Secret Brother (25 page)

I turned off the electric trains and slowly followed him up the stairs. Count Piro's door was open. I looked in, expecting to see Dorian, but instead, I saw only him in his wheelchair, his back to the door as he gazed out the window. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he regretting that he couldn't be out there like Willie often was, maybe wearing his Superman cape and rushing about chasing imaginary villains? Or was he thinking about his lost family? Did he dream of going out our gate and home?

His shoulders were hoisted a little as if he had a cold breeze at the back of his neck. He was clutching the arms of his wheelchair like someone who was about to rise out of it and stand on his own. His arms were tightening, extending.

That's exactly what he's hoping to do
, I thought. I watched and held my breath. He had his feet on the
floor and was beginning to rise.
Oh, do it
, I thought.
Stand on your own two feet,
and begin your journey home.

He rose higher, his arms extending and tightening further. I heard him groan with the effort. He leaned forward as he rose, and then, when he was just about out of his chair and on his feet, he toppled over to the right and fell to the floor, collapsing as if his bones were only pipe cleaners. He moaned, but he didn't cry. I rushed to him.

“Are you all right?” I asked, kneeling beside him and taking his right hand.

He gazed up at me. I saw no pain in his face, no physical pain. Instead, there was sorrow and loneliness, a look of desperate solitude, the look of someone chained to a wall, shut up in a room without windows, and confined to the sound of only his thoughts. Even his voice had disappeared. His lips moved ever so slightly, and then he whispered. I drew closer to hear him.

“Cathy,” I heard him say softly. “Momma.”

I put my arms under his and lifted him. It wasn't difficult, because he was so light. As carefully as I could, I got him back into his chair. Should I run for Dorian? I wondered. She was probably in her room, maybe in the bathroom. Instead, I fixed his feet on the footrests of the wheelchair, brushed back his hair, and checked to see if he had bruised himself. He watched me silently. Then he turned to look out the window again.

I sat on the floor with my back to the wall and
looked up at him. He didn't look at me, and he didn't cry.
This is a special moment
, I thought.
Take advantage of it
.

“Where do you want to go?” I asked.

When he looked at me, I thought for sure he was going to answer, but just then, Dorian returned.

“What's happening?” she asked, smiling.

He turned to her as she approached.

“I was walking by, and I saw him try to get up and then fall out of the chair,” I said, rising. “I got him back on it and hung around to be sure he was all right.”

“Oh. Are you hurt, honey?” she asked him.

He shook his head.

She looked at me. “Very good, Clara Sue.”

I considered her and then made an instant decision, turning back to him. “I'm sorry you were upset when you saw my Christmas tree, Count Piro. I've finished it now, and I hope you'll look at it again. It was a lot of work, and the electric trains are set up, too. I can show you how to work them,” I added forcefully, looked defiantly at Dorian, and walked out of the room.

Was I in bigger trouble now? Would my grandfather come rushing in to bawl me out? When I entered my room, I closed the door behind me and sprawled on my bed. I had so many different emotions battling to be acknowledged that I felt like I was in a tornado. Should I be ashamed of my relationship with Aaron Podwell? Had I made a fool of myself by believing in him so quickly? Should I be more angry than ashamed? Could I pretend to be indifferent, or would anyone look at me and see hurt in my face?

Was I wrong now not to feel guilty about caring for Count Piro? Was this a betrayal of Willie's memory?

Could I stand having my grandfather be angry at me again? Was I losing everyone's love?

Was it wrong to look forward to the holidays? Should I have refused to work on the tree? Should I have insisted that no one touch Willie's trains and toy village? Was I pushing the memory of him farther and farther away? Would my parents hate me? Grandma Arnold?

Should I be crying or screaming?

I pounded the bed and then folded my arms under my breasts and stared defiantly at the ceiling, gathering up my fury and not only waiting for my grandfather to come to my room but hoping he would. I'd give it back as quickly as he dished it out. Rage seemed to be winning.

There was a knock on my door. I didn't say anything. I pulled myself up against my pillows and waited. The door opened, and Dorian stood there, smiling.

“What now?” I snapped at her.

“You did it,” she said. “He wants to go down to see the tree and the trains.”

She turned and walked away, and the rage that had been flowing through my veins like boiling water instantly cooled. I rose slowly and went to the doorway. Dorian was wheeling Count Piro out and toward the stair lift. I stood watching until he was securely put into the lift and descending. Then I followed slowly.

Grandpa came out of his room, too, and followed behind me. When we reached the living room, Myra and My Faith came in from the kitchen to watch. Dorian wheeled him closer to the tree. She stopped and waited. Everyone's eyes were on him as he looked at the tree. I think we were all holding our breath. The seconds ticked like a clock set to trigger an explosion. Suddenly, Grandpa shot forward and plugged in the tree lights. Myra and My Faith gasped in appreciation as the tree burst into its beautiful colors.

I stepped up and glanced at Count Piro. His eyes had widened when the tree was lit. I went over to the train control and turned it on. He was fascinated with its movements through the tunnels and up and down the small inclines, past the houses and the train depot to go around again. I nodded at Dorian, and she wheeled him closer. I put the control in his lap.

“Just make it go faster or slower with this little lever,” I explained. “You can also make it stop anytime you want.”

He touched it gingerly and then gently moved the lever to speed it up. His eyes were dazzling with glee. He slowed it down and then stopped it and looked at me.

“Very good,” I said.

He smiled and started the train again. Grandpa watched from behind, nodded at Dorian, and then turned and went back upstairs to finish dressing for dinner.

“Maybe we'll stay downstairs and eat at the table tonight, right, William?” she asked him.

He looked at her and then at me. I nodded, and he nodded. He went back to the train, and Dorian exchanged a look of pleasure with me.

“I'll stay with him for a while,” I told her. “Go get ready for dinner.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely,” I said.

Myra was beaming, and My Faith was shaking her head with joy.

I sat by the train tracks and shifted some of the toy people about, talking about them and the village the way I used to with Willie, imagining their comments about Christmas and their businesses and families. He looked fascinated with everything, dividing his attention between me and the trains. About twenty minutes later, Dorian and my grandfather came down the stairs. He was in the shirt he had said he would wear, but there was something about the dress Dorian was wearing that looked familiar.

“Your dress,” I said to her, standing and looking at Grandpa.

He nodded. He didn't have to say it. It was one of Grandma Arnold's dresses.

I hurried out and up the stairs. It was as if the pages of a book about my family were being turned, and on every new page, a face was changed. I paused at Willie's room and recalled the moment when I saw Grandpa Arnold gazing into it and contemplating bringing Count Piro to our home and into Willie's room. The shock that I had felt seemed to have dwindled. I was thinking more of Count Piro than myself.

After all, his family book's pages were turning as fast as mine were, and all the faces he knew were disappearing, too. Perhaps he and I were more like a brother and a sister than I would like us to be.

There was nothing left to do but wait to see how our stories ended.

19

Our Christmas tree dinner was the happiest dinner we'd had since Willie's death. There wasn't the heavy tension and sadness invading every sentence and battling back every smile. Count Piro ate better than ever, and faster, too, because he wanted to get back to the trains. Grandpa and Dorian talked more about their pasts. They were so into their conversations that sometimes it was as if they were alone at the table. We did talk more about Thanksgiving and Christmas, which started Dorian describing some of her happier holidays. I realized that she, too, was still often mourning the loss of people she had loved in her past.

“Love has a way of making memories sticky,” she said, and Grandpa laughed. I began to suspect that what she and Grandpa Arnold were sharing of their pasts was bringing them closer to what might be their future.

After dinner, I returned to the living room and
helped Count Piro work the trains and maneuver some of the toy people that I gave names to, just as I did when I played with Willie. Dorian and Grandpa sat together on the sofa enjoying an after-dinner cordial and watching us, but I sensed that they were really more interested in each other. I was still a little jealous, but I had to admit that Dorian was making Grandpa more mellow.

When Dorian thought it was time to take Count Piro up to bed, I returned to my room and started to do some of my homework just to keep my mind off everything else, but it proved impossible. My eyes drifted from the pages I had to read, and I read and reread the same sentences. Finally, I put it all away and took out my stationery.

Dear Willie,

So much has happened so quickly since I visited you at the cemetery. I didn't want to like the poisoned boy, and as you know, I hated that he was using and enjoying your things. But I keep remembering how happy you were sharing your toys with friends. I'm sure now that if you were here, you would be friends.

He's very sad and helpless, Willie. I think he misses his family as much as you might be missing Grandpa and me. Grandpa is trying to find his family
again. I hope for the boy's sake he does. Everyone should be with his or her family, don't you think?

But until then, don't be angry at me for pretending at least that I'm like his older sister. I'm sure now that it will help him get stronger and better and maybe even walk again. Just because bad things happen to you, that doesn't mean you have to be mean. Right?

Most of all, Willie, I'm afraid. I'm afraid of being alone, afraid of not having anyone to love me.

Maybe that's why the boy is the way he is, Willie. He has the same fear.

Clara Sue

As before, I folded the letter, stuck it in an envelope, and put it in the drawer with the others. Then I went to bed, and somehow, despite the roller coaster of emotions I rode all day, I fell asleep dreaming of my family together on a Christmas morning years and years before even the thought of any sadness was born.

In the morning, My Faith went off to work at her church, and Myra and I started on breakfast. Dorian, who had gotten the Count up and dressed, joined us to help cut up fruit. He watched us from the doorway. While they made the pancakes and eggs, I set the table. Grandpa came down and was pleased to see Count Piro sitting with us again. While we ate, we planned what we would put out for Christmas decorations. Although everyone agreed we should have some, there was the sense that we would be more subdued than usual. Grandpa said he would take us shopping before
Thanksgiving. He and Dorian planned on speaking to the doctors about Count Piro going along. I wondered,
I
f Grandpa gives him money to spend, will he think about his lost family and reveal more, or will it make him sadder?

Afterward, I did work on my term paper, but Lila, who had gotten up late, called to give me her blow-by-blow description of Vikki Slater's party.

“Now, I can't swear to what happened,” she said when she got to Aaron, which was her whole purpose for the call, “but he and Sandra disappeared for almost an hour, and she looked like the cat who ate the canary when she and Aaron came back.”

“You have it wrong. He was the cat. She was the canary,” I said.

“What? Oh,” she said, and laughed. “I'm sorry. Are you very upset about it?”

“Only at myself,” I told her. She didn't understand, and I didn't feel like going into a long explanation. I changed the topic to our homework, which ended the phone call quicker.

For a while after, I sat thinking about Aaron. Should I be upset only at myself for being innocent and trusting? Should I forgive him? I wasn't very nice to him. Didn't I drive him away after all? Wasn't I the one giving mixed signals, encouraging him to help me get Count Piro out of our lives and then resenting him for planning how to do it?

It wasn't hard to see why he might have thought I liked him much more than I had liked any other boy, why I was promising to be special, too, being more
intimate with him than I had been with any other boy. Or was that really something special to a boy like Aaron? If he had done it with Sandra last night, was doing it as special to him as it would be to me? Should I be the same way he was, casual, almost indifferent about sex?

I heard Dorian in the hallway and looked out. She was starting away from the Count's room, her head down. She looked a little tired, but I stepped out impulsively and called to her. She paused and looked back at me.

“Something wrong?” she asked.

I nodded.

She smiled. “C'mon,” she said, holding out her hand. “We'll talk in my room.”

For some time, I hadn't been in the room my parents always used. It was easy to picture them there. Sometimes when Willie was still just a baby and we were visiting Grandpa and Grandma Arnold, I would rush to them and crawl into the bed to lie between them as soon as I woke up. Those were precious stolen moments before Willie would wake and command my mother's full attention. For those minutes, I was like an only child again.

Wasn't that what I was now?

“So,” Dorian said, sitting in the antique gray wingback chair Grandma Arnold had bought especially for this bedroom. My mother enjoyed sitting in it and reading one of her magazines or a novel, especially on rainy days. “What's troubling you, Clara Sue?” she asked softly.

“At what age were you no longer a virgin?” I asked. The abruptness of my question and my standing there with my arms folded under my breasts, stiff-postured like an attorney cross-examining a witness, stunned her for a moment. I thought she would get angry and order me out or something, but instead, she smiled.

“Things were different when I was your age. You'd never know it from the way women my age behave nowadays, especially when it comes to their own daughters. You'd think they were living in the Victorian age. Anyway, by 1928, I was seventeen. That was what people often refer to as the Roaring Twenties. Yes, hard to believe, I know, but I was a flapper, to my mother's displeasure, I might add. Women had gotten the right to vote, and there had already been something of a sexual revolution going on. We had romances, but for the most part, my girlfriends and I didn't, as you guys say, go the whole way. At least, I didn't until I was in my ­twenties and it was my first real hot-and-heavy romance. I thought it was inevitable that we'd get married.”

“But you didn't?”

“Not to him, no. There were some complications. His family was pressuring him to find someone more suitable from a wealthier family.”

“How did you feel? Betrayed? Stupid?”

“Both for a little while, but I got over it when I met my husband.”

“Did he care?”

“He wouldn't come out and say it, but he cared. I guess every man wants to be his girl's first, but it wasn't
enough to sour our romance. I will tell you I was glad I wasn't totally inexperienced. When I realized that, I regretted my first serious romance less, and then I read somewhere that a romance without sex is only imaginary. And I knew women who saved themselves for marriage and never got married. They weren't nuns, either. I know this is all confusing, but the decision has to be very personal and shouldn't be based on what everyone else is doing or did, Clara Sue.”

“How do you know when a boy really likes you, as opposed to just doing it with you?”

“Wow.” She thought a moment. “The problem is that for that moment or that time, it could be both. It's not whether he really likes you, I suppose. It's for how long he will before he really likes someone else.”

“So you don't believe in Romeo and Juliet?”

“One person out there for everyone? I suppose it happens. It doesn't hurt to believe in it unless you reject everyone because you're waiting for all sorts of bells and whistles that might never come. You have to have confidence in yourself, the confidence that you'll know when someone right for you happens.”

“The parents of one of our girlfriends are getting a divorce because her father cheated on her mother. I bet they thought they'd be in love forever.”

“That's sad. I feel sorrier for your girlfriend than her parents, though. We don't know what sort of relationship her parents have or had, so it's hard to make conclusions. My Faith likes to say, ‘Judge not that you be not judged.' I think she's probably right.” She paused, her eyelids narrowing. “This boyfriend of
yours, Aaron Podwell, he's pretty sophisticated, huh? He's kind of smooth.”

“And proud of it. You realized that, huh?”

She smiled. “You have to be a little suspicious when they're that perfect. Listen to your own voices, Clara Sue, not his and not anyone else's. Whatever decision you make, it will be yours and, I'm sure, right for you.” She was silent a moment. “I guess I'm not much help, huh?”

“No. You are,” I said. “Thanks.”

“Thanks for trusting me enough to ask me,” she said, and stood up. “You're quite a girl, Clara Sue. You're stronger than you think.”

I gazed into her eyes. Was I? She looked sincere. Before I turned to leave, she embraced me, gave me a hug and a kiss, and stepped back. I didn't say anything. I glanced at the bed my parents used to sleep in, imagining them there listening and agreeing, and then I walked out.

All the remainder of the day, I anticipated Aaron calling. I rehearsed how I would sound and what I would say. I went from total forgiveness to indifference to anger, especially as the day waned and it was becoming clear to me that he expected I would call him and not vice versa. Perhaps my not calling convinced him that I was angry about him being with Sandra and he was sorry and didn't know how to react. Or maybe he had decided to move on. I was tempted to call him to see which way he would go. In the end, I went to sleep thinking it was better to just let things happen.

In the morning, before I went out to get into the
car to be taken to school, I anticipated a phone call or perhaps the bell at the gate to be sounded and to see him coming around to pick me up, but that didn't happen. Grandpa had left for work, and Dorian was busy with a full day for Count Piro: physical examinations, his physical therapy, and then finally perhaps bringing him to the living room to enjoy the trains.

I wouldn't deny that I was very nervous, especially when I entered the building alone and paused for a few seconds to see if Aaron would suddenly appear. He didn't, so I went on to homeroom. Lila was already there, chatting with the other girls. From the looks on their faces when they saw me, I knew I was the hot topic. Sandra wasn't sitting with them. She was talking to Billy Gibson, but she turned to give me a smile of self-satisfaction. I tried to look as indifferent as I could, but with everyone throwing questions my way, it was difficult.

“No, Aaron and I hadn't broken up, because we weren't officially going steady. No, he didn't call to apologize. He had nothing to apologize for if we weren't going steady, right?”

Nothing I could say would satisfy them, but my seeming not to care enough to sound mournful started them on other topics. I had yet to see Aaron. When the bell rang for us to go to our first class, I anticipated him waiting for Sandra in the hall, as he would for me, but he wasn't there for her, either. She walked off with Billy as if they were the two who had been together Saturday night, but then again, she was like that with almost any boy in the school.

I didn't see Aaron until after the second morning class. It was only the two-minute break, but what I noticed was that he wasn't paying any more attention to Sandra than he was to me. He didn't even look my way.

Later, at lunch, however, he stepped up behind me as I entered the cafeteria with Lila and Audrey and hooked my right arm to pull me aside.

“I like how cool you're being,” he said. “Makes you sexier.”

“I don't feel sexier, but I guess we all see what we want.”

“I thought you might call yesterday,” he said, now with what, for him, was an uncharacteristically insecure smile.