The Glass House People (13 page)

There were four islands stabbing up through a stormy sea, under a heaven dotted with rockets and stars. Beth wished she knew what was in Aunt Iris's head when she came up with this painting. But of course she wouldn't ask her. Her aunt was paranoid enough already; she would be furious if she knew that Beth had snooped among her canvases.

The other day Beth had been out in the backyard with Romps when Aunt Iris came out to empty the kitchen trash into the big garbage bin behind the garage. A woman from the house next door walked over to the garden fence separating the two houses and said hello. She was young, with faded blonde hair and a friendly face. "The flowers are lovely this summer, aren't they? But the heat! It's just awful!"

Aunt Iris hadn't answered. She'd kept her eyes down and hurried back to the house, clutching the kitchen trash bin. Beth had smiled at the neighbor woman, embarrassed, and tried to cover for her aunt's odd behavior. "We're visiting from Northern California. I never knew the true meaning of the word 'muggy' before!" Then she followed her aunt into the house.

Thinking about Aunt Iris was detrimental to her work, thought Beth, as she moved the shapes of glass around. She had pressed too hard and broken a point off one of the star shapes. Now she would need to cut another.

She ran her glass cutter firmly over a new pane of yellow glass, using her pliers to break the piece along the lines she had traced. When the triangles were ground smooth, she assembled a star, and she fitted it into her puzzle, glancing over at the Notfilc painting, which she kept propped against the back wall. As usual, the brilliant warmth of the oil painting cheered her. She couldn't think of anyone she'd less want to be than Aunt Iris, who had had an amazing talent and just let it get lost. But maybe there was something to her aunt's warped psychology, after all: You feel guilty, so you want to punish yourself. You stop doing what you love to do, what you're best at doing. Right?

Still no letter from Ray. Beth sat out on the swing again, her pad of scented paper on her lap. How long had it been? A new sadness weighted her shoulders as she realized he seemed much farther away than the three thousand miles that physically separated them.

She sucked on the end of her pen a moment, picturing his hair, his smile, the turn of his wrists as he worked. Then she began to write.

Dear Ray,

Hi! How's life in cool, temperate California? Remind me never to move to this oven of a state. The heat is totally awful. You wouldn't believe it!

Things are still weird here, family-wise, but at least I've met someone and gone out to a movie. Are you jealous? Don't worry—it's a girl named Monica! She's as sweet as the candy shop where she works—and Tom seems to be head-over-heels already! I hope I see her often. It's great getting out of the house.

I'm still waiting to hear from the guy
I'm
head-over-heels about. Please write soon, my darling.

Love,
Beth

When she finished writing, she read over the bright, breezy letter, frowning. It said nothing about what was really going on, nothing about how she really felt; and she knew it. But maybe the light approach would keep him interested. Maybe he'd answer this time.

When the phone rang after breakfast the following morning, Beth rushed to answer. Though she hoped it would be Ray, she knew by now it was more likely to be Monica. The voice in her ear, however, introduced its owner as Bernard Clements, and he was asking for Hannah. Beth hung around the phone while her mother spoke to him, voice excited, tense face momentarily at ease. When Hannah finally hung up, she turned to Beth.

"Nosy!"

"I thought it was going to be Monica. What did he want?"

"To see me again. To meet all of us, actually—and to take us into Philly today for a tour of the historic district." Hannah's eyes were happy. "God, it's been such a long time! I haven't seen him since I was seventeen. We dated for a while, but then..." Her voice trailed off, but Beth could fill in the missing half of the sentence.

"But then you fell in love with Clifton Becker, right?"

"And to think he has a daughter your age! I can't believe it." Her laugh sounded young. "So, do you want to come with us? He's invited everyone."

"Of course I'm coming," said Beth. Any reason to leave the house was a ray of sunlight in the dark, grim summer. She went upstairs to put on a pale green sundress and was ready in twenty minutes, complete with camera and guidebook.

Grandad certainly couldn't make the trip into Philadelphia, and Grandmother announced she would stay home with him and Romps. "You'd have to get a wheelchair for me, too, after twenty minutes in this heat," she said. "Besides, this is my baking day."

Hannah was in such a buoyant mood, she even asked her sister to come along. Beth and Tom were relieved when Aunt Iris shook her head and snapped, "Forget it, Hanny Lynn. Definitely not! You know how it is for me."

Beth didn't know at all how it was for her aunt, but decided she didn't really want to know. As Beth, Tom, and Hannah waited for Bernard and Monica to arrive, Aunt Iris passed them to climb the stairs awkwardly, carrying a bottle of beer. Beth grimaced and whispered to Tom. "Beer for breakfast!"

"She'll be drunk before we get into town," he predicted. "What did that Clifton Becker ever see in her in the first place? No wonder he liked Mom better!"

"Sometimes I can't help feeling sorry for her," whispered Beth, following him out to the porch. "You should get her to show you the photo she has of when she was engaged to Clifton. She was gorgeous. You'd never recognize her."

"Hmm," was all he said, and then the Clementses' car pulled into the driveway. Tom ran down the porch steps to say hello, and Beth was just about to follow when Aunt Iris's hoarse voice through the screen door called her back.

"Elisabeth?" Aunt Iris stood inside on the stairway.

"What is it?" Beth opened the screen door and looked in.

"Have a good time." Aunt Iris leaned over the banister, trying to peer out onto the porch without being seen herself. Her gray hair lay in damp wisps against her forehead, and her lips looked chapped. Beth longed suddenly to rub some cream onto them, to comb that straggly hair back into a neat wave. She felt filled with pity for the figure that was her strange aunt and yet was, unbelievably, the same person who had painted the vibrant Notfilc picture.

Impulsively, she smiled up at her aunt. "Wouldn't you like to come with us after all? I'm sure there's room. I'd really like you to come." Maybe Aunt Iris would improve if they could get her away from the scene of her tragedy. Maybe she'd be totally different away from the house.

But Aunt Iris drew back in alarm, her thin fingers tight on the banister. "Oh, no!"

"We can walk around together," pressed Beth. "I've never seen the Liberty Bell, Aunt Iris! How long has it been since you've seen it?"

Aunt Iris began backing up the stairs, her eyes glittering. Could it be tears that made her eyes so bright?

"Please come," Beth urged one more time. "I'll stay with you the whole time. We'll be together!"

Then the tears Beth thought she'd seen in Aunt Iris's eyes were gone, and so was the quavering voice. "No!" shouted Aunt Iris. "I wouldn't be caught dead out in public with that snake of a sister of mine. I warn you, Elisabeth—watch out for your mother. You can't be too careful, you know!"

Why had she ever thought for a minute that Aunt Iris wanted to come with them? Why had she imagined she'd seen pain in her eyes—when clearly there was only malice? Beth pressed her lips together and turned to go.

"You watch out! Just watch out that Hanny Lynn doesn't—doesn't
do
anything. You know. Shove Bernard under a bus or something."

Beth drew in a shocked breath, then blew it out angrily. "Thanks for the warning." She turned on her heel and bolted out onto the porch, then down into the driveway. It was all just fine to feel sorry for Aunt Iris with her limp and her ruined wedding plans and her lost talent, but really. Beth's face was flushed as she joined her mother, Tom, and Monica and met Bernard Clements.

Monica's father shook her hand vigorously, pumping it many times before letting go. "I'm Bernard," he said. "Wonderful to meet you! Ready to go?" He opened the car door. "I call the front seat with beautiful Hanny Lynn! You infants get the backseat. Life's tough, huh? But Hanny and I have a lot of catching up to do."

Bernard was tall and slender, with dark, unruly hair tumbling over his forehead into his eyes. Beth watched the way he walked to the driver's side of the car, liking the loose-limbed gait, the almost clownlike shamble. She looked at Monica, who raised her eyebrows as if to say: "Parents! What can you do?" And Beth was surprised, because she thought Bernard seemed nicely funny, not embarrassingly funny.

"Where's your mother? Didn't she want to come?" Tom asked Monica.

"My parents are divorced. I was born here in Philly, but I grew up with my mom in Ohio—then I moved back here last semester to live with my dad." She fingered an ornate, dangly earring. "What about you guys? Are your parents divorced, too?"

Tom climbed over Beth into the backseat, wedging her firmly against the window as he settled himself between her and Monica. "No. Our dad died in a car crash when we were really little."

"Oh, that's a shame," Monica said. After a moment she continued. "I hardly know anyone who has a simple, straightforward, old-fashioned nuclear family anymore. You know—mom and dad and two kids. House in the suburbs, two cars, a dog. Dad works, mom stays home with the kids and makes apple pies. Everybody happy."

Beth shrugged. "I wonder if that kind of family ever really existed. Everybody happy, I mean. Sometimes things look happy on the outside, but they're a mess inside." Then she wondered exactly what she meant by that.

Up in the front seat Hannah and Bernard had their heads together, laughing about something, as the car sped onto the highway. Bernard drove fast, too fast, Beth thought. But at least he didn't have a Lite Rock tape playing. They barreled along to Mozart. They whizzed across the Schuylkill River and soon turned off at the exit marked "Historic District."

"Look to your left as we go by this little street," Bernard called back to them. "This is Elfreth's Alley—a preserved colonial street. You should see it at Christmas, when the whole lane is decorated and the people give house tours of their eighteenth-century homes. Fantastic!"

Monica, Beth noted, had to lean onto Tom's lap in order to see out the window. She noted, too, that Tom did not mind in the least.

They parked in a garage near the visitors' center and walked the short distance to that modern building. Inside they were given maps of the walking tours and directed up the long ramp that led to the theater. There they sat down on hard benches just as the lights were dimming for the documentary film
Independence!

Beth tried to concentrate. Thomas Jefferson was writing the Declaration of Independence. On Beth's left side, Tom was leaning against Monica's arm. Beth reached out and pinched him. "Cut it out, Valentino," she hissed. "Remember: computers are your first love."

"What's a computer?" he whispered back.

On Beth's right side, Hannah was leaning against Bernard Clements, and he had his arm around her shoulders. Was anyone watching the educational film? It seemed she sat alone, a single island in a sea of suddenly amorous couples. A wave of longing for Ray splashed up on her shores.

After the film Beth trailed behind the two couples as they walked out into the heat and crossed the street to Carpenters' Hall, site of the first meeting of Congress. Bernard and Hannah climbed the steps and entered Carpenters' Hall without a backward glance. Monica laughed. "What do you make of this new development?"

"Which development?" Beth held the door open for the other two.

Tom grabbed her arm. "Holmes! Aren't your eyes open? This is high drama!"

"I'm surrounded by high drama," said Beth. "But if you're talking about Mom and Bernard, I've noticed. Mom was nearly on Bernard's lap during that patriotic film."

"What film?" asked Tom innocently.

"'That among these rights are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness,'" intoned Monica. "I think that's Pursuit of Happiness we're witnessing."

Tom laughed. "Part of the American experience—history in the making. Right before our very eyes!"

It was nice that Tom could laugh; he had been so miserable lately. Beth just wished she could feel like laughing, too. She walked on into the high-ceilinged room. She followed her mother and Bernard, peering into the glass-topped display tables of colonial memorabilia and documents.

Then Tom was at her shoulder again. "Holmes, here's our next step—plain as day," he whispered. "We ask Bernard about Mom when they were dating and about what happened with Clifton."

"I think Bernard is busy just now, Mac."

"I didn't mean now. We'll talk to him some other time when we can get him alone."

"Yeah, but he's not going to know whether she pushed Clifton Becker or not. He wasn't there that night."

"But he knew Mom really well! He'll know she couldn't have done it."

"He won't have any proof. But I suppose he'll be a good character witness."

"You make it sound as if this is a trial," he objected.

Beth glanced at Hannah and Bernard. They were standing at the door talking, totally engrossed in each other. Bernard had a big silly grin on his face as he bent attentively over Hannah, who was laughing up at him. Beth couldn't remember seeing her mother look so carefree and, yes, young in ages. "Okay, not a trial. An inquiry," she said.

They moved on to the Liberty Bell in its pavilion, then stopped for lunch. Beth feasted on a mammoth cheesesteak sandwich dripping with juice, a salad, and a slice of cherry cheesecake for dessert and found all thought of Spring Street receding as she chatted with Tom and Monica. Hannah and Bernard giggled together at the next table over a shared sandwich, then hurried off to wander around the little shops in the Bourse, arms linked.