The Promised World: A Novel

by Lisa Tucker

  “I know you love Pearl and Maisie, buddy.”

  He did love his sisters, more than ever now. He missed Maisie bad, but he missed Pearl, too. The Pearl downstairs listening to Grandma was like a crushed-up piece of paper or a toy someone had stepped on. She had to hold her fork all weird-like, so her arm wouldn’t hurt. Even her voice was so much quieter it made him want to cry.

  He was so scared he felt like his heart was going to explode and make a mess all over the bathroom tile, but that was okay. All he had to do was try his best, like Daddy wrote in the letter. “Whatever happens, remember, I’ll always be proud of you for trying. And remember, you’ll always be my smart little man.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Lila wanted to believe that the children were all right. She wanted to feel reassured—as her sister-in-law and her husband did—after Ashley talked to the social worker and Pearl. Not surprisingly, Mrs. Pritzel had been annoyed that Ashley had looked up her home phone number and bothered her on a Sunday night, but she said she’d visited Pearl and William last week and just spoken to them on Friday and they were doing very well. The social worker also said that, now that it had been three weeks, it was time to start supervised visitation with Ashley, and she would set up a meeting between the children and their mother on Tuesday evening, Wednesday at the latest.

  This was good news, Ashley said, as it was the first step toward bringing the kids home. She was also happy that the social worker agreed that she could call Pearl’s cell phone number, if she was really concerned, just to check in. Unfortunately, Pearl was still angry with her mother, or, as Ashley put it, “She sounded like I was bothering her even though all I told her was I loved her and was worried. She said, ‘But you weren’t worried when you had him living there, were you? You weren’t worried when you cut our own father out of our lives.’ “

  Lila didn’t know how to respond, but she couldn’t judge Ashley as harshly as she had before, and not only because her sister-in-law was near tears. She felt ashamed and embarrassed that when Ashley had asked Pearl if she wanted to talk to her aunt for a minute, Pearl had said no. “Are you sure, honey?” Ashley said. “She’s sitting right here and she’s worried, too.” Ashley hadn’t shared Pearl’s response—until Lila stupidly insisted on hearing it. “It was just some crazy crap about you causing Billy’s death.” Ashley sighed. “She’s trying to find somebody to blame. Me, you, doesn’t matter, as long as it isn’t her daddy’s fault.”

  During these phone calls, Patrick was busy using Ashley’s computer to track down Barbara Duval’s address in Pennsylvania. He said it was surprisingly easy to find, and he’d printed the directions, in case they needed to head out there tonight. But when he heard what had happened, he said they should wait until morning to decide what to do, and Ashley agreed. She was afraid of causing trouble with Mrs. Pritzel and losing her chance to see the kids this week and maybe even get them back.

  After they talked for another half hour or so, Patrick and Lila went upstairs to Pearl and Maisie’s room. Ashley had insisted they stay over, and Patrick had gratefully accepted. He crashed on one of the twin beds while Lila took the other. Within a few minutes, her husband was snoring softly. No wonder, he had to be exhausted from all that driving.

  It was after midnight. Lila expected to fall asleep quickly herself, but the drowsiness side effect of her medicine must have worn off. If anything, she grew more awake as the minutes ticked by—and as she thought about what Pearl had said about Lila causing Billy’s suicide. Her first reaction was to feel intensely guilty, as though she was responsible in some way she hadn’t accepted. But when she realized this was the same feeling she’d had when her mother screamed that she’d caused her father’s death, she was suddenly positive that her mother was behind this, too. Somehow she’d manipulated Pearl into believing Lila had done something awful to Billy.

  If this was the only thing her mother had managed to convince Pearl of, it would be sad, but not an emergency. But what if Lila’s mother also convinced Pearl to turn on Ashley? Or William? What if she even convinced Pearl to turn on herself?

  Dr. Kutchins had told Lila that her mother was very dangerous. “You keep defending her because she didn’t beat you like your stepfather. Ignoring the fact that she allowed him to do this, you still have to consider that her cruelty was as bad, if not worse, because it was so covert. Research has shown time and time again that a parent can destroy a child without ever landing a blow.”

  Pearl wasn’t a young child, but since her father died, she was clearly vulnerable, and possibly more profoundly troubled than any of them knew. While they were downstairs, Ashley had confided that—though Kyle was undoubtedly bad news—she had a “strong hunch” that he hadn’t actually beaten her daughter. Her sister-in-law didn’t elaborate, but Lila was disturbed at the mere possibility that Ashley could be right. If Pearl had staged this, if she’d actually allowed someone to beat her until she was bruised… Lila kept wondering if something frightening was going on within Pearl, something that might lead her to harm herself in other ways. And even if Pearl was fine, what about William, who was only eight and had already been through the police investigation that had led to his father’s suicide?

  Maybe Lila would have talked herself out of doing anything if she hadn’t remembered all the times her brother had said, “My children will never go through what we did.” As she got up and threw her clothes on, her only thought was that she owed it to Billy to make sure his precious kids were safe.

  She stopped at the other twin bed and looked down at her husband, sleeping flat on his back, his fists curled against his sides like a baby. He’d done so much for her in North Carolina, and she wanted him with her now, badly, but she was also afraid of him seeing her mother again. Billy had always said that they had to protect everyone else from the terror of their past—and look what happened when Patrick got close to that past before. Somehow her mother had managed to change her sweet husband into an angry man who came home to Lila talking as though he didn’t know her or even like her. After spending only an hour with her mother in New Jersey, her husband had actually walked out on her—for the first time, the only time, in eleven years.

  Even if her mother hadn’t caused that, she could have, Lila was sure. Because her mother knew something no one else knew: some secret about Lila. This was her deepest fear that nothing in therapy had been able to diminish. Despite Dr. Kutchins and even Mrs. Lewis insisting it wasn’t Lila’s fault that her mother was cruel to her, some part of Lila could never believe it. Because her mother knew something they didn’t know. Something that could drive anyone, even Patrick, away from her for good.

  Before she left Ashley’s, she took Patrick’s directions off the kitchen table and a blue jacket from the hook by the door. It was 1:42 according to the clock in the Subaru when she headed for her mother’s house. She turned on the heater full blast. The wind was blowing so fiercely that the little car seemed to be working hard to stay in the lane on the highway.

  She knew this house could turn out to be where she and her brother had grown up, though the right house could be in New Jersey or any other area where it snowed. But when she came to the last street listed on Patrick’s printout, at 2:17, there was no more doubt. The name of the road was Jennigan, and she remembered trying to write that word when she and Billy were four or five years old. She was pushing down hard on the crayon, trying to write it as well as her twin could. The crayon was purple. She could see it so clearly.

  She forced herself to concentrate only on the road, which was a maze of curves until she reached the top of a hill. There it straightened and narrowed significantly. It looked like it had been cut out of a forest hundreds of years ago; there were so many trees that they made a canopy over the street, blocking out the moon and the stars. Every half mile or so a house would appear on the right or the left, always with a lamp or a porch light left on, but then the road would go back to utter darkness. She was following the mailbox numbers, but also
following her instincts. Her body told her when she found the right house.

  It didn’t look that distinct. Several homes she’d passed had had circular driveways, and many of them were large, historical brick homes, like this one. Yet only this place made her start trembling so hard that she had to turn into the driveway with one hand, because her other hand was cupped against her chin to stop her teeth from chattering.

  Now that she was here, she realized why she hadn’t thought it was insane to drive over in the middle of the night. Several of the lights were on downstairs. Their mother had always been a night person, according to Billy. He said she used to wake him up sometimes to play chess, and apparently she’d done the same thing with Pearl. The curtains were drawn back; Lila could see them sitting in the front room, but she’d cut her engine and turned off her headlights so she could roll to a stop without them seeing her.

  As she sat in the Subaru, she concentrated on her brother, hoping he would give her courage. When that didn’t work, she thought about her husband innocently sleeping back at Ashley’s, but this just made her wish she were back there with him. Somehow she propelled herself out of the car and up the first few steps of the walkway. Before she made it onto the front porch, though, she turned and rushed around to the side of the house, where she crouched down against the bushes, trying to catch her breath. It was so cold she was shivering, and she pulled Ashley’s jacket tighter around her. When she felt well enough to stand, she walked back, climbed up to the porch, and pulled the heavy door knocker, all the while forcing her mind to focus on nothing but Billy’s children—his pearl of great price and the little boy who’d been named after Lila and Billy’s gentle father.

  Her mother opened the door and said, “Hello Lila” without any perceptible surprise in her voice, as though she’d known her daughter was coming. As though nothing had changed in twenty years.

  For her part, Lila was surprised how different her mother looked. Her hair was still blond, but her face was so much thinner. She seemed shorter, too, or at least she was shorter now than Lila. Only her smile hadn’t changed; it was still ambiguous, apparently genuine but not matching her eyes, which were either angry or laughing or both, Lila had never been able to tell.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am you’ve come. I thought I might die before seeing you again, but here you are.” She clapped her hands. “A veritable prodigal daughter.”

  Her mother reached out to hug Lila then, and Lila couldn’t think fast enough to deflect her. She didn’t want to be reminded of those old days when she used to long for a hug or kiss from her mother, when she’d stubbornly held on to the hopeless desire that someday her mother would love her, too.

  It was the theme of her earliest memory, according to Dr. Kutchins, who had pushed and pushed Lila to talk about this and acknowledge how it had made her feel. She and her brother were four or five years old; they’d been playing in the backyard when they came across a beehive. They knew better than to touch it, but they still got too close and both of them got stung a few times on the legs. They ran back inside the house, wailing from the pain and the shock that something like this had happened to them and Mommy didn’t even know. Their mother looked at their legs and sprayed some cold stuff from a can that helped, but they were both still sputtering and crying, so Mommy told Lila she could have a Popsicle; then she picked up Billy. She carried him around, hugging and kissing him, while Lila ate her Popsicle. When Lila said it was her turn for Mommy to pick her up, Mommy said she wasn’t strong enough to hold her and her brother. “My turn, Mommy,” Lila repeated, holding up her arms. “That’s why I gave you a Popsicle,” Mommy had said. “If you wanted to be held, you shouldn’t have eaten it. You can’t have both.”

  Now when her mother dropped her arms and took a slight step back, Lila looked past her, distracted by the house. She didn’t expect to remember any of this, and yet the front hall was so familiar it took her breath away. On the right was the ancient mirror framed in mahogany and flanked by two flower stands that Lila used to think were giant candlesticks. On the left was the long bench with the carved back that looked like it belonged in church. The walls were painted pale yellow, which she didn’t remember, but the thick planks of the wood floor were still gleaming, reflecting dozens of lights from the chandelier above. And at the end of the hall was the wide staircase that led up to the landing and a window seat where she and Billy used to read when it was raining. It used to have rows of black and white pillows; she could see them in her mind perfectly.

  When Dr. Kutchins had asked her about this house, she hadn’t been able to describe a single room except the basement and her own bedroom, and even those descriptions were sketchy. What she knew best was the surrounding land: the hill and the woods and the tree house. She wished she could run back there now to escape her mother, who was already trying to confuse her.

  “I heard you’re an English professor. How wonderful! Billy told me when you were doing your dissertation that you’d chosen American literature, which suits you, I think. Melville is an interesting choice for a woman, though I’m sure it makes you unusual in your field.”

  She knew Billy had not told her mother anything because Billy hadn’t even seen her mother. Either Patrick told her or, more likely, she looked up Lila’s faculty page on the internet. Lila took a deep breath and walked past her mother and through the doorway that led to the front room, where Pearl was still sitting in one of the stiff leather armchairs next to the pedestal table that held the chessboard. Her mother was right behind her. “I think you should go to bed now, Pearl. We can continue this game in the morning. It’s late and I’d like to talk to my daughter.”

  “But I need to talk to her,” Lila said. “I came here because—” Pearl was already standing and Lila walked over to her. “Wait, I know you’re upset with me but—”

  “I have to go upstairs now.” Her voice was quiet and depressed, nothing like the way she usually sounded. And she was wearing stretch pants and a button-down shirt that seemed utterly wrong for a teenager, in addition to looking at least four sizes too big.

  “Just for a few minutes,” Lila said, trying and failing to catch her eye. When Pearl started to walk away, Lila said, “Please,” and reached for her niece’s elbow.

  “Let go! You’re hurting me!”

  Lila dropped her arm and gasped, “I’m sorry.” She’d thought she was barely touching her niece, and the idea that she’d hurt Pearl brought tears to her eyes.

  “Go on, now,” her mother said. “I want to talk to your aunt.”

  Pearl left, but not before she glanced back at Lila. Her niece’s expression was still angry, but Lila thought she saw confusion as well.

  She told her mother she wasn’t leaving until she got a chance to talk to Billy’s children.

  “I assume you’ll be staying until morning, then,” her mother said brightly. “How nice. We’ll have a chance for a good, old-fashioned mother-daughter chat. Have a seat. I’ll make tea.”

  “No thanks,” Lila said, but her mother was already gone.

  She found it too oppressive, standing in this dreary room, faced with the ivory chessboard, surrounded by her mother’s trophies. She walked to the front hall, and while she was considering whether to follow her mother to the kitchen or find another room, she heard a noise above her head in the room that used to be Billy’s. It sounded like someone crying, though she knew that might be her imagination conjuring up all the cries she’d heard in this house years ago.

  As she rushed up the stairs, she kept her eyes straight ahead, unwilling to be distracted by the window seat on the landing or anything else. She was determined to find out what was going on before her mother could stop her. When she got to the door, the pitiful sound was louder: it was unmistakably real, coming from a little boy. Then she noticed the button on the knob was pushed in, and she instantly knew what had happened to William.

  She turned the button and flung open the door. The bedside lamp was on, but he wasn�
�t in bed; he was pushing on the window latch, trying to get it open.

  “Daddy did it last time,” he stammered. “I thought I knew how, but I can’t.”

  She had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. He was crying so hard that nothing mattered but gathering him in her arms. He felt hot and limp, as though he’d been sobbing for hours. He didn’t resist when she picked him up and carried him to the chair across from the bed, to hold him in her lap. His hands were clasped tightly behind her neck.

  After a moment or two, he said, “I didn’t do nothing bad.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”

  “Come on now, William.” Her mother was standing in the doorway. “Tell your aunt the truth.”

  “I don’t care what he did. Locking children in their rooms is horrible.” Lila stood up, shifting William’s weight to her hip. She walked to the doorway holding the shaking little boy, and her mother stepped out of the way, thank God. Lila didn’t want to stay in this room another minute, for fear her mother would lock them both in.

  “It’s past his bedtime.” Her mother sounded eerily calm. “I know you’ve never taken care of children, but surely even you can see that a child needs sleep.”

  Lila looked down the long, dark hallway before turning the other way, to the light and the stairs. She carried William down very slowly, making sure her foot was firmly in the middle of each step. Though small for his age, he was still very heavy for her. When they got to the bottom, she walked into the first room and sat down on a beige love seat, hoping to catch her breath.

  If the chess room was Lila’s least favorite room in this house, this one she’d always liked because of the wall of books her mother owned, including several first editions going back to the early nineteenth century. She liked that the books remained even when her mother changed everything else, from the furniture, none of which she recognized now, to the mantel on the fireplace, which Lila thought had been brick before or maybe white, but which now looked like marble. She felt better just sitting in this room, and William was calming down, too, even though her mother had followed them and was standing a few feet away, lecturing Lila about how tired William was going to be tomorrow when he had to go to school.