Logan 05 Olivia

by V. C. Andrews

  "Right, Samuel," I said. "I just don't want a great deal of commotion at work."

  "I'll call my dad. You'll tell your father at work?"

  "Yes," I said, only that day, Daddy didn't come to work. He called in to say he wasn't feeling well and he would stay home and rest. The first chance I got, I left the office and went to the house.

  During the early morning hours, the fog had rolled over the landscape in great billowing waves, turning everything cold and eerie. This dreary sky was still overhead when I arrived at Daddy's house.

  Effie Thornton, the newest maid, greeted me at the door. She was a short, round-faced stout woman of forty-seven with rolling-pin arms and thick-fingered hands. She looked more like a peasant farm worker than a maid, but she was a hard worker who took her responsibilities seriously. I knew she would find fault with Belinda quickly, but unlike the other maids and cooks, she wasn't a quitter. The skin covering her feelings was so thick even Belinda's nasty remarks and actions couldn't pierce it. Belinda was always complaining about her, asking Daddy or me to fire her, but the more dissatisfied Belinda was with someone, the more I liked that person.

  "Oh, Mrs. Logan, I'm glad you're here today so you can see what I have to contend with," she said on greeting me.

  "What now?" I asked.

  "Just follow me," she said and led me to the living room. I stopped dead in the doorway. It was as if I had been slapped across the face. The room looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. There were glasses and beer bottles strewn about, along with plates, some overturned, some caked with food. I saw food stains on the sofa and chairs, Mother's prized furniture. A lamp had been knocked over, the Tiffany shade shattered.

  "What happened?" I asked when my breath returned.

  "Your sister threw a late night party. She had at least a dozen people here and they carried on into the wee hours."

  "My father let this happen?" I asked.

  She scowled.

  "Your father was dead asleep in his office, a bottle of whiskey in his lap. I think you're going to have to have some professional carpet cleaners and furniture cleaners here with their machinery, Mrs. Logan. I'll do the best I can, but . . ."

  "Of course, Effie. I'll call them myself in a little while." "I'll get started on the room. I was waiting for either your father or you to see it first."

  "Where's my sister?" I asked. "Is she home?"

  "She is, but she's not alone," she added, her eyebrows lifting.

  "And my father?"

  "He went up to his bedroom early this morning without so much as glancing at the living room and has been there ever since. I tried to get him to eat some breakfast, but he had only a cup of coffee."

  "Okay, thank you, Effie."

  I turned, my heart racing, my limbs tightening like strung wire. I could feel my neck muscles harden. Anger built like a small tornado inside me, spinning up from my stomach to my chest and into my throat. When I reached Belinda's bedroom door, I took a deep breath and then I lunged at the door knob, surprised at my own strength. I shoved the door open so hard, it swung back and banged against the wall.

  Belinda and her boyfriend, naked and entwined in her bed, opened their eyes with a jolt.

  "Huh? Olivia?" she said sitting up slowly, the blanket falling away from her naked breasts. She wiped her eyes to clear her vision and perhaps hopefully clear away the image of me standing there.

  "You're more disgusting than I could ever imagine," I said. The man beside her turned on his back and covered his eyes with his hands as if the light stung him. I just glanced at him and saw it wasn't anyone I knew.

  "You should knock before coming into my room," she cried.

  "I'm not talking about this. I'm talking about the disgusting mess you made in our house. How dare you bring those degenerates into this house? You might not have any respect for yourself, but you will have respect for this family," I charged.

  She started to cry and stopped. Her boyfriend drew the blanket over himself and started to laugh.

  "It isn't funny. I don't know who you are, but you better get out of here immediately," I said.

  He lowered the blanket and smiled at me.

  "Oh. Okay," he said and started to get out of the bed naked.

  "Stop!"

  "Fine," he said getting back under the covers.

  "You can't do this," Belinda wailed. "You don't live here anymore. You have your own home."

  "As long as Daddy is alive, this is still my home, too," I said. "Is there no limit to your depravity?"

  Her boyfriend started to laugh.

  "You should be locked up," I told her, "and I'm sure there'll come a day when you will be."

  I slammed the door closed, my entire body shaking so badly, I had to pause before walking across the hallway to Daddy's bedroom. I caught my breath and knocked on his door. There was no answer so I knocked harder and then I opened the door and peered in. He wasn't in his bed, but there were no lights on and the curtains were still drawn. I listened for the sound of running water in the bathroom. I entered and saw that the bathroom door was opened.

  Perhaps he rose and left while I was in Belinda's room, I thought. But how could he walk by without hearing the shouting? Confused, I stood there a moment and then I saw his feet around the corner of the bed. I approached slowly, my heart feeling as if some tiny sprite was pounding a nail through it. Daddy was sprawled on the floor, face down, his right arm under his body, his left out, the hand cupped into a claw. He was in his pajamas.

  "Daddy!" I screamed and went to him. I knelt beside him and took his hand in mine. It was warm and when I looked at his face, I saw he had his eyes squinted shut as if trying to see some scene scorched on his brain.

  "Daddy!" I cried again, shaking his hand.

  His eyelids opened like two leaden doors on rusty hinges. He gazed at me, but his mouth, horribly twisted, uttered no words, just an incomprehensible grunt. His tongue looked swollen and extended.

  Without further hesitation, I went to the phone and called for an ambulance. Then I ran down the hallway to the top of the stairway and shouted for Effie. She hurried out of the wrecked living room, a washcloth in hand.

  "My father!" I cried. "He's collapsed on the floor. Come help me, please."

  She started up the stairway and I turned as Belinda, a sheet wrapped- around her naked body like a toga, opened her door and peered out.

  "What's all the commotion now, Olivia?"

  "Your father," I spit at her. "You've finally done it." "Done what?"

  I gazed at her with all the fury and anger I could muster.

  "I have no time for you," I said and then returned to Daddy's side.

  Effie and I managed to get him up. He seemed incapable of using his right leg and his right arm dangled limply at his side. By the time we had him on the bed resting comfortably, Belinda, now dressed, came to the bedroom.

  "What's wrong with him?" she asked, her voice full of fear and remorse now.

  I stared down at Daddy.

  "I'm not a doctor," I said curtly, "but it looks like he's had a stroke."

  Of course, that's what it was. The ambulance attendants came and took him to the hospital where Doctor Covington met us after he had examined him.

  "It's too early to tell the actual extent of it," he explained to Belinda, Samuel and me in the lobby, "but for now he's lost the use of the right side of his body and his speech is impaired."

  "How did this happen?" Belinda asked quickly. "Well, your father has been suffering from hypertension for some time now."

  "What's that?" Belinda asked with a grimace.

  "High blood pressure. I've been after him to take better care of himself, cut back on his smoking, drinking, salty foods, but sometimes too much stress and worry does it too," he added.

  I glared at her and she looked away.

  "We believe he's had a blood vessel

  hemorrhage in the brain. Without blood, sections of brain tissue quickly deteriorate or die, resulting
in paralysis of limbs controlled by the affected brain area. In this case, his speech has been affected, too."

  "Won't he get better?" she whined.

  "He'll improve with therapy, I believe, but he'll never be the same as he was," Doctor Covington told her in his brusquely honest style of diagnosis. He turned back to me. "I have a neurologist coming in to see him later today. Most of his progress will be made during the next six months. We'll have to take better care of him and he'll have to cooperate now," Doctor Covington continued with a small smile. "No more alcohol or cigars and we have to watch his diet."

  Belinda looked dazed and sat.

  "Let's see how much he recuperates over the next week or so, Olivia, and then we'll talk about the therapy," Doctor Covington concluded.

  "I understand," I said. "How is he now? Can we see him?"

  "You can see him, but don't let him see how upset you are. We have to encourage him, build up his hope," Doctor Covington lectured, looking more at Belinda than Samuel and me.

  When we went up to see Daddy, Belinda remained in the background whimpering. I held his hand and he looked at me with his helpless eyes and tried to talk.

  "Not now, Daddy," I said. "You've got to rest and get better."

  He closed his eyes. I could almost hear him say, "The bottom line is I won't."

  It wasn't until we left the hospital that the question occurred to me: what would I do now with Belinda? Daddy wasn't much of a brake on her wild ways before, but at least he was something. Without him home, what would she turn the place into and what would she be like? And yet, I wasn't excited about bringing her back to my house.

  Samuel was the one to bring it up in the car.

  "What about Belinda?" he asked as we drove away in a dead, sad silence.

  "I'm afraid," she moaned.

  "You should be," I said. "It was your behavior, your antics that aggravated him and caused this, Belinda. You heard the doctor talk about stress," I accused. She wailed louder.

  "Olivia," Samuel said softly. "Don't . . . it won't do any good now, will it?" he asked quickly when he saw the fury in my eyes.

  I felt myself calm down.

  "No, You're right. It won't." I turned around and looked at my sister. "You'll come home with us for the time being," I said, "and let Effie get the house in order. It's better you're not there anyway."

  "I'm sorry, Olivia," she said.

  "It's too late for that. It's been too late for a long time," I said in a voice too low for either Samuel or Belinda to hear.

  "What a bad time for this to happen," Samuel said. "I bet you didn't even have a chance to tell him, did you, Olivia?"

  "No."

  "Tell him what?" Belinda asked through her tears of self-pity.

  "That she's pregnant. Your sister's pregnant and you're soon to be an aunt," Samuel told her.

  "Oh, really?"

  For a moment my mind raced years ahead and I envisioned Belinda having a bad influence on my child. One of the first things I would have to do as soon as he or she was old enough to understand would be to warn him or her about Belinda. She would always be a burden, I thought.

  "I'll help," she volunteered. "I'll change, Olivia. I'll come to work again. I'll help you."

  I had to laugh.

  "And do what, Belinda? Misfile documents, tie up the phones, flirt with delivery boys?"

  "I can change," she whined. I grunted. "I can!" she insisted.

  I looked out at the sea. The waves were higher, the wind stronger.

  "I'm tired," I said. "Just take me home and then take Belinda to get some of her things, Samuel."

  "Aye," he said.

  I glanced back at Belinda. She was gazing out the window, too. She looked like a little girl again, lost and bewildered. I tried to find a place in my heart for compassion, but all I could think of was that night in the boathouse and how she clung to Nelson Childs.

  13

  Belinda's Last Chance

  .

  After Samuel had taken me home and left with

  Belinda to gather some of her clothing and bring her back, I phoned Effie to inform her of what had occurred and gave her instructions about cleaning the house. I could tell from her tone of voice that even though she was upset about Daddy, she was

  particularly happy Belinda wouldn't be in her way during the next few days. She took great pride in her work and was almost as upset about what Belinda had done as I was.

  As soon as I finished the phone conversation, I asked my own newly appointed maid Loretta to, make me a cup of tea. Loretta had come to me by way of a Boston agency and was, I thought, similar in character to Effie: serious, sincere and efficient. I sat by the window in my own den-office and gazed at the still very gray world. From this angle I had a small but clear view of the ocean behind the house and caught sight of a trawler making its way north.

  The vessel revived memories I had as a child occasionally sitting in the gazebo at early evening with Daddy.

  Belinda was always bored with just sitting, talking and looking at scenery and was usually in the house on the phone or entertaining some friends who had come over to visit with her.

  "We're very lucky to be living by the sea," Daddy told me. "I can't imagine what life is like stuck in some city high-rise gazing out at more brick, concrete and steel. We can look out like this and see ships go by day and night and imagine ourselves traveling to some exotic ports or beautiful lands. Some day I suppose you'll do a great deal of traveling, Olivia. You're sure to see more of the world than I have."

  "Why, Daddy? Why haven't you traveled more?"

  "Oh, I guess I've been too involved in my businesses. Nailed myself to the floor of my office, I'm afraid. Don't be like me. Get out there. Do things. See things. Explore," he advised. "See the world. Take an ocean voyage whenever you can."

  Ironically, I felt that was more of a fantasy for me now than it ever was for him. Our business was literally three or four times the size it was when he and I sat out back and gazed dreamily at passing ships. Along with the economic growth came three or four times the responsibility, and with a sister who was more a child than a woman, a husband who had limited business abilities, and now a father who was to be an invalid, my ship of adventure would remain moored to the dock for a long time to come, I thought.

  Anyway, I was reminded of Ishmael telling Captain Pelig in Moby Dick that he wanted go whaling to see the world. Pelig told him to stand and look over the side of the ship and tell him what he saw. He saw nothing but water and considerable horizon. "Well then," Pelig said, "what does thou think of seeing the world?"

  That was the view of the world from a ship for most of the journey a sailor made. I could see the same world from my own shore. I was really no sailor and the sea, as beautiful as it could be, held no irresistible attraction for me. Maybe my real father was a sailor as my mother had revealed, but the sea quest that was in his blood did not seep into mine. I was content enjoying an occasional sail and living here in my own world where I could be secure and had some control over my destiny.

  Sitting here now, I recalled one special time alone with Daddy. We had remained outside longer than usual. The first stars had long since appeared and the sun had dipped below an azure horizon turning the ocean into a deeper silvery gray. The lights of boats miles off shore appeared. We sat quietly, neither of us having the need to say anything. Finally he declared it was time to go in. Mother had already gone up to bed and Belinda was in her room jabbering on the phone and laughing that giddy laugh that drove me mad. Daddy went to his office and sent me up to my room. I heard him come up the stairs afterward and stop at my door. He peeked in at me.

  "All in bed are you?" he asked.

  "Yes," I said feeling snug and content.

  Nevertheless, he approached and tucked me in a little tighter before leaning over to kiss me good night. It wasn't something he did that often and I remember thinking it was a very extraordinary moment.

  "You and I have had some very
grown-up talks, Olivia," he said. "I think you're going to become an adult much sooner than other girls your age. I'm happy and sad at the same time about that," he said. "You'll miss something of your childhood."

  "Don't be sad, Daddy. I don't mind."

  "Okay," he said smiling. "Good night, Little General."

  "Good night, Daddy," I said.

  There weren't all that many soft moments in my life to remember like that, but tonight, sitting here alone, thinking about Daddy half destroyed by a stroke and now incapacitated in the hospital, those memories, few and far between, returned, some only vague images, some vivid. I sat there thinking so long, I didn't realize how much time had passed. It obviously had taken Belinda quite a while to get her things together; she probably protested the whole time about having to make any choice at all.

  The gray skies had turned leaden and the sea practically disappeared in the dusk before I heard Belinda and Samuel come into the house. Belinda was loud, complaining. I rose and went out to see what was wrong.

  "Effie didn't offer to bend a pinky to help me, Olivia. She took one look at us and went off to do some cleaning or something," Belinda moaned. "What kind of a maid is that? I want you to fire her."

  "She's the best one we've had since Carmelita," I said. "This is not the time for us to go firing help and having to look for new servants, Belinda. There are much more important matters at hand. Just go up to the guest room. Loretta will help you," I said as Loretta appeared. "We're having dinner soon and then we're all going to try to calm down and gather strength for the days to come."

  "Oh great," she griped to Samuel. "It sounds like I'm going to become a prisoner in my sister's house now."

  "Hardly," I said, "but you are going to behave yourself while Daddy is in that hospital and especially when he comes out and needs your help."

  "Maybe I should plan a trip so I can get out of everyone's way," she suggested as a threat.

  I nodded.

  "Yes, maybe you should," I replied. It took her down a peg. She started to stammer, but headed up to the guest room instead.