She read the note and looked at me. She understood what I meant, how close Cathy was to breaking and how difficult that would make our continuing to cooperate with her efforts to win back her father’s approval. The next time she came, she had the box. She had cleverly slipped in a card with the words “From Christopher” on it.
I was right about the change it would bring. I put up the barre, and Cathy went at her ballet practice, reviving all she had been taught. The twins would sit and watch her for hours, fascinated with her exercises. I had to admit that I had never realized just how graceful and beautiful Cathy was until I saw her dancing in the attic. How ironic. It took this dreadful situation to get me really to look at her and think of her as being on the verge of some greatness. She was blossoming right before my eyes.
Once she caught me watching her as intently as the twins were, and she suddenly turned and floated across the floor. That’s the way it seemed. She wanted me to dance with her. I thought I would escape by saying I was interested only in the waltz, but she found the right records and had me out there. I protested about my own clumsiness, but I had become a project for her. She would teach me every dance she could, even rock and roll.
“It’s not me,” I told her. “I can’t be someone I’m not.”
I saw how disappointed she was, but I couldn’t, even up here. I distracted her by suggesting that we work on our attic garden and change the leaves we had created to fall leaves. The twins were into it, and we spent hours changing the season as if we had become nature itself and just as powerful. Poof, there was yellow and brown and red, just like right outside the mansion.
For a while, I had managed to keep them all content again. The whining and complaints were fewer and fewer. I knew that as long as Cathy was with me, helping, managing the twins, we could last until Momma succeeded. But I also knew that Cathy craved relationships. She needed friends far more than I did. She was naturally full of questions and plans, dreams and fantasies. Ordinarily, I would ignore all that. I hated pretending, but it was clear she desperately needed it. So for hours at a time, I would lie beside her on our crummy mattress and talk about our futures. Somehow the conversation always ended up on the topic of who would be the right man for her and the right woman for me.
It was clear from these conversations that Cathy did not respect our mother anymore. She accused of her being stupid and selfish, and I had to defend her continually. I could see that no matter what I said, Cathy held on to her feelings. She was still raging inside, her anger only taking a short nap and ready to leap up at a moment’s notice.
Even though we were in a sort of limbo, which I feared because I could see the twins losing interest in so many things like even getting outside, I realized we were slipping into a darker and darker place. The withering of the real flowers frightened me, because I dreamed of us withering, too. Cathy sensed it. It was more her idea than mine for us to drag one of the old mattresses to the eastern windows so we could bathe in some sunlight. “Don’t all living things need it?” she asked. I didn’t want to mention those creatures that lived in total darkness, because she would say that was exactly what we were becoming. Instead, I dragged the mattress there.
Cathy asked me if it wouldn’t be better for us to lie naked in the sunlight, “so more of our bodies benefit.” We were never afraid of being naked in front of each other, but we were older now, changes coming faster than even I anticipated. I didn’t want to get into all that, so I agreed, and we all got naked.
I tried not to look at the changes in Cathy’s body, her thickening pubic hair, her budding breasts, the curve in her buttocks and the smoothness of her legs, some of the muscularity and shape coming from her dedicated ballet practice. She was looking at me now, too, but I resisted bringing my hands down to cover myself. I was afraid of that part of me acting on its own.
Suddenly, the twins were asking me questions about our sexual differences. Never was Cathy more interested in my clumsy attempts to make it all seem inconsequential. She wanted to know more about the male sexual experience, and I tried to change the subject, but I could see this was only the beginning.
Momma, I thought, please get us out of here soon.
I had more trouble than ever trying to fall asleep after reading this. The interest Cathy had in sex mirrored my own. I was closer than ever to realizing it fully with Kane. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t fantasized about it repeatedly during the last few weeks, especially now.
In a dream, I saw myself lying in the Foxworth attic, but instead of being naked next to Christopher, I was lying beside Kane. In this dream, we had decided to do that and see how long we could resist touching each other. We were both closing our eyes, but I was sure his heart was pounding as hard and fast as mine. Every once in a while, one of us would open our eyes and look at the other. Finally, we did so at the same time. He smiled.
“Kristin,” he whispered, and began by reaching for my hand. I gave him mine, and we held each other for a long moment. He turned toward me, and I turned toward him. He edged closer, and we kissed, only our lips touching. We both pulled back. “I’m dying inside,” he whispered.
“Don’t die,” I said, and he smiled and moved closer now, his legs against mine, his stomach touching mine, his lips grazing softly over my face, my neck, and my breasts. I could feel his growing excitement building between my legs, legs that were relaxing too quickly. The woman inside me was pushing to be fulfilled. I was growing more helpless, but it was a helplessness I welcomed. “Oh, Kane, we’ve got to be careful,” I said.
“I know. I’m ready,” he said. He was prepared. My last reason to resist dropped away. I was welcoming him, drawing him into me. We were sealing our lips together, clinging to each other as if we were afraid we would fall off the earth.
I think I actually cried out in my sleep. I awoke with my heart pounding and listened for a moment, anticipating my father coming to see what was wrong. A door opened and closed, but then the house was silent. I probably had imagined it, I told myself, and relaxed again. I was almost afraid to close my eyes. My body was like a bow pulled back, ready to be released. It was a struggle, but somehow sleep finally seeped in, slipping under my lids and soaking me in a repose so deep it took more than a splash or two of sunlight coming through my windows to waken me.
Since I had the day off from school because of teacher meetings, my father didn’t come to the door, but I knew he was up already, working on breakfast downstairs. I could hear him moving about. I thought a moment, remembered that Uncle Tommy was coming today, and got up quickly to dress and get downstairs.
“I think when girls get older, they sleep longer in the morning,” my father said as he scrambled eggs. No one made them tastier. He turned to me. “Is that because they have longer dreams or what?”
“It’s ‘or what,’ ” I said, and he laughed.
I looked at the table. There were three settings.
“Who else is coming to breakfast?”
“Tommy called. He should be here any moment. He surprised us. He flew in last night, stayed at the airport hotel, and got up early. I think he just wants a good breakfast for a change,” my father said.
“You were always a cook, weren’t you, Dad?”
“My father couldn’t get over it. He was an old-fashioned guy. I did all the manly things he expected me to do, worked with him, fixed things around the house, joined different sports teams, whatever he had done at my age, but I did enjoy being in the kitchen with my mother. She had a lot of little tricks passed down to her, and I never forgot them. You’re really going to be eating your grandmother’s eggs today,” he said.
The doorbell sounded. I practically flew to answer it.
“I must be at the wrong house,” Uncle Tommy said when I opened the door. “The Kristin Masterwood I remember was an ugly duckling.” He laughed and scooped me up in his arms.
“Hi, Uncle Tommy!” I cried after he kissed my cheek and I kissed his.
He stepped back a
nd shook his head. Then he looked at me and shook his head again.
“What?”
“I’m surprised there isn’t a line of boys waiting at this door.”
“Stop blowin’ her up,” Dad said behind me. “This isn’t one of your Hollywood gigs.”
They hugged, and Uncle Tommy nodded at me. “I’m not exaggerating much, Burt, and something tells me she’s got your levelheadedness when it comes to her ego.” He stepped back and looked at him. “You, on the other hand, haven’t changed much.” He turned back to me. “I always thought your father was a tough old geezer, despite being only three years older than me.”
“You haven’t changed much, either, Dandy Man, although I see some strands of gray sneaking in.”
Uncle Tommy had a wavy head of dark brown hair, neatly styled. I would never say he was better-looking than my father, but he did have an impish twinkle in his hazel eyes that probably titillated most of the women he pursued. He was slimmer and an inch or so taller. My father always said Uncle Tommy took after their mother more, which was lucky for him. He was always a stylish dresser, always coordinating his shirts, pants, shoes, and socks as though he expected to be photographed, even when he first got up in the morning. Today he just wore a light blue sweater and a white shirt with a pair of dark blue slacks and black loafers.
Suddenly, like a magician, he produced a small box in pink gift wrap.
“Found this on the plane last night,” he said, handing it to me, “and thought it might be something you’d like.”
“What?” I took it gingerly. “Found it?”
“Where’s your bag?” Dad asked him.
“In the car. I’ll get it later. I’m starving. You know how that food on the plane can be.”
“Never ate it,” Dad said.
He was watching me tear off the gift wrap and open the small box. There was a gold necklace in it with a pendant that had a ruby at the center and tiny rubies surrounding it.
“I remembered you liked rubies,” my uncle said. “I hope.”
“It’s beautiful, Uncle Tommy. Thank you,” I said, and hugged him.
I looked at Dad. We both knew I liked rubies because they were my mother’s favorite. I was fighting back tears of happiness. They both could see it.
“When do we eat?” Uncle Tommy asked.
“Right now. Go on and wash up,” Dad ordered. He was always the big brother.
Uncle Tommy laughed and headed to the bathroom. I followed my father into the kitchen. He paused to watch me struggle to get the necklace on.
“Here,” he said, and took control, mumbling under his breath. “Found it on a plane. Once a storyteller, always a storyteller.”
I retreated to the hallway and glanced at myself in the wall mirror near the front door. Then I hurried back to the kitchen when Uncle Tommy entered.
“Thank you so much, Uncle Tommy. It’s beautiful.”
“Now it is. It’s on you,” he said, and sat down at the table. “So tell me everything. How’s school? How many boyfriends do you have? How much of a nag is my brother?”
“Not as much as I’m gonna be now that you’re here,” Dad said, and they both laughed.
I helped serve the toast, eggs, and bacon and poured Uncle Tommy his cup of coffee.
“Ma’s recipe, for sure,” Uncle Tommy said when he took his first forkful of eggs. “She was cooking for me right up to her last day on this earth,” he told me.
“And who’s cooking for you now?” Dad asked. “Certainly not you.”
“I have some . . . domestic help,” he replied, and gave an impish smile.
“I bet.”
It was the best breakfast we’d had for a very long time, not because I didn’t enjoy having breakfast with just my father but because I could sit back and be an audience as they reminisced about their parents, growing up together, and things they had done that had brought my grandparents both joy and consternation.
“Don’t ever let your father convince you that he was an angel just because he was older than me,” Uncle Tommy said.
“With you in the house, even Jack the Ripper would look like an angel,” Dad said, and began to tell more stories about pranks Uncle Tommy had committed and how many times he had had to save him from getting into real trouble.
They were both into it so much that neither noticed me clearing the table and washing the dishes. I smiled to myself. It was rare that I felt so much attachment to my family. I noticed how they both tiptoed around any references to my mother, but it was impossible not to talk about her.
“I think I miss her more than you do,” Uncle Tommy told my father. “She was the one who could make me feel guilty about being irresponsible.”
“She could,” Dad confirmed. “And you were and probably still are.”
They were quiet a moment, and then Uncle Tommy said what my father often said after he took a long look at me. “She’s getting to look more and more like her, Burt.”
“I know.”
“What a lucky break. She could have ended up with your mug.”
“She could have,” Dad said. “Get your bag, and get settled in the guest room,” he told him. “I’ll take you for a ride and show you the site of my newest project.”
I looked up sharply. He was going to take Uncle Tommy to Foxworth?
“Yeah, you mentioned something about that on the phone. Sounds really big.”
“It is.”
“Okay. The princess is coming along, isn’t she?” he asked, looking at me. I looked at Dad.
“No way you or I could stop her,” Dad said. He looked around and saw what I had done in the kitchen while they had been talking. “Nice job,” he said. “I just have a call to make, Tommy.”
“Great. I’ll unpack what I need and be ready.”
He went out to his car and returned with his bag. Then he followed me up to go to the guest room.
“How’s he been?” he asked when we were far enough away for my father not to hear.
“He keeps very busy,” I said. “He’s all right. I wish he would relax more, get out more, but . . .”
“But he’s who he is. And you? Happy?”
“Yes, Uncle Tommy, and more so because you’re visiting,” I told him.
He hugged me, and I went to my room to change my shoes and put on something a little warmer. It was more overcast today, and the breeze coming out of the north suggested that our short Indian summer was, as my father would say, having heart failure. I was down and ready before both of them, which I knew didn’t surprise my father.
We all squeezed into Black Beauty.
“I can’t believe you still have this truck, Burt. I was going to call you because something like it was needed on a movie set. If it was a horse,” he told me, “your father would have had it out to stud with a female truck to create another.”
“Very funny. The only thing you’ve kept is your goofy sense of humor.”
“Selling big right now.”
“Which is why I never go to the movies,” Dad countered.
I didn’t think I could be more comfortable than sitting between them, I thought, and wished we could all be together more, but my father never wanted to make the trip to California. He kidded Uncle Tommy by telling him it was like leaving the country.
They teased each other all the way up to Foxworth, and then Dad began to explain the project and why it was going to be the biggest construction job he had ever had. When we pulled up to the cleared-out area, I watched Uncle Tommy’s reaction.
“Wow. You’d never know what it had been,” he said. He turned to me. “I was here once or twice when you were a little girl, a very little girl.”
We got out of the truck, and I followed Dad and Uncle Tommy as we walked around the site, with Dad pausing to describe what was going to be built. Of course, he spoke in much greater detail than Uncle Tommy needed in order to understand what was going to replace the second Foxworth mansion, but Uncle Tommy didn’t complain. He kept his soft, l
oving smile, glancing at me with that twinkle in his eyes occasionally. The truth was, I was listening harder to my father’s descriptions than my uncle was. One thing I picked up on was that there was not going to be an attic. There would be the usually necessary crawl spaces for utilities but nothing like what had been there before.
“There are other, smaller buildings for storage facilities and equipment,” Dad continued, and then he began to lay out the general plan for the landscaping, pool, tennis court, and gardens.
“One of your Hollywood rich guys is going to hear about this and come out to see it and make an offer on it, for sure, not that the new owner is going to want to sell. Even if they make him an offer he can’t refuse.”
Uncle Tommy laughed and then leaned in to me to whisper, “I never saw him as excited about anything.”
Afterward, Dad drove us around to show Uncle Tommy some of the other changes in the immediate area. Again, he had a high note of pride in his voice. I didn’t think I had realized before just how much my father loved where we lived. Once in a while, as we rode along and he bragged to Uncle Tommy about things, he would mention my mother and how surprised and pleased she would be. He had to show Uncle Tommy my school and then, of course, his office building.
I knew that despite how much fun he made of what Uncle Tommy did and where he lived, Dad was proud of him, too, and wanted to show him off. We went to Charley’s Diner, where he knew some of his buddies would be, and he introduced Uncle Tommy to those who had never met him.
“I gotta tell you,” Uncle Tommy said when we finally got into a booth to order lunch, “there really are many countries in this country. Your father’s not wrong. However, I think I’ll stay where I am.”
“You couldn’t be approved for citizenship here, anyway,” Dad told him, and they went on to talk about their grandparents and stories they’d been told.
When we returned home, Uncle Tommy had to make a few phone calls. I went to my room and put some finishing touches on my homework, read a few chapters of history, and then relaxed. Uncle Tommy was taking us out to dinner. I thought he would just go down to watch some television with my father, but instead, he knocked on my bedroom door.
Christopher's Diary: Secrets of Foxworth Page 24
