by Tenaya Jayne
I smiled and raised my left eyebrow as high as it would go, just like my dad used to.
"Oh, that is much more deadly on a female."
"Thanks," I said. "I remember Dad bringing me here, but I can’t believe I don’t remember this house."
"Well, you wouldn’t. I didn’t have it built until about six years ago."
"Oh."
Then I could think of nothing else. It seemed neither could he. Uncle Jack cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck. I forced a smile to keep from wincing. I hated uncomfortable silences.
"I’m sure that all this is really hard for you, Dulcee." he said, snapping the silence.
Then I did wince. His words were kind, and I could tell he was going to pull me into a serious, emotional discussion. I didn’t know if I was ready to be asked how I felt. I liked the idea of being asked. It was certainly something my mother never did. I was accomplished at repressing my feelings. They were a nuisance. I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. There was another momentary silence between us and when he spoke again, it was with a sorrowful tone.
"I wrote to you, you know. I always sent you birthday cards and gifts. I would call regularly, too, just to see how you were doing. I suppose that’s news to you."
"Uh…Yeah, it’s news to me," I croaked, feeling dazed at this information. "I never received anything from you. She kept it from me. I never knew you cared."
"Oh Dulcee, I always cared. You are the only niece I have. The only family, in fact, that I have left." The sorrow in his voice deepened and his expression was quite miserable. "I just wish that you had known it growing up. I wish I had known how bad things were for you. I would have stepped in when your father died."
I felt a hot pressure behind my eyes, so I looked down at the floor. My Uncle’s words caused something to flinch inside me, something I had worked diligently for years to destroy…
Hope.
I had constructed a house around my heart, using the neglect, unkindness, disappointments, and hatred I had been given all my life to fortify its walls. Emotion was a threat to my survival, and hope was stupidity. I knew this as a result of the higher education my life had afforded me, but I knew full well it was indeed hope that had flinched inside my heart.
Stupid, lack of control.
"Not to sound rude, but why am I really here? I must admit I’m a little confused."
"Well, I was in the habit of calling to check on you, even though I never got to talk to you. Your mother informed me of her plans to move with her new boyfriend the last time I called. I saw my opportunity and jumped on it. I told her that you could come live with me. Actually, I paid her to bring you."
"Oh, well, that makes sense. Now I know why she went through all the trouble of driving me all this way." I paused, thinking. "It would have been smarter to put me on the bus…Do you think she will ever come back for me?" I tried to sound as if the answer to this question was inconsequential to me.
He was quiet and calculating for a moment, and I noticed that his eyes looked wary.
"You know," he said slowly. "I don’t think she ever will."
"Good," I said louder than I had intended to.
Uncle Jack’s face relaxed into a grin. I relaxed, too. We understood each other, at least momentarily, on the subject of my mother. It felt nice, simpatico.
"I have just one more thing to say on the subject, and then I do not wish to speak of your mother again. Okay?" he said sternly.
I shrugged. "No problem. Why would we want to anyway?"
"Humph," he snorted before continuing. "I asked your mother if I could adopt you. She said no. I am your legal guardian now, and though I am certain this arrangement is permanent, she still has the power to come and take you away. I think she wanted to lord that over me. She never was one to give up power when she had it."
"I know that to be true," I said contemptuously.
"If you like, I think we can force emancipation, but it could take up to a year. Or we can leave things the way they are. You’ll be eighteen in a little over a year, regardless. So, it’s up to you. I just want you to be free of her. I don’t want you to have worries that linger in the back of your mind."
I felt intrigued at how much he disliked my mother. I didn’t realize he knew her that well. He really wanted me to be loose from her clutches, but I knew that I already was.
"Well, I guess we can look into emancipation, but there is no reason for her to come back for me," I said. "She’s happy I’m here."
My uncle gave me a very genuine smile. "So am I."
I blushed. Another short silence followed.
"Well!" Uncle Jack exclaimed, slapping one of his knees. "That’s quite enough seriousness for now. How about we go find you a room?"
I was instantly excited. A room. My room. I hopped up from my chair, making him chuckle at me. I followed him up a winding flight of stairs and onto a catwalk that over looked the living room we had just been in. There were six shut doors along the wall in front of me. I felt giddy just looking at them. I knew each door was the lid on a treasure chest.
"The door at the end to your right is my room. Any one of these other rooms can be yours. Just pick the one you like the best. I think this one is the biggest." He pointed at the door directly in front of me.
I walked to the door and opened it. A deluge of light slammed into me. Almost everything in this room was white, like the whole room had been soaked in bleach. I didn’t care what the other rooms looked like; this was the one I wanted! The room was bigger, I was sure, than the whole apartment I grew up in. The far wall was nothing but floor to-ceiling windows that overlooked the lake, a king size bed covered with pillows sat centrally, and my own fireplace with a beautiful cherry wood mantle was alight with the glow of a dying fire. There were French doors leading out onto a balcony, and a sitting area with a brown leather chair and ottoman.
"This one!" I said emphatically. "I want this one!"
Uncle Jack laughed. "Well, that was easier than I thought it would be. You didn’t even look at the other rooms."
I walked into the room. My own room! It was like a beautiful dream. There was a walk in closet, a large bookshelf full of books, an antique vanity, a stereo, and a plush white carpet I felt guilty walking on. It was the best room I had ever been in, and it was mine! My new room also had a large bathroom that could hardly be called a bathroom. It was more of a personal spa, skylights, black marble floors, and a bathtub that could have fit six people was sunk into the floor. It was everything I could have wanted, and more than I would have dared imagine.
My uncle was watching me exploring my new room, with satisfied amusement on his face. I think it gave him pleasure to bestow his riches on a gutter rat like me. I was anxious to explore the rest of the house, to see what other kinds of treasures lay behind shut doors. And though there was more than enough to turn my head, the best prize in the house was the family connection.
When I could no longer hold in my happy tears, Uncle Jack left me alone. I did, however, hold in the urge to squeal. I kept turning in circles, looking, taking it in. I still had my duffel bag slung across my back; I’d forgotten it in the midst of the intense distraction. When I removed it, I didn’t even want to put it on the carpet, it was too grungy. So, I ended up putting it on the bathroom floor, before unpacking. The few articles of clothing I owned I now wanted to burn. They didn’t belong in this new world. But burning anything would have to wait until I had something else to wear. I carefully removed the snow globe, wrapped in my father’s shirt, from the bottom of the bag. Holding it in both hands, I took it to the fireplace. I wanted it to be the focal point on the mantle. I was happy I no longer had to hide it. I turned it over once, making it snow. I held the globe inches from my face, my tears flowing freely.
"I survived, Dad. We made it home."
I spent the next two hours alone, getting acquainted with my room. I did silly little things, like pulling the sheer curtains open and close
d to see how easily they slid on the rod. I opened all the drawers in the bathroom to see if there was anything inside. I found things here and there that I assumed Uncle Jack had purchased for me. I was grateful for the new toothbrush and the assortment of toiletries that were laid out on the black marble counter. I had the urge to squeal again when I found the new bathrobe hanging behind the bathroom door. I had never felt a fabric to match its softness, and being silly again, I pulled off my tee shirt and jeans and draped it over my bare skin. Turning to examine myself in the mirror, I noticed that the tag was still hanging from the cuff. The price made me gasp. This simple, pale violet bathrobe cost more than a month's worth of groceries. This level of luxury was going to take some getting used to. I wondered how much my uncle had paid my mother to bring me here; although that was a question I would never ask him.
I sat for a while in the oversized chair, still in my bathrobe, looking out of the windows. The light snowfall had turned heavy. I hardly moved or blinked, watching it, mesmerized. All was so quiet. I was used to the noise of the city. The silence made my ears ring. It unnerved me. What if you needed help? No one could get to you in time. What if you got snowed in and you starved to death? I was so used to people being closer than you wanted them to be, the solitude made me uneasy, even frightened. But then, on the other hand, I guessed it was safer to be alone. There was no one to hurt you. The only threat was the cold.
I looked at all the titles of the books on the bookshelf, mostly travel books with the occasional miscellaneous novel. Here was the only dust in the whole room. It was clear that no one had disturbed these books for a very long time. The rim of each shelf was covered in a layer dust that I, for the moment, left undisturbed. I knew, once I got started, I would devour all the interesting titles in no time. I was prone to excessive skimming. It was my habit to pile books on one side of my chair and then move them one by one into a pile on the other side, each title taking a short stint in my lap before moving on. Even books I fell in love with, I skimmed. At any rate, I hoped there were more books elsewhere in the house. It would probably take half a day to get to the nearest library.
Then I wondered about school. Would my uncle try to make me go back to school since I was still only sixteen? With a home life like mine, I had put everything into school. I was already finished, with my diploma. I wanted out of my mother’s house so badly; I thought college was my ticket. With my GPA and SAT score, it wasn’t hard to get a full scholarship to the college of my choice. But, when I started making my plans, my mother swooped down on me, forbidding me to go. She made it impossible for me at my age. The dream had been snatched from my hands and shattered.
I could put all of that behind me. I had the hope of a real life now. My uncle would help me achieve whatever dreams I had. I could relax and enjoy a bit of my adolescence before it was over. The hopes of friends and cars, movies, and boys…the freedom to have fun welled up inside me. Nothing could dampen my spirits today.
A loud beep in my room made me jump. I had not yet noticed the intercom on the wall. Then I heard my uncle’s voice. "Dulcee, dinner’s ready if you’re hungry."
I looked at the intercom for a minute, trying to figure out how to reply. I quickly gave up, feeling my stomach growl, deciding that I would figure it out later. After putting my clothes back on, I left my room, hoping that I would be able to find the kitchen without getting lost. The kitchen was so very large and open, it wasn’t hard to find. There was a formal dining room with a table that could seat twenty people, adjacent to the kitchen, but Uncle Jack and I ate our spaghetti in the kitchen at the small table in the breakfast nook. All through dinner, my eyes kept wandering to some large photo albums piled in the middle of the table. I hoped they were what I thought they were.
When he was finished eating, Uncle Jack said, "I want to show you these." Gesturing to the albums. "I want you to see your family. I don’t expect that you would have seen many family pictures."
He opened the one on top, which looked by far the oldest. The pictures inside were black and white and very faded. The first page displayed a stoic wedding picture. I loved old photographs. It had always seemed to me that antique cameras were capable of capturing your spirit. The groom highly resembled my father, tall and thin with a very heavy brow. The bride was much shorter but I could see traces of my father in her too. She had curly hair and very defined cheekbones.
"Your great grandparents," he said. "And here are your grandparents, George and Marla Elders." He pointed to another wedding picture. "She’s who you really look like to me, with all this cascading maple syrup hair." He flicked a strand of my hair over my shoulder.
I flushed and turned to examine the subjects in the picture more carefully. Here was a couple that had strong character. I was proud to call then my grandparents. They had traits that exuded from them, pride, dignity, confidence. Things my mother hardly knew existed, let alone possessed. There was no doubt in my mind that my grandparents had disapproved of her. I wondered if they would have been proud of me.
I turned each page gingerly, studying the obvious progression of the years. Everything Uncle Jack told me about my family was interesting. He kept up a steady commentary as we went through album after album looking at cousins and great aunts and uncles, family gatherings, Christmas, old friends and neighbors. I loved every minute. As the pictures became more and more recent, I had questions about my parents. Why did they end up together? Did my father love her? Why did they never get married? But, I decided not to ask because Uncle Jack said he didn’t want to talk about her again. Maybe some other time. Then we came to the last album, and all my questions went out of my head.
"This is my wedding album," Uncle Jack said, picking it up and opening the cover. I was more than a little surprised. I thought he was an old bachelor. But I was about to learn that I didn’t know anything about my uncle at all.
Looking at the wedding pictures I saw my father was the best man, and it looked like a very expensive wedding. The bride was beautiful. She had pale blue eyes and jet-black hair and she looked so happy and in love. I, at once, wished I looked just like her.
"What was her name?" I asked
"Vivian."
She immediately became my idol. I wanted to know the whole story.
"Where is she?" I asked. "Did you get divorced?"
"No, she died," he said dispassionately.
I instantly felt I had been very rude and was sorry I had asked at all, but Uncle Jack didn’t seem to be offended. He did look flushed though.
"She came from a very wealthy family. As a young man, I never believed in love at first sight, until I saw her." He was gazing at a picture of the two of them. "We were so happy," he whispered, more to himself. "She was murdered."
I sat, frozen by the M-word he had just used. Oh yes, that was a word I knew something about. He paused for the briefest moment, cleared his throat, and continued. "After the funeral, I sold the house, the cars, everything. I quit my job. I couldn’t stand my surroundings. Everywhere I went there was too much noise, too many people."
I was amazed that he was so candid with me. I knew he was drudging up all this to build a strong bond between us. He was displaying trust in me by telling me. Surviving the murder of someone you loved was something we had in common.
"Finally, when I came here, I felt peace at last. I bought the most rural, secluded land I could find. The property line backs the national forest. I don’t leave this place much. Here in the woods with the lake is the only place I feel happy."
Our eyes met, both filled with tears. I looked in his eyes, in earnest for the first time and faltered within myself. Spending time with my uncle was like visiting with my father's ghost. Uncle Jack reached across the table and grabbed my hand. His grip was firm but tender. I gripped his back.
"I’m sorry. I made you cry…Made you remember."
"No.…" I shook my head. "We must remember."
"Yes, I think you’re right."
He shut the album
and stood up with fresh energy. "Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house. I have lots of good toys."
That was an understatement! Apparently, Uncle Jack had endless funds and anything he thought would amuse him, had been added to the house.
"No way!" I half screamed when Uncle Jack showed me his movie theater.
I was quickly reduced to merely being able to speak in two words or less, such as, "Wow!", "Ooooh.", "Aaaahh.", and "So cool!"
My excitement rubbed off on Uncle Jack and he began to open each door with a flourish. Naturally, not every opened door was equally as exciting as the pool, the bowling lanes, or the gym. But nothing was as exceptional as the library. I knew the moment I stepped through the door that I would spend a lot of time in there. For a private library, it was huge and it reminded me of Ivy League libraries depicted in movies. There was a sliding ladder, which I thought was charming, and a large table in the center with benches for doing research. The ceiling must have been thirty feet high. The immense stained glass window mirrored the landscape outside. A surreal image of the mountain, lake, and trees, pine, fir, and aspen. Uncle Jack had to coax me from the library with promises of more delights. I left reluctantly.
