When Brenda and I were growing up, money was never a concern. However, neither she nor I was wasteful or ungrateful for the things we had. We never took anything for granted or whined for expensive toys or clothes. Brenda never even asked Daddy to get her a car when she was sixteen, even though most of her friends and teammates had their own cars, even ones who came from families far less wealthy than ours. She passed her driving test, got her license, and drove Mama's car whenever Mama told her she could. She rarely, if ever, asked Daddy for his car. He used to offer it to her, but when he became Mr. Hyde, he wouldn't, even if he had no use for it and it meant Brenda had to beg someone to pick her up for a special practice or a game. A few times, she had to take the bus.
Because our house was bigger than most nearby and we had a larger lot in an upscale neighborhood of Hickory, a suburban community ninety miles from downtown Memphis, people and our classmates assumed we were very rich. Daddy was a successful business attorney, as his father had been. I couldn't remember my paternal grandfather, because he died of heart failure before I was two, and my paternal grandmother had died four years before that of cancer. Daddy lost his older sister. Marissa, to cancer as well. I was too young at the time to remember much detail. and Mama shielded me more from the sadness. but Brenda could recall how our aunt grew gaunt and pale. She said she was like a room full of light darkening and darkening.
"Every time I saw her, she looked smaller, but her eyes grew bigger. It was like her body was becoming more and more surprised by what was happening to it. It was very weird," she told me. "It got so I was afraid of going to visit her with Daddy and Mama. I envied you because you were so oblivious and protected. Daddy wouldn't take you along to visit like he took me, so you didn't see firsthand how very sad he was about it all. He tried not to be sad. He told me sadness hardens like tar on your soul, and you carry the weight of it forever."
Aunt Marissa was married but had never had children, and we had little contact now with her husband, my uncle Granger. He had left our area and moved to Oregon, where he met another woman and remarried.
Despite all this sorrow. Daddy held on to his optimism and happy personality. He had his own firm with two junior partners and was seemingly always busy. We took at least two vacations a year. Before his Mr. Hyde days. Daddy was a skier and had taught both Brenda and inc how to ski. Mama was okay at it, but almost immediately. Brenda was on the advanced slopes with Daddy, and I was left with Mama to navigate along with the other insecure skiers and children. We went to Aspen and Sun Valley, and once, we all even went to Austria during a Christmas holiday.
They took us to Disneyland and to Universal City in California. We went to the Caribbean. where Daddy and Brenda went scuba diving, and we took a train trip through the Northwest and Canada. There was a pile of vacation pictures in the living room and dozens of family videos on shelves and in drawers.
Our Christmases and Easter holidays were always happy and grand. The front of our house was decorated with lights, as were the trees. Mama would have a parry for her and Daddy's friends and business acquaintances. There was even a time when Daddy pretended to be Santa Claus and surprised me on Christmas morning. I was only four. That was when he gave me Mr. Panda.
Mama loved to cook and bake. She had gone to school to be a paralegal, and that was how she and Daddy had met, but after Brenda was born, she stopped working. She wasn't unhappy about it, and she never thought of herself as some shut-away housewife. She was active in community charity events and frequently held teas and dinner parties. It seemed there was never a dull moment or an empty hour in our house.
Sometimes. I felt as if we truly lived a storybook life, and every day brought a new chapter full of fun and excitement and surprises. If any family was a success, ours truly was. So many of my school friends came from broken families or one-parent families, and a few lived with their grandparents. If they didn't say it, I could read it in their eyes when they saw us all together at a restaurant or at the mall or just walking in the street. You're lucky. You can't fail.
I wasn't as good a student as Brenda was, even with all her extracurricular activities, but I wasn't a poor student. either. There was always an expectation about me. I would lose weight: I would get better grades: I would burst out with some talent. rd be socially popular. Soon. It was always soon.
Soon wasn't to come soon enough. Before it could, the darkness was to close in on us, folding itself over our happy home and then seeping in under the doors, through the windows, down the chimney, until it entered our very hearts.
If I were forced to pick any special moment and say. "There, that's when I remember it all becoming too hard to bear," I'd pick the day Daddy forgot it was Brenda's birthday-- and her sixteenth at that! I knew Mania had reminded him enough times about it. I even overheard her tell him what she was planning to buy her. It was a very expensive mountain bike.
Brenda didn't want a Sweet Sixteen party. She was never that sort of girl. Oh, she enjoyed pretty things and pretty clothes and had her favorite music, but she never seemed distracted by any of it. I remembered when Daddy thought that was a wonderful trait. "It's good to be like Brenda," he would tell me. "It's good to be dedicated and fixed on a Goal, to know your priorities and live your life accordingly."
I supposed he was telling me that because I didn't have any apparent priorities or interests, except that I did like to read. In fact. I loved to read. I could get so lost in a book that I'd lose track of time and even place. Both Daddy and Mama used to laugh remembering when they saw me lying outside on a chaise longue reading and not at all aware that it was raining. It wasn't a heavy rain, just a sprinkle, but surely enough to stain the pages of the book.
"April is truly into the book when she reads it," Mama said. "She's beyond the page, past the paper and ink."
Now. Daddy called that foolish and said I was absentminded. even lame-brained.
"Only dogs would stay out in the rain like that. Even cats are smarter," he would comment should Mama ever remind him of that time. He came very close to calling me retarded, and of course. I hurried away to hide my tears behind the closed door of my room.
I was so mad at him those days that I was happy he had forgotten it was Brenda's birthday. Good. I thought. Now he's the one who looks like he's lame-brained, not me.
He had come home expecting that Mama had prepared dinner and we would be eating almost immediately. Instead, of course, she had made reservations at what used to be our favorite family restaurant. Dickson's Steak House. She told Brenda and me to get dressed and ready. anticipating Daddy's arrival, She did comment that she wasn't sure about his exact arrival time because he hadn't returned her phone call to the office and all his secretary would say was that he was in conference. She left a message and jumped to go to the phone every time it rang, but it was never Daddy.
The three of us, all dressed and ready, sat in the living room waiting. Mama looked nervously at the clock.
"What could be holding him up?" she muttered.
"Why doesn't he call you?" Brenda demanded. "It's just plain inconsiderate."
Brenda's face had changed so from her younger days. It used to be rounder, more like mine, but with her growth spurt. as Mama liked to call it, her face narrowed and seemed even to lengthen. I suppose her best feature was her eyes. They weren't quite as dark as mine. They were almost charcoal but clear and striking and almond-shaped. Her hair was more dark brown than black. She wore very little makeup, barely some lipstick, never cared about trimming her eyebrows, and rarely, if ever, wore earrings. She was wearing some tonight and did brush her hair, which she had let grow a little longer, more. I thought, to please Mama than herself.
Tall and lean like Daddy, she had a small bosom, long legs, and long arms. Her fingers weren't exceptionally long, but she had a very strong grip. I could see it in the faces of the men with whom she shook hands whenever she was introduced to someone. They were always surprised at the strength in her hand.
Part
of her ability to focus was the intensity in her eyes when she fixed them on something, whether it be a basketball net or a hurdle to jump on the running track. She could apply this same firm attention to people as well, and most could not look her in the eyes.
"Now, Brenda," Mama began, preparing to roll out one of her many excuses for Daddy's current disturbing behavior.
"No, it's just plain rude for him to do this to us. Mama," she insisted.
"Oh. I'm sure he has something terribly heavy on his mind. Some of his cases are so complicated, Brenda. We just don't appreciate how hard he works. He's so good at what he does, we take it all for granted," Mama said.
"Yeah, right," Brenda replied, and folded her arms under her bosom so tightly her shoulders arched. She glared at the doorway.
Mama glanced again at the clock.
"We're never going to make that reservation. you know." Brenda muttered. "Call his office and see if he left, at least." she insisted.
"I've called twice," Mama revealed, quickly swinging her eyes away.
"Twice? Since when?"
"It doesn't matter."
"He can't be that busy that he can't take out two minutes." Brenda pursued.
Mama was silent. Her face was in a battle, fighting to maintain its composure. She closed her eves and took a deep breath. Finally, we heard the garage door go up.
Mama smiled and stood up.
The door to the garage was right off the pantry behind the kitchen. We all waited, our eyes fixed on the living room doorway. He didn't appear.
"Matt?" Mama called.
"In a minute," he said sharply.
He was walking down the hallway to his office. We could hew him. Mama winked at us and waited. Brenda looked at her watch and sighed loudly. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I felt the ache in my chest and sucked in some air.
"What the hell's going on here?" we heard.
His footsteps grew louder and faster, and a moment later, he was in the doorway. He stood there looking at all of us, the confusion clear on his face.
Daddy was always a handsome man. He had my coal-black hair and my ebony eyes with his dark complexion that gave him the look of a man who worked in the sunlight and not in an office. His chin was sharp, with a firm, masculine mouth and a perfectly shaped straight nose.
"What's happening here? Why are you all dressed and sitting the living room? Why haven't you made dinner. Nora?"
Mama laughed nervously, hoping that he was kidding and that he would suddenly burst out with "Happy Birthday" and reveal some surprise gift besides the mountain bike they had bought her. He was always doing something like that.
"Well?"
Her smile sank into her face.
"It's Brenda's sixteenth birthday. Matt. Remember. I told you this morning we have reservations at Dickson's Steak House."
His eves blinked quickly, and then he turned on Mama. "No, you didn't tell me that."
"I did. Matt"
"I said you didn't. I think I'd remember something like that. You've been doing this sort of thing more and more lately, making plans without first checking with me. I've made arrangements to meet Bob Peterson at eight back at the office. We have depositions on the Morgan case to prepare."
"But... you certainly knew it was Brenda's birthday," she said. He glanced at Brenda.
She stood up sharply. "I don't care about any stupid birthday dinner, anyway." she said. She put her head down and charted out of the living room.
My heart was pounding.
"But..." Mama looked at Daddy.
"Well, I can't help it," he said. "We'll have a birthday dinner tomorrow night. What's the
difference? Just put on a steak for me here." He turned and left Mama and me staring at each other.
She pulled herself together quickly, sucking back her tears and taking a breath so deep I thought it had originated in her feet.
"April, do me a favor and cancel our
reservation at Dickson's, please," she said. "Then come help me set the table,
"Mama, this is terrible. It's Brenda's Sweet Sixteen dinner!"
"Just do as I ask, please." she said.
She turned quickly so I wouldn't see her tears. I was glad about that. I didn't want her to see mine. I made the phone call and then set the table while she worked quickly to prepare a dinner for us. I could hear her sniffles. but I didn't ask her if she was crying or say anything. Instead. I went to Brenda's room and knocked on her door.
"What is it?" she snapped.
"It's just me."
"What do you want?" she asked without opening the door. "Mama's making us dinner. We canceled the reservation at the restaurant."
"I don't care."
"I'm sorry. Brenda."
I stood by the door, waiting. listening. Brenda rarely ever showed me any sadness. I used to wish and wish I could be as strong as she was, but Mama once said something I never forgot. She said. "Brenda cries on the inside, and when you keep your tears inside you all the time, you have a better chance of drowning in your sadness."
"Can I give you your present from me?" I asked through the closed door.
She was quiet.
Then the door opened, and I saw she had changed back into her jeans and the school sweatshirt that Daddy said was practically her second skin because she wore it so much. When he had first said it, it was like a funny joke, but now it was more like a bitter criticism.
"I'm not in the birthday mood. April. I'm sorry." she said, her arms folded, her eyelids lowered like tiny flags of surrender.
"I'd still like to give you your present.. I was going to hide it in the car and go out and get it while we were eating at the restaurant."
She swung her eyes, and then her shoulders relaxed. "Okay, give it to me if you want."
"I'll be right back." I said, and ran out to the garage where I had it hidden. Then I returned to her room and handed it to her.
She sat on her bed and opened the box. With Mama's help. I had bought her a beautiful athletic suit. It had black with spice trim boot-bottom pants, a black cap-sleeve sport top, and a matching jacket.
"This is great, April," she said, holding up the jacket. "It's beautiful."
"I picked it out myself." I said proudly.
"You did great, April," she said. She looked at me a moment and then reached out, pulled me to her. and hugged me harder and closer than she had ever done. She held me longer, too. I had the feeling she wanted to keep me from seeing any tears in her eyes.
Mama called to us.
"I don't feel very hungry," Brenda muttered. She rose and put the athletic suit on her dresser.
"Mama will cry if you don't come to dinner," I said.
"I know."
We left her room and went to the dining room. I helped Mama bring out the vegetables, the bread, and the steak she had prepared. Brenda got the jug of cold water, the butter, and some steak sauce Daddy liked. He still had not appeared.
"Matt," she called to him. "Dinner's ready."
"I'm on the phone." we heard.
Mama sat, and we all stared at the food on the table.. It was nearly a good five minutes before Daddy appeared, hurrying to the table. He stabbed a steak, put it on his plate without speaking, and then cut it and grimaced.
"It's overdone. Nora." he moaned.
"No, it's not. Matt. It's just how you always eat it and how I always prepare it."
"I know when it's overdone." he insisted. He started to serve himself the vegetables.
I reached for a steak and then some bread, and when he put down the vegetable dish. I scooped out some of the mixed vegetables. Brenda just sat staring across the table at Daddy, who looked very distracted and in deep thought. Mama hadn't put anything on her plate, either. Daddy looked at her.
"What now Nora?"
Her lips quivered. "We don't even have a birthday cake for her," she said.
He looked at Brenda as if he once again had just remembered it was her birthday. "We'll have o
ne tomorrow," he said. Then he glanced at me. "Not that everyone needs it."
"I don't need it." Brenda said. "I don't need anything from you," she added.
"Brenda," Mama said.
"Don't get smart," Daddy warned.
Brenda looked away, and then she suddenly changed her whole demeanor, reached for a steak, and began serving herself as if she were famished. I knew she was doing it just to annoy Daddy and show him nothing he could do would change her. Mama held her breath.
We ate in silence. Daddy ate very fast, his eyes avoiding us. When he was finished, he literally jumped to his feet and mumbled about having to return to the offices in downtown Hickory.
"Do you really have to go back. Matt?" Mama asked him softly.
"What?" he asked her, acting as if he hadn't heard or had already forgotten the question.
"I'm just wondering if there isn't a way for you to postpone the work one night. We can still go somewhere to have dessert and celebrate."
"Of course I really do. What do you think? I'd go back if I didn't?"
Mama said nothing. I could see she was having trouble swallowing. "Don't you want to give her our present first, Matt?" she managed,
"Our present?"
"You know," she said. nodding. "In the back of the garage."
"Oh. Well, you take care of it," he said.
Before she could argue. Daddy left the room, and then we heard the door open and close to the garage.
I looked at Brenda, who looked at me. We both realized it at the same time.
He hadn't even said happy birthday. Not once.
2
Mr. Hyde Days
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I suppose the thing that made Daddy's new
April Shadows Page 2
