Wildflowers 04 Cat

by V. C. Andrews

  "'Why am I in a hospital?' I asked him.

  "'What do you remember last?' he replied.

  "'I was getting ready for the dance. I. . . was looking at myself in the mirror, I think,' I told him and he smiled and said that was good. I was getting better quickly, which was what he had expected. I asked for my parents and he told me my mother would be coming up to see me any moment.

  "'What about my father?' I asked him

  " `Do you want to see him?' he asked me. He studied my face carefully.

  " I said.

  "He nodded.

  "'You're going to be all right,' he promised, squeezing my hand.

  "Mrs. Jenner brought me my tray of food and as I was eating, my mother arrived. She stood outside in the hallway with the doctor and they talked in very low murmuring voices for a while. I finished eating before she came in. Then Mrs. Jenner took the tray and left Mother and me alone.

  "She looked very sick, pale, her eyes bloodshot. I can't remember ever seeing my mother cry. If something bothered her that much, she would go off to be by herself. She stood by my bed now and the tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes like fugitives sneaking down her cheeks.

  "'Horrible,' she muttered. 'It's so horrible. He doesn't deny it.'

  "'What?' I asked her. 'Who?'

  "She took a deep breath and shook her head. She seemed to suck her tears back into her eyes, straightened her body, filling her spine with steel again, pulling her shoulders up.

  "'Let's not talk about it now,' she commanded. 'Let's never talk about it.'

  "Of course, that was not to be." I gazed at Doctor Marlowe. "Talking about it became very important. We've traveled a long way, right, Doctor Marlowe?"

  "A very long way, Cathy."

  "Are we home yet?" I asked her. I was trembling a little.

  "Almost, honey," she said. She looked at the other three who were sitting quietly. "You're all almost there," she said with a smile.

  I nodded and took another deep breath.

  "I remained in therapy for a while, working with Doctor Finnigan. By the time I returned home from the hospital, Daddy was gone. Like your mother, Misty," I reminded her, "my mother had tried to purge the house of everything that would remind us of him She didn't go so far as to sell or give away his favorite chair, but she didn't just clean out his closets and drawers. She sanitized them. She scrubbed the house as if his essence, the very memory of him, was something that could be vacuumed up, scrubbed away.

  "Unlike you, Jade, I didn't have to be involved in much of the legal stuff. I knew my mother had started the process of getting a divorce, of course, and I knew that lawyers had met and settlements had been concluded to her satisfaction.

  "Like your daddy, Star, mine was gone suddenly, almost as if some wizard had made him disappear. I know it was part of whatever was decided that he would never have any contact with me again. It wasn't something I easily accepted or believed. To this day I sometimes expect him to appear, to come walking up the stairs, to knock on my door and open it and smile at me and ask how his special little girl is doing.

  "It would be like everything that has happened was just a bad nightmare.

  "But then, my mother is always there to remind me it was no dream." I looked at Doctor Marlowe. "That's good and bad, I know. I have to face the demons to destroy them, to rid myself of them," I recited.

  She nodded.

  "But it would be nice to bury them forever." "You will," Doctor Marlowe promised.

  "Why wasn't he arrested? Why didn't he go to jail?" Jade wanted to know.

  "First, my mother didn't want all the notoriety. Even today, not that many people know the real reason for their separation and divorce. Second, I don't think I could stand having to tell this story in a courtroom, even if it was only before a judge.

  "I did meet with a judge and a representative of a child protection- service to conclude custody questions. For a while I thought they might take me away from Mother, too, that maybe they thought she was really more directly responsible. I suppose it was hard for them to believe she was so. . ."

  "Dumb?" Star asked.

  "Blind," I corrected. "Mother is comfortable in her own world."

  "You might as well be away from her," Star muttered. "I can't say I don't love her or need her. She's the only mother I've ever known."

  "I still don't understand why she wanted to adopt you in the first place," Jade said.

  "I know. That's something I have yet to learn. There's much I have yet to learn. She's suggested to me that there were rumors about my father and his sister and maybe that was why his family was so distant. She never talked about it before because it was too disgusting to even form such words with her lips, much less utter them."

  "Why would she marry someone like that?" Misty asked.

  "I don't think she knew about the rumors before she got married," I said. "It's like I'm just learning about my own family now, like doors are being opened to rooms I never knew existed. I'm unraveling a roll of secrets almost daily. Some of it I want to know, and some I wish I never knew."

  Jade nodded.

  "My mother was always reluctant to talk about any of this, as you know. Lately, I think she has realized her own need to get stuff out, although it's still not easy to get her to do it I think she's also afraid of what it might do to me. To her credit, I think she wants me to get stronger and stronger, but she wants it to be something we keep in our own house, in our own world."

  I sat back and suddenly, I felt so tired I couldn't keep my eyes open.

  "Well," Doctor Marlowe said. "I think we should stop. We've gone about as far as or actually even further than I had hoped we would."

  "I guess we can each stop feeling so sorry for ourselves;' Jade said. "Is that it?"

  "In a way. The most important thing is none of you should feel alone, lost, so different you think you are the only one who has been singled out for what happened in your lives. There are other people, many people who will understand.

  "Each of you is special. Each of you have a great deal to recommend you and to make you feel good about yourselves. You're all attractive, intelligent young women and you will overcome all of this difficult and sad history."

  "Thanks to you," Misty said.

  "No," Doctor Marlowe said looking at all of us, "thanks to yourselves. I'll be seeing each of you again, separately, but I don't think we're going to have to go on and on much longer. You've all made very significant progress. You've made the big turn," she said, smiling.

  She glanced out the window.

  "Look, the sun's breaking out. Jade, you can get back to that summer vacation you're supposed to be enjoying."

  "Right," she said. Then she smiled and nodded. "Right."

  Doctor Marlowe stood up and we all rose. We could hear music coming from upstairs, something from an opera.

  "I've heard this in the school music suite," Misty said. "Isn't it Gianni Schicchi?"

  "Yes, very good, Misty," Doctor Marlowe confirmed.

  "I'll get you tickets to our school concerts this year," Misty told her. "It's not quite the opera, but it's close!"

  "Thank you. Emma would like that. Good-bye, girls. Have a good week. Until I see you all again," she added and reached out for each of us to squeeze our hands.

  When we opened the front door, we could see that today my mother was the first one who had arrived. She sat impatiently, nervously. Her eyes darted toward us and then away. I could almost see her knuckles turning white as she clutched the steering wheel.

  All three looked at her. Then Jade turned to Star.

  "I guess it isn't easy for anybody," she said. Star offered a reluctant grunt of agreement.

  Doctor Marlowe closed the door behind us.

  "Anybody want my phone number?" Misty asked.

  "I'll just take everyone's:' Jade said. She smiled at Star's look of surprise. "I'm the president of the OWP's. I'll call you all when it's time for us to have our first real meeting. Maybe I'l
l have a brunch or something."

  She gave us her number. My mother kept giving me looks.

  "I've go to go," I said. "Thanks for being good listeners:'

  "I guess we can all say that to each other," Misty said. "You've got that right," Star added.

  Jade fixed her eyes on my mother again and then suddenly, she started ahead of me, toward my mother's car.

  "What's she doing?" Star asked but followed. We all did.

  Oh no, I thought, if she says something horrible . . .

  "Hi, Mrs. Carson," she said. "You've got a very nice daughter. Have a nice day," she added. Then she threw me a sly smile and sauntered toward her limousine.

  "That girl," Star said muttering. She looked at my mother. "Hello," she said. "She's right. See you, Cat," she told me and started for her grandmother's car.

  "Bye;' Misty said to me. "We'll see each other again. I'll bug Jade until she does what she promised."

  "Okay."

  "Hi," she sang toward my mother and waved. Then she hurried toward the waiting taxicab.

  I opened the car door and got in.

  "What was that all about?" my mother asked, a look of astonishment on her face.

  "I don't know. Nothing much, I guess," I said. "How did it go in there?"

  "All right."

  "Aren't you going to tell me anything?"

  She still hadn't started away.

  "There isn't anything you don't know, Mother. The question is, are you going to tell me everything?" I asked.

  She fixed her eyes on me while they grew small for a moment and then she nodded and we drove away, the others right behind us, like a parade or maybe . . . a funeral.

  After all, we had buried enough sadness to fill a good-size cemetery.

  Epilogue

  Mother and I didn't talk about anything significant for a few days afterward. I understood that like me, Mother was trying to find her way through all this. Sometimes, it seemed as if tall weeds and vines had grown from the floors and ceilings in our house and we were hacking our way through to reach each other. I remembered how much importance Doctor Marlowe placed on patience and understanding. I, of all people, knew how bad it was to force someone to open the doors to dark rooms.

  Mother attacked her housework and all her chores with a vengeance, searching for something to fill every waking moment so she wouldn't have to stop and think and remember.

  It was hardest during our meals. When she finally had everything on the table and we had nothing left to do but sit and eat, there would be that terrible, deep silence. If I looked at her, she would start to rattle off orders, telling me about things she wanted done in the house and then quickly following that with a list of things she needed to do herself.

  "He wasn't all that much help around here:' she muttered one night. "I had to do most everything that concerned this house myself anyway." That was her first reference to my father since I had returned from the final group therapy session at Doctor Marlowe's. I offered to be of greater help to her and she promised she would give me more to do. She thought I could handle more responsibility.

  She definitely needed more help. Every once in a while, I would notice her stop whatever she was doing, place her hand against her chest and close her eyes. She looked like she was waiting for her heart to start beating again.

  "Are you all right, Mother?" I asked.

  She hesitated, took a breath and nodded "I'm fine," she said. "As fine as I could be

  under the circumstances."

  "Maybe you're working too hard, Mother," I

  said. "I'm fine," she insisted and walked away quickly. Finally, one night I came downstairs and found

  her sitting in the living room, gazing out the window.

  She was in the rocker and she was moving herself

  back and forth gently. I could see she was so deep in

  thought, she didn't even realize I had entered the

  room. I sat across from her and waited. Her eyes

  moved very slowly until she saw me and then they

  widened and brightened.

  "How long have you been there?" she asked. "Just a few seconds," I said.

  "I didn't hear you come in." She sighed. "Looks

  like it might rain again. I think we're getting a leak in

  the roof over the pantry. I'll have someone check it

  tomorrow."

  "Mother, there was a question that kept coming

  up in my group therapy."

  "What question?" she fired at me.

  "A question I have had in my own mind for a

  while now. I don't want you to get angry at me for

  asking it, but it's important to me."

  "I hate questions," she muttered. "Ever since

  what happened happened, that's all the world's been

  full of for us, questions."

  "People have to have answers, Mother. I need

  answers just like anyone."

  "Answers can make for unnecessary trouble.

  Sometimes it's best not to ask questions," she said. "No, Mother," I pursued. "It's never better to

  bury your head in the sand."

  "Is that what that doctor taught you?" "No. I taught it to myself. If I had asked some

  questions and if you had . ."

  "All right," she said. "All right. Let's get this

  over with. What question?"

  I paused and she looked away as if to make it

  easier for me.

  "Why did you adopt me?"

  "What?" She turned back to me. "What kind of

  a silly question is that?"

  "It's not a silly question, Mother. Was it

  because you lost a child and didn't want to try to have

  another?"

  "What? Who told you I lost a child?" "Daddy."

  "It was another one of his lies. He was just

  trying to get you to feel sorry for him and blame me

  for everything wrong in this house."

  "That wasn't true?"

  "I thought it was. Being a mother has never

  been easy for you, and I couldn't help feeling that all

  the time." "Blaming me. I knew it."

  "I'm not blaming you. I'm asking you to be

  honest with me. I need to know everything I'm old

  enough now, Mother. I've been forced to grow up

  quickly," I added.

  She glanced my way, her eyes filling with pain. "Why does everything have to be explained all

  the time?"

  "I have a right to know about myself, Mother.

  I'll never get better if you don't help me. It might even

  help you," I added.

  She stared at me, looked out the window and

  rocked. I didn't think she would say any more. I

  expected I would just go upstairs and leave her in

  silence as I had done so many times before. "My mother," she said suddenly, "got pregnant

  at forty-four. It was a very big surprise to my father."

  She looked at me.

  I was afraid to speak, afraid she might stop. "Soon after she announced she was pregnant,

  your father came into our lives. He was always a sly

  one, looking for some opportunity. My father was just

  as sly in some ways. He drew him in like a spider,

  giving him bigger and bigger investments to handle. "Howard proposed to me and my father. . . my

  father came to me and practically begged me to marry

  him. My mother left for a while and gave birth to you

  and Howard and I adopted you," she said quickly. "I

  guess it was all part of the deal. I guess you could say

  my father sold you and me to Howard in a neat little

  inheritance-wrapped package. And don't think your

  father didn't throw that back at me when this all happened," she added with fury in her eyes. "He threatened to tell everyone about your birth,
our marriage. It was pure blackmail. Otherwise, I would have seen him put in some jail cell and had the key thrown

  away."

  "My grandmother was really my mother?" I

  asked incredulously.

  She spun on me.

  "You wanted to know everything. Now you

  know. You see why God told Adam and Eve not to

  eat of the Tree of Knowledge? Sometimes, you're

  better off in ignorance."

  I stared at her.

  "We're . . . sisters? Is that what you're telling

  me?" She took a-deep breath and looked out the

  window again.

  "Half-sisters. Toward the end of his days, my

  father told me he was convinced he wasn't your

  father."

  "Who is my father?"

  "I don't know," she replied quickly, almost too

  quickly. She turned to me.

  "So now you know all this. Are you going to be

  better for it? What are you going to do with the

  knowledge, Cathy?"

  "I don't know. It will take time to digest it," I

  said, swallowing hard.

  "You want my advice? Bury it. That's what I

  did." "Did you? Did you really ever bury it or did you

  let it bury you?"

  She studied me and then her eyes narrowed. "So, what are you going to do now? Are you

  going to hate me more for keeping the truth from

  you?"

  "I don't hate you," I said.

  "Are you still going to call me Mother?" "I don't know how I can start doing otherwise,"

  I said.

  She nodded. Then she turned and looked out

  the window.

  "I'm tired, Cathy," she said. "Let's let each other

  rest," she pleaded.

  "Okay," I said and left her rocking, staring into

  the night, staring back through her own troubled

  memories.

  Her revelations didn't make me feel any better.

  In fact, they made me feel even more alone, even

  more like someone just drifting. What did I have to

  look forward to now? I wondered.

  I thought about the other girls. They were like

  me that way, too. They were drifting.

  Maybe we would get together someday. Maybe we could all be friends.

  Would that be so crazy?

  "No," the lost little girl inside me cried. "It