The Glass House People (16 page)

"Were you her first boyfriend?" asked Beth.

Bernard smiled at her. "I think so. Hasn't she told you about the beginning of our romance?" When Beth and Tom shook their heads, he sighed. "Funny, that was. And funny in a different way that she never told you about it. It's one of my favorite stories. I'm sure I've bored Monica with it a dozen times. Picture this: two kids—I was seventeen and she was sixteen. I'd been madly in love with her for a few years and finally asked her during study hall whether she'd go see a movie with me. She looked a bit surprised; I think it was because we'd always been just friends as far as she was concerned. But she hadn't ever been out on a real date, and so she begged her dad and he finally said we could go—this was only after we promised we'd come straight home after the movie. He assumed we'd go to the Waverley. After all, it's right here. But I borrowed my uncle's car—my dad was a salesman and always on the road, so my mom and I lived here over the shop with my dad's brother. Mom helped him run the business, and I helped after school and on weekends. Anyway, I convinced him to let me take his old Chevy, and Hanny and I spun down Penn's Pike doing eighty. Idiotic, of course—what a show-off! I blew a tire after we'd gone only about a mile, down by the doughnut place. And since I didn't want to have to call Uncle Stan, we changed it right there in the parking lot. I was totally inept about such things—still am, actually, though I drive a little slower now."

Not much,
thought Beth, but remained silent, smiling at him encouragingly. So far he hadn't told them anything pertinent to Clifton Becker's death, but she thought if they were clever, she and Tom could work his reminiscences around to that time.

Bernard's big laugh boomed out. "So there was poor Hanny Lynn in her lacy, first-date sundress, down there under the car with the spare and the jack, while I stood by and spoke encouragingly. I had no idea how to change a tire! But Hanny Lynn—she was capable. Both her parents were no-nonsense types. You know, firm believers in getting things done, keeping things fixed, knowing how to repair what needed mending." He glanced around his living room. "I'm afraid I've never been one for repair work—not even basic maintenance."

"So Mom fixed the tire," Tom prodded him. "Then what? Did you see the movie?"

"Never made it to the movie. It had already started. Hanny and I just bought a big bag of doughnuts and drove to the park."

"Did your uncle ever find out about the tire?" asked Beth.

"Eventually—the next time
he
blew a tire. I'd forgotten to replace the spare. And then—man, was I in trouble. But that had nothing to do with Hanny Lynn. Uncle Stan didn't have his flat for about another year—and by then Hanny had—" He broke off.

Aha,
thought Beth. "What had she done?" she pressed.

Bernard flexed his big, bony hands. "Ah, she'd ditched me by then. That Hanny Lynn. I never could figure her out."

"What, she just broke up with you and never even said why?"

"Oh, she gave a reason all right, but I didn't buy it. Didn't then and don't now." He looked pensively at the piles of laundry by the windows. "We'd been together about a year. Then suddenly she said she had been seeing someone else, an older man. That was ridiculous, of course. An out-and-out lie. I would have known about it if she'd been dating some other guy. We spent so much time together. When she wasn't out with me, she was at home—her dad saw to that!"

Aha.
Didn't he see what he was saying? But Beth didn't want to be the one to break it to Bernard at this late date that there
had,
in fact, been someone else. An older man. And right in the same house with Hanny Lynn all the time.

There was a long pause, then Tom cleared his throat. "So you think she was just making it up?"

"Oh, absolutely. She made it up to spare my feelings. It was all Hanny Lynn could manage to get permission to see
me
as often as she did. She'd never have been allowed out on dates with some older guy." Bernard sighed. "It's just that your mom was a kind-hearted girl. She'd rather leave me feeling jealous than hurt me with the fact that she found me boring, or funny-looking, or obnoxious. I'm sure I was all three. Probably still am." He made an attempt to smile again and said brightly, "But time heals all wounds, right? Didn't Ben Franklin say that? He might have."

Beth finished her lemonade and set the glass on the floor. She wanted to phrase her question with care, didn't want to hurt Bernard any more than Hannah already had. But she needed some details. "Um, did you ever ask Mom, you know, to describe this older man? Had she been seeing him for a long time?"

He shook his head. "Look, the breakup happened very quickly. I'd phoned to ask if she wanted to go for a walk—see, sometimes we'd just walk for hours, talking. She wasn't allowed to entertain at her house much, and we had no room here. She said she was supposed to go shopping with her mother and Iris, or something, but I convinced her I needed her more than they did. So she came and was really quiet the whole time we were walking. I jabbered on about God-knows-what, and then she told me. Let me tell you—it was the shock of my life. In my mind we were already married with three kids." He smiled ruefully. "You two and Monica, I guess!" He ruffled his big hands through his already-mussed hair.

"I didn't give up easily, though! I persisted, made a pest of myself. But whenever I came over, she was always home. She kept refusing to see me, but she was there in the house all right—not out with any old 'Tall, Dark, and Handsome.' She wouldn't come to the door and just told her mother to say she was busy. So eventually—well, even with a head as hard as mine, it sinks in after a while." His voice trailed off.

Beth felt sorry for him; he looked so sad—just like old Romps when she showed him the box of dog treats was empty. She tried to imagine how she'd feel if Ray suddenly got sick of the age difference between them and opted for an older woman. She pushed the thought hastily away. Their case was totally different.

"That's a sad story," she murmured.

"Strange to think it would have been comforting, in the end, if she really had fallen in love with someone else, isn't it?" Bernard smiled again, the sad eyes gone. "As much as he hates it, it's easier for a boy to think he's being ditched for some worldly, mature man than to think his girl just couldn't stand the sight of him anymore. That she'd prefer to stay home alone rather than be with him. But look, enough of all this old stuff. What's it got to do with now? Are you wondering whether I'm going to try to start things up again with your mom? I can tell you right now, the answer is yes!"

"Oh, we don't mind at all," Beth said quickly. But she worried for a second he would be hurt again. Surely the new Hannah would not let a man from the past she'd run away from stand in the way of her plans for college and her new life as a "together" person.

Tom cleared his throat. "I guess we were mostly interested in this older man."

"There was no older man. I told you—it was all in her head. Made up to soften the blow for me, you know? Hanny Lynn was always a sweet one at heart."

Beth felt sorry for him again. "But maybe—" she began. "Maybe there really was somebody! I mean, maybe she loved you but was just sort of
infatuated
with this older guy." Tom shot her a warning glance, but she ignored him. They had to work Clifton Becker's name into this conversation somehow. It was supposed to be an interview, after all. "Maybe Mom was in love with that guy who was going to marry Aunt Iris!"

But Bernard was chuckling. "No, no, Beth, that's just plain ridiculous. I'm sorry, but that fiancé—Clifford something—he was wild about your Aunt Iris. Never any doubt about that. He and Iris would come to the shop often for a soda or a snack after a movie. I remember seeing them. And, of course, before Hanny Lynn chucked me out on my ear, I was over on their porch a lot, and Iris and that guy were out there, too. You only had to see them together. You could see in their eyes how much they loved each other. It was a real shock when he died. All I could think when I first heard the news was how shattered Iris would be. They looked like such a perfect couple. In fact, I used to spin a lot of fantasies after seeing them together—daydreams of how in a few years Hanny and I would be planning a wedding just like theirs.... No, kids, never think for a minute that Clifford was Mr. Mystery Man. It's true he was older—but I'd be surprised if he even noticed Hanny Lynn was living in the same house!"

"You know how he died, of course," said Beth.

"Fell down the stairs, poor guy." Bernard shook his head. "That was a real tragedy, and Iris has never gotten over it, I hear."

"Aunt Iris accused Mom of pushing Clifton Becker down the stairs—of wanting to kill him!" Tom burst out. "Did you know that?"

If Tom had been trying for shock value, his revelation didn't succeed. Far from looking shocked, Bernard merely looked sad. "Yes, I'd heard that one. But it doesn't surprise me. Iris and Hanny Lynn never did get along. It figures that Iris would try to blame her unhappiness on someone else, and why not on Hanny? Poor Hanny! That old pattern was set up when they were both little kids. I always thought their mother encouraged the gulf between the girls."

"But why would Grandmother want to do that?" asked Beth.

"Most mothers try hard to make their kids get along, right? But your grandmother seemed to have a different mentality. I always thought of it as 'Divide and Conquer.' You know—get the girls fighting, play one against the other, and thereby keep control of both. And boy, let me tell you, strict as your grandfather was about dating, your grandmother was the control sergeant around that house. It was her way—or no way!" He stopped suddenly, looking uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, kids. I shouldn't talk about your grandmother like this. It's just that she often seemed to be standing in the way when Hanny Lynn and I wanted some time together. Hanny couldn't go sit on the porch until she'd eaten dinner, done her homework, washed the dishes, watered the plants, sorted the laundry—anything, it seemed to me, to keep her from me!" He turned up his palms and looked sheepish. "Or maybe I'm remembering wrong."

"Never mind," said Beth. "We asked you and you told us what you think. I've noticed it, too—Grandmother likes to be in control. You haven't insulted us or anything."

Tom had been sitting quietly, his head bent over his lemonade glass. Now, abruptly, he set his glass down on a pile of newspapers and stood up.

"Thanks for talking to us. We've got to get home now." He started for the door.

Beth rose to her feet. What was with him?

"We should get together for a meal soon," said Bernard, accompanying them to the door. "Get the families together." Beth agreed that would be fun and suggested that he and Monica plan to come for dinner the following Sunday. She'd clear it with Hannah when she got home. Having other people besides family in the house on Spring Street would come as a breath of fresh air.

Tom had his hand on her arm a little too tightly—a warning?—and was saying good-bye to Bernard in an unnatural, strained voice. Beth waved to Bernard as she and Tom descended the steep steps to the shop.

Monica was busy serving a young mother with two small boys demanding chocolate and gumdrops. Beth expected Tom would want to linger a moment, but his hand was still tight on her arm, steering her toward the door.

In the street she pulled out of his grip. "No need to break my arm!"

He looked about to burst. "Beth! Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Oh, Beth—now we know who did it!"

Beth's eyes widened. "Who? What do you mean?"

"Weren't you listening? It was Grandmother! I'm sure of it! Not Mom at all!"

"I think you're having a heatstroke."

He practically dragged her down the sidewalk, away from the candy shop, and stopped by the bench at a bus stop. He sat and pulled her down next to him.

"Listen to me. This really could be it. He said Grandmother is a controlling person. You heard it yourself, right? And she loves Aunt Iris more than anything. Right? She wanted Aunt Iris to marry Clifton. And so she must have been totally furious when she found out that Clifton really loved Mom. Furious enough to kill him for hurting her beloved Iris!"

Beth considered this. "You could be right." Tom wanted so badly for Hannah to be innocent, he was ready to grasp at any straw. Still, what he said
was
possible. Grandmother had been on the landing that night. It
could
have happened that way.

She looked at Tom as they walked. His face was grim, but she felt the air lightening around him. He was happy to think Grandmother was guilty, and his sense of relief at this new possibility was tangible. It solved a lot of questions. It really did make sense. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more it seemed to Beth that Grandmother must have pushed Clifton—just as Tom suspected. Grandmother had a hard look around the eyes, after all. The hard look of a guilty woman.

Beth lay across her bed that same afternoon and wrote another letter to Ray. The house was hot and quiet. The fan on the radiator whirred on high. Outside she heard the spurt of the hose as Hannah watered the flowers in the yard. Grandad was taking his afternoon nap. Grandmother was down in the kitchen watching her soap opera.

Dear Ray,

It used to be just Aunt Iris, but now Grandmother gives me the creeps, too. I've come upstairs to escape because I can feel her everywhere else in the house. Wherever she is, I know she's thinking about Tom and me and Mom, and I don't get good vibes. I bet she wishes we'd never come. She's got Tom out on the porch topping and tailing the green beans for dinner now—even though she says she doesn't like males in the kitchen. Apparently they can do kitchen work just fine in other places. Tom wanted me to sit out there and help him—but I have to admit Tom's getting on my nerves now, too. He's always going on about Monica and how great she is and how wretched that we live in California, three thousand miles away from her. They've taken Romps on a million walks together these past few days—and left me sitting with a book on the porch. Okay, you get the feeling I'm in a bad mood? Well, you got it.

So—no help with the beans. What a mean sister! Maybe my sense of humor is shrinking away like the rest of me. It's mammoth meal upon mammoth meal around here, and yet I'm losing weight because whenever I sit at the table
with Grandmother and Aunt Iris my stomach just tightens up. I come up to my lumpy bed in the world-famous Lodge for a little privacy, but even writing long letters to you can't shake me out of this mood. Maybe the fact that you're not such a great correspondent has something to do with it. And what's with the answering machine? You used to change the message every few days—and yet every time I call, you've got the same recording. I think you could at least give me a call. I mean, really, Ray. And I know you don't like to write, but I was hoping for at least a postcard or two—if only to keep me sane!