Wildflowers 03 Jade

by V. C. Andrews

  "I changed my mind," Misty said when she set eyes on it all, "I'm glad we stopped for lunch."

  Star grunted, but Cat actually broke out in a wide smile. I say broke out because for her a smile was something smothered beneath shyness and fear most of the time I had been with her. Whenever she did smile, I felt as if it had escaped from under the weight of sadness that usually soaked her face like ink in a blotter.

  "Just dig in, girls," Dr. Marlowe said.

  We filled our dishes and sat at the table, Dr. Marlowe joining us last. Emma rushed in and out, replenishing meats and cheeses as if she had three times the number of people for lunch than were actually here.

  "Thank you, Emma," Dr. Marlowe called to her as she hurried back to the kitchen.

  "Why doesn't Emma eat with us?" Misty asked. "Maybe she's afraid she'll catch something," Star said.

  "What could she catch, a bad attitude?" I said. Star looked at me for a moment and then shook her head and bit into her sandwich.

  "Emma has always been very shy," Dr. Marlowe offered. "And she likes to think the best of people, look harder for the good in everyone."

  "That's why she's the way she is," Star muttered.

  "What do you mean? You don't know how she is:' I said. She smirked as if I had said something stupid. "Well, do you?"

  "She's living here with her sister like some maid. What has she got for herself? I'm not blind and I don't look at the world through . . . what did you call them?" she asked Dr. Marlowe. "Rosy-colored glasses?"

  "Rose-colored. That's what Emma wears," Dr. Marlowe said, nodding with a smile. "She's not as unhappy as you might imagine, Star. She's

  comfortable, safe and she's home. She knows I'll do whatever I can for her and she would do the same for me. The way the world seems sometimes, that's a lot."

  "Amen to that," Star said, yet I could still see skepticism lurking in her eyes.

  After having heard Star's story, I couldn't fault her for doubting Emma's happiness. I just hoped like Dr. Marlowe that we could have a positive effect on each other.

  "Do you counsel her too?" Star asked the question we'd all wondered about.

  "Not formally, but we talk a lot. You'd be surprised at how much she helps me."

  "Were you close when you were younger?" Misty asked.

  "Not as much as I would have liked us to be, no," Dr. Marlowe said. "And Emma got married early."

  "How early?" Star asked.

  "She was just nineteen," Dr. Marlowe said. By now it was possible for me to read her a little and know when something displeased her. I could hear it in her voice and in the way her eyes shifted quickly as if she hoped to change the subject.

  "You didn't think she should get married?" I asked, turning the tables on Dr. Marlowe. Let her sit in the hot seat for a while.

  "My father was a very strong man, strongwilled. He thought it would be the best thing for her," she said.

  "You mean, he arranged it?" Misty asked with those innocent, wide eyes.

  "Let's just say he exerted strong influences on everyone concerned," she replied.

  "Everybody thinks they know what's best for everyone else," Star chimed in, but looking pointedly at me. "Giving advice at the drop of a moan. There are Dear Abby's preaching on every street corner nowadays:'

  Dr. Marlowe laughed.

  "I'm afraid Star's right about that."

  "Maybe people think if they fill their heads with someone else's business, they don't have to worry about their own," Star said

  "You might have something there," Dr. Marlowe told her. "That's an astute comment, Star."

  Star took a bite of her sandwich and glittered with glee at the compliment. I couldn't help but laugh. "What's so funny?"

  "Us," I said. "Even thinking for, one moment that we have anything to offer anyone else."

  "Don't be so hard on yourself, Jade," Dr. Marlowe said. "You'd be surprised how difficulties in life often make you more of an expert than you think It's why I wanted you all together."

  "Maybe she should borrow Emma's glasses," Star said.

  Cat laughed so loudly we all turned to her and she blushed.

  "You think she's right?" I asked her sharply.

  To my surprise she didn't back down. Her eyes looked directly into my own and then she said, "I hope so."

  Misty smothered a giggle. Dr. Marlowe's eyes lit like Christmas lights and Star went to the table for seconds.

  We'll see how smug and funny they are when they hear the rest of my story, I thought.

  And then I asked myself why didn't I want them to be happy?

  Was it because misery loves company?

  I'd rather be happy and alone.

  When we returned to Dr. Marlowe's office I felt like I was coming back to the stage after an

  intermission, as if I were in a school play. I had been in two plays, one in junior high and one when I was a sophomore and then I stopped trying out even though my drama teacher kept asking me to audition. Maybe I thought if the spotlight hit me, really concentrated on me, everyone in the audience would know I had been turned into a shadow.

  Taking a deep breath, I began again.

  "I had dinner by myself the night of the Honor Society induction. Mrs. Caron, feeling sorry for me, made my favorite meal: veal cordon bleu."

  "What's that?" Star asked, grimacing. "Blue veal?"

  "No," I said. "It's veal rolled and stuffed with ham and cheese. It's French."

  "Pardon my ignorance," she said. "I'll take my grandmother's fried chicken. That's American."

  I raised my eyes toward the ceiling.

  "May I continue?" I asked.

  "By all means," Star said.

  "Thank you. I felt bad for Mrs. Caron, but I really had no appetite. She asked if I was sick and I apologized and told her to save the leftovers for me. She rarely did. My mother has this thing about leftovers. Every week we would throw away enough to feed a family like ours for another week. My father complains a lot about that, but my mother accuses him of wanting to take risks with our health just to save a dollar and he backs down.

  "I rose from the table and wandered through the empty house. I could swear the echoes of a hundred recent arguments were bouncing from wall to wall in practically every room. I imagined the house itself taking on a dreariness, the colors fading, the windows clouding as if the storm of my parents' divorce was raining gloom and doom over furniture, pictures, and decorations. Cold hate was dripping down the walls in the house I once thought was my perfect little world.

  "It made me laugh to think about that and I guess I laughed so hard and loud, it brought Mrs. Caron and Rosina out of the kitchen to see what was happening.

  "'Are you all right?' Mrs. Caron asked.

  "'What? Oh, yes,' I said. 'I'm fine. I was just laughing at the rain.'

  "'Rain?' She looked at Rosina and they both looked at me with concern. 'It's not raining, Jade.'

  "'No? I guess that's just tears then. The house is crying. Yes, that's it, Mrs. Caron, the house is sobbing. Don't you hear it? Listen,' I said and tilted my head.

  "They stared at me with questions in their eyes. I smiled and told them not to worry. My father had designed the house so it could withstand months and months of weeping.

  "Then I turned and pounded up the stairway, holding my hands over my ears, and shut myself up in my room. For a while I just sat on the bed and stared at myself in the vanity mirror. I tried to go through the motions of preparing for the Honor Society reception, but after I put on my dress and looked at myself, I just burst into tears.

  "It's catching, I told myself. The house is infecting me. I've got to get out of here before it's too late, I told myself. I rushed around my room and threw some clothes together into a small backpack. Then I called for a taxi. First, I had the driver take me to the bank where I withdrew five hundred dollars from the ATM. Then I had him take me to the airport. I bought a ticket to San Francisco on the next flight. I remember looking at my watch during the flight and
thinking I would have been sitting on the stage at this moment, gazing out at the audience of parents and friends, looking vainly for my own. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.

  "When I arrived in San Francisco, I took a cab to Craig's home. I had no idea what I would say or do when I got there. I just wanted to talk to him, to spend time with him

  "He lived on Richland Avenue near Holly Park. I had been to San Francisco before, but I'd never been to his neighborhood. Craig's house looked as old as he had described it. It was a three-story Italianate with a low- pitched roof. The bottom floor had bay windows and the stucco exterior had faded into a brownishyellow.

  "It was just after nine when I arrived. Most of the windows were dark with just a dull glow in one of the first-floor windows. No one's home, I thought, but went up to the door and rang nevertheless. It took so long for anyone to answer that I had already started back down the short stairway.

  "'Yes?' I heard and turned to see a tall, lean man with thin, graying light brown hair, some of the strands so long, they drooped over his eyes and hung down over his ears. It was hard to make out the details of his face because the light was so dim behind him.

  "'I'm looking for Craig Bennet,' I said nervously.

  "He simply stood there, gazing out at me as if I hadn't spoken. For a moment, I wondered if I had only imagined asking for Craig. I repeated Craig's name just in case.

  "'Who are you?' the man asked in return. I told him and again, he just stood there staring.

  "'Oh,' he finally said. 'Craig mentioned you to me. You're the computer girl.'

  "'Yes,' I said, smiling at the label. 'I'm the computer girl.'

  "The way I was feeling, I might as well have been something created in a computer.

  "'Well, what are you doing here?' he asked.

  "'I came to San Francisco and I thought it would be nice for us to finally meet face to face,' I said.

  "'Oh sure. That is nice. Come on in,' he said.

  "'Is Craig at home?' I asked, hesitating. My legs were smarter than my brain. They held back on their own.

  "No, not at the moment. He's gone on some errands for us, but he'll be home very soon,' he said.

  "He stepped back and waited, holding the door open for me.

  "'Come on in. He won't be long,' he promised.

  "I walked up the steps and entered the house. It was so dark and musty. There was a lot of wood trim along the entryway and on my right was a grandfather clock that wasn't working.

  "'I was just reading,' he said. 'You kids don't do enough of that these days, not since you discovered computers. Come into the living room. Can I get you something to drink?'

  "'No thank you,' I said, following him. The living room was small and cluttered with antique furniture."

  "How did you know so much about all that?" Star asked skeptically. It was as though she thought I was making up the whole thing As if I would make up something like this,

  "My father," I said. "Some of it rubbed off whether I wanted it to or not.

  "Getting back to what I was saying," I added, "he had one lamp on by a threadbare Chippendale wing chair." I said it with deliberate exactness to annoy her now.

  "'Well, have a seat,' he offered, indicating the settee across from him. 'You look like you just arrived in town.'

  "'I did,' I said.

  "'Who you visiting with?'

  "'No one,' I made the mistake of saying. 'I mean, it's a spur of the moment trip.'

  "He smiled and sat. Under the lights I could see the resemblances between him and Craig from the picture Craig had attached to his E-mail. His eyes were as deeply set and his nose the same nearly perfectly straight shape, just a trifle too long, but adding character. His mouth had similarly full masculine lips and he had the same soft curve from his cheekbone to his jaw.

  " 'Craig's quite taken with you,' he said. 'He talks about you a lot.'

  "'Does he? We did sort of hit it off and I thought it would be great to finally meet.'

  "There was a strange smell--more than just a musty odor now. It smelled more like incense or something. I guess I twitched my nose and he saw it and laughed.

  "'We just finished dinner a little while ago. I'm not the best cook. I burned the potatoes. We were about to have coffee when we discovered we didn't have any. We're both failing pretty bad at domestic chores,' he explained. There was a little lisp in his speech and from the way his mouth dipped on the right side when he spoke, I wondered if he hadn't suffered a stroke or something. Now that I looked at him more closely, I could see how thin he was and how his right shoulder slanted a bit lower than his left.

  "'Where's Sonny?' I asked, referring to Craig's younger brother.

  "'Oh, he went along with him. You can't keep those two apart. Nothing Sonny likes more than spending time with Craig. He looks up to him like Craig's a superhero, and Craig loves and protects him They've come together like this,' he said, holding his hand up in a tightly closed fist. 'Since she left us, all three of us are like this.'

  "'That's nice,' I said smiling. It did sound nice, although from some of the things Craig had said in his E-mails, I didn't think life was as rosy as Mr. Bennet portrayed.

  "'He told you about this house?' he asked.

  " 'Yes,' I said.

  "'You can appreciate it since your father's an architect, I bet. It was something in its day.'

  "'Craig really has told you a lot about me, I see,' I said. 'You know my father is an architect.'

  "'Oh, yes. We don't keep much from each other anymore. That's because we're all like one,' he said, holding up that bony fist again. 'She didn't destroy us when she ran off. She made us stronger. In some ways I'm glad she went. She was never happy being tied down. She had the wanderlust. We got married too early. It was as if I had tamed a wild horse or something. Babies were lead weights around her neck. She and I stopped making love after Sonny was born; she was afraid of having another child. You know what happens to a marriage once the romance goes out of it?'

  "'Yes,' I said and thought it was a strange conversation for him to have with a total stranger, but I imagined that in his mind, because of my E-mail correspondence with Craig, he didn't think of me as a complete stranger.

  "'Craig told you a little about the divorce, right?' he asked. 'I know you told him all about your parents' situation.'

  " 'Yes: I said.

  "Actually, I was getting a little upset at how much Craig had told his father. None of my friends would have shared so much with their parents. Had Craig gone so far as to print out my letters? I wondered.

  "As if he could read my thoughts, Mr. Bennet added, 'Craig often read your letters at dinner to us. I'm sorry for your troubles at home. Your parents sound like. . . dummies,' he suggested. 'Why can't they see what they're doing to you? It pains Craig to read some of that stuff. He gets so angry, he can't eat. He wants to know why adults are so cruel to their own children.

  "'Then he starts talking about his own mother and asking me more questions so he can tell you about her, I think. I hate talking about her. I try to forget her. I even got so I can't recall her face anymore. You can push things out of your mind if you want to, you know. You just think of something else every time the bad things come up. You say, no, no to it. Get out, out!' he practically screamed.

  "'I used to sit in front of a mirror and stare into my own eyes and just dare a memory to come into my head. You should try it sometime. It helps, believe me,' he said.

  "I smiled at him and gazed around curiously. The room looked like it needed more than just a good dusting. I saw cobwebs in the corners and layers of dust on the marble mantel. When I gazed down at the floor around his chair, I saw what looked like caked old food and I could have sworn I caught sight of a rat slipping behind the armoire."

  "Ugh," Misty cried. "Why didn't you just leave?" "I still wanted to see Craig.

  "'You're as pretty as your picture,' Mr. Bennet said. 'Craig's going to be happy you came. I know what,' he said, slapping his hands toget
her, 'why don't I show you his room and his computer while you wait?'

  "'He might not like that,' I said.

  "'Sure he will. Don't you want to see it? That's where your friendship began. It's like. . like something historic for you two. Right?'

  " 'Yes, but . ."

  "'Well, then don't be shy. Not with Craig. Not after all you two have shared. Why, he's told you more about us than he's told relatives and best friends, and I bet you've done the same. I can see from the look on your face that you have. That's nice. That's something unusual these days . . . trust. You're the nicest thing to come into his life since . . . since before,' he said, and I could tell he was doing what he described: keeping the bad memories out.

  "'I bet you'd like to see this old house anyway,' he added, standing up. 'He told you how long it's been in the family, right?'

  "'Yes,' I said. 'I know the style. My father built a house like this for a client in Beverly Hills two years ago.'

  "'This house was built in 1870,' he began proudly as he headed for the door. He paused, waiting. Once again, my smarter legs hesitated, but I forced myself up and followed him out. 'Of course, a lot was done to it since, but not so much over the past forty years or so.

  " Craig's room is on the third floor with the best view,' he said, leading me up the rickety stairway after he flipped a switch that lit up a small, naked bulb overhead.

  "We wound around and up. The second-floor landing was narrow and smaller than I had anticipated and the third floor was really more like an attic. There was just one bedroom and an adjoining small bathroom. He turned on the light and I saw the computer on the desk to the left. It was on, the monitor glowing. In the center of the room was a fourposter bed, and to the right of that, a dresser and a closet. The bed was neatly made, almost as tightly tucked as a military bunk.

  "There was little on the walls, some pictures of Craig and Sonny but when they were considerably younger, a picture of a jet plane and a poster of an old Star Trek movie. It gave me a strange feeling, like I was moving back through time rather than looking in on what was someone's present bedroom.

  "'Here,' Mr. Bennet said, 'look at this.' He was at the computer table. 'Your most recent letter.' He held it up and I walked in and looked at it. It was my most recent E-mail. 'Just take a gander at that view from that window,' he suggested, moving away from the computer. 'You'll see why Craig would rather stay up here than any other part of this house. We've still got one of the best views in the neighborhood. Go on,' he urged.