The Promised World: A Novel

by Lisa Tucker

  Lila knew what he was referring to. A few days before, she’d been helping Billy rehearse his part in the high school play, My Fair Lady. They were doing the scene where Higgins kisses Eliza Doolittle, a scene they’d done a dozen times without acting out that part, but this time Lila impulsively leaned over and kissed her brother on the lips. It was a horribly wrong thing to do, and Lila knew it even before she realized her mother had walked into the room. She wanted to apologize like Billy told her to do, but when the time came, her mouth refused to cooperate and Harold had beaten her on the legs. Only ten strokes from his belt, and she didn’t have many bruises, but still, why hadn’t she said she was sorry? She was so stubborn. It was one of many things she disliked about herself.

  My little horse must think it queer, to stop without a farmhouse near, between the woods and frozen lake, the darkest evening of the year.

  “It’s really quite understandable,” her mother said. She sounded surprisingly kind. “One of the problems with Lila is that she’s not a thinker. She uses her body to express herself, unlike the rest of us.”

  Lila had heard this so many times, but it always upset her. Billy had warned her repeatedly that it would only get worse if she defended herself, but each and every stupid time, she blurted out something that annoyed Harold. Unfortunately, this time was no exception. The beautiful Robert Frost poem had disappeared; in its place was her own loud voice. She was always too loud at the dinner table. “I wouldn’t call hitting someone with a belt using your mind. I would call it barbaric!”

  “Very clever.” Her stepfather tilted his head in her direction; his mouth was moving, but the voice sounded like her mother’s. “I suppose you would have us reason with a barbarian, too? Say if we encountered Attila the Hun?”

  “I’m not Attila the Hun.”

  “Did I say you were? Stick to the argument.”

  “No,” she stammered, looking down at her plate of uneaten food. Both Harold and her mother believed in using “logic” at all times. Billy never screwed it up, but Lila did constantly.

  Harold took a drink of his scotch. “The incest taboo has been around for centuries. I think it’s safe to say that only a barbarian wouldn’t understand that and comply.”

  “Come on,” Billy said mildly. “It was an innocent—”

  “Though that, too, is probably understandable,” Lila’s mother said to Harold. “The two of them have been together since they were in the womb. Perhaps it’s natural that she desires him. The real question is how to teach her to act from what she knows to be right rather than her instincts.” She was looking at her husband. “I promise I don’t know the answer to that.”

  This isn’t a dream, Lila thought. She could see herself. You never see yourself in dreams.

  She tried to think about Patrick, but her face was on fire. She was that girl again, the one who had to listen to a litany of her faults whenever Harold returned. Since he was an executive at an international bank, his job required him to travel all over the world, but he always came home eventually. And when he did, he would invariably have to assess Lila’s development. The older she got, the more Harold and her mother felt like she was a danger to Billy. They never said it that way, but they always looked at Lila when they were talking about this embarrassing “incest taboo” topic. As though they could see things inside her that she couldn’t see.

  And now that she’d kissed Billy, she felt condemned and so guilty. She did love her brother, but she didn’t really know any other boys because she was always at home. Yet shouldn’t she have a crush on someone, if she was a normal girl? What was wrong with her that she had sort of liked kissing her twin?

  Billy had said that kiss had meant nothing. He said only a pervert like Harold would think it did, but Billy couldn’t see inside of Lila. He didn’t even know about the “moral assessments” with Harold and her mother. Lila was afraid to tell, because her brother already hated Harold so much that he told Lila someday he would kill him.

  She had to be awake now; she could see her psych ward room. Maybe she had told the nurse she was thirsty, because there was a cup of water by her bed, and she reached for it and drank it down in one gulp. It helped a little, but she still felt dry and shaky, like she was recovering from the flu.

  She lay in her bed, looking out the window at the wispy clouds floating across the sky, a beautiful spring day. She disliked this place, but it wasn’t as bad as the other one. And there had been another one; she was suddenly and absolutely sure about this. She even knew the name of the other place: the Westwood Psychiatric Hospital.

  She wasn’t there very long, maybe a few weeks, but it felt like a year. By the time he came to save her, she was disoriented and half-crazy with grief.

  Of all the things Lila remembered—asleep, awake, or somewhere in between—this was the one that made her cry: Billy, appearing out of nowhere, like an answered prayer, the proof of a merciful God. He had money and train tickets and he said he was taking her home. He also said their mother had left them for good, finally.

  The attendants were distracted by another screaming girl. Billy was able to lead Lila out of the hospital yard without anyone trying to stop them. They were already down the hill and running up toward the train station when she thought to ask about Harold.

  Billy seemed surprised by the question, but he didn’t flinch when he answered. “He won’t be a problem for us anymore. He’s dead, Lila. I shot him.”

  “When?”

  “It’s not important now.” He took her hand as they rushed to catch the train that was already there, as though it were waiting just for them. “This is the end of that story. Now begins the new era, into the world I always promised you, where we write our own lives.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  When William found out they weren’t going home, he smiled to let the social worker know he was glad. She said, “Are you afraid of your mom’s boyfriend?” and he nodded, like Pearl had told him to do. It wasn’t exactly a lie ‘cause he was very afraid of seeing Kyle and having to do the last Challenge. Pearl said if everything went as she planned, they’d never have to see Kyle again. He hoped she was right about that.

  They were in a police department, which he didn’t like, but Pearl said they wouldn’t be here for long. They’d already had to spend the night on cots in a little room with a coffee machine and William had woken up like a hundred times, whenever a police officer came in to get coffee. The social worker had talked to them early in the morning, and since then, they’d been stuck sitting on a wooden bench. At first, Pearl was really happy ‘cause the social worker said Aunt Lila wasn’t going to die, she’d just have to stay in the hospital for a while. William was happy about that, too, but after a while, they both got so bored from sitting there that they stopped talking about Aunt Lila or anything. Pearl was half-asleep and William was multiplying numbers in his head when their mom showed up.

  The social worker was walking with her, but their mom broke out running when she saw them and grabbed them in her arms.

  “My babies,” she said, and she was crying, which made William feel so bad for her. He patted her back the way she always patted his when he cried, but he didn’t say anything. Pearl had already told him, last night, to go back to the not-speaking thing. “Just until I work this out,” she said. Since he wasn’t sure what she was working out, he was too confused to know what to say anyway.

  His sister pulled away from Mommy and sat back with her arms crossed. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “Sweetie, please—”

  “You always take his side about everything. You believe him when he says he’s home all day or he isn’t drinking or he cleaned up the house, when it was really me. You always take his word over mine.”

  “Once I get you home, I’ll make it up—”

  The social worker put her hand on their mother’s shoulder. “We’re jumping the gun a bit. As I said, this meeting is to give you a chance to talk to your daughter and have us all explore
together what the next step will be.”

  Whatever they were going to talk about didn’t include William. They got up and walked into a room with a glass door, after telling William to stay on the bench where the secretary would be looking out for him.

  The secretary asked if he wanted a hard candy and he took one. It smelled like furniture polish. He sucked as slowly as possible, but his candy was long gone AND he’d had three drinks from the water fountain AND he’d done a hundred and twenty-seven multiplications before his mom and sister came out. The social worker sat down next to him first. She said his mommy and Pearl both thought it would be a good idea if he stayed at his grandma’s for a while. “How do you feel about that?”

  He smiled as big as he could to let her know it sounded perfect to him. Aunt Trish lived with Grandma. He could play with her all day instead of going to school.

  But then as he was listening to them talk, he realized something was wrong. The social worker said it was an unusual situation, since they didn’t know their grandmother, but as the state’s policy was to look for kinship foster care possibilities first, and their mother was in favor of it, they would stay there while the home study was being done. Of course, they would have to be monitored. Someone from CPS would be checking on them every few days.

  William noticed Pearl was staring at him, warning him not to say anything. So he didn’t, even though he was totally confused. A few minutes later, when the social worker took Mommy back in the glass room, his sister whispered, “I took Dad’s mother’s phone number before we left and I called her this morning. Trust me, if we can’t be with Aunt Lila, this is where we want to go.”

  His mouth dropped open. Daddy had told them many times that his mom and dad were dead.

  “She wants to see us,” Pearl went on, “that’s obvious, since she was the one who called Mom and persuaded her to let us stay there. She even said she’d pay for Mom to hire a better lawyer, which was weird, but I think she’s just trying to get on Mom’s good side.” Pearl stopped and messed with the ring she had on a chain around her neck. It was their father’s, and the only ring William had ever thought was cool, ‘cause it had snakes instead of being some boring circle. His sister had worn it every day since Daddy died. “I knew she had money, but she must be really rich to just do that for somebody she barely knows.”

  Now he was even more confused. How did his sister know anything about this grandma who was supposed to be dead? But when he asked her, she only said, “I found something in the basement.”

  “What?”

  She didn’t answer.

  “What?” he repeated, shaking her arm.

  She pried herself loose and frowned. “Cool out. It’s just something Dad wrote. A long time ago.”

  “Like a story?” William knew their father had written hundreds of stories. They were all in boxes stacked like blocks along the wall across from the washer and dryer. Daddy had told William that he could read them when he was older, if he wanted. But if he didn’t, that was all right, too. “The experience of writing them was enough for me,” Daddy said. “Art is its own reward, buddy. You don’t need anyone to tell you whether what you’ve done is good or bad. Remember that.”

  Pearl answered, “Yes, like a story,” but he could tell she didn’t mean it. “Now, stop worrying. Kyle has already been arrested. If Mom gets rid of him for good, we’ll be home soon enough.”

  William didn’t want to make Pearl mad, but he said it anyway. “I don’t like this. I want to go home now.”

  “Not an option. Even Maisie can’t be there until this is over. Mom said she’s staying with Libby. The CPS people have to approve her, too.”

  Libby was Maisie’s preschool teacher. He didn’t know what CPS was, but it made him nervous, thinking that Maisie was stuck at school night and day now. He wished he could listen to his S-H-O-S-T-A-K-O-V-I-C-H and just go to sleep. He felt like something was stuck in his throat, a piece of that icky candy, and he was trying to think of something else so his tic wouldn’t start up, when their mom came back.

  “I’m going to get this straightened out as quick as I can,” she said. “It’s all a horrible mistake.” She was sniffing again and William felt so sorry for her, he touched her face. She kissed his hand. “You know I love you guys, right?” She was looking back and forth from Pearl to William. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  William nodded, but Pearl made her face look all blank and stonelike. She lowered her voice so nobody but them could hear. “You already did. You got Dad killed.”

  Mommy burst into tears and William knew for sure that she’d never meant for that to happen. Even if it was her fault, like Pearl always said, it was a mistake. Like what William had done when he told about the Challenges. He put his arms around Mommy and whispered, “It’s okay.”

  He had to say it. Daddy used to tell him that everybody needs reminders sometimes that are just for encouragement. Like “I Am So Proud of You” or “It’s Okay.” She smiled through her tears, but she didn’t make a big deal about him speaking. It was like she knew it would embarrass him or even get him in trouble with his sister. There wasn’t a lot of time anyway, because their new grandma had just arrived to pick them up. She came into the room like she was the school principal and everybody had to stop what they were doing and pay attention to what she said.

  William was instantly afraid of her because he was still thinking of her as sort of dead, even though he knew that was dumb. But Pearl let New Grandma hug her. So William had to, too. New Grandma smelled really good, but her face was sharp and pinched and her voice was kind of icky, like the smile Sophie always gave him at school right before she hit him in the stomach with a dodge ball.

  She didn’t look like Daddy. Not that William could see anyway. But William didn’t look like his mom, either, so maybe that didn’t mean anything.

  “I’ve wanted to meet you for a very long time,” she said when she let William go. “You’re my son’s only son.”

  She was looking at him so hard, like she wanted to have a staring contest, which always made him start blinking like mad. He pushed on the nose of his glasses. His eyes were watering, too. He always lost those staring contests.

  “You’re eight years old now, aren’t you?” she said. “In third grade.”

  He nodded, but he was swinging his legs, listening to his sneakers squeak on the shiny tile floor.

  What happened after that was another meeting of Mom, New Grandma, Pearl, and the social worker behind the glass doors. It took so long that William bunched up his jacket to use as a pillow and fell asleep on the hard wood bench. When he woke up, Mommy was kissing him goodbye and then he and New Grandma and Pearl were going downstairs to get their bags from the room where they’d put them last night, by the front desk of the police station. A few minutes later, they were in New Grandma’s big white car: Pearl in the front with her, and William all alone in the back.

  He was clearing his throat like crazy. He didn’t like this plan of Pearl’s at all. And it wasn’t just New Grandma and his creepy feeling that she was some kind of ghost; it was the way Pearl sounded talking to her. Like New Grandma was the doorman at Aunt Lila’s building, and Pearl was just being fake-friendly, like she was even trying to trick New Grandma or something.

  His sister said she’d looked forward to being with Grandma for a long time, which he knew for sure was a big fat lie. It had to be, because if Pearl had known New Grandma wasn’t dead before, she would have asked Daddy about it.

  “You can talk, too, now if you want,” Pearl said, turning around to look at him. She’d been smiling so long it was like her face was stuck that way, but William knew for sure she wasn’t really happy. He could tell by her eyes, which looked every bit as mad as the day he’d spilled water on her cell phone. He even felt guilty like he had then, though he hadn’t done anything.

  “I don’t want to,” he finally said, and Pearl laughed a fakey laugh.

  “He’ll warm up to me soon enou
gh,” New Grandma said. “Everybody seems to. Your father was the same way. I used to tell him he could charm anyone if he put his mind to it.”

  “What about Aunt Lila?” Pearl said.

  “Oh, Lila was nothing like Billy and me. But that’s a story for another time. Right now I want to hear all about you.”

  She was like every grown-up in the world, asking all these questions, but she didn’t ask Pearl if she liked school or what she wanted to be when she grew up, like most grown-ups did. She asked what books she’d read recently, what she thought about the election, a bunch of other stuff that William didn’t really understand or care about. Pearl answered each question in a tone so bright it sounded like somebody had stuck a flashlight in her face. He wished she would stop acting this way. He wondered how long it would be before they could get out of this car.

  “As I told your mother and the social worker, I own property in the area so you won’t have to change schools,” New Grandma said. William recognized this highway. It was on the way to their house in Harrisburg. “My grandfather—your great-grandfather—left me this house when he died.”

  Pearl said something William didn’t hear, and New Grandma said, “Yes, it’s only about twenty miles from your house. I wondered if your father moved to Harrisburg to be closer to this place. He knew I was living in New Jersey, but the house has always been maintained. He came here several times in the last year, as a matter of fact.” She shook her head. “I don’t suppose he mentioned any of this to you kids.”

  “No.” Pearl sounded really upset all of a sudden. “But I’m sure he had a good reason.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he did,” New Grandma said.