are you Mickey? Talk!” I said much louder.

A burst of light brightened the room when the overhead fixture went on, surprising me. I turned
toward the door. Mrs. Camden was standing there. “What's going on?” she asked.

The boy moaned and this time opened his eyes. He looked up at me, visibly terrified at how I was looming over him.

I straightened up quickly. “He was moaning, so I came in to see why.”

She nodded and walked toward the bed. I stepped back. “Hi, honey,” she said to him. “Getting a little hungry, maybe?”

He looked at me and then at her and nodded.

“He said ‘Mickey.' I heard him say it. He said, ‘Mickey sick.' That's probably his real name. Ask him. Ask him!”

“Calm down, Clara Sue. It's not good to shout at him. That only frightens him and closes him up faster and tighter.”

“Ask him,” I said more softly, choking back my excitement. “Go on,” I challenged, and folded my arms over my breasts defiantly.

She looked at me and then turned to him. “Is your name Mickey, sweetie?”

He didn't speak, but I could see that he was surprised to hear the name.

“See? He knows that name. It is. I bet it is,” I said.

“We'll see,” Mrs. Camden said. “Let's let him calm down a little so that he'll eat well, okay?”

“Right,” I said. “Let him calm down.
He's
the one who has to calm down.”

I turned and marched out of the room, but I felt I had learned more than anyone else, and I was
confident that it would mean something, perhaps enough to get him out of Willie's room and bed and name.

When I started to do my homework, I found it difficult to concentrate. Fortunately, Lila remembered I had promised to help her with math. She called, and we got into it enough for me to finish my own work. We talked a little more about Audrey's party, and then I hung up, but before I could turn to my English assignment, the phone rang again. This time, it was Aaron.

“Hey, how's the Prescott General Hospital doing?” he asked.

“Very funny. What did your father say when you told him what my grandfather was doing?”

“Oh, I didn't say anything about it yet.”

“What? Why not?”

“I didn't want to start anything and get your grandfather mad at me just when I was working on seducing his granddaughter.”

“Seducing? You're a comedian. You can tell anyone you like about what my grandfather is doing. I'm sure it's getting known anyway, so my grandfather can't complain that you spread the story.”

“You sound like you want me to.”

“Whatever,” I said. He was silent a moment. “I didn't thank you for bringing me home.”

“It's the other way around.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thank you for letting me, which is why I'm really calling. Can I pick you up in the morning? It's an easy swing by.”

Things were moving between us quickly. Was I being swept off my feet by the school's Casanova? Was I up to the challenge?

“Am I going to find out that this is just another excuse to let you drive your new car more?”

He laughed. “I won't deny that's a part of the reason, but it's a minor part.”

“I'm going to have to ask my grandfather,” I said.

“Tell him I got an A-plus in driver's education.”

“Don't be surprised if he has us followed to be sure. I'll call you in a little while. Oh, what's your phone number?”

“Make sure you write it on your hand and never wash,” he said, and gave it to me. “That's why there are so many girls with dirty hands in our school,” he added, laughing.

“I have a good memory,” I said. “I won't forget it unless I want to.”

“Tough girl, huh?”

Was I? “We'll see,” I told him, and hung up.

I thought for a moment and then started for Grandpa's office. Mrs. Camden and Myra were in Willie's room, talking to the boy as he ate his dinner. It was Myra's voice that caught my attention. She had that sweet, loving tone that she had whenever she spoke to Willie, and she was calling him “love” and “sweetie,” which was what she always called Willie. The pathetic little imp was winning everyone over, and as they moved closer to him, they moved further away from my brother.

Grandpa looked up when I entered. I didn't walk
all the way to his desk. I stood just inside the doorway, as if I wanted to be able to make a quick getaway.

“Hey,” he said. “You need something?”

Where should I begin? I thought. Yes, I needed plenty. I needed my parents back. I needed Willie back. I needed to be told that everything for years was just a bad dream, and I needed to be promised that I wouldn't see so much sadness during the rest of my life. I shouldn't be afraid of tomorrow or afraid of any more than anyone else.

“Aaron's picking me up for school tomorrow,” I declared. “I don't need the driver to take me.”

I tried to sound as tough and determined as I could, like someone who had firm control of her own life, but every muscle in my body tightened in anticipation of his burst of anger at my declaring what I was going to do without even pretending to ask his permission. It wasn't like him to be silent. His face seemed to harden into cement. He didn't grimace; he didn't raise his eyebrows. The silence awoke butterflies of panic in my chest. I wasn't sure if I should just turn and leave or wait for him to speak.

Finally, he sat back. “I seem to recall a rule requiring a student's parent or guardian having to give permission for her to ride in another student's car. That's why I was surprised today when you came home with Aaron Podwell.”

“You only have to give permission if I leave before the school day ends.”

“I see. So is this going to become a regular thing?”

“I don't know,” I said. “It could be.”

I could see a wave of sadness wash over his eyes and pass through his face. That took me by surprise, and for a moment, I felt sorry for my tone and attitude. But I was determined not to be treated like a little girl anymore. He nodded to himself and almost smiled. “Your grandmother warned me,” he said. “She said you'd suddenly grow into a young lady, practically overnight, and I'd better be prepared to hold my breath. She said it would be scarier than riding a bull in the rodeo.”