Sleeping Beauty (28 page)

“A little like the grand inquisitor,” she said to Anne as she hung up. “He's in Chicago. Everyone wonders where you are.”

“I'm sorry you had to lie for me, but thank you,” Anne said. “But why Keith? He doesn't even know me. What does he care whether I'm here or not?”

“I don't know; it's peculiar. Maybe he was calling for Daddy, or Marian, or any of them.”

“Is Keith their errand boy?”

“Not so far as I know. I suppose they could be uncomfortable.”

“Well, we certainly don't want them to be uncomfortable,” Anne said dryly.

“Hi!” The screen door slammed. “Is lunch ready?”

“Jeez, Rob, you could say hello.” Ned Calder pushed past his sister and came into the kitchen. “Good morning, Aunt Anne. Did you sleep well?”

“Oh, gross,” Robin groaned. “You're just showing off. You
never
talk like that, and you're the one who's always stuffing your face, not me!” She elbowed him aside. “Can I sit next to you at lunch, Aunt Anne?”

“Of course,” Anne said. She was smiling. “But I'd like to be with both of you. Would it be all right if I sit in the middle?”

“You already did that on the plane,” Ned said. “You have to be one-on-one with people to really get to know them.”

“That's probably true,” said Anne gravely.

“Ned, where in heaven's name did you get that?” Gail asked.

“From me, I guess.” Leo came into the room and put his arm around Gail. “I was talking to Tim Warren about that damned cleanup the EPA wants to do, and I said if we could just get them one-on-one we might be able to make them listen to us, and Ned picked it up.”

Anne watched Gail and Leo, close together, their children with them, in the solid comfort of their house, and felt a sharp pang of longing.
But I don't want this; I made that
decision a long time ago. I'm happy for them, but I want a different life. I've worked so hard for what I have, and it's exactly what I want
.

“So where
are
you sitting at lunch?” Ned demanded.

“In the middle,” Anne replied. “That's usually where a lawyer is.”

“I thought lawyers were on somebody's side. In court with judges and everything.”

“They are, but they try to bring both sides together, too.” It occurred to Anne that she had no idea how to talk to children. “I like to sit between you, Ned. It's fun. And then, afterward, would you show me around? This used to be my favorite place, but I haven't been here for such a long time.”

“Show you around where?” Ned asked.

“Special places. Magical places where you like to go.”

“You mean places I don't tell anybody about?”

“Maybe. Do you have any?”

“Yeah, a couple. I can take you there.”

“Me, too,” said Robin. “Take me, too.”

“They wouldn't be secret then.”

“They won't be secret if you take Aunt Anne.”

“Well, but . . .”

There was a brief silence. “What do you think, Ned?” Anne asked. “If you let one person share your secret, does it change very much if you share with one more?”

Ned looked confused. “It's different if it's just one person. If you told everybody, you wouldn't have anything left. I'll bet you don't tell
anybody
your secrets, Aunt Anne. I bet you'd rather die and be quartered and drawn than spill them.”

A small laugh broke from Anne. “I think you mean ‘drawn and quartered.' And you're right; I do have secrets that I don't tell anyone. Everybody does. It's up to you, Ned; you can have secrets with a few special people, or you can keep them absolutely to yourself. I think secrets are really important; they're a big part of who we are and what we are, and telling them to someone is like letting that person come inside us. That's a big decision.”

“Yeah,” Ned said uncertainly. “Well, it's okay, I guess. I
mean”—he shrugged and looked at Robin—“you can come. You're okay. Just don't tell anybody.”

“Thanks,” Robin said, beaming. “But what are
we
going to do?” she asked Anne. “Just us, I mean?”

The telephone rang and Gail answered it. “No, I don't. She didn't tell me. I will, if she calls. . . . No, she didn't say she would; I'm sure she will if she wants to see any of us.”

Leo watched her as she hung up. “Your father?”

She smiled faintly. “You can always tell, can't you?”

“Your voice gets cool and proper and a little bit sad.”

Gail looked at Anne. “You said you didn't want anyone to know.”

“I don't. Thank you again.”

“Know what?” Robin asked.

“That I'm not going to talk to other people this weekend. I want to spend all my time with you and your family. And you were asking me what we're going to do, just the two of us. I thought you'd choose some places for us to go, maybe in town. How would that be?”

“Are you staying?” Robin demanded. She stood before Anne, hands on her hips. “People in this family are always going away. We're the only ones who stay here; everybody else just comes for a little while and then leaves. We're always saying good-bye. And Great-grandpa just died, and I wanted him to be here forever and now he's gone. Are you going to stay forever?”

Anne shook her head. “I can't do that.” She knelt beside Robin. “I have a job and people depend on me, so I can't stay away too long. But I'd like to come back. And if I keep coming back, over and over again, it would almost be like staying, wouldn't it?”

“No,” Robin said flatly. “Staying means putting your suitcases in the basement and not going to the airport and you're always here to talk to.”

Anne smiled. “We can always talk; you can call me up. And I'll call you.”

“A very good idea,” Leo said. He stood with Gail, watching Anne and his children. They made a charming group, he thought, the dark-haired boy and girl and the
dark-haired woman, all of them intent on their conversation. Robin looked like Anne must have looked at eight, thin and wiry, her eyes wide and eager, her hair always seeming to need a comb. Ned was different: he had his father's stocky build and heavy brows, and his eyes were often frowning in concentration. But the most intriguing differences, to Leo, were those between Gail and Anne. He had compared them on the plane the night before, but now, when they were dressed almost identically, the differences were more pronounced. And the major difference was that, even though they resembled each other, Anne had more of everything. Her hair and eyebrows were darker than Gail's, her mouth fuller and more sensuous, her cheekbones more prominent, her eyes a darker blue. She was a shade taller and slimmer than Gail, and held her head higher. She was far more beautiful, more intense, in every way more dramatic. But somehow she was not quite real. Gail was real. Leo felt a rush of love for his wife, who gave him love and a home, who gave him a family, who was everything he had ever wanted.

And unexpectedly, he felt pity for Anne. She had great beauty, but she might have been clad in armor, so tightly controlled was she, so protected against the world that there was not even a chink through which emotions could break loose. Leo knew she had been talking about herself when she told Ned that secrets were an important part of what we are and who we are. She was afraid of letting anyone inside. She did not even know how to hold a child, he thought, watching her as she knelt beside Robin, her arms at her sides. Not once had she hugged Robin as Gail would have done with any child who talked about adults leaving and a beloved great-grandfather dying.

“It's not the same on the phone,” Robin said stubbornly. “I like being
close
. You know . . .
touching
. Like reading books together and taking walks and just sitting around talking. We could read all my books if you stayed, and we could go to movies and play Scrabble. Wouldn't you like that? Unless . . . well, I guess you'd get bored with us . . .”

“No, I wouldn't,” Anne said firmly. “I wouldn't be bored;
I'd like very much to do those things with you. And Ned, too. But right now I just can't.” She saw Robin's face turn sullen. “Look,” she said, “it's like school. You couldn't come to Los Angeles and live with me because you have school. I have a job; it's pretty much the same thing.”

“I could go to school there. You could get a job here.”

“Okay, Robin, that's enough,” Leo said firmly. “Why don't you just enjoy Anne while she's here, instead of worrying about the future?”

The telephone rang and Gail reached past Leo to pick it up. “No,” she said after a moment. She glanced quickly at the children. “I don't know where she is. She didn't say. If she wants to call you, I suppose she will. I
don't know.”
She hung up.

“Who was that?” Ned asked.

“Someone I didn't want to talk to,” Gail replied. “Is anybody interested in lunch?”

“Sure. Can I have lemonade?”

Anne stood up. “What can I carry?”

They took trays to the large deck overlooking the Tamarack Valley. Aspen trees grew through openings in the deck, shading wrought-iron tables and chairs with bright cushions; below them, flower and vegetable gardens were stepped down the hill. To one side was a greenhouse and a swimming pool; on the other a badminton net was at the edge of the smooth lawn. “What a perfect place,” Anne said quietly.

“It was supposed to be yours,” said Gail. “Grandpa bought the land up here for all of us, and named it Riverwood, and laid it out, where we'd each have our house. He decided everything, you know; for a long time he ran Tamarack as if it was his kingdom. Anyway, he'd picked this out for you. He only gave it to us when Ned was born and we were looking for a home. He said he couldn't hold it for you any longer.”

Anne remembered cross-country skiing with Ethan through the trees and across the smooth, wide meadows of the plateau. “You still think this is where you want to live?” he had asked.

“Yes,” Anne had replied instantly. “It's the most beautiful place in the world. Better than everywhere else.”

“Pretty far from people,” Ethan said, as he had before.

“That's what I want,” Anne said. “To get away.” She was almost fifteen years old then. It was the last time she was in Tamarack.

“I didn't know he'd remember me,” she said slowly. “I thought he was so angry and disappointed in me that he'd just push me out of his life.”

“He thought about you a lot,” said Leo. He helped Gail fill plates with sandwiches and potato salad. “I remember, we were having breakfast once, about a year before he died. He had his first stroke a little after that, and wasn't ever again as clear in his mind as he was that morning. He had his eyes closed and he said, ‘Anne'—no, it was ‘dear Anne'—and then he said, ‘Sorry, sorry . . . I loved you and failed you and I'd like to ask your forgiveness. . . .' Something like that. He said you probably didn't need him because you were grown-up now, but still he'd like to make you feel safe and loved. I remember he said that: safe and loved. And he wished you'd come home so he could tell you all that, before he died.”

Anne sat very still. Tears filled her eyes, but she was crying more deeply inside herself. All those years, she thought. All those years of thinking no one cared. Ethan cared. I was loved and I didn't know it.

And Gail cared. I never knew that, either. And now Gail's children. And Gail's husband.

Her tears had dried. “I wish I had come back,” she said.

“I
wish,” said Gail emphatically. “But you are happy, aren't you? Your apartment sounds wonderful, and your office, and being a lawyer. It's much more exciting than Tamarack. We're awfully quiet here. You're the only one in the family who went off and did something completely separate from the company.”

“Uncle Vince did,” said Ned. “He's a senator in Washington. He tells the president things.” He looked at Anne's closed face. “I don't like him a lot,” he said shrewdly. “I don't think he likes kids. Maybe he doesn't like anybody. He
did a weird thing at Grandpa's funeral. He told Keith to get rid of somebody. Like, kill her, you know. It was really weird.”

“Who was he talking about?” Leo asked.

Ned shrugged. “He just said, ‘Find out what she wants and get rid of her.' It was like ‘Miami Vice,' but it was weird 'cause it was a funeral, you know, and it wasn't a great thing to say at a funeral.”

Leo met Anne's eyes. “We can't know for sure,” he said.

“He called earlier,” Gail said.

“Who?” Leo asked.

“Keith,” she replied, her eyes troubled.

“Can't know what?” Ned asked, looking from one of them to the other.

“What he was talking about,” Gail said. “But you're right; whatever he meant, it wasn't great to say at a funeral. Why don't you tell us about your softball game? We don't even know who won.”

Anne sat back and watched them talk about the game. She barely heard their voices.
Find out what she wants and get rid of her
. She could hear his voice; she had not known how well she remembered it. She felt a stab of fear, and then anger. He had already gotten rid of her once; wasn't that enough?

I was the one who left, she thought. And he stayed, tucked into the family, warm and secure. Unfair, unfair, unfair. And after all that, he wanted Keith to get rid of me—whatever that means. And Keith called earlier, asking if I was here. Why Keith? And what difference does it make to Vince? It can't be his conscience; he doesn't have one. Not fear, either, or even worry; what danger am I to him? I accused him once and no one believed me.

But of course a senator would worry; of course a senator would fear. A charge of sexual abuse would be a bomb blast. And the accusation, if there was one, would come not from a fifteen-year-old girl but from a respected lawyer, a member of an established, conservative firm.