The Promised World: A Novel

by Lisa Tucker

  Had her mother really been so reckless as to leave a gun lying around with children in the house? And where was William? Pearl had said he went outside, but nothing about when or why. Lila worried about him wandering around in the dark, especially on a chilly night like this, though she was glad he wasn’t here to see what was happening with his sister.

  She was standing over by the fireplace; the gun was in her right hand and her left hand was outstretched as though she was imploring them. “All I want is the truth. Maybe you’re right,” she said, nodding at her grandmother. “Maybe I didn’t know my dad, but I tried to. I tried as hard as I could, but I failed.”

  Lila couldn’t fathom why her mother would’ve told this grieving girl that she hadn’t known her father, but she told Pearl it wasn’t true. “Honey, listen to me. You lived with him for fifteen years. She hasn’t even seen him since he was a teenager. You know a lot more—”

  “No more lies! I saw the pictures myself. She showed them to me. He was visiting her while he was telling me she was dead.”

  “Your aunt isn’t lying, Pearl. Billy kept his visits from her, as well.” Her mother’s smile was barely perceptible, but Lila noticed it and shuddered. “I think he was afraid she wouldn’t approve.”

  Lila felt like the wind had been knocked out of her, but she refused to feel what this meant. “I don’t know why your dad didn’t tell me,” she said slowly, looking straight at her niece. “But I still believe that I knew him, and you did, too.” Pearl reached up to rub her right elbow, as though it was bothering her. This was the same elbow Lila had touched earlier. “I’m sorry again about your arm,” she said gently. “I never meant—”

  “You didn’t. It was my fault. But this has nothing to do with what I want to talk about,” Pearl said, her voice rising. “I want to know why Dad hated himself enough to do what he did. And don’t tell me it’s because of what happened with William and losing custody. I know that’s not true. He said it started when he lived here, in this house.”

  “I already told you my thoughts on this,” Lila’s mother said, sounding like a petulant four-year-old. “Apparently, you didn’t appreciate my answer.”

  Lila was surprised. “Billy told you he hated himself when he was a child?”

  “Here it comes.” Her mother frowned at Lila. “You’re going to blame me. I’m the horrid mother who made her poor children so unhappy.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “No doubt you blame me for Pearl’s instability, as well, based on nothing other than that she’s been staying here for the past three weeks. I’m sure it would never occur to you that she’s behaving this way because she was the one who found you unconscious, that it was your irresponsible actions and those of your brother that led her to—”

  “Stop it,” Pearl screamed. “I’m going to do it right now if you don’t tell me the truth!”

  “But I’ve told you the truth,” Lila’s mother said. “What more do you want—”

  Pearl’s hand was twitching. “Wait,” Lila said quickly, “I’ll tell you, but your father shouldn’t have blamed himself. He was only trying to protect me. And he was very young, your age, fifteen years old.” She’d never said this to anyone, but that wasn’t why she hesitated. She had to make sure Pearl didn’t overreact to the news that her father had done something violent to Harold. Unfortunately, Lila wasn’t sure what Billy had done because her brother always said he didn’t want her to be involved, in case whatever it was came to light. In the hospital, she’d dreamed or remembered Billy saying he shot him. Was that possible?

  “First,” she told her niece, “you should know that our stepfather was very abusive. He—”

  “This is a total fabrication,” her mother said. “There wasn’t—”

  “He beat you,” Pearl said, staring at nothing. “Once he had you lie on your bed without your shirt on, and he beat you on the back with his belt. All you’d done was ask him a question.”

  Though Lila didn’t remember this, Billy had told her about it many times. “Yes,” she said, astounded that her niece could rattle it off so quickly. “Did your father talk about this?”

  “No, he wrote about it. In a book.”

  “What book?”

  “Clearly it was one of his stories,” her mother said. “Billy had an incredible imagination, but Lila knows she was never beaten in her life. She was punished occasionally, yes, but—”

  “The book is about a man who can’t escape,” Pearl said. “That’s in the first sentence. And then there’s all this true stuff like the guy’s name is Billy and he has a twin sister named Lila and he grew up in this house in Pennsylvania. So it’s like my dad was writing about himself, but then he starts some chapters with, ‘What you are about to read isn’t true’ or ‘Believe the following at your peril.’ “ Pearl swallowed hard. “I just don’t understand it. I tried and tried, but I’m not smart enough.”

  Her niece had let her arm fall to her side, but she was still holding the gun. If only Lila could convince her to put it down. She heard noises upstairs, meaning William was back inside. She wondered why he hadn’t come down yet, but she hoped he stayed safely where he was. “This makes perfect sense,” she said to Pearl. “You think if you did understand it, you would understand your dad. Perhaps I could help you. I know your father’s—”

  “But he says in the book that the guilt he can’t escape is because of his twin.” Pearl’s cheeks grew pink. “Was he like… in love with you?”

  Her mother started to say something, but Lila cut her off. “No, honey. Of course not.” She could feel her mother sneering at her, but she kept her eyes on her niece. “That’s what I was trying to tell you before. When our stepfather was beating me one night and wouldn’t stop, your father—”

  “Shot him,” Pearl said. “I know that, it’s in the book.” She closed her eyes for a second. “But it’s in one of those chapters he says isn’t true.”

  “Because it isn’t,” her mother said. “It’s frankly ridiculous that we’re having this discussion, as your aunt knows full well that she never even had a stepfather.” She crossed her arms. “I never married any of the men I was involved with. I considered it, but at the end of the day, I valued my freedom more.”

  Lila felt cold even though she knew it was actually a little warm in the room. “Perhaps she didn’t marry him,” she said, as evenly as she could manage, “but we thought of him as our stepfather and he certainly treated us—”

  Pearl shook her head. “His name was Harold Duval, right?”

  Lila nodded, and her mother sputtered, “No it wasn’t. My boyfriend’s name was Harold Tarley. How can any of this—”

  Pearl shrugged. “That’s what he named the stepfather in the book.”

  Lila was trying to focus. If there wasn’t a Harold Duval and never had been, then the word Billy could never utter without his voice filled with rage was the name their mother had given them. Their mother’s last name.

  Pearl was looking at her. “Are you saying he did shoot this Harold guy, even though it’s in the not-true chapter?”

  “I don’t know, but your father did something to protect me. Your grandmother knows it, too. She knows something happened the night Billy and I ran away.”

  “Would you like me to describe that night?” her mother said.

  “No,” Lila said, glancing at her niece.

  “Oh, it won’t hurt Pearl, I’m confident of that. Because your brother didn’t do anything. Something happened that weekend, though; you’re quite right there.”

  Lila said she didn’t want to hear any more, but her mother ignored her. She knew from the thinly disguised glee in her mother’s voice that her mother had found an opening to hurt her, though she had no idea how badly.

  “On Saturday night, when my boyfriend Harold came home, you tried to attack him with a butcher knife. You claimed that he was going to beat your brother, which was absolutely ludicrous. After that stunt, I had no choice, I had to put you in a hospital.”

&n
bsp; Lila felt as stunned and disoriented as if she’d smashed into a wall. Her hands were knotted together as though she was literally holding on to what she’d always believed, what her brother had told her a thousand times about their past.

  “Is she telling the truth?” Pearl looked at Lila. “There was something in Dad’s book about you trying to save him. He even had that page you wrote stuck in the middle of the chapter. Remember? I gave it to you at the cemetery.”

  I know what my mother did, but I can’t hate her for this. It’s not her fault that she lacks imagination. But I have to be strong and save my brother. He told me he wished he were dead. I’m really afraid he’ll kill himself if we don’t get out of here. I’m writing this because I have to do whatever it takes to make sure he’s all right. He needs me now so badly. I can’t ever be weak again.

  Lila had looked at this note Pearl had given her several times, even kept it in her purse, but she’d never guessed it was something she herself had written. The effect on her of this realization was as immediate as it was strange. Her mother was still talking about that night, and she was trying to concentrate, but she was barely able to breathe, much less respond. Something was happening to her; she had to keep blinking to see her niece and the wall of books and the room they were sitting in. For a split second, she wondered if she could be having a seizure for the first time in years, but then the convulsion wracking her mind gave way to a clear vision that was less like a normal memory than like a veil parting in front of her eyes, revealing the past, timeless and all at once.

  They were gathered in the front room for the Saturday afternoon debate: her mother, Lila, and Billy. Normally, Lila spent debate time in her room, reading and daydreaming, but today was different. Today, she was worried about her brother.

  There was music playing, Bach’s concertos, which her mother believed helped clarify the mind. Her mother and Billy were sitting on the white couch; Lila was sitting on the blue chair across from them. The coffee table was new, a massive oak antique that her mother had purchased from a dealer in New York. They were having cakes served on the ivory china they’d had for years, an inheritance from her mother’s grandfather, like this house. Lila had broken one of the saucers a few months ago by throwing it against the wall. She didn’t remember this, but her mother had mentioned it so many times that simply seeing this china reminded her.

  Their mother had just announced today’s topic: “Is gratitude an obligation?”

  “Taking the affirmative,” her mother continued, “I will argue that when extreme sacrifices have been made, the beneficiary has an obligation to be grateful.” Her mother nodded at Billy. “You will argue the position you apparently hold: that of the spoiled child.”

  “Come on,” Billy said. “I can’t debate this.” He sounded hopeless. “You know I don’t hold that position. Why are you—”

  “I assure you I don’t know. I’d told you Friday night was going to be difficult for me.” She touched her face with her napkin. “You were well aware that I was going to be alone, without Harold. Apparently, you didn’t care.”

  Her brother had stayed out late on Friday with a friend. But he was a sophomore in high school, and it was normal to have friends; Lila knew that from her books.

  “I’m sorry,” Billy said. “I’ve told you that over and over. I don’t know what else —”

  Her mother pointed at Lila. “And what was she supposed to do while you were out with your quote-unquote friend? Even if you forgot about me, surely you didn’t forget about your darling twin.”

  “I was okay,” Lila said. She was speaking as softly as possible, trying not to do anything that would make this worse for her brother.

  “Don’t do this again,” Billy said, looking at their mother. “Please.”

  “ ‘Oh, don’t make me choose,’ “ her mother said, mocking his voice. “ ‘I love you both. I love you, Mother, I really do.’ “

  Lila was trying to concentrate on the conversation, but as it kept going on and on, this became increasingly difficult, especially as she was having one of her fuzzy days, when nothing seemed to make sense and her thoughts jumped around like popcorn kernels in a pan. But she liked listening to Bach; she imagined his fugues like green and gold kites, floating and bobbing across the sky.

  She snapped out of her reverie a few minutes later when their mother jumped up and began shaking Billy’s shoulders. “After all I’ve done for you. You evil, evil boy!” She was shrieking. “I’ve chosen you over everyone in my life, but you couldn’t choose me over someone you’d just met!”

  Then she stomped out and, a moment later, Billy ran upstairs to his room. Lila followed him. She found him facedown on his bed.

  She sat down next to him and rubbed his back. “It’ll be all right,” she said slowly. “Mother will get over it.”

  “No, she won’t.” His voice was muffled against his pillow. “She knows about Jennifer. I don’t know how she knows, but she does. Christ, I wish I were dead.”

  The friend he’d gone out with on Friday was a new girl in his school named Jennifer. And Billy liked Jennifer, Lila knew that, because he smiled whenever he said her name.

  Her brother sounded so depressed that Lila begged him for the hundredth time to run away with her. “Is the world, then, so narrow?” she said. “Does the universe lie within the compass of this house?” She was alluding to The Scarlet Letter, a book she and Billy had read over and over. After a minute, she added, “We could take Jennifer with us, too, if you want.”

  “Hester didn’t leave,” he muttered. “She stayed and took her punishment.”

  “He’s going to punish you? That’s not right!” Harold often hit her when he came home, usually for something she’d said to her mother that she’d already forgotten about. Each time, she vowed to control what she said in the future, but then she would feel the angry words bubbling up from her stomach through her esophagus and right out of her mouth. But Billy was different. Even when their mother had screamed he was an evil boy, he hadn’t said anything back. He was always in control, and perfectly reasonable; he didn’t deserve this.

  “I can’t stand to have him hurt you, too,” she said. “I won’t let him!”

  Her brother turned over and looked at her. Then he surprised her by reaching up and touching her cheek so gently, as if she were the one about to be punished, not him. She laid her hand on his and tried to figure out what he was thinking. After a moment, maybe more, he pulled away and said he needed to be alone.

  By the time she was back in her own room, she’d decided she had to do something to save him. She wrote it down to make sure she wouldn’t forget. She even wrote what Billy always said about their mother lacking imagination, which was why Mother didn’t see that her complaints about Lila to Harold would invariably lead to him beating Lila with his belt.

  While her mother was busy dressing up for Harold’s return, Lila snuck into the kitchen and grabbed the butcher knife. She didn’t plan on hurting anyone, but she needed something to threaten Harold with if he even approached Billy. She took the knife into her room and sat, trembling, at her desk. She wanted to be strong for her brother but she was so afraid, especially after she heard the front door slam, meaning Harold was home. The only thing that worked to calm her was a passage from the book she was reading, Moby-Dick. Captain Ahab wasn’t scared of anyone. “I’d strike the sun if it insulted me,” Lila said, repeating Ahab’s words.

  Still, when she heard Harold’s heavy footsteps as he climbed the stairs and stopped in front of Billy’s room, her heart was skipping like a frightened bird’s. She rushed into her twin’s room and held the knife pointed out, aimed right at Harold.

  Her brother was sitting on the bed. He said, “Lila, no!” and Harold took a step back toward the window that faced the tree in the backyard.

  She moved closer, still brandishing the knife at her stepfather. “You’re not going to hurt Billy.”

  “Stay calm,” Harold said, holding up his hands.
“There’s no need to overreact.”

  Her mother must have heard Billy scream. She came into the doorway. She sounded bored. “Take the knife away from her.”

  “Put it down,” Billy said. “Please, I’m all right.” Lila was thinking about doing what he asked until she glanced over and noticed he was crying. Her brother never cried. Harold must have hit him before she got here. She couldn’t let him do it again.

  Her mother barked at Harold, “Do it now, before she hurts someone!”

  Billy hated Harold, but Lila never could, no matter how many times he hit her, and no matter how many times Billy said it was all Harold’s fault, the way their mother treated them. She wasn’t about to give him the knife, but she couldn’t watch it happen, either. So as Harold came closer and closer to her, she shut her eyes, and when she felt him try to grab her arm, she stabbed blindly in what she hoped was the right direction.

  She opened her eyes when she heard him groan. She’d only nicked him in the arm, but he stepped back immediately. “That’s it,” he said. “I’m through with this!”

  “What?” her mother said.

  “All of this! You tell me every time I get back that Lila has to be punished because she’s been hitting you and Billy. This time, you said Billy had to be punished because he hit Lila.” He was pressing his fingers against the cut, but Lila saw the blood running down his arm. “If you ask me, everyone in this house is crazy as hell.”

  He left the room, taking care to stay as far away from Lila as possible. Her mother went after him, and a few minutes later, they heard him yell a curse and then the front door banging shut.

  Lila whispered to her brother, “I think I’d better go to the tree house.”

  It was the one hiding place where their mother never thought to look for her, because her mother still believed the tree house wasn’t strong enough to hold a teenager. She didn’t know that Billy had reinforced the boards in the floor last spring, to give Lila somewhere to read in peace when he was at school and her mother was in a bad mood.