"No," she said, smiling at me. "I got it all before you left, way before you left."
"Oh. You mean when Jesse left the house?"
"No, Zipporah. I got everything I need for now from Jesse," she said.
"What? From Jesse? I don't understand. What are you saying?"
She seized my hand and pulled me toward the sofa. We both sat.
"Listen to me," she began, speaking quickly and excitedly. "I didn't know he had come home. I had fallen asleep and was still asleep when he drove in and parked his car behind the garage. He didn't make much noise after he entered the house, either. I woke up and went down the attic steps to get some fresh water and something to eat. He didn't hear me coming down the stairs, and I didn't know he was in his room, but the door was open and . . ."
"And what?"
"He was changing and standing there in his underwear when he turned and saw me in the hallway." "Oh, no."
"Yes. Of course, like you, I thought this was the end. I'm done for, and so are you."
"Jesse didn't say anything about it," I told her, shaking my head. I was convinced she was making it up. Maybe it was one of her fantasies. I started to feel sick.
"Of course he didn't. A brilliant solution came to me instantly. It was almost as if . . . as if Lucy Doral was whispering in my ear," she added, which brought even more chills sliding along my spine.
"What solution?"
"I pretended as if I had just arrived."
"Just arrived?"
"Yes, don't you see? I pretended that you didn't know I was there yet. He didn't even bother putting on his pants. He charged forward to the doorway. 'What are you doing here?' he asked. I started to cry, standing there with my arms around myself and sobbing so hard I imagine I looked like I might just crumble at his feet. He thought so. He reached out to hold me, and I pressed my face against his warm skin and let my tears soak his chest. 'What are you doing here?' he asked again. I cried harder, and he took me into his room and sat me on his bed while he went for a warm, wet washcloth to wipe my face. He squatted in front of me and held my hand and waited for me to catch my breath. I was so good, Zipporah. I wish you had seen me. Too bad they don't give Academy Awards for everyday real-life performances. I'd be making an acceptance speech."
"What did you tell him? Why didn't he say anything to me, to my father, about any of this?"
"First, I told him I had been in New York. I figured I had better use our phone call, the call you made to my mother, in case he found out. I told him that it wasn't as easy as I had imagined to hide out there, to find a decent place to stay with the little money I had, but when I thought where I should go, I could think only of your house. I talked about our attic, our nest, and how it had been our world away from the world, how I had felt safe there always, even when I was living under terrible circumstances. I described how I came up the fire escape and into the attic but that I was hungry and had come down to get something to eat.
"He felt so sorry for me that he almost cried himself. He insisted he get me some food right away. That was when he put on his pants, but he didn't bother with shoes or socks or a shirt. He led me down to the kitchen and fixed me a pretty good toasted cheese sandwich with a tomato and a pickle and a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream."
"How could you think about food?"
"I was pretty hungry, Zipporah. Anyway, while I sat and watched him make the sandwich, I began to put my story together. I described hitching to New York City. I put in this episode with an older man who tried to get me to go to a motel with him and how I jumped out of the car at the first red light. I told him how I wandered through the city streets, lost and afraid, and how I almost ended up in an alleyway. He kept shaking his head and saying, 'Damn, what you've gone through.' Then I told him how I made up my mind to chance returning but that I had hoped to hide out in the attic a while. He served me the sandwich, and while I ate, he asked me what had happened and why, and I told him everything, everything about Harry, including his madness over his dead mother."
"That explains it," I said, nodding.
"Explains what?"
"Why Jesse wasn't surprised about it when I told him and why he was so adamant about your having told me the truth. He had already heard it all from you."
She smiled. "He's very, very sweet," she said. "Anyway, I started to cry again when I got to the part about my mother and how she wasn't going to come to my defense or support my story. That made him angry. I threw myself on him, crying, 'What should I do, Jesse? You're so much smarter than I am. What should I do?' He thought for a moment and decided I should do just what I had intended for now."
"Meaning what?"
"You'll love this. Meaning I should remain hidden in the attic. He would take care of me, be sure I had what I needed, only he was insistent that no one find out, even you. So you're not supposed to know I'm here. Isn't that funny?"
"My brother wants to hide you in the attic?"
She nodded, smiling "He thought I should stay here until he figured out something better for me. He said my mother should somehow be forced to come forward and tell the truth, so that when I appeared, turned myself in to the police, there would be a great deal of sympathy for me. He said he was going to think hard about it and come up with a plan. He made me promise that if I screwed up, made noise, gave myself away, I would not involve him, however. He said his parents would be devastated. If I did get caught or discovered, I was to say no one knew I was up there. He was especially insistent that you not know."
"Why?"
"He thought you would do something that would give me away. I almost laughed then. I was even tempted to tell him you already knew, but it was too late. You don't change your story in midstream," she said, as if she were giving me instructions for lying. "Of course, I agreed. It would be our little secret. So you see, you had better get downstairs quickly and not reveal in any way that you know I'm here."
I shook my head. "It's not like him to do something like this, to hide something like this from our parents."
"Why not? You did," she reminded me.
I looked at her. Yes, I did, I thought, but I always thought Jesse was better than I was. He was'the good son, the perfect son, rarely disappointing our parents in any way, polite, responsible, and far more mature than most boys his age. My father trusted him with his work, was going to use him to help research his cases. He had brought home only trophies and honor roll status on his report cards.
"Jesse's different," I said.
"Sure, he's different, silly. He's a man, and remember, I know things about him that he doesn't know I know," she said.
"If he did, he wouldn't want to help you a bit," I fired back at her.
"Well, you're not going to tell on me now, are you?"
I was silent a moment. "I left you a note in the book," I said.
"I have it," she said. "I'm not surprised at how the police treated you. Now you know why I'm not so anxious to walk into the police station and cry, 'Here I am!'"
She stood up abruptly. "You'd better go down quickly and quietly, Zipporah. You don't want our Jesse to discover you found me. He'll be so embarrassed."
I rose slowly. Our Jesse? When did he become our Jesse?
"Hurry," she said in a loud whisper. "You've been here too long already."
I walked to the doorway and opened it slowly to listen. They were all still downstairs.
She stepped up to me, her body pressed against mine as she brought her lips close to my ear.
"I feel so much better knowing Jesse is trying to help me:' she whispered.
I didn't say anything.
"You've got to be even more careful now, Zipporah," she continued. "You're not only protecting me. You're protecting Jesse."
Without replying, I walked out of the attic and closed the door behind me. Then I descended the dark steps quickly, not realizing I was crying until I got to my room and looked at myself in the vanity-table mirror. The tears were moving in little jerks down m
y cheeks and bubbling near the corners of my lips before falling forward to my chin
Above me, a floorboard in the attic creaked. It was her way of reminding me how important silence was, her silence and my own.
And now Jesse's, too.
I didn't know why I was so sad, until I realized I wasn't sad for myself.
I was sad for Jesse.
Like me, he would soon realize whom he was betraying.
18 Naked on the Sofa
It was nearly impossible for me to get any sleep. I tossed and turned most of the night, listening for any sound, and then, just after midnight, I was positive I heard the attic steps creak. Jesse wasn't used to them, I thought. Karen wouldn't be coming down now. It had to be Jesse going up to her, chancing discovery. There was a deep silence and then another creak and another. I sat up, listening harder, and thought I heard the attic door open. I tiptoed to my bedroom door and looked up through the dim hallway illumination. Then I heard the distinct sound of steps above me. It grew very quiet quickly. I sat there in my bed, listening and waiting. They had become very quiet. Growing more and more tired, I finally relented and let my head rest on the pillow. I tried to keep my eyes open, but my eyelids were like magnets shutting down.
Some time before morning, I thought I heard the creak of the attic steps again, but I wasn't sure if I had really heard them or it had just been a dream. I overslept, and my alarm woke me. My mother heard it go off and came in to see if everything was all right.
"Jesse's already up and having breakfast," she added. "Jesse's up?"
I recalled all I had heard the night before and hurried to shower and dress. By the time I got downstairs, my father was dressed and having coffee with him. My mother was going to continue her morning-to-afternoon shift for the rest of the week, so she was almost finished with breakfast, too.
"Hey, sleepyhead," Jesse said when I entered the kitchen. "What happened to our famous early riser?"
"When I was in college," Daddy said, "I cherished the mornings I didn't have to get up early. Your brother is scaring me with all this responsible and good behavior. He's up to something," he teased.
I shifted my eyes to Jesse to see how he would react. Oh, yes, I thought, he's up to something.
"It's easier to sleep in the dorm," he said. "I got used to the noise. It's too quiet here to sleep late."
Our parents laughed. Jesse glanced at me, and in that short look, I thought I saw him wondering if I knew anything, but it might have been wishful thinking on my part.
"Okay, so when are you going to be at the office, Jess?"
"I'll go with you tomorrow, as I said. Okay?"
"Fine," Daddy told him, and turned to me. "You all right with going to school on the bus, Zipporah? I can wait a few more minutes if you want."
"No, I'm fine, Daddy," I said.
I wasn't, of course. I couldn't imagine paying attention to anything at school. Mama was on her way out and gave both Jesse and me a kiss.
"I'll be home in time to prepare dinner tonight," she told me. "Jesse has the list of groceries to get. Don't forget them," she warned him.
"Not a chance, Morn. I like eating too much."
She gave him a second kiss, and I felt myself cringe inside when I imagined her discovering what he was up to now concerning Karen. It occurred to me that I could play the innocent if that happened. Jesse was convinced I knew nothing, and Karen certainly wouldn't tell. I would suddenly become the better child, the good daughter. Could I live with it? How easily one deception gave birth to another.
Both our parents left before I went out to wait for the school bus. Jesse followed me, bringing out the paint he had been using to whitewash the railings. As he set things up behind me, I glanced up at the attic window and saw the curtain parting, but the morning light was too bright to reveal Karen's face. I turned to Jesse, who had begun his chore again.
Should I say something? I wondered. Wasn't I part of a new deceit? What would he do if he knew Karen had lied to him? Had read his journal? Would he throw down his paint brush and charge up to the attic to demand that she leave? Throw her out on the street? Would that satisfy me now?
And what would result from it? When the police found her, would she describe how she had been harbored in our house right above my parents? Would people in the community believe they didn't know? Did Jesse realize the danger our entire family was in? How couldn't he? What made him take such a risk?
He turned and smiled at me. "Don't worry," he said, as if he could read my thoughts. "Things will work out. It will be over soon. Try to forget about it for a while. I'll see you after school."
Again, I looked up at the attic window. She had opened it just enough to hear our conversation. I was sure she was worried that I would say the wrong thing.
I heard the bus coming and moved down to the side of the road. Jesse stood up to wave as I went around to get onto the bus. I hurried to the back and looked out at him as we pulled away. He returned to his painting but looked as if he was working faster.
He's going up to her again, I thought.
And who knew what else he would do today?
I should be sharing in this. I shouldn't be playing the innocent, unknowing little sister. I slumped in my seat and stared ahead. This was going to be the hardest day of all at school. I'd haunt that clock, trying desperately to move its hands around faster. It occurred to me that I should have pretended I was sick and stayed home, but I had used that excuse too recently.
It was too late now.
Or was it?
I could go to the nurse's office and complain about cramps. That always worked. Of course, I was afraid of the havoc and concern I could cause for my parents, but the idea lay just under the surface of my thoughts all morning. I was terrible in class, missing notes, failing to answer questions, and annoying my teachers with my restlessness. My nerve endings felt like guitar strings twanging, and I was paranoid, positive that the other students in my classes and in the hallways were looking at me and whispering. The whole world suspected something wrong was going on at my house.
This town was too small for such an
embarrassing and devastating revelation. We were on the verge of being destroyed, my father's wonderful career irreparably damaged, and it would be all my and now Jesse's fault. We were greater failures as children than some of the young people who were always in trouble for misbehavior at school and elsewhere.
I made it to lunch, but I had no appetite. I sat staring at my food, the clatter of dishes, chatter, and laughter merging around me in a great cacophony of unintelligible noise. My head felt as if it were empty of everything but the echoing sounds.
"Did you tell Karen about our little episode?" I heard, and realized Dana Martin had put his hands on my table and was leaning toward me, his face only inches from my own. "Did you let her know you and she are in quicksand?"
I couldn't speak. I turned away, feeling my throat close.
When he laughed, I jumped up so abruptly he nearly fell over backward. Everyone in the cafeteria had stopped talking and was looking our way. I fluttered a moment, and then I charged out of the cafeteria and practically ran all the way to the nurse's office. Her door was locked, with the sign on it telling students she was at lunch, and anyone who needed her should go directly to the principal's office. I did. His secretary, Mrs. Schwartz, looked up at me and instantly knew something was very wrong.
"I need to go to the nurse's office," I said. "I have terrible cramps, and I feel like I might throw up."
"Okay, okay," she said, rising quickly and getting a set of keys from a side drawer. "Follow me."
She hurried out, her high-heeled shoes tapping like a pair of woodpeckers on a petrified tree. She fumbled with the door lock but got it open and saw to it that I had a cot in one of the small rooms. She gave me a blanket and then mumbled something about going to get the nurse. She gave me a pan in case I did vomit. Then she left, closing the nurse's office door. I closed my eyes and tried to calm
my thumping heart.
A few minutes later, the nurse, Mrs. Miller, came into her office and hurried to my side. She asked me about the cramps and took my temperature.
"It's normal," she told me. "Your time of month?" I nodded, even though it wasn't.
"You'll be fine," she said. "But you probably shouldn't try to attend any more classes today. I can't give you anything, but I'm sure your mother has what you need at home." She knew my mother was a nurse, too.
"She's at work at the hospital," I said.
"Well, I have to call either her or your father." "My brother is home from college, too," I said. "He's not your guardian. I have to call your parents," she told me. I felt terrible about it and now really did feel sick inside.
Daddy was in court and couldn't be reached for a few hours. My mother had been asked to assist in an operation and was also out of reach for now. Reluctantly, the nurse called my house to speak with my brother, but she returned to tell me no one had answered.
"I've left messages for your parents, but I can take you home," she said.
I struggled to my feet, and she led me out to her car in the parking lot.
"I used to have periods like you're having," she told me. "I used to hate Adam and Eve," she added, smiling.
"Why?"
"My grandmother told me God was so angry at Eve that he cursed us all with pain related to giving birth, which includes having periods." She laughed again. "My mother used to yell at my grandmother for putting all these thoughts in my head. Later, I had a girlfriend in school named Eve, and I used to wonder what her parents were thinking when they named her that. My father told me it wasn't Eve's fault entirely, anyway. It was the devil's, the snake, but he made the point clear to me that in the end, we have to be responsible for the things we do and the choices we make. You can always say no," she added.
I closed my eyes. It wasn't as easy as she made it seem, I thought, but she was probably right. I had my own Garden of Eden at my house. Actually, Jesse and I both had it now.