House Of Secrets

by Tracie Peterson

  “That’s why I want him to come clean about the past,” Geena threw out, “even if it means he has to face punishment for what he did.”

  “I’m starting to feel the same way,” Piper said, surprising me.

  “You two really want to see Dad go to jail?”

  “No,” Geena replied. “I want to see this family set free of the past. If it takes that—then we’ll just have to accept the price.”

  I hesitated a moment. I wasn’t at all sure how Dad’s going to prison would set us free. But right now I wanted nothing more than to let someone else take charge. Geena and Piper were grown women after all. It wasn’t my place to watch over them anymore. Frankly, like my therapist said, it was never my place. I had been playing guardian to them at the cost of my own childhood. A childhood that had already been robbed by a mother disconnected from reality.

  “I think we should get Dad up and make him talk about this,” Geena continued. “He plans to go get Judith in the morning, and we should have this out before she arrives.”

  “She shouldn’t come here at all,” Piper said.

  I silently agreed. “Maybe we should be the ones to leave.”

  Geena raised a brow. “And run away from the truth?”

  I considered all of the things that I knew that they didn’t. The truth they wanted so much to know was going to change their lives forever. I feared none of us was really prepared for this.

  “Is Dad downstairs?” Piper asked, heading for the door.

  “No, actually he set himself up in the guest cottage. He thought we might be more comfortable that way,” I replied. The two-bedroom cottage was plenty big for a family of four and would amply accommodate Dad and Judith.

  “Why don’t we just plan to talk to him in the morning?” I suggested. “We can meet over breakfast.”

  “I suppose that’ll work,” Geena said, glancing at her watch. “He’s always up early.”

  I nodded. “At least by five thirty. Why don’t we plan to get up around that time too. We can explain that we need to talk and try again to get to the bottom of this mess.”

  Five thirty in the morning was a time for complete lunatics, I decided. Maybe that’s why it seemed appropriate for our discussion. Geena had taken on breakfast preparations, while Piper said she’d go to the cottage and get Dad.

  “I have this under control,” Geena commented over her shoulder. “You might as well just take your cup of coffee and go sit down.”

  I yawned and grabbed my cup. Wandering out to the dining room, I found I couldn’t get Mark out of my mind. I’d thought about him off and on all night . . . and to be honest, I thought about him a lot of the time. I tried to tell myself it was just because of our work projects and the fact that he wanted me to take the position in New York City. But it was a poor excuse. I found myself doing the one thing I’d sworn never to do—call him for a purely personal reason.

  “Hey there, I was just thinking about you,” he answered after just one ring.

  I felt stumped as to what to say next. “I . . . ah . . . well. . . .” I stopped stammering and tried to think about what I wanted to say. Mark gave me the time. “I guess I just needed a friend.”

  “You’ve got it. What’s going on?”

  He made it sound so simple and casual—like we did this all the time. He couldn’t possibly realize the importance of this one small action. I left my coffee on the dining room table and walked out on the deck. The sun peeked out above the horizon, radiating beams against a nearly clear sky. It looked as though it would be a beautiful day.

  “Remember I told you,” I began, “that my life has a lot of baggage.”

  “Sure. Remember I told you that everybody’s life does?”

  “Right.” I recalled that only too well. “My father has remarried.” I hadn’t meant to just blurt it out, but of all the things on my mind, it seemed the safest.

  “That’s great news, I hope.”

  “Not exactly. See, we didn’t even know he was seeing someone.”

  “And you’re all jealous that a new woman has come into the picture?” he asked in a teasing manner.

  “No. That’s not it at all.” I sighed and took a seat at the deck table. “I can’t really explain.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Okay, I won’t explain. It’s too personal. Too deep and very painful.” I couldn’t believe I was saying all of this.

  “That’ll make our conversation harder, but not impossible,” Mark replied. “Why don’t we back up. What do you need in a friend right now?”

  I honestly couldn’t tell him. I had spent my life being careful not to cultivate relationships. If friendship was a garden, I had worked 24/7 to pour ground kill on my plot.

  “I guess I just wanted . . . well, I needed someone outside of the family. Just needed to step away from the mess and focus on something else. Tell me what’s happening in New York.”

  He chuckled. “Well, I miss you. How’s that for starters?”

  I shook my head and leaned forward to plant my elbows on the table. “That’s a lousy start. How’s the workload? Did you get the Armstrong contract completed? What about Mary Simpson’s historical on the life of Sarah Polk? Did she get the manuscript turned in?”

  “Yes and yes.”

  I was more than a little frustrated with his lack of detail. “And what about the Beijing Book Fair? Who’s planning to attend this year?”

  “Dad is taking a team of five. Daniel, Leo, Justine, and Michelle, and he’s stealing Sandy from me to act as assistant to them all. It seems she speaks Mandarin fluently. Should come in handy.”

  “I should say so.”

  I knew this conversation wasn’t at all what I needed or wanted. I wrestled inside my mind. Trust did not come easily to me, and even though Mark had only proved worthy of my confidence, I held myself in check.

  “What’s your weather like?” Mark asked since I remained silent.

  “This morning is beautiful. But they are too few and far between.” I glanced around and studied the yard for a moment. “The flowers are blooming—the scents are incredible. I like what the caretakers have done with the landscaping. There are a ton of honeysuckle bushes and roses. Everything is blooming early, it seems. Even the hydrangeas are starting. I’d forgotten how much I love the vegetation here.”

  “Are you planning to garden while you’re there?” he asked.

  “I have no green thumb. I kill houseplants.”

  “I’ll try to remember that when I send you flowers.” He sounded amused nevertheless. “So what are your plans for the day? Unloading baggage?”

  He caught me unaware and I actually laughed. “Don’t I wish. I mean, that is the plan, but it was also the plan last night.”

  “And things got away from you?”

  “Completely out of control.”

  “And do you think today will go any better?”

  I felt strangely at ease with this man. “I hope so. We’re planning a talk with our father this morning.”

  “I’ll keep you in my prayers.”

  “Funny you should mention that. My dad says he’s gotten his life in order with God. What do you suppose he really means by that?” I already figured I knew the answer, but at least it would give Mark something to talk about other than me.

  “I think you should ask him,” Mark said without missing a beat.

  Not exactly the answer I had hoped for. I was about to comment on my interpretation of such a statement when I heard Piper ranting about something in the house.

  “Look, my sister is back with Dad. I need to go. Thanks for being there.”

  “What are friends for?” he said. I could hear the smile in his voice.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly sure. I’ve never really had one.”

  I closed my cell phone and went inside. Dad was nowhere to be seen, but Piper was going off about something.

  I slipped the cell phone into my jeans. “What’s wrong?” I picked up
my coffee and sipped it, thankful it was still fairly warm.

  “He’s gone already,” Piper declared. “Dad must have taken the first ferry out, because he’s not there.”

  “So much for having a discussion in private,” Geena said, spatula in hand. “So now what? Do we wait until we have him alone? Do we talk to him in front of Judith?”

  I had only known Judith as a voice on the telephone, speaking with her only the few times I’d had to call Dad in New York or when Judith had been calling to reach him at home. That was the sum total of my relationship with the woman. I knew she and Dad worked together and had for some time, but other than that, I didn’t know much.

  “It’s hardly the kind of subject matter you want to discuss in front of a stranger.” I saw that Geena had cut up fresh strawberries and cantaloupe, and was now finishing up a stack of pancakes. “But she’s not going to be a stranger for long,” I said. I drank the last of my coffee and walked to the pot for a refill. “We might as well eat and figure out what we want to do.”

  “I can’t believe he’d just leave like that,” Piper muttered. She pushed past me to get to the refrigerator. “He clearly doesn’t care about what we think.”

  “Maybe he got a call and she’s coming in on an earlier flight,” I offered, trying hard to be the voice of reason.

  “He should have let us know.” Piper took out the orange juice and slammed the door closed. “He shouldn’t have remarried.”

  “Maybe not,” Geena agreed, “but we can’t change that now. The question is . . . can we speak freely in front of our new stepmother?”

  I made my way to the table. “Surely we’ll have some time alone with Dad. I wouldn’t want to discuss any of this with Judith. She may be his wife, but she probably doesn’t know all of the problems mom had.”

  “Do we even know what kind of problems mom had?” Geena asked, bringing the pancakes. Piper followed with the orange juice, while Geena made another trip for the fruit and a can of whipped cream.

  I wanted to confess all that I knew, but I still hesitated. “Mom clearly had depression,” I said. “I remember times when she would just hole up in her room and cry for hours on end.” And I was left to take care of my siblings—even when I was much too young to be able to do the job properly.

  “Did she get . . . help . . . treatment for it?” Piper asked hesitantly.

  I knew I had to tread carefully. “I think she tried to work through it. There were other things that bothered her as well.”

  “Like being paranoid over a serial killer coming to take your children?” Geena asked.

  “Exactly. Mom . . . Mom had a lot of struggles.”

  The phone rang, stealing our attention. Piper went to answer it while I helped myself to breakfast. I thought of Dad praying over the food, but didn’t offer to repeat it. I wasn’t sure I even knew how. I realized, strangely enough, that I often talked to God internally, but my comments weren’t at all in an attitude of thanksgiving.

  “Yeah, we noticed,” I heard Piper say. “And when do you plan to be back?”

  I focused on my food, hesitant to eavesdrop on this conversation. I couldn’t answer for Geena, but a strange sensation came over me. It was like nothing I’d ever known. I looked at Piper and for a moment was transported back in time.

  “Bailee, go watch your sisters,” Momma had commanded.

  I hadn’t wanted to go. I wanted to listen to her talk on the phone. But I was scared for some reason. . . .

  The image passed, and I simply sat there, staring at Piper as she hung up the phone.

  “Dad says there’s been a delay with Judith’s flight. She’ll be in later this evening, so he’s just going to stay over in Seattle and handle some business.”

  “Rather than come here and have to face us,” Geena said before stuffing her mouth with pancakes and fruit.

  “He said he plans to sit down and talk to us when he gets back. In fact, he asked that we definitely set aside the time. He figures around nine tonight.”

  I nodded. “That’s fine by me. I have some work to keep me busy.” I began to eat in earnest as Geena and Piper discussed how to spend their day.

  “I have a book to read,” Piper said.

  “As do I,” Geena replied. “But I think I’d rather go shopping. You wanna come?”

  “Where?” Piper questioned.

  “I thought maybe we could look for vintage clothes. There are several consignment stores that advertise a nice selection. I found them online before we left Boston.”

  Piper shrugged and speared a piece of cantaloupe. “Sounds better than the book idea.”

  “I wouldn’t mind some clamming either,” Geena added. “I have a great chowder recipe to try. One of my many suitors gave it to me.” She laughed, but her comment gave me a start.

  “Many suitors? How many guys are you dating?” I tried to keep the sound of my voice casual.

  “Well, I have three I’m just casually dating.” Geena smiled mischievously. “Though I could probably string along a half dozen or more. They think I’m hot.” She laughed and Piper did as well.

  “Well, you do have that nice runner’s bod. I can see why the men would be crazy for you. They sure don’t look at me that way.”

  “Oh, I think they’re after me for my mind,” Geena teased. “They probably realize I’m going to be an important lawyer one day and make tons of money.”

  Piper shook her head. “They’re crazy for your long hair and the way you do your eyes all smoky and dark. You always look like you have something really intriguing to say.”

  “That’s what I mean,” Geena said. “It’s my intellect they’re after.” She giggled and cut into her pancake. “I’m just irresistible.”

  “Sounds like you have the day planned,” I said, pushing aside the niggling unease I felt at her declaration. “At least enough to keep you busy until tonight.”

  “Yeah, until tonight,” Piper murmured.

  We all looked up at the same time. I wanted to believe it would all work out—to reassure them of the same. But I didn’t have the words.

  Chapter 7

  Dad called around five to tell us that storms had further delayed Judith’s flight. Initially a change in aircraft and a problem engine caused her delay, but now thunderstorms and threats of tornadoes in Chicago were keeping her grounded.

  “He said it’s some of the most violent storms the area has seen,” Geena declared after hanging up the phone. “He’s gonna get a room near the airport and just wait for her at SeaTac. He thought she’d still get out tonight, but she won’t arrive until late.”

  “I guess we can save the chowder until tomorrow,” Geena offered.

  I found I had lost my appetite with worry at the thought of confronting our father. Now that the discussion was postponed once again, I decided I might actually like to eat. However, I had toyed all evening with the idea of telling my sisters the truth about our mother’s mental illness, and now I had the opportunity.

  Piper was sitting curled up with her book and Geena was focusing on a crossword puzzle. “I want to use this time to tell you both something,” I interrupted. “It has to do with our mother.”

  Geena eyed me curiously, but Piper actually looked excited. No doubt once she heard what I had to say, she’d be less so.

  I pulled up an ottoman and sat in front of them. “I started to say something earlier, but I wanted some time to think about it. I also called my therapist while you two were out. She felt it was important to move forward, so that’s what I’m doing.”

  “So what is this all about?” Geena asked.

  “When we talked earlier today, we spoke of Momma and her mental state—her problems. I’ve known something about them for some time, but I’ve never said anything. I felt it was my place to . . .” I didn’t know exactly how to finish that sentence, but Piper did it for me.

  “Keep the secrets?”

  “Yes. . . . I suppose that’s the best way to put it. I felt it was my place t
o keep the family secrets in hopes of protecting you two.”

  “And now?” Piper eyed me quite seriously. “Now is it time to be honest about them?”

  “I think so. I think it was time years ago, but perhaps we wouldn’t have been mature enough to deal with it. I know when I first found out the truth, it was very disturbing.” Now both of them were frowning. Geena’s brows had knit together as though she was actually angry. When she didn’t comment, I continued.

  “When I was thirteen, I overheard our housekeeper on the telephone. She was talking about how sad it was for us—how much our father was mourning Momma’s death. Then I heard her mention that Momma had . . . that she was—” I paused and drew a deep breath—“schizophrenic.”

  Geena’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. You’ve known something like this all these years and said nothing?”

  “What exactly does it mean to be schizophrenic?” Piper asked.

  “It’s a severe mental illness,” Geena replied. “Genetic, if I recall correctly.”

  “It can be,” I said. “But it doesn’t have to be.”

  “What kind of mental illness?” Piper put her book aside. “Like really, truly crazy?”

  “Our mother was a paranoid schizophrenic who had delusions and depression,” I began. “She feared ‘bad men’ were going to take us away. She said the legal authorities were after her—trying to read her mind—trying to steal us away. She also believed other men were constantly eyeing her with desire or sexual intentions.” My sisters’ eyes were wide. “She was always trying to hide us, but things got even worse about the time you were born, Piper. She heard about that serial killer and something seemed to snap.”

  “But that was real,” Geena interjected. “I’ve seen the old newspaper articles on it. That serial killer was a real person, killing children—mostly girls.”

  “Yes, he was real,” I agreed. “But our mother was not involved with helping the FBI to catch him. Neither was the FBI using us as bait. No one was coming to steal us away from her, yet she would wake us up out of a sound sleep to hide us away from supposed intruders.”