Secret Brother (6 page)

I sat at my desk again and continued my letter to Willie.

Uncle Bobby just left. I miss him already. I love everyone here, but Uncle Bobby is special. You know that, too.

I still can't believe you're gone, Willie. Even after all we've gone through and all the people who've tried to comfort us, I still expect you to come barging into my room and annoy me when I'm on the phone or trying to get some homework done and study for a test. I know you hate to be alone and want me to watch television with you or play one of your games.

I'm sorry now for every time I snapped
back at you. You know I ended up being with you anyway. People always say Myra and My Faith spoil you, but you and I know that I spoil you the most. Or did.

I have to tell myself that you're not alone now
, that you're with Mommy and Daddy, and the truth is that you feel sorrier for me than I do for you.

When I die, will you still be a little boy when I see you again, or do people grow older in heaven? You have to be in heaven. You didn't get a chance to do anything very bad, not that you would have.

Uncle Bobby was right about my getting back to myself, but I can't help being afraid of going to school again, seeing the faces of my classmates, who I know will all be thinking about what happened and waiting for me to break out in tears at any moment.

People are afraid of people who are in mourning. They don't know how to talk to them, and they worry that they will say something that will get the person crying or running off. They'll feel just terrible about it, so the best thing to do is avoid them.

I'm so afraid that will happen to me, especially next week when I return
to school.

I even think that might be why Grandpa is leaving the house so early these mornings. He's hoping I'll get all my crying done before he comes home. One look at him told me not to
cry in front of him anymore. He would just call for Myra and rush away to his office, closing the door behind him. Then I'd feel even worse.

I didn't want to put this in a letter to you, Willie, especially not one of the first ones I wrote, but I think there's going to be more and more about him over the next few days. I'm talking about the poisoned boy. If you were here and had seen him, I know you'd be as interested in him as Grandpa is, and I would be, too. But if I was to count the minutes Grandpa has spent thinking about you and the minutes he is spending thinking about t
he poisoned boy, I think I'd find that he's spent more on him than on you.

Maybe Uncle Bobby is right. Maybe Grandpa is afraid to think about you and thinking about this strange boy helps him avoid it, but I don't have to like that.

Sometime next week, after school, I'm going to ride my bike to the cemetery and talk to you, Willie. I promise.

Mostly, I promise I will never forget you.

I'm going to write to you all the time,
because I believe as soon as I finish a letter, Mommy will read it aloud to you and Daddy.

Forever.

I put my pen down, folded the paper, and stuck it into one of my personalized envelopes. Then I put it in the
bottom left drawer of my desk and went downstairs to see what My Faith was going to make us for dinner. Actually, I just wanted to talk to someone. I didn't want to play my radio or watch television. It seemed wrong to do any of that so soon after Willie's funeral, but I was having trouble with my loneliness.

Lila had wanted to stay home from school and be with me every day, but her mother didn't think she should, and besides, how could I get the schoolwork if she was home, too? At least I had something to look forward to in the afternoon, and although I didn't want to ask or admit it to her, I was interested in what the others in our class were doing. It bothered me when I thought about these things, because I thought I shouldn't, not yet, but I couldn't help it just as much as I couldn't help taking another breath.

Maybe Lila can stay for dinner tonight
, I thought. With Uncle Bobby gone, the table would seem so empty, and I was actually afraid of my grandfather talking about the poisoned boy, afraid that neither of us would mention Willie's name, either now or ever, just the way Grandpa avoided talking about my parents.

Unfortunately, Lila couldn't stay. She hadn't told me, but her parents were taking her and her older sister out to celebrate her father getting a major promotion at his company. I could see it was something she had known about for a few days, but she had been reluctant to mention good news. Like most people right now, she didn't want to make it seem like everything was just hunky-dory for them while everything was horrible for me.

“Everyone asks about you every day, especially Mr. Leshner,” she said to make me feel a little better.

Mr. Leshner was our social studies teacher. Everyone agreed that he made the subject interesting. I had never gotten anything less than an A in his class, and he kept predicting I would be the valedictorian when I was a senior.

“And, of course, Aaron,” she added.

As hard as I tried, I couldn't push him or the things we had all planned to do during the upcoming Christmas break out of my mind. Lila and I had been toying with the idea of having our own New Year's Eve party and sneaking in some alcoholic drinks. Her parents were considering letting us use their house. Some of our other girlfriends would stay over, too, maybe even one or two of the boys.

But that was all before.

This afternoon, as we did some homework together, she made a few comments about people in school, but not once did she mention Willie, nor did I.

Grandpa came home just before she left. He looked in on us. It was the first time he had done so this week.

“Hello, girls,” he said.

“Hi, Mr. Arnold.”

“Joining us for dinner, Lila?”

“Not tonight.”

“Her parents are taking them out to celebrate her father's promotion,” I explained for her quickly.

“Oh, great. I think I heard something about that. Congratulate your dad for me.”

“I will.”

He nodded, glanced at me, and walked on to his room.

“Everyone wonders if your grandfather will ever remarry,” Lila said. It took me by complete surprise. “Do you?” she asked.

“No,” I said. The whole idea seemed foreign, even a little terrifying to me.

“I heard my mother talking to some of her friends about him. They all think he's very handsome but also the most eligible bachelor because he's so rich and successful.”

“He's not a bachelor. He's a widower,” I said.

“He's not old,” she said, with an insistence that annoyed me.

“He can't love anyone like he loved my grandmother. Any other woman would be quite disappointed.”

She shrugged. “Maybe he can't, but he can love someone enough to marry her, can't he?”

I didn't reply. I looked at my math book instead.

“I guess I'd better start home,” she said.

“Have a good time,” I told her. I tried not to sound bitter.

“Thanks. I'll call you if it's not too late when I get home.” She paused in the doorway. “Do you think you might want to do something this weekend?”

“No,” I said sharply and quickly. She nodded. I knew she was bored with just coming over to spend time mostly in my room. “But you do something. Don't worry about me.”

“We'll see. 'Bye,” she said.

I tried to go back to the math homework, but I couldn't concentrate. I slammed the book shut, went to the window, and watched Lila get onto her bike and start off. As she sailed down the driveway and out the gate, I realized that I felt like a prisoner, a prisoner of grief.

The dining-room table was barren and bleak without Lila, Willie, Uncle Bobby, or my grandmother Sanders and my great-aunt Sally joining us. These past few nights were all difficult. I know Grandpa was trying to look as comfortable and happy as he could. This evening, My Faith had made something we both loved, her special meat loaf and incredibly delicious mashed potatoes. They were practically the only potatoes Willie would finish. Usually, Grandpa drank wine with his dinner, but he wasn't drinking any tonight. We had yet to have a private conversation about our tragedy. Usually, Lila was here or he was at work right after dinner in his house office, but tonight I could feel it coming, the way you could feel an impending thunderstorm. My whole body tensed up, and even the little appetite I had was threatened.

He didn't start talking until we had been served our meal. He complimented My Faith, as he always did. Myra was having her dinner in her room. She was finally admitting to her aches and pains, and I imagined she was more exhausted than any of us, with the combination of grief and injuries.

“I have survived our terrible share of sorrow, Clara Sue,” he began, “by making myself work harder
and do what I could to avoid thinking about it all. We're never going to stop hurting over Willie, but we've got to do the best we can so that everyone we've lost would be proud of us. Right?”

“Yes, Grandpa.”

“So, you're going back to school on Monday?”

“Yes.”

He ate and thought, and I ate, avoiding looking at the chair where Willie would sit. I knew I was eating faster than usual just to get it over with and hurry out. Would I avoid every place in this house where I could envision Willie?

“You don't know,” my grandfather began again, “but one of your grandmother's and my favorite charities is something called Angel View. It's an organization dedicated to providing assistance to handicapped children. I mean, we do our share of charity contributions, but that one was at the top of your grandmother's list. She even volunteered to work at their center in Charlottesville occasionally. I don't think you knew that.”

I shook my head.

“She wasn't one to talk about what she did for others. Unlike a lot of people I know, here especially, she just did it and didn't ask anyone for any thanks or recognition. If anything, that embarrassed her and took away from the main goal—helping someone in need.”

I paused. I could feel it. He was leading up to something, something to do with the poisoned boy.

“It's good to think of people other than yourself, especially when you're suffering some disappointment or tragedy.”

“I don't want to ever stop thinking about Willie,” I said firmly.

“Of course, you shouldn't, and neither should I. We should cherish his memory, and I plan to create an endowment in his name,” he said. “You'll be with me when we establish it.”

“What sort of endowment, Grandpa?”

“I'm not sure yet. Maybe a grant or an award. Maybe a scholarship at your school. I tell you what. You'll be just as important to the decision, okay?”

I nodded. That sounded good. Uncle Bobby was right, I thought. I shouldn't be so intolerant of how Grandpa was acting and what he was trying to do.

I could see that he was hesitating. He finished his meal, drank some water, and sat back. “I was thinking that you might like to go with me tonight to the hospital. I'm meeting with the neurologist about that little boy. He's rather sad and I'm sure still very frightened. I have him in a private room, which is the most comfortable place he could be there, but there are no other young people. He sees only nurses and doctors,” he said.

I didn't say anything.

“It would be nice if you spoke to him. He has yet to say anything to anyone,” he added.

I looked up. “What would I say, Grandpa?”

“It doesn't matter. You can ask him how he is. Anything.”

“Why would he talk to me?”

“I don't know. You're a young person, too. Maybe he has a sister.”

“Well, where is she? Why doesn't someone come to ask about him and take him home?” I demanded. I couldn't contain my anger. “How do you just deposit your own child like some . . . garbage?”

He shook his head. “I'm trying to find out.”

“But you've run into a dead end.”

“Right now,” he said. “I'm still on it.”

“Someone could have a little boy, and they don't want him, and we lost Willie. It's not fair.”

“No, it's not fair. That's a lesson you have to learn in life. Things don't happen just because they should or because it's fair. You have to make things happen, even the right things, Clara Sue. So what about it? You should get out of the house, and I could use your help with the boy.”

“I don't know,” I said.

“Whatever. I'll be going in about . . .” He looked at his watch. “A half hour.”

My Faith appeared. She looked at my plate.

“I ate all I could,” I said sullenly. She nodded. “It wasn't any less delicious than ever.”

“No, that's for sure,” Grandpa told her. “How's Myra?”

“She fell asleep eating,” My Faith said.

“I'll check on her later,” Grandpa said.

“I'll check on her now,” I snapped, and got up before he could say anything.

“You want some of that peach pie you love?” My Faith called after me.

“I don't love it,” I replied. “Willie loves it.”

The silence fell like thunder behind me.

4

When I looked at myself in the hallway mirror, I thought I looked more mean than mournful. I didn't like that. It seemed a wrong feeling to have right now. My sorrow over Willie should make every other feeling do what my grandfather often said about things he didn't think were as important: “take a backseat.”

I obviously had an expression on my face that drew Myra's attention. The moment I opened her door, even though I did it softly and slightly, she looked at me, her eyes taking on that familiar curiosity, this time when she correctly suspected that something was bothering me more than what was to be expected following Willie's funeral. I wasn't surprised. Who, after all, knew me better than Myra? Even before my parents died, she had become like another grandmother to me. Having been my mother's nanny for so long, she was as familiar as my grandmother Lucy had been with the gestures, expressions, and
quirks I had inherited from my mother. Both of them often said, “You're just like your mother.”

Myra lifted her good arm, and I ran to her bedside to let her take my hand.

“Someone said something that bothered you?” she asked. “One of your grandfather's friends?”

“No. There's no one here now but Grandpa. How are you?” I asked.

“I think I can now tell My Faith how Lazarus felt the moment he was awakened,” she replied, and struggled into a sitting position. “Let's not talk about me, love. I'll mend. I've had plenty of practice with sadness, as, unfortunately, you've had in so short a time. So? What is it? You look ready to take on the House of Commons.” She brushed strands of my hair away from my eyes.

“Grandpa wants me to go with him to the hospital to visit that poisoned boy tonight. He thinks I might get him to talk.”

She nodded. “Thought it might have something to do with that.” She sat back against her pillow but held on to my hand. “May I tell you something I've learned, love? There's an abundance of mean, selfish, and uncharitable activity in this world. We'll never lack for it, so we should always embrace the opposite wherever we find it. You're not ready to care about anyone else. That's understandable, but maybe you should think about it more for your grandfather than the little boy, as sad and horrible as his life is now.”

“That's what Uncle Bobby was telling me.”

“My mum used to say you can spend your life
coping with the unhappiness and disappointment you'll experience, or you can spend more on the happiness and successes. Dad would tell her that was nothing more than seeing the glass half full and not half empty. Then they'd squabble about who said it better. They'd disagree over whether to put the milk in first or the tea, both quoting this king or that queen, but they loved each other to beat the band.”

I smiled. Being in Myra's company was like walking out to a cloudy day and suddenly entering a burst of sunshine. I hoped she would always be here to cheer me up. “So you think I should go?”

“We'll never forget our Willie, but it's important now to get your mind on other things, too. I can't say I'm not curious. Aren't you? Where'd this boy come from? Did the man who brought him just find him lying about somewhere? Why was he afraid to tell anyone anything? Who'd want to poison a little boy, anyway? Unless it was by accident and they were afraid of getting blamed, of course, but why was he so thin and small?”

“Okay,” I said. “I'll go with him and let you know what I've learned.”

“I'll be up and about when you come home. I just need a bit more of a rest. But I'm not taking those fog pills,” she added firmly.

I hugged her and went looking for Grandpa. He was on the phone in his office. When he saw me in the doorway, he put up his right forefinger.

“I'm heading there now in a little while,” he said into the phone, “but I don't have much more to tell you. Suit yourself,” he added, and hung up.

“Some police detective. He called my office to ask me more questions about the boy today, too, but I didn't have time to speak to him. Don't know why the police are hounding me about it. You go and do something for someone, and suddenly you're the one with all the answers,” he muttered. “Like I can hand them all over, neatly tied with a ribbon on a silver platter. Everyone wants their work made easier.”

“I decided I will go with you,” I said.

“Good. We'll leave in ten,” he said.

I nodded and hurried up to my room. I never thought of my mother as a conceited person or even a little too much concerned about her looks, but one thing that impressed me about her was that she wouldn't leave the house without looking her best, no matter where she went, even if it was just to the supermarket.

“Looking messy in public says a lot about how you live your life, Clara Sue,” she told me. Myra either agreed or wanted to be sure she always pleased my mother, even now. She always made sure I didn't leave the house with my hair disheveled, or wearing something torn or missing a button, or certainly wearing anything with a stain on it.

I chose a prettier blouse than the one I was wearing, changed my shoes to a newer pair, and then brushed my hair, pinning it back with hair clips. I couldn't throw off my sense of guilt for caring about my looks so soon after Willie's funeral, but it wasn't that easy to push aside what I knew had pleased my mother.

Grandpa certainly looked pleased when he saw me.
He smiled, put his hand on my shoulder, and then held my hand as we walked out to his car. Jimmy Wilson and two of the grounds workers paused to look our way. They were replacing bulbs in the driveway and landscape lights. Jimmy smiled and waved, obviously happy to see me out and about. I waved back and got into Grandpa's sedan, immediately feeling funny about it.

There hadn't been all that many times in my life when I had gone somewhere with Grandpa and not had Willie along, too. Sometimes Grandpa took me to a friend's home, but even if we went shopping for something I needed, Willie would be with us, because he knew that Grandpa would find something to buy for him, too. I usually sat in the front, and Willie sat in the rear. He would talk from the moment we drove out of the estate to wherever we were going. Grandpa called him “Motor Mouth” and said he could get more words to the mile than anyone he knew. He also said he would have been a good passenger for him to take along when he used to drive trucks long distances. “I wouldn't ever fall asleep with Willie in the truck,” he'd say. That didn't discourage Willie. If anything, it got him to say more.

Perhaps it was the quiet. Maybe Grandpa was thinking about Willie talking a blue streak, too, but we rode for quite a while before either of us spoke.

“The poisoned boy really hasn't spoken yet, Grandpa?” I began.

“He doesn't even cry. He doesn't call for his mother. First they thought he might be deaf, because he wouldn't even turn toward the person speaking to
him, but they know he's not. My guess is he doesn't trust anyone.”

“Why not?”

“Someone he should have trusted disappointed him. That's one theory Dr. Patrick expressed. She hasn't had any luck getting him to talk to her, either.”

“Who is she?”

“The psychiatrist I asked to look in on him,” he said.

I didn't know anyone who went to a psychiatrist, much less a young person. It seemed so strange. Weren't his physical injuries more important? “Uncle Bobby said he can't move his legs.”

Grandpa nodded. “Dr. Friedman, the neurologist, told me it's like the boy's neurological systems have shut down. He said he has seen similar cases. The arsenic did some damage to his nerves and affected his muscles. It could take a long time for him to recuperate. Some patients don't. He's stopping in tonight and will tell me more about it.”

“What's that all mean? He'll die, too?”

“No, not now. He could have, almost did. They said another hour or so might have made all the difference. He'll be in a wheelchair for a while . . . maybe forever.”

“Oh. Then he'll have to go to a special place, right?” I said quickly. Even though I had agreed to go to see him and even to speak to him—mainly because of the things Myra had told me—I was still hoping he would be out of our lives soon and forever.

“We'll see,” Grandpa said.

When we arrived at the hospital, the police detective who had been looking for Grandpa earlier greeted us in the lobby. He introduced himself as Lieutenant Bronson. Grandpa wasn't happy he was there and didn't hide it. He approached us the moment we entered.

“I told you everything I knew on the phone,” Grandpa snapped before the man could even say hello. He had shown us his identification. “I don't know why you're coming to me to ask these questions. I never saw him before,” Grandpa said. Before the detective could ask anything else, he added, his voice sharp, “And neither has my granddaughter. I don't know anything more about him than you do.”

“So you don't know anything about the man who brought him here, either?” Lieutenant Bronson asked, as if Grandpa hadn't said a word yet. Either he couldn't see how annoyed my grandfather was or he didn't care. “You did hire a private detective, I understand.”

Grandpa looked surprised that the police detective knew, and then he shook his head. “He didn't find out anything, and I didn't learn anything about the man on my own, either. We weren't exactly watching and listening to other patients' problems at the time we brought my grandson here, you know.”

Grandpa Arnold wasn't usually this irritable when it came to police or anyone else who didn't have anything to do with his business. He was a very easy­going, gentle man, despite his size. If anyone accused him of being that way, he usually blamed it on my grandma, who he claimed softened him up. I was
puzzled about why he was so antagonistic with the police. Did he blame them somehow for what had happened to Willie?

“I know. I'm sorry about your loss. Terrible thing,” Lieutenant Bronson said. “I just thought that with the interest you were showing and the money you were spending, you might know a little more by now that would help us get to the bottom of this.”

“There is no bottom for something this bad,” Grandpa said. “All we know right now is what we were told by the nurses in the emergency room and what the doctors are telling me. I'd have no reason to hold back. I'd like to see whoever did this punished, too.”

Lieutenant Bronson nodded, glanced at me, and stood there staring for a few dead moments, moments when he looked like he couldn't squeeze a thought out of his brain or a word off his tongue. It was as if he had gone off somewhere for a few seconds and left his body behind.

I supposed everyone got like that sometimes, but it reminded me of a time when I was playing with my food at breakfast instead of eating it, and my grandma told me not to be wasteful of my time and especially to avoid what she called “dead time.” Those were the moments when you were in a sort of daze, not thinking or talking. She said seconds were like bubbles, and just like you couldn't keep them from popping, you couldn't keep time stored up in your pocket. There was no piggy bank for minutes. Time wasted was time lost forever: “Even blessed Jesus couldn't resurrect it.”

“Amen to that,” My Faith had said. She knew all about Jesus and often quoted the Bible. She traveled thirty-five miles every Sunday to attend her church in Charlottesville and volunteered to cook church dinners regularly.

“Well,” Lieutenant Bronson finally said, “as of today, we still don't have a missing-child report that would fit him. It's really weird.”

Grandpa grunted. I had the feeling his private detective had at least told him that much.

Lieutenant Bronson produced a card and gave it to my grandpa. “If you learn anything that will help get the people who did this . . .”

Grandpa took it and shoved it quickly into his pocket.

“We'll follow up on what we have and see what's what,” Lieutenant Bronson added.

“You do that. In the meantime, I'll look after him,” Grandpa told him, with such firmness in his voice that I couldn't help but imagine steel doors slamming shut. There wasn't even a hint of
temporary
when he used the word “meantime.” He seemed to know instinctively that whoever had done this to the little boy would avoid detection and especially avoid having to care for him. The poisoned boy was disowned, cast out to either die or disappear, and my grandfather was determined to make it impossible for him to suffer a moment more than he already had.

Lieutenant Bronson smiled at me and then hurried away.

“C'mon,” Grandpa said, taking my hand. We went
to the elevator and rode up to the floor where the boy was being treated in a private room.

When we got there, I paused in the doorway, even though Grandpa marched right in. The boy didn't look much different from the way he had that day Willie was brought to the hospital. He still looked withered and tiny, way too small for all the equipment that surrounded him. After a moment, I followed Grandpa in. The boy's eyes were on us, and I thought he almost smiled at the sight of Grandpa.