Secrets in the Shadows (12 page)

"Sorry, you're never going to walk right again. You'll always have this awkward gait, this pronounced limp."

Hours and hours, days and days, weeks and weeks of therapy did little to change it. I was able to move faster afterward, but not eliminate the limp. I thought it made me look like an old lady suffering from arthritis, especially if anyone was looking at me from behind. Almost as an act of acceptance or, rather, an act of retreat, I returned to wearing the clothing I had worn before my seemingly overnight remaking. To my way of thinking, the so-called Granny Clothes my fellow students accused me of wearing were more appropriate for me now.

I know all this further depressed my
grandparents, especially my grandfather. They saw it all to be a great setback, one disappointment piled upon another until the entire foundation for our family would collapse.

I knew that my grandmother blamed my grandfather somewhat for all that had occurred. I overheard them arguing about it one night. She accused him of pushing me too fast perhaps or being too permissive. I didn't know until 1 had overheard their conversation that she had wanted him to convince me to not go to the prom since Craig's parents were so against it.

"It was doomed from the start," she said. "That family was so divided, the poor boy couldn't enjoy himself no matter what he did, and Alice got caught in between. Think of where she'd be today if she hadn't gone. And perhaps that boy would still be alive, too."

I didn't think that was fair. My grandfather was no fortune-teller, and she wasn't totally free of blame either. She had encouraged rue to become social, too. It all made me think that I really was the center of unhappiness in this house. I concluded that no matter what I did, it would always leave a dark, depressing mark on the heart of things. I imagined waking up one morning and finding the words
Doomed for Disaster
imprinted on my forehead, a different kind of mark of Cain, but one as infamous and devastating,
nevertheless.

During these days and weeks, my grandfather appeared so defeated to me. He walked with more of a stoop, something I had never seen him do, and he was far less talkative, no longer excited about bringing home his legal war stories. Our dinners together became pantomimes, with the only sounds being the clink of dishes and glasses and silverware.

"Aren't you ever going back to your art?" my grandfather asked me one night.
I had taken to spending hours and hours lying on the sofa watching television, soaking myself in someone else's make-believe. Like some elderly lady confined to her small world, I escaped only through the famous boob tube.
"I don't know," I said.
"You haven't been up in the studio since you've come back from the hospital?"
"No. Between going to therapy and resting, I haven't had the time or the desire," I told him.
"Your art could become better therapy," he suggested.
I looked at him. He was so desperate for a glimmer of happiness again, especially for me.
"To tell you the truth, Grandpa, I'm afraid of my art now," I said. I had to tell someone about this new fear, and he was the best one to tell.
"What?" He looked toward the door to be sure my grandmother wasn't hearing this conversation. "Why would you say such a thing?"
"I'm afraid of what I would draw, paint, what would come out of me right now."
"Well, maybe that's a good thing, a good way to get it out of you, Alice. Consider that," he said.
"Like the kind of art therapy mentally disturbed people do in clinics, like what my mother is probably doing?" I asked. It was mean, but I couldn't help it.
He didn't flinch. "If it works for them, it might work for you. You've got to get back out in the world. It's like falling off a bike, Alice. If you don't get right back on, you might not ride again."
"What of it? Where am I going?" I muttered. "Who else cares, anyway?"
"I wish you wouldn't think like that. You have to stop blaming yourself for things. And," he added, lean ing toward me, his eyes almost flaming with the passion of his inner fury, "you've got to stop thinking you bring only bad luck to people. Don't tell me you don't, and don't let anyone ever convince you that you are."
I didn't want to say anything more about it. I especially didn't want to argue with him I hated hurting him more than I hated hurting myself. It was better to be silent, to refer to that all-around perfect way out, the perfect word, the key to escape.
"Okay," I said.
He sat back and another day passed.
And another night. And another week, until finally, I was confident enough with my walking to go out, to take walks on the road, especially our road, a road with little traffic and people watching. In my own way I helped myself grow stronger until, one afternoon, I finally went up to the attic. It was truly like opening the door to another world, the famous escape to Wonderland my grandmother had ironically once hoped I would find.
There waiting for me was the picture of my mother at the window that I had started months ago now. I was drawn back to it to finish it. However, when I had done so and my grandfather, happy I had returned to my art, came upstairs the following Saturday morning to look at it, I knew I had driven a stake of deep sadness into his heart.
It was no longer my mother who was looking out the window, dreaming of escape.
It was pretty clearly I who stood there with that great need and desire. He wasn't going to recommend anyone else, least of all my grandmother, see the picture. He uttered a few words of praise and then said, "Zipporah's arriving any moment. Come down soon."
He left. My aunt Zipporah was coming to see how I was doing and have lunch with us. She had tried to visit as much as she could, but the summer was beginning and with it all the new preparations for the cafe. I expected her to push for my going there to work and get my mind off the accident.
I sat on the sofa and remembered that first afternoon with Craig, those moments when I had almost given myself to him in order to answer the questions I had about my own craving, intimate needs. I had been created up in this attic, maybe on the sofa that had been here then. It seemed not only
appropriate but also necessary for me to find the doorway to my own sexual identity and maturity here as well. In my heart of hearts, I believed it was almost something predestined.
For Aunt Zipporah and my mother, the sofa had been a sort of gateway, a place to find their escape. It gave them pictures, dreams, places, maybe even answers. Suddenly, as I sat there, it did so for me as well. It truly came like a revelation, a plan of action delivered from some spiritual energy or power I could connect with only up in the attic. I rose quickly and went downstairs, finally enthusiastic about something.
Aunt Zipporah arrived about twenty minutes later, gushing with exuberance, energy, happiness and excitement as always, but perhaps a little more so every time she came to the Doral House now. It was as if the three of us, my grandparents and I, were starving for joy and she was bringing us a Red Cross package full of delight and jubilation. I saw the way my grandmother fed off her cheerful laughter and smiles.
I could almost feel the transfusion of sunshine driving away the dark clouds, clouds I had brought.
She talked incessantly, refusing to permit any long moments of silence among us, filling them quickly with stories about the cafe, Tyler's new recipes, the characters who came in and the way the small city was preparing for the upcoming new college year. She had handicraft gifts from the artisans, jewelry, needlework, carved wooden figures, a bag of surprises with a story attached to almost everything.
The looks of joy and amusement I saw on my grandparents' faces convinced me that what I had envisioned upstairs in the attic while I sat on the sofa was right. I quickly decided that as soon as I had a chance to be alone with my aunt Zipporah, I would propose it. When she wanted to take a walk with me, I immediately agreed, because it would give me the opportunity to tell her my idea. I was afraid my grandfather would want to come along, but he saw us leaving as his opportunity to make some important phone calls, and my grandmother was preparing our lunch.
"You're walking so much better, I see," Aunt Zipporah told me as we started down the driveway. "No pain?"
"No, but I hate my limp. It makes me feel as if one leg is shorter than the other now."
"It's hardly noticeable."
"To the blind," I said, and she laughed.
"You never permit anyone to rationalize. You're
more like your grandmother than you realize." "Which is why I wanted to take this walk with you."
"I don't understand. What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.
"We should all face up to the truth, and the truth, Aunt Zipporah, is I really have never been a source of any happiness for Grandma and Grandpa," I began.
Of course, Aunt Zipporah tried to convince me otherwise. She had the verbal energy I dreamed of having. Immediately, she came at me with a barrage of arguments against my statement, describing the pleasure they took in my art, my good schoolwork, and simply my growing up under their protective wings.
"You made them feel young again when you gave them another bite of the apple," she concluded.
"Right now," I said calmly, "that's a bite of the forbidden fruit, Aunt Zipporah."
"What? Why, that's--"
"I'd like to do more than just go back with you and start working at the restaurant for the summer." "More?"
"I'd like to come live with you," I blurted.
She stopped walking, finally speechless for a moment. Then she smiled and said, "Well, you are. You're coming for the summer, Alice."
"No. I want to register for school there and finish my senior year there. I don't want to return to this school, and I don't want to live in this town anymore. I can't."
"But . ."
"If you don't want me, I'd understand," I said.
"Oh no, Alice. That's not it. Why, if I didn't want you, would I have you there for the summer?"
"This is different. It's longer, and Grandpa will be the first to warn you that you'll be responsible for me, my legal guardian or something. Maybe Tyler wouldn't want that. I wouldn't blame him. Who wants to be responsible for me?"
"Tyler? Tyler loves you. He's constantly inquiring after you. No, of course not. I just .. ."
"What?"
"I just don't know how Mom and Dad would take that, Alice. Right now, especially after all that happened, they might think you don't love them anymore or they've somehow failed you."
"It's just the other way around. I've failed them and will continue to fail them as long as I'm here. It's not their fault. It's not anyone's fault. It just is."
She nodded but still looked very troubled. We continued walking.
"Maybe you should just do as you've done, come for the summer and see how it goes. You might not want to stay much longer than that and--"
"I don't mean this as a threat, Aunt Zipporah, so please don't take it that way," I said interrupting, "but if I don't move away for my last high school year, I'll run away. Just like my mother," I added, and her eyes widened.
She shook her head. "Your mother never ran away, Alice. That's all a ruse."
"She came here to hide. That was the same thing, and both of you used to run away up in the attic."
"That was only two silly girls pretending."
"No. For my mother it wasn't pretending, just as it's not for me. I'm determined about this, Aunt Zipporah. You don't know, can't know, how I feel and how it will be for me returning to that school. I hate the idea of merely going into the village and facing people, especially with all that's been said about me and still being said about me."
She nodded. "I wouldn't tell your grandmother all that exactly as you're stating it, Alice. If she knew exactly how you feel about this town, the people, she'd go after Mrs. Harrison with a meat cleaver."
"She knows. I don't have to spell it out for her, Aunt Zipporah. All that hangs in the air in this house. You don't live here and experience it as I do. It's so thick that you can feel it. It's not the Doral House anymore. It's the Gloom and Doom House."
We walked in silence again while she thought. "Okay," she said finally. "But let me be the one who brings it up first. In fact," she added, "let me pretend it was my idea from the start and I just told you out here while we were walking."
"No," I said a little too sharply. She stopped and winced.
"What? Why not?"
"I'm sorry, Aunt Zipporah, but I don't want to contribute to any lies or deception anymore in my life, no matter how small they seem to be. They're like cancer cells that eventually grow bigger and poison your body."
She smiled and raised her eyebrows.
"Maybe you're right," she said. "But there is such a thing as a little white lie, Alice, an attempt to keep someone you love or care about from suffering or feeling badly."
"In the end we're all better off with cold, hard truth. Maybe that would have been better for my mother."
"Your mother's situation was too complicated for any easy answers," she said. She paused and looked back at the house. "When do you want to talk about this with Grandpa and Grandma, Alice?"
"Before I do, are you absolutely sure it would be all right with you and Tyler?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Then right now," I said. "There's no point in putting it off until the last possible moment and springing it on them."
"How did you get so wise?"
"I'm not very wise," I said.
"You're wiser than I was at your age."
I looked back at the house. How could I tell her, explain that whatever insight I had came to me mysteriously up in the attic? She would surely think I was weirder than she could imagine, I thought. And then I thought maybe she won't. Maybe she once believed in the magic of the Doral House attic, too. I decided for now, however, to keep that secret to myself. I didn't want her to have any reason to fear my coming to live with her and Tyler.
I started back toward the house. She followed with her arms folded under her breasts, her head down. She looked very nervous, even a little afraid. It occurred to me that Aunt Zipporah might have rushed to move away for the very reasons I had. Her sense of guilt for contributing to what finally happened with my mother and its impact on her parents left her forever scarred and ashamed. Once, when I asked her why she had done it, why she had kept such a secret from her own parents, she thought a moment and said, "Misplaced loyalties. I should have had more faith in my parents."
I never forgot that, and now, recalling it again, it seemed even more appropriate that I should be with her, the two of us away from the people we loved the most and could hurt the most, both she and I now emotional refugees fleeing our own self-made wars.
Grandma had a nice lunch set out for us. All the ingredients and condiments for a variety of sandwiches were placed on the kitchen counter. I saw my grandfather chafing at the bit.
"I'm starving," he cried. "Where were you two? C'mon."
We all fixed our platters, then went into the dining room. I decided to let everyone get into their food first, and then, just before my grandmother started to talk about dessert, I folded my hands in front of me and said, "I would like to discuss something."
My grandparents looked at each other and then at Aunt Zipporah, who shifted her eyes quickly in a vain attempt to look completely innocent.
"What is it, Alice?" my grandfather asked.
"I'd like to move to New Paltz and live with Aunt Zipporah and Uncle Tyler for my last high school year," I said. "I'll help out in the cafe as much as they want me to help."
"You mean move out of our house
completely?" my grandmother asked.
"For the year," I said, nodding. I paused a moment, then added, "Maybe I'll go to college there, too."
The silence that fell around and about us was more like a rainfall of ashes from a great fire. It was the sort of silence and experience that steals away your heart for a moment and leaves you speechless.
"You want to leave us then?" my grandmother finally asked.
"Not you. I'm not going to be happy at my school here, Grandma. Grandpa knows that. He wouldn't have worked so hard to get me out of having to attend the last few weeks, and he made it possible for me to take my exams separately. Nothing is going to change dramatically over the summer."
She looked at my grandfather. He nodded slowly, then turned to Aunt Zipporah and did exactly what I told her he would.
"Are you for this, Zipporah?"
"If you two are. I have no problem with it. Neither will Tyler, I'm sure."
"You realize it means you'll have to take on the guardian responsibilities?"
"Yes, Dad. That doesn't worry me, won't worry us, but you two have to be in full agreement, otherwise--"
"Are you sure your heart is set on this, Alice?" my grandmother asked me. "Set on moving out?"
"I don't want to leave you two. I want to leave this town, this community. I'd like to have a fresh start."