"Yes," he said in a tired, defeated, voice, "only where is her home now? Where she is, I'm afraid," he replied to his own question.
"Maybe someday I'll be able to make a home for her."
"Maybe you will," he agreed.
"First, I have to find my own home," I said. "I want to know who my real father is."
"If I knew, I would tell you, but Haille never confided anything intimate to me. I just know it's not Kenneth, thank God. What a mess that would have been. Sins of the father," he muttered and shook his head.
"For what it's worth to you," he added, as I started to turn away, "my home is always open to you."
I thought about this and then just nodded without reply.
I wish there was some way I could earn your forgiveness, Melody," he said.
"It's not my forgiveness you need."
Unable to look at me, he finished the whiskey in his glass.
"I've got to go home," I said.
"Of course.I'll fetch Morton."
We walked out into the hallway.
"Do you think," he began, "there will ever be a time when you can look at me as your grandfather?"
"For as long as I've known you, you've pretended it wasn't true."
"I know, and I regret it," he said.
"So do I," I replied. "I suppose it comes down to who regrets it more."
He smiled.
"When it comes to regrets, I have the edge."
I softened my eyes. He did look like a broken, remorseful old man and for the moment, I felt pity more than I felt anger. Anger was a sword, sharp and hot, but it also burned and cut the person who held it in their vengeful grasp.
"What's Grandma Olivia going to do when she learns you've told me the truth?" I asked.
He thought on this and then smiled.
"Pretend I didn't," he said, which brought a smile to my face, too.
Then he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek.
"I'm glad you came here today, Melody," he said. "Morton will be right with you."
I stepped out and took a deep breath. My lungs felt full of hot air, enough to make me explode. From practically every point around this house, there was a good view of the ocean. The front steps were no different.
I saw a sailboat bucking the waves, the ocean spray shooting up around it, its sails full of wind. It was too beautiful here to plant a garden of lies. Eventually, the ocean, like time itself, would wash them away and leave us with the naked truth on the beach.
I wasn't as afraid of tomorrow as I had been yesterday. In fact, I looked forward to it.
14
Jealousy
.
From the way Morton spoke about Judge
Childs when Morton drove me home, it was apparent to me that he loved him as he would love his own father. Apparently, my grandfather had helped Morton when he had gotten himself into trouble with the law. He was about twenty at the time. My grandfather offered him a job driving for him, helping around the house, being his all-around assistant, and Morton had remained with Judge Childs ever since. I wondered just how much Morton really knew about the family secrets. However, I could see he wasn't one to tell tales out of school, especially if it involved my grandfather. He'd rather cut out his own tongue than speak a word against him.
I wondered about my grandfather, a man who could earn so much respect and such devoted loyalty from a complete stranger. I wanted to believe that meant he had some very fine qualities, but what the judge had done to Grandma Belinda was wrong, very wrong. He compounded the sin by cooperating with Grandma Olivia, who wanted her sister kept out of sight. He succumbed to Olivia's jealous rage and paid a high price to protect his own name and reputation. It cost him his peace of mind at a time in his life when he most needed it, and most important, it cost him his son's love. Despite his wealth, his big house full of valuable antiques, his beautiful property, his position in the community, he really was someone to be pitied. That much Morton did reveal.
"You made the judge happy," he said with admiration. "I could see it in his face. He hasn't worn a smile like that for years. At least, not since his wife died."
"Did you like her as much as you like Judge Childs?" I asked.
"Oh surely yes. Mrs. Childs was a real lady.
She never let down her hair in public, and she always
treated everyone with the utmost respect, no matter
what color he or she was, or what their family did for
a living. She was a pretty woman, too, and she wrote
poems. She published some in those small magazines,
and once in a big magazine from New York City. I
don't recall exactly which one, but I know it was an
important magazine. Mr. Kenneth was right proud of
her at the time."
"I work for Kenneth, you know," I told him as
we drove into town.
"Oh, that's right. You're Mrs. Logan's
granddaughter. The judge told me you were helping
Kenneth around his house and such." He shook his
head. "The next time you see him, you tell him he
should come visit more. '
"Do you know why he doesn't?" I asked softly. "That isn't my business. I just know a son
should visit his father when his father is along in age.
That's where you're living, right there?" he said,
nodding at Uncle Jacob and Aunt Sara's house. "Yes."
I saw the car in the driveway beside the truck
and knew Cary was home. Why wasn't he visiting
Uncle Jacob at the hospital? I wondered.
"Here we are," Morton said, pulling into the
driveway. "You come visit again. I know the judge
would like that," he said.
"Thank you."
I got out and hurried to the front door. As I
entered, Aunt Sara was climbing the stairs with a tray
in her hands. There was a bowl of clam chowder,
crackers, and a piece of filleted bass with some
vegetables on a plate. She swung her head around to
see me come in and flashed a smile at me, her eyes
full of sparkling light.
"He's home!" she announced. "Jacob's home.
He insisted they release him today instead of waiting
until tomorrow. I'm just bringing him some home
cooking. He said he didn't miss anything as much as
my cooking. You can come up to see him in a little
while," she added and continued up the stairs. "Where are Cary and May?" I called.
"In the kitchen having a late lunch," she
shouted back. "Go on in there if you're hungry." I walked down the hallway and paused in the
kitchen doorway. Cary was signing to May as she ate
her sandwich, explaining more to her about their
father's illness. Her eyes widened and he turned to see
me standing there.
"Hi. How was your visit?"
"There's a lot to tell," I said. "You brought your
father home already, I see."
"He threatened to get up and walk out anyway.
The doctors had no choice. They weren't happy about
it. We've got to keep him quiet, resting, taking his
medicine. I hope he doesn't wear out my mother. She's
been up and down those stairs a half dozen times for
one thing or another already and she insists on doing
everything herself."
"I'll help her anyway," I said.
"You'll be away working with Kenneth," he re
minded me.
"Well, I'll help her every chance I get, and so
will May." I smiled and signed the same to her. She
nodded eagerly and told me Aunt Sara had already
agreed to let her stay home tomorrow to do just that.
"See? It will be all right," I said.
"Sure," Cary said without enthusiasm. "You
hungry?"
"Actually, now that I see you eating, I realize I
am. I've been going ever since I left this morning." "Going where?" he asked.
"From Grandma Belinda to Grandma Olivia
and then to Judge Childs's home," I replied. His face
brightened with curiosity.
"Oh, so that's what you mean by having a lot to
tell?"
"I'll make myself a sandwich and tell you
everything from start to finish," I promised and I did
just that.
Cary shook his head, amazed at the revelations
when I completed a summary of my travels and
experiences.
"If Dad knew, he never let on to me," he said. "I
guess this family does have its closets full of skeletons. Didn't the judge have an idea who your
father might be?" Cary asked.
"No," I said. "He just told me that it wasn't long
after Kenneth and Haille found out about him that she
got herself into trouble and she and my step-daddy left
Provincetown."
I gazed at May, who had been watching us with
curiosity as I told Cary everything. Somehow she
sensed she shouldn't interrupt, but my intensity and
Cary's firm attention piqued her curiosity. I quickly
told her I was describing my visit with Grandma
Belinda and then, to get away from going into it any
further, I suggested that we take a walk on the beach
after I said hello to Uncle Jacob.
"We'll all go for a walk," Cary decided. The three of us went upstairs. The bedroom
door was open. Uncle Jacob was sitting up, his back
against two large, fluffy pillows. He wore a nightshirt,
and although he didn't look as small as he had in the
hospital bed, he still looked pale and quite a bit
thinner to me. Aunt Sara was sitting at his bedside
trimming his fingernails. It looked as if she had just
brushed his hair, too. If Uncle Jacob was happy about
being home, you couldn't tell by looking at him. He
didn't smile when we appeared.
"You're sure that engine's working fine now, eh
Cary?" he asked.
"Yes, Dad. She's purring better than she was." "Doubt that," he muttered. "I always took good
care of my boat."
Cary glanced at me to see if I read a reprimand
in Uncle Jacobs remark.
"Hello, Uncle Jacob," I said, refusing to be
ignored. "I'm happy you're home."
He grunted what sounded like a thank you, but
avoided looking at me.
"You send Roy around after work tomorrow,"
he told Cary. "I want a word with him."
"Sure. You need anything? We're just going to
take a walk on the beach."
"I have a list of groceries, Cary," Aunt Sara
said. "Oh."
"Let's do that first, Cary," I suggested. "Sure. Where's the list, Ma?"
"Right beside the tea kettle. Add a five-pound
bag of sugar, please," she said. Cary nodded and we
started out.
"You have money?" Uncle Jacob called. "Yes," Cary said.
"Stay close to home afterward. Your mother
can't do everything herself," Uncle Jacob warned. "I'll help as much as I can," I said. He finally
focused his gaze on me, his eyes searching my face to
see if I were looking at him any differently since our
conversations in the hospital. I forced a smile and he
turned back to Aunt Sara to tell her to open the
window a little more.
At the supermarket, we split up the list, giving
May a half dozen items to fetch herself. As Cary and I
walked down the aisle pushing our cart, he grinned at
me, his eyes glittering impishly.
"What's with that look you have on your face,
Cary Logan?" I asked him.
"I was just pretending you and I were married
and shopping together, pretending May was our little
girl."
"We're kind of young to have a daughter as old
as May, aren't we?"
"I just pretended she was much younger," he
said with a shrug. If everything was as easy as
pretending, we would all be forever happy, I thought. "Suppose she was that young? Do you think I
would let her go off by herself like this, Cary Logan?
What sort of a mother do you think I would be?" "A perfect one," he responded. "Don't you think
I'll be a good father?"
"Maybe," I teased.
"Maybe? Why--" He stopped when the man in
front of us turned around. It was Adam Jackson's
father.
"Well, we meet again," he said, fixing his soft
blue eyes on me. He wore a pair of jeans, a heather
grey sweater, and sneakers and looked rather young
and athletic. There was a warmth in his smile that
went beyond mere cordiality, I thought. Despite
Cary's discomfort, I didn't mind Adam's father. "It's nice to run into you again," I said. "At least you're not knocking me over this
time," he kidded. I couldn't help blushing. "Hello,
Cary."
"Hello," Cary answered, rather sulkily I
thought. "How's your father doing? I was sorry to hear
about his illness," Mr. Jackson said.
"He's home," Cary replied and leaned over to
get some cans of soup.
"That's good. Give him my regards." Mr.
Jackson looked at me again. "Cary's father and I used
to go fishing together once in a while. He ever tell you
about that marlin we caught, Cary?"
"No sir, he didn't," Cary said. "We have to move along. My mother needs these things," Cary
added gruffly.
"Oh sure. Well, don't forget to give him my
best, and if he needs help with anything . ."
"Okay," Cary said.
Mr. Jackson winked at me.
"I bet if you play the fiddle for him, he'll feel a
lot better a lot faster," he said.
"Thank you."
I smiled and we walked past him. When I
turned back, he was still looking our way.
"Don't look back at him. He's just flirting with
you," Cary muttered.
"What?"
"Everyone knows T. J. Jackson's reputation
here. Like father like son," he said. "And he doesn't
care about age either. That's why he can't hold onto a
secretary long."
"Really? But he has such a beautiful wife," I
said, gazing back at him again despite Cary's
admonition. "Some men are never satisfied. It's an ego
thing."
"Oh. Since when did you get so wise about
these matters?" I asked, perhaps a bit too sharply. He
shot me a pained look.
"I'm just looking out for you, Melody," he said.
He walked on in a sulk until I put my hand on his and
he turned back to me.
"I'm glad you are, Cary," I said. It brought the
lightness and gaiety back to his face.
May met us at the dairy counter and we
finished our shopping. As we left the store, I saw Mr.
Jackson putting his groceries into his car. He saw me,
too, and paused to wave. I started to wave back when
I saw Cary was watching out of the corner of his eye. "Damn flirt," he said under his breath. Was he right? I wondered. I didn'
t know
whether to be flattered or frightened by the attention
of an older man. After all, look where daydreaming
about Kenneth got me. Nowhere but sad. It made
sense, however. Even Mama Arlene used to use that
expression as if it were gospel: Like father like son.
Except, what about Kenneth? I thought. He wasn't like
his father, and Cary wasn't like his.
I wondered. Was I anything like mine?
Unfortunately, I doubted that I would ever know. When we arrived home, we found Aunt Sara
halfway up the stairs again, this time carrying a tray
with a mug of hot tea and some biscuits.
"He wanted a cup," she explained. "I'll be right there to help put it all away," she added, nodding at
the bags of groceries we carried.
"We'll take care of it, Ma," Cary said, his jaw
taut with anger. "He's going to wear her out
completely," he told me as we watched Aunt Sara
continue up the stairs.
It wasn't a wild prediction. Uncle Jacob had a
bell next to his bed that he would ring about every
five minutes it seemed. He interrupted supper twice
that night demanding things from Aunt Sara. She
never uttered a word of complaint, she was so happy
to have him home, but it was apparent to both Cary
and me that she couldn't run up and down the stairs all
day and night. She wasn't even able to relax enough to
eat!
"Maybe you could get them to hire a special
duty nurse for a while, Cary," I suggested. "If your
family needed the money, maybe Grandpa Samuel
and Grandma Olivia would help."
"It's not the money. You know how my father is
when it comes to strangers in his house," he replied. "Then maybe we can get him to sleep in the
living room until he's a lot better," I said. "At least
your mother wouldn't have to go up and down the
stairs so much."
Cary thought it was a good suggestion, but
when he brought that idea to Uncle Jacob, he roared
with anger.
"Turn my house into a hospital, would you? I'll
be up and about soon. I don't need people walking in
here and seeing me laid out on some sofa like a sick
child," he declared. "Who came up with that idea?" I
heard him shout.
"It was my-idea," Cary said. "Sorry."
"Just keep your mind on your work. That's
enough for now," Uncle Jacob told him.
Aunt Sara became flustered because Uncle
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