House Of Secrets

by Tracie Peterson

  I wanted to believe that. I wanted to feel safe—especially with him. I forced myself to breathe deeply. My therapist had long ago taught me a technique to fight my panic-induced hyperventilation. As my breathing evened, the tightness in my chest began to wane. I looked at Mark and could read the concern in his expression.

  “I’m sorry.” I tried to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me.

  “Don’t be.”

  “I don’t know what came over me. Something from the past . . . maybe another time when I was little. I remembered being separated from my mother and sisters.” I shook my head and looked him in the eye. “It’s like this will never end.”

  “But it will,” he assured me.

  I succeeded in pulling free of his embrace. “You don’t know that, Mark. I keep trying to warn you, but you aren’t hearing me.” I started out down the street, knowing he would follow. Embarrassment washed over me and I found myself wishing I could make light of all that had happened. But of course, I couldn’t.

  We said very little on the trip home, and when we entered the house I could tell something wasn’t right. Geena met me in the kitchen, where I was searching for a vase. Her expression said it all.

  “What’s happened?”

  “I don’t know. Piper has locked herself in her bedroom and won’t come out. I don’t know why. She wouldn’t talk to me. She wouldn’t talk to Dad. Judith even tried.”

  Mark came into the kitchen just then and I threw Geena a look to keep quiet. I instantly checked myself, however. I shook my head and handed Geena the flowers Mark had purchased for me in the market.

  “I’m sorry. Could you find a vase for these? I’ll go try to talk to Piper.”

  Mark gave me a look that suggested it wasn’t my job, but while I felt I could let go in some areas, this wasn’t one of them. Maybe Piper needed me. She’d turned everyone else down, after all.

  I made my way past Mark and up the stairs. I tried to think of reasons Piper would have locked herself away, but nothing made much sense. This was the first time our family had been able to put the dirty laundry to soak. If anything, I would have expected her to feel better.

  “Piper?” I called, knocking on her door. “It’s me, Bailee. Let me in.”

  “Go away.”

  “Please, Piper. Just talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk to anyone. Leave me alone.”

  “No.” My tone was adamant. “I won’t leave. I’m going to stand out here and talk to you whether you like it or not. You’ll have to open the door and discuss what’s wrong in order to get me to stop.”

  For a few moments silence greeted my request. Then to my surprise I heard Piper unlock the door and open it. Her face was puffy from crying, but her eyes were dry. I reached out to hug her, but she moved away. I followed her into the room, somewhat at odds as to what to say next.

  Piper made it easy for me. She took a seat on her bed and looked up at me. “I think I’m crazy.”

  I cocked my head slightly. “Why would you say that?”

  She let go a long breath. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think straight. I’m sad all the time. I’m tired all the time. I want nothing more than to crawl into this bed and sleep forever. I hate my life, Bailee. I wish I were dead.”

  I took a seat on the bed beside her, but didn’t attempt to touch her. Very gently I posed the first question in my mind. “Are you considering ending your life?”

  Piper was quiet for a few minutes. “No. Not really. I think of how nice it would be to just not wake up, but I don’t think I can kill myself.” She looked at me, and I knew she was searching my face for the truth. “Does that make me crazy?”

  “I don’t think so,” I told her. “I’ve wished for it all to end on occasion. We all get tired, Piper. We get to those places where we feel like we just can’t go on.”

  “I feel so hopeless—like it will never change. Like it will just go on like this forever.”

  I frowned. “What will?”

  “Life. Me. My thoughts and feelings.” She got up and paced the room. “I feel like I will always be this sad, this misplaced. I don’t belong. I know that sounds stupid, but it’s the way I feel. Almost like someone sitting in an audience watching a play. Only the play is my life, and I have no control or say over the things happening on stage.”

  Piper’s words left me silent. All of my life I had worked to fix the problems of my family, but now that my eyes were opened to just how foolish that was . . . I felt incapable of giving her advice.

  “I have a consuming emptiness inside of me.” She put her hand to her stomach. “I feel like it’s devouring me a little each day. I can’t take any more. I think I’m just as lost as Momma was.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. I got up and went to her, but still she pulled away.

  “Schizophrenia is hereditary.”

  “Can be, Piper. It can be hereditary. It doesn’t have to be.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself as if to ward me off. “I can’t go on like this.”

  “Then let’s get you the help you need. Let me take you to the doctor. You can get a physical and—”

  “No! I’m not going to go talk to some shrink. They didn’t help Momma. They can’t help me.”

  “Momma wouldn’t let them help her. Momma didn’t believe there was help,” I reminded her. “Her mind wouldn’t allow her to understand, but yours still can. You know that counseling and antidepressants are being used quite successfully. You have a college degree, Piper. You are an educated woman, a sensible woman. And . . .” I paused to soften my tone. “You are a loved woman. Piper, we love you, and we’re here to help you in whatever way we can.”

  “I’ve tried it all, Bailee. Don’t you get it? I’ve tried counseling. I’ve tried relationships and sex. I’ve tried drugs and alcohol. I’ve tried it all. Nothing helps. I just feel all the worse when I wake up the next day.”

  My thoughts flitted to horrific images of my little sister degrading herself in various fashions. I longed to hold her—to assure her that it was going to be all right.

  “I binge eat and purge. I’ve cut myself where no one could see. I’ve done things I’m too ashamed to even admit.” She looked at me as if to gauge whether or not she’d shocked me. I tried to keep my expression one of concern and tenderness.

  “I still love you, Piper. None of those things change the fact that you’re my sister.” For once I didn’t feel as though I were saying these things out of obligation or responsibility, but rather out of honest feelings. “I want to help you any way I can.”

  She said nothing, but I could see something in her expression that suggested I’d gotten through—at least in the tiniest way.

  “I don’t know why you care.” She sat back down on the bed in a state of defeat.

  Her words encouraged me, left room for explanation. “Does it matter why I care?”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding. “It does. Why do you care? After everything I’ve said and done—after the way I’ve treated you—why do you love me?”

  I didn’t even stop to think. “Because . . . you’re you.” I stepped toward her, but stopped. “You don’t have to perform for me or dress a certain way. You don’t have to work a certain job or marry a certain man. I just love you because you’re Piper Cooper.”

  She let out a long breath. “I wish it were enough.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t say that to hurt you.”

  “Believe me, I understand. Look, there really is help out there. There are good people who can offer you direction and help. You just haven’t connected with the right ones yet, but they’re there.” I thought of Dad and Mark and their beliefs in God. Maybe that would help Piper. “Why don’t we talk to Dad?”

  “No.” She shook her head, crossing to where I stood. “You have to promise not to say a word to anyone.”

  My skin tingled. “More secrets, Piper? Hasn’t this family learned its lesson yet?”

  “You can’t tell them. I won�
�t admit it if you do. I’ll tell them that you’re lying.”

  I shook my head in disbelief. “You just spent the entire day locked in your room. Who do you think they’ll believe?”

  “If you love me as you say, you won’t say anything.”

  For just a moment it was my mother I heard. Piper’s expression was that of Natalie Cooper, and her tone clearly matched our mother’s soft-spoken voice. It was so eerie that I actually backed up a step.

  Piper moved forward. “I don’t want to talk to Dad or anyone else just yet. Please just do this for me. I promise I’ll tell him when the time is right.”

  Something in me wanted to scream. Instead I turned away and went for the door. “I can’t do this anymore. I just can’t.”

  In the hall I ran smack into Geena. She took hold of me and immediately plied me with questions. “What’s happened? What’s wrong with her? Did she tell you why she locked herself up?”

  I shook off her hold. “Why don’t you talk to her yourself. I need to be alone.”

  Instead of heading to my room, I made my way down to the beach—to the place where I’d had the breakdown the night I encouraged Mark to come. I was void of tears this time, but my heart ached with an intensity that I couldn’t begin to ease.

  I was glad the rain had stopped. The skies were still overcast, making the water look a gunmetal gray. The dampness of the air seemed to intensify the scents of the water, the trees, and the earth. I rubbed my chilled arms, wishing I’d thought to grab my jacket.

  Without meaning to, I found myself praying. God, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to say—how to pray. I need answers, but I don’t know where to even start looking.

  I squatted down and watched the water lap gently against the shoreline. I unexpectedly remembered a Sunday school class when I was probably no more than seven or eight. The teacher was talking about prayer.

  “When you don’t know what to pray, just talk to God like a friend,” she had instructed us with a tender smile. “God knows what’s on your heart. Just talk to Him.”

  “Okay,” I whispered to the air. “I feel that same emptiness Piper described.” I had even used that exact expression with my therapist at one time. “I feel alone, God. Like I know you should be there, but you aren’t. Or maybe it’s that I know I should be there with you, but I’m not.”

  I sighed and watched the water pulsate against the sandy soil. Mark said I needed a relationship with God. God wanted to know what I would do with Him now that I knew He wasn’t always going to do things my way. Geena wanted answers, and Piper just wanted to hide. I pressed my hands to my head. What did I want?

  “God knows what’s on your heart. Just talk to Him.”

  I closed my eyes. All right, God, this is me telling you what’s on my heart. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I feel so alone. Please don’t let me bear this alone. I’d rather have some part of you—even if you don’t always do things the way I think you should.

  A stillness seemed to settle somewhere deep inside me.

  People have failed me and I still love them. My mother made me feel that I was to blame for bad things. I thought my father killed her and that it was my fault for that as well. She died and you could have stopped her. She had a mental illness and you could have stopped that too. I feel like you’ve failed me, and yet you ask what I’ll do with you? I don’t understand why things had to be as they were, but if I can still love people despite their choices, then surely I can still love you.

  The peace within me seemed to grow.

  Was this what it was to be surrendered? Not a giving up, but a giving over? I didn’t feel defeated in this kind of prayer; rather I felt myself strengthened. How could that be?

  I opened my eyes and stood up. In the stillness it seemed that the entire world was holding its breath—standing in awe of the moment. “I don’t want to go on without you.”

  Hearing a noise behind me, I turned and found my father watching me. He looked worried and I gave him a smile.

  “If you heard what I just said, then you should know that I was talking to God.”

  He said nothing, but just watched me for a moment longer. I felt my heart nearly break. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m so sorry.”

  He came to me and pulled me into his arms. “Oh, Bailee, you’ve nothing to be sorry for.” He held me tight and stroked my hair, just like he’d done when I was very young. “I understand—God understands.”

  “I probably did it all wrong,” I told him. “I didn’t know all the right words to say or the Bible verses to quote.” I pulled back and met his tear-filled eyes. “But I know He understands. He knows what’s in my heart, doesn’t He?” I felt like a child desperate for reassurance.

  “Oh, sweetheart, He surely does. Just trust Him.”

  “I want to, Dad. But . . .”

  “But?”

  I pulled back just enough to look Dad in the eye. “I’m afraid. I’m so afraid.”

  “That He won’t be there for you? That He’ll leave you . . . like I did?” Tears came to his eyes and I nodded. Dad nodded too. “He won’t. He’s the only one who never will, Bailee. He will never leave you. Never forsake you. People will always disappoint you, but God will always be faithful.”

  His words sounded familiar—perhaps something I’d heard as a child. But this time was different. This time I felt the wonder of it all, and knew them to be true for myself. God really did care, and He really was right there with me . . . holding me in His righteous hand. Dad hugged me tight again and for a moment I just rested in his arms—pretending I was resting in God’s embrace.

  Chapter 19

  I had thought that setting things right with God would mean that the nightmares would cease. But I was wrong. That night I tossed and turned and went from one scary scenario to another. I found myself lost and terrified, cold and frightened, even hurting from some imagined altercation. I saw my mother and heard her sharp rebukes. I searched endlessly for baby Noah . . . never to find him.

  I would wake up from one nightmare long enough to get my bearings, then fall asleep and head off on another ghoulish journey. It was exhausting. Around four I awoke, determined to just get up and start the day.

  I pulled on my robe and headed downstairs. My first thought was to make coffee, but then something else came to mind. I’d left the newly purchased Bible hidden in my room upstairs. It was strange, but I felt strongly compelled to read it now.

  I made my way back upstairs to my room and noticed light coming from under Piper’s door. Had it been there earlier? I hadn’t noticed. I pressed my ear to the door and heard noises. She was obviously awake.

  “Piper? Are you okay?”

  She opened the door, and I could see past her to the bed, where her open suitcase was half full of clothes. “I’m leaving.”

  “For where?” I asked.

  She turned from me and headed back to a stack of clothes. “I’m going back to Boston. This house—these memories—it’s all too much. I can’t be here.”

  “And you think the memories will leave you alone in Boston?” I didn’t mean to be sarcastic, but that was the way it sounded.

  Piper’s look suggested I’d overstepped my bounds. She stalked to the closet and pulled out several shirts. “I didn’t expect you to understand. You have all the answers. You’ve always had all the answers.”

  “Hardly. But do you know who does?”

  She tossed more clothes on the bed. “A therapist?”

  I shook my head. “I wasn’t thinking of a therapist. I meant God.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Not you too. First Dad and now you. I’ll tell you what I told Dad: I just don’t see that it helps to involve God. It isn’t that I don’t believe He exists—I just don’t see Him in the details.”

  “Why not?”

  I could tell by her expression it wasn’t the question she’d anticipated. “Well, just look around at the world. There are far too many problems—too much sickness—too many ugly, an
gry people for God to have any real say.”

  “That’s what I used to think. God seemed pretty distant. If He was all powerful, why didn’t He make the world a better place?”

  “Exactly.” Piper picked up a shirt and folded it. “So please don’t expect me to buy into it. My own life is proof that God just doesn’t care.”

  I wasn’t knowledgeable enough to give a convincing argument. I knew there were verses that showed how we’d sinned and needed God. I knew that we were obligated to admit our sin and need for a Savior, but otherwise it was just my own personal experience that I could go on. And that really wasn’t much at all.

  “Piper, I won’t pretend that I have all the answers. I just know that I felt like you. I had a great big emptiness inside me that I knew would eventually consume me. I felt so alone. I felt like no one in the world could possibly care or understand.”

  She tipped her head my way, seeming to really hear me. I went on quickly. “I didn’t know how to find my way out of that. I struggled against it with therapy and work, but I only seemed to sink deeper. And believe me, I don’t have it all worked out—I don’t know how it can possibly all work—but I prayed yesterday, and for the first time ever I felt that God really heard me.”

  “That sounds great for you, Bailee. I hope for your sake that it gives you peace of mind. But I don’t think God can help me. I think I’m crazy—just like our mother. He didn’t help her, and He won’t help me.”

  I crossed the room to take hold of her. “That isn’t true. God was there for Momma. She couldn’t always see it or understand His love, but God was there for her. Oh, Piper, please don’t go. Stay at least a couple more days and talk to Dad and Judith. Let them know what you’re going through.”

  Piper pushed me hard. “No! I told you I don’t want to talk to them or anyone else.”

  “Please, Piper. You’ve done this your way for years now. You told me yourself that you’ve been sad for a long, long while. It hasn’t worked.”

  “Just go back to bed, Bailee. I don’t want to talk about this. You aren’t in control anymore. You aren’t my mother and I don’t want your advice.”