Would I become her?
Then surely, she would have her revenge.
Grandpa Samuel did not join us for dinner. When
Loretta began serving, I inquired after him. "Samuel's-not up to coming down to dinner tonight,"
Grandma Olivia said and began to eat her soup. "Isn't he hungry?"
"He doesn't remember when he ate and when he didn't," she remarked acidly.
"Well, that's terrible, isn't it?" I pursued.
"Yes," she said and paused. "I'm debating whether to have a nurse move in to help take care of him or--"
"Or what?"
"Have him placed in the home Belinda is in. The doctor will be examining him again in a few days and we'll know what he thinks we should do."
"Surely, he'll get better. He's just overcome with grief," I said.
She dabbed her mouth daintily and signaled for Loretta to remove her bowl.
"Really Melody, I don't know if we have room on our door to hang it," she said.
"Hang it? Hang what?"
"Your medical degree. I didn't know you had one," she said humorlessly.
"I'm just saying that it's possible, isn't it? He just needs some tender love and care. It's very painful to lose someone you love," I shot back. Sarcasm dripped from those thin, smug lips of hers.
"Of course it's painful, but tragedy and sadness must be subdued if you are to be of any value to anyone, including yourself. If all you are going to do is wallow in tears, you might as well throw yourself into the grave with your loved one. I may sound insensitive to you, Melody, but I am a realist, pragmatic. All the success, all that we have, is a result of that strength.
"And the irony is," she continued, "the weaker, more sensitive members of my immediate family are totally dependent upon my strength. Where would they be without me? Where do you think Samuel would eventually end up, and Belinda and Sara? All of them. Even you," she added.
She nodded at Loretta, who began serving the entree, but who looked terrified of doing anything that would interrupt. Grandma Olivia continued.
"I don't expect gratitude. I don't need to be continually stroked with thank-yous, but I won't be despised for my actions either. Is that clear?" she demanded.
I glanced at Loretta, who looked like she was waiting for my reply before she would serve me, too.
"Yes, ma'am," I said.
"Good." She began to eat while I poked at my food. "You may go visit Belinda tomorrow. You should, now that I think about it. Tell her about Haille. Give her all the details about her daughter. A good dose of reality might be beneficial," she said, nodding and smiling.
We stared at each other a moment and then we ate quietly, neither of us saying another word until we were finished. Loretta was there to remove the dishes in an instant and quietly announced that she'd be bringing out dessert momentarily.
"I'm tired and I've had enough to eat. You should take your time. Try the creme brulee. It's very good," Grandma Olivia said and retreated to the parlor.
I had no more appetite and left the dining room soon after her. When I passed the parlor, I saw her sitting in her grand cushioned chair, suddenly looking very small, exhausted and alone. She had a book in her lap, but she wasn't reading anymore. She was staring out the window at the slow downpour, watching as the sky poured out the tears she'd never allow herself to shed.
I went upstairs to my room, but when I reached the second floor, I heard a door open and close and saw Grandpa Samuel coming down the hallway. He spotted me and hurried toward me. He wore a pair of pajamas and a dark blue velvet robe, but he was barefoot. His hair was disheveled. It looked like he had been running his fingers through it for hours.
"Haille," he whispered. "I'm glad you're back."
"No, Grandpa. I'm Melody," I said softly with a smile. "Melody."
He shook his head and looked back as if he was afraid of being overheard.
"She's gone and done it. I told her it wasn't right, but she forbade me to utter a word. She said it was a family disgrace and if I should so much as drop a hint in public or to Jacob and Sara, she would have me thrown out. She would tell everyone I was responsible for your pregnancy after all. Can you imagine? I think she meant it."
"Grandpa."
"I'm not saying she's not right. Maybe she is better off where she is, but Haille, you--"
"Grandpa, it's me, Melody," I said. I reached out and took his hand. He turned and looked into my face. "What?"
"Look at me closely. I'm not my mother."
"You mustn't tell her I told you," he said. He looked very frightened.
"Tell her what? Who are you talking about? Belinda?" He shook his head.
"I'm not responsible," he said, pulling his hand from mine and backing away. "You can't blame me."
"Grandpa."
"I'm going to bed. Things will look different in the morning. They always look different in the morning. But if you don't believe me, you go into the basement and you look. You'll find the papers. Shh," he said bringing his finger to his lips. "Don't say a word. Don't let her know I told you," he warned me. "Just pretend you found the papers yourself," he added and hurried away, looking back only once before going into his bedroom and closing the door.
What papers?
Was it all part of his madness? Like Ophelia in Hamlet, had he been driven insane by the death of someone he loved? If he didn't come out of his constant state of confusion he would end up in a rest home, I sadly thought.
Or were there more skeletons dangling in a closet I had yet to discover? Was it not just madness but painful memories that did this to him?
I heard footsteps below. Grandma Olivia was coming up the stairs, and for now, I thought, I would keep Grandpa Samuel's words to myself.
In my room I lay on the bed, my thoughts tumbling through my mind, making it impossible to sleep. Grandpa Samuel's words echoed in my ears and when I did finally drift off to sleep, it was of secrets and lies and whispers from beyond the grave that I dreamt. I tossed and turned for most of the night before I finally gave up on sleep.
I lay there with my eyes wide open for the longest time. The rain had stopped but the wind continued to whistle and blow over the big house, scratching at the window and whispering a name. My nightmares had stirred a voice. I could not make it out, but I knew it was a secret deeper than I had ever fathomed.
13
How Sweet It Is
.
After breakfast the next day, Cary came by to
take me to see Grandma Belinda. I waited at the parlor window so I could rush out to meet him as soon as he pulled into the driveway. I didn't want him to have to see the look of disapproval on Grandma Olivia's face. He would surely ask me about it and I would have to tell him her feelings concerning us. If there was anything I wanted to avoid at the moment, it was family turmoil, especially when it could be traced back to me.
Yesterday's storm had passed and the small vanilla scoops of clouds looked like they were melting over the powder blue sky. The instant I saw Cary's truck, I ran out to greet him. As we drove away from Grandma Olivia's dreary home, Cary and I remarked on how bright the sun seemed, how clean and clear the air, how beautiful the grass and flowers. It filled me with a renewed sense of hope and reminded me of when I was younger and I believed life would be like one long and perfect summer day, a day just like this one.
I was about to see my closest relative again. I hoped that taking her off her medication had cleared her head. I couldn't wait to hug her and talk to her about everything, especially all my dreams and plans for the future. At least Belinda had time to listen, I thought. At least I had someone neither Mommy nor Grandma Olivia could take from me.
As we drove up to the rest home, Cary talked about the times his twin sister Laura had gone to see my grandmother before Uncle Jacob had forbidden any further visits. Cary hadn't talked about Laura for quite a while. When I had first come to Provincetown, just pronouncing her name seemed to bring pain to his lips.
&nbs
p; "Why did Laura visit her so often, Cary?" I asked. He thought for a moment, his memories brightening his sea-green eyes.
"Belinda took to Laura the first time she met her. It was as if they recognized something soft and loving in each other, some secret the two of them shared. No matter who else was present, Belinda directed herself only to Laura. No one knew about the first time Laura visited her up here. In fact, if I recall, my father didn't discover it was going on until the third or fourth time, and only then because some spy of Grandma Olivia's told her about the visits. She called Dad and he chastised Laura for going; after all, Belinda was the black sheep of the family. We weren't supposed to mention her name, much less visit her.
"But Dad always had trouble forbidding Laura to do things," Cary continued. "Whenever Laura and I did something he didn't approve of, Dad would direct himself mainly to me, barely looking at Laura, as if she hadn't been involved at all He never thought he let his soft spot show, but it was obvious he always thought things were my fault anyway, as if I was the one who should have known better or should have been more responsible. Laura would fly to my defense, of course, taking as much blame as she could, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. He would accuse her of trying to protect me."
Cary laughed, as he continued remembering. 'But Dad,' she would exclaim, 'Cary wasn't even there!'
"No matter,' Dad would growl back. 'He should have been there to stop you or warn you.' "
"Once," he said turning to me as we drove up the side road toward the rest home, "I took quite a beating for the both of us. He whipped me with a thick leather strap and I had so many welts on my rear end I couldn't sit for days. I had to lie on my stomach. Laura came into my room and sat beside the bed, crying as if she felt the pain as much as I did. I tell you, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and didn't feel as much pain. One of my tears would draw ten of hers, so I had to stop crying or she would drown the two of us," he explained with a laugh.
"Anyway, she would bike all the way up here to visit Belinda, and Belinda really looked forward to her visits, from what I heard. I think Grandma Olivia was jealous. Laura never biked over to visit her." He smiled, turning to me. "Like you, Laura cared more about other people than she cared about herself, especially those who were less fortunate, whether it was because of lack of money or lack of love."
We pulled into a parking space and got out of the truck and made our way to the entrance of the home. A pretty nurse greeted us just inside the lobby. Her name tag read MRS. WILLIAMS. I hadn't seen her before. She didn't look much older than her late twenties.
There weren't as many residents sitting there as the last time I had visited, but once again, my appearance, and especially Cary's, too, drew all their attention, quieted their conversations, interrupted their checkers and card games.
I explained who we were and whom we had come to visit, but before Mrs. Williams could respond, Mrs. Greene stepped out of her office and drew our attention as she came toward us, her high heels clicking over the tile floor.
"Well, it's been some time since your last visit," she said. "Iron led me to believe you would be here frequently," she added as if she had caught me in a lie.
"I've been away," I explained. She smirked and turned to the nurse. "I'll see to them, Mrs. Williams."
"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said and returned to the other residents.
"Your grandmother is in the garden," she said, glancing quickly at Cary. "This is a family member, I assume?"
"Yes, he is. How is she doing?"
"Quite well, actually. I should warn you that since you've been here, Miss Gordon's formed a friendship with one of our other residents, Mr. Mandel, and the two of them spend most of their time together."
Cary smiled but Mrs. Greene didn't even acknowledge him.
"It's just a companionship, of course," she continued, speaking through her tight jaw as she led us through the lobby and down a corridor to a side door that opened on the gardens and walkways, "but we encourage such things. We find it's good for their mental health to develop relationships with other residents."
"You talk about them as if they're some other species," I remarked. Cary's eyes widened, surprised at my tone of voice and confrontational demeanor, but I recalled this woman's attitude about me the other times we had met, and I was sure she was somehow on Grandma Olivia's payroll.
"The elderly practically are some other species," she replied, not skipping a beat. "However, only someone who has to work with them day in and day out would understand, I'm afraid,"
She flashed as artificial a smile at us as I had ever seen and then nodded toward Grandma Belinda and a short, bald man sitting on a bench. He had a dark wood cane and leaned on it as he sat. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose until they tottered at the very crest of his narrow nostrils. He wore a blue suit jacket, but pants of a lighter shade, almost gray actually. His tie was awkwardly knotted with one half far longer than the other and his socks sagged around his ankles.
As we approached I was hoping Grandma Belinda would remember me. When her face brightened, I thought she had.
"Well, look who's here, Thomas, my
grandnephew and grandniece," she said and I realized that because I had come with Cary, she assumed I was Laura.
"No, Grandma," I said. "It's Melody, not Laura."
"Melody?" She looked at Cary.
"That's right, Aunt Belinda. It's your
granddaughter, Melody. How are you?"
She looked from him to me and blinked rapidly. Even though she appeared to be struggling with her memory, she was far from as pale and drained as she had been the last time I had visited. She looked bright, her cheeks a little rosy. She had taken care to brush her hair neatly, and she even wore a little lipstick. I saw she was holding on to Mr. Mandel's left hand. He smiled up at us, nodding.
"Oh," Grandma Belinda said. "I want you two to meet Mr. Mandel. He used to be an accountant and can still add lots of numbers in his head, big
numbers!"
"Don't exaggerate, Belinda. I'm not anything like I was," he said jovially. "Pleased to meet you. I guess I'll let you visit with your family, Belinda," he said, rising and patting her softly on the back of her hand.
"You don't have to leave, Mr. Mandel," I said, seeing the disappointment on Grandma Belinda's face.
"No, no, I have to talk to Mrs. Landeau about her tax shelter investments. I promised her. You go on. Here, take my seat," he said to me.
Grandma Belinda looked sadly after him as he wobbled away on his cane. Then her eyes shadowed, growing deep, dark, her face turning angry and resembling Grandma Olivia's face.
"I know what she's up to, asking him for advice," she muttered. "She had her eyes on him the moment he came over to sit with me in the dining room. Green with envy, that one. I bet she hasn't a cent invested in anything anymore. She's just lying to get him to pay attention to her. I know that type. They can't stand to see someone else happy."
Cary laughed. I shook my head at him so he would stop; I didn't want Grandma Belinda to think he was laughing at her. Then I sat beside her, taking her hand into mine.
"Grandma, don't you remember my coming to see you before?" I asked. "Don't you remember our talks?"
She glanced up at Cary and then smiled at me.
"Of course, I remember. How are your parents?"
Cary and I exchanged looks of disappointment. Should we confront Grandma Belinda with doses of reality or was it better to assume the roles her confused mind assigned us?
"Look at me, Grandma Belinda. I'm Melody, Haille's daughter, your granddaughter. I'm not Laura. I've come to tell you about Haille. I went to see her in California."
She stared at me, pressing her lips together. Then her face turned harder, her eyes colder.
"I don't have a daughter," she said. "Everyone has to stop saying that." She turned to look after Mr. Mandel, her voice full of rage. "Now you've gone and chased Mr. Mandel away and that Corina Landeau is going to get her claws into h
im. Every time I find someone, someone tries to steal him away. My sister's no exception either." She turned back to us and her face suddenly softened again with a sweet smile. "How's your mother? You tell her I enjoyed the cookies and if she wants to make me some more, I won't object."
"Grandma," I said with more desperation, "please, try to remember my other visits. I'm Melody, Melody, Haille's daughter."
She continued to look after Mr. Mandel and from the faraway look on her face, I could tell she wasn't listening to me. I sighed deeply and Cary put his hand on my shoulder.
"Grandma Olivia wanted me to come up here and give her a dose of reality. I think she knew what I would find," I said bitterly.
"She was here," Grandma Belinda said, her gaze still fixed away from us. "She paid me a visit. I suppose I'm to be honored."
"Who was here, Grandma?" I asked.
"Her majesty, who else?" she said, turning back to us. "She told me Haille was dead, killed in a car accident long ago. So you see, I can't have a granddaughter. I don't have anyone. I had Mr. Mandel, but now----"
"That's not true, Grandma. She lied. You have me, Grandma," I said. "Please, look at me, remember me. I visited you before. Don't you remember?" I cried, practically pleading with her. She stared at me, her eyes empty.
I turned to Cary and so did Grandma Belinda. "How's your mother, Cary?" she asked. "Does she still do that beautiful needlework?"
"Yes, she does, Aunt Belinda." He smiled and she nodded.
"I used to do needlework, but my fingers are too clumsy now. That's what happens. You get older and your fingers get clumsy." She shook her head sadly and then turned back toward Mr. Mandel and pressed her lips together so hard little white lines of rage formed.
"Just look at her beaming over there," she muttered under her breath. "He's talking and she's beaming. She doesn't have a penny invested. I told him, but men don't listen. Some other woman bats her eyelashes at them and they go chasing after them. You understand, don't you?" she asked turning back to me as if she just realized I was sitting beside her. She smiled. "Just look at you. Look at you. You look so grown up, Laura. So grown up. Don't fall in love too fast," she warned as she turned back to look at Mr. Mandel. "Why don't we just walk over there and I'll pretend to need him to help me with my money, too. Yes," she said, pleased that she'd come up with a solution to the problem.
Logan 03 Unfinished Symphony Page 22
