Heartsong

by V. C. Andrews

  The sun began to show its descent toward the horizon and I thought I should probably head home soon. The family had surely returned from Grandma Olivia's by now. I changed back into my own clothes and Holly drove me home. I didn't see the car and the truck was still in front. The house looked dark, too.

  "It doesn't look as if they've come back yet," Holly said.

  "They would have had to by now."

  "Maybe they went some place else. Your uncle might have taken his family for a Sunday drive," Holly suggested.

  "Not likely," I said. "Not in the mood he was in." I got out. "Thanks for a wonderful day. I guess I'll see you tomorrow when Kenneth brings me to work."

  "Okay. Watch that sunset. You'll feel a lot of good energy," she said and drove off. When I entered the house, I found it empty, dark. In the kitchen, my empty mug was right where I had left it.

  Upstairs I found everything quiet and just as deserted. Why weren't they back yet? I went into my room, showered, put lotion on my browned face and shoulders, and then dressed again. Still, I heard no one in the house. I descended the stairs, thought for a moment, and then stepped outside and decided I would sit and wait facing the road. Nearly another hour passed.

  Finally, I saw the Logans' car come around the turn and head toward the house. I stood up in anticipation, but was surprised to see Cary driving, Aunt Sara in the front seat, and May in the rear. Where was Uncle Jacob?

  They drove in and parked. I walked toward the car as Cary got out, his face drenched in worry and sadness. Aunt Sara had apparently been crying.

  "What's going on? Where's your father?" I asked.

  "He . . . had chest pains at Grandma Olivia's," Cary said, "so we had to rush him to the hospital. The doctors said he had a heart attack."

  "Oh no! Is he--"

  "He's still alive, but he's critical," Cary said. "We were there most of the day."

  I bit down on my lower lip and then rushed to help Aunt Sara go to the house.

  "I'm all right," she said. "We've got to stay strong. No one's really eaten all day. See to May," she said. "I'll fix us some dinner."

  "Oh no, Aunt Sara. Let me do it."

  "No, no. I have to do it. I always do it. See to May," she said.

  May looked like a small flower, wilted, her little face pale, her eyes wide and full of fear. I embraced her and we all went into the house. At the stairway, Cary turned to me, his eyes wet with tears.

  "He's going to die," he said. "I know he is."

  "No, Cary. Don't say that."

  "I did it to him, you know."

  I shook my head.

  "Yes, it was my fault. I drove him away just the way I drove Laura and they both left angry at me."

  "No," I insisted, but he turned and started up the stairs to his attic hideaway, his shoulders slumped, his head down, drowning in his own guilt.

  May clung to me harder. Her little hands moved like small sparrows seeking answers and all I could do was keep telling her it would be all right. Everything would be all right.

  My hands trembled like lips caught in lies as I signed.

  If there was any place on earth where everything wouldn't be all right, it was in this house, I thought, and took her back with me to the kitchen to help Aunt Sara face another night of agony and loneliness.

  11

  Last Confession

  .

  Aunt Sara had prepared a meat loaf for us

  before she left for the brunch at Grandma Olivia's. She moved about the kitchen like a robot, not really looking at things. Her eyes resembled two glass orbs, lifeless on the outside with no light of their own, merely reflecting what was in front of her. I imagined that inside, her thoughts were lightning bugs zigzagging from one end of her head to the other, tracing her fears, anxieties, and sorrow across the black wall of her despair.

  May set the table and I worked on the mashed potatoes while Aunt Sara checked her meat loaf and prepared some steamed vegetables. We all kept busy, avoiding each other, and taking solace in our labors.

  "We were just sitting around talking," she suddenly began as if she had heard me ask what had happened.

  "Everyone was having a good time. The food was as delicious as ever and Samuel was very jolly, I thought. Olivia had invited Congressman Dunlap and his wife Joan. We were all having such a good time."

  She paused to look at me.

  "Olivia was very concerned about you. She asked me dozens of questions, wanting to know how you were, what you had been doing, how well you were getting along at your job. She was very disappointed about your not coming. I think Samuel was even more disappointed. The judge kept asking about you, too. Finally, Congressman Dunlap burst out with, 'Who is this young lady everyone is so interested in? I have to meet her.'

  "Everyone laughed. Even Jacob."

  "What about Cary?" I asked.

  "Oh, he had taken May down to the beach.

  They weren't far off."

  She sighed deeply and continued to prepare

  dinner, talking as she went to the stove.

  "They got into a political discussion and the

  judge had an argument with Congressman Dunlap

  about taxes. They were getting pretty riled up. No one

  noticed Jacob rubbing his chest and taking deep

  breaths until suddenly--" She paused and looked at

  the wall as if the scene were being projected onto it.

  "Suddenly, he struggled to his feet, made a strange

  guttural sound, and fell forward on the grass. The

  congressman was the first at his side. He had been in

  the army and had some training in CPR. Jacob complained about pressure on his chest and pain up his arm to his shoulder. The congressman said it looked like a heart attack and we should get an

  ambulance quickly.

  "I was no good to anyone. I couldn't move. My

  legs turned right to butter. All I could do was hold

  onto the chair and cry.

  "But Olivia. You should have seen her,

  Melody," she said with a wide smile of appreciation

  and admiration on her lips. "She stood up and like a

  general, coolly dictated commands," Aunt Sara said

  and then demonstrated, pointing this way and that. "Samuel, go make the phone call. Nelson, go

  get a pillow and a few blankets from the maid. She

  even told the congressman's wife to pour some water

  for Jacob. In minutes, everyone was moving about,

  doing something. Then she turned to me," Aunt Sara

  said, imitating Grandma Olivia's expression. "Sara, get a grip on yourself. Go get the

  children immediately,' she ordered, and I tell you

  when she turned her eyes on me, I felt my buttery legs

  harden into stone and my spinal cord turn to steel. I

  nodded and went down to the beach.

  "Cary was devastated. He couldn't believe his

  father was--had collapsed. Jacob's been such a tower of strength. He's never been sick, never missed a day's work, and he never complains about muscle aches and pains, no matter how hard he works and how miserable the weather. I've seen him come home with his face blue from cold, but he never so much as

  moaned.

  "When the ambulance arrived, Olivia hovered

  over the paramedics making sure they did everything

  as quickly and efficiently as possible. Then she organized us into two cars and we followed the ambulance

  to the hospital. Cary drove our car. When we arrived,

  she went to the emergency room doctor immediately

  and got him to go see to Jacob. He reported to her

  before he reported to anyone else. It seemed like only

  minutes before they had a heart specialist beside

  Jacob and Jacob in the CCU. I never saw Olivia any

  stronger. She inspired me and I kept myself together. "After a few hours, she came to us and sai
d we

  should go home and get some rest. There was nothing

  more to do but wait to see how his condition developed. All the while I kept thinking, if Olivia, who is

  Jacob's mother, can be so strong, I have to be strong,

  too. So I kept my tears back and did what she said. "Cary worries me now," she continued. "He

  didn't say a word until he spoke to you."

  "He'll be fine, Aunt Sara," I promised, even

  though I didn't know if I had any right to make such

  assurances. I certainly had no track record of success

  when it came to predictions about people.

  She sighed again and returned to the meat loaf.

  "Everything's ready," she declared. "Can you get

  Cary, Melody?"

  "Of course, Aunt Sara."

  I went to the stairway and called him, but he

  didn't respond, so I went upstairs to get him. I called

  him again from the bottom of the attic ladder and still

  he didn't answer me. When I looked in the attic room,

  I found him sitting and staring at a model of a lobster

  boat.

  "Cary, dinner's ready," I said. "Your mother

  wants you to come down. She needs you, Cary." "I made this when I was only seven years old,"

  he said, staring down at the model. "Dad was really

  surprised at how well it came out. For a while we kept

  it downstairs on the mantle so Dad could show it to

  his friends. He wasn't always the way he is now.

  When I first started to go out on the boat with him, we

  were more like brothers than father and son. He taught

  me everything about the boat and the business and

  said I was his good luck charm. We had much better

  catches in those days.

  "After Laura's death everything changed.

  Sometimes I think we all died with her," he said, "in

  different ways, I guess. Dad kept too much of it inside

  him, eating away. Then . . I became a disappointment

  to him."

  "You're not a disappointment to anyone, Cary.

  Anyone who says that just doesn't know. You've been

  a better son than any boy I ever met, but you are your

  own person and it's not a sin for you to want things

  that are different from your father's desires. Deep

  inside himself, your father knows that. You had

  nothing to do with this. I'm sure," I said.

  He raised his shoulders slowly and turned. "But after last night . . . He hasn't struck me for

  years," he said.

  "And he shouldn't have last night. I'm sorry,

  Cary. I don't mean to say anything bad about him,

  now, of all times, but he was wrong and I think he

  realized that right away and that's what bothered him

  the most. You have to be strong for your mother,

  Cary, and for May. She's so dependent upon us and

  especially you. She's like someone who's fallen

  overboard and is barely floating on a tiny raft of hope.

  You know how much harder it is for her."

  He nodded.

  "Yes. You're right, of course."

  "You've got to be as strong as your father has

  been for this family," I said and he straightened up

  even more. "Now come on down and eat something,"

  I ordered.

  He smiled.

  "Aye, aye, Captain," he said, saluting. He rose

  and followed me down the ladder and into the dining

  room. When Aunt Sara saw him, she brightened a bit.

  Serving the meal helped her keep herself together. "We'll need a special reading tonight," she told

  him when we all sat at the table. He nodded and

  opened the Bible.

  "The Lord is my shepherd,' " he began, and

  read the psalm so beautifully, it brought tears to my

  eyes.

  None of us had much of an appetite, but even

  May saw how important it was to eat as much as she

  could to please Aunt Sara. After dinner, we all helped

  with the cleanup and then Cary announced he would

  drive us all to the hospital.

  "Oh dear," Aunt Sara said. "Maybe I should

  change into something fresh, and maybe May should

  put on--"

  "None of that matters, Ma," Cary said with

  authority. "We're only there to be at Dad's bedside and

  give him comfort."

  She nodded. Cary had already taken the reins.

  He was at the helm and in control of our actions and

  direction. We got into the car and he drove us to the

  hospital, no one saying much until we arrived. The cardiac-care unit permitted only immediate

  family visits, for five minutes every hour on the hour.

  Cary decided May should wait in the lounge with me

  while he and Aunt Sara went in to see how Uncle

  Jacob was doing.

  Grandma Olivia and Grandpa Samuel had gone

  home for the night and left orders for the doctor to call

  them if there were any dramatic changes. I kept May

  amused and answered her questions about the

  hospital, people we saw working, and as much as I

  knew about heart attacks. One of Papa George's

  friends had died of a heart attack two years before and

  I recalled some of the details about blocked arteries,

  destroyed muscle, water in his lungs.

  I didn't tell May any gruesome details, but her

  eyes were dark with worry and fear when I explained

  how the heart worked. She was closed up so tightly in

  her silent world, and now all this tightened the doors and windows, bringing her more darkness. A touch, a smile, constant signing and embraces helped bring back some light to her face, but in the pauses, the silence grew more deafening and drove her down

  deeper and deeper into her own loneliness.

  We feel like strangers to each other so often in

  our lives, I thought. It's hard enough as it is for most

  people to explain, express, and communicate their

  feelings, fears, and dreams to each other. May was

  born with a disadvantage and given another obstacle

  to overcome. It was at times like these when that

  handicap would announce itself most loudly and make

  the rest of us feel even more frustrated trying to help

  her and, therefore, help ourselves.

  When Cary and Aunt Sara came out, they both

  looked glum. Aunt Sara was dabbing her eyes with a

  handkerchief. Cary looked pale. Even his lips had lost

  most of their color. He guided his mother to the settee

  and then he turned to me.

  "It's hard seeing him hooked up to oxygen and

  all those heart monitors clicking away. He looks so

  small in that bed--he looks like a corpse," he blurted

  and his tears broke free to burn down his cheeks. May

  started to cry and move her hands about desperately

  for news.

  Cary signed to her that Uncle Jacob was still

  sick but getting better and told her to go sit with their

  mother. She did so and Aunt Sara embraced her. The

  two rocked gently on the settee. Cary turned back to

  me.

  "He can talk," he said. "Just barely whisper, but

  he can talk. Just before we left, he asked me about you

  and I told him you were out here."

  "He asked about me?"

  "Yes. Then he said--" Cary paused, looked

  back at his mother and then back at me. "
Then he said

  he wanted you to go in to see him alone."

  "What?"

  "That's what he said, Melody. I told the head

  nurse and she said to wait fifteen minutes and then

  send you in to see him. She said it would be all right. I

  told her you were my sister," he said.

  "Why does he want to see me?" It felt like a

  hand of ice was stroking the back of my neck and then

  moving down my spine.

  "He thinks he's going to die tonight," he said,

  "and he wants to tell you something before he does,"

  Cary replied, taking a deep breath before going to sit

  with his mother and sister.

  I felt as if I had swallowed a dozen goldfish and they were all flopping about in my stomach. Cary checked his watch and looked at me across the small lobby. It seemed he was looking at me across a chasm so wide and deep we could never reach each other

  again.

  I sat back. Of all people for Uncle Jacob to

  want to see. Me! Maybe he wanted to lay some curse

  on me or blame me for his condition. Maybe he

  wanted me to promise to leave his house for good. Or

  maybe, maybe one of those deeply buried secrets was

  about to rear its ugly head.

  I took deep breaths. May gazed at me with her

  eyes big, the expression on her face mixed fear and

  hope. Aunt Sara bit down on her lower lip and nodded

  to unheard voices. Cary stared ahead. I vaguely heard

  the voices of other people around us and heard the

  footsteps of nurses and technicians. My heart pounded

  harder with every passing minute.

  And then Cary gazed at his watch again and

  looked up at me.

  "It's time," he said. "Go on. They'll show you

  where he is," he added.

  I didn't think I could stand, but I did. I gazed at

  Aunt Sara, who looked up at me with curiosity and

  confusion, and yet with a prayer on her lips and in her eyes. I smiled-at her and at May and then I started toward the door to the cardiac-care unit, my legs and feet floating over the hard tiled floor. I opened the door and entered the large room with the circular nurses' station in the center, a bank of monitors reporting the heartbeats of the patients around them. Everyone looked efficient and serious, emphasizing the critical care and the possibility of life-and-death

  choices that were made there each and every day. I sucked in my breath and started across the