Into the Garden

  off on me? Was I turning into a dreamer? What if I

  was? Anything was better than what I had been, I

  thought. This was like being born again and there was

  no turning back now, never.

  Geraldine could rise from the grave; she could

  haunt this house; she could turn shadows into shapes

  and hiss her displeasure from the darkest corners. She

  could glare at me from behind my eyes, from my

  deepest, darkest memories, but she wouldn't turn me

  around. You always wanted doors to be shut,

  Geraldine, I thought. Well, this time, I'm slamming

  them shut on you.

  Maybe it was the vodka talking, but I felt brave

  and strong. I drank another and I sang along with the

  girls whenever they burst into song. We ate

  everything in sight and then collapsed on the sofas and in the chairs, laughing at our appetites, not caring about the loudness of the music or the noise we made It felt so good to do it, to have the freedom, but I couldn't help gazing up at the doorway and thinking about Geraldine. It was just habit. She wasn't gone

  long enough for me to not feel afraid.

  "What are you looking so worried about?" Jade

  cried at me. "Stop looking behind your shoulder. She's

  gone. She's a potted plant!" she declared, laughing.

  Her eyes were glazed. "I ruined an expensive outfit

  helping to plant her," she added, the vodka definitely

  speaking now.

  Star immediately sprung up, her finger pointed. "You did it," she accused. "You spoke the

  unspeakable and you are fined."

  "What?"

  "Am I right?" Star asked us. "We made the rule

  in the car. We all voted, right?"

  Misty looked timid, but nodded.

  "She's right, Jade."

  "So, what am I supposed to do now?" Jade shot

  back at Star. "Go to my room?"

  Star straightened up and smiled.

  "You clean up, girl. That's your punishment,"

  she said.

  Jade's mouth dropped open. She looked at me

  and then at Misty. Neither of us would dare contradict

  Star.

  "Fine," Jade said, rising and sobering quickly.

  She wiped her cheeks as if to wake up her face and

  then she headed out to the kitchen. We watched her

  saunter along mumbling about washing dishes and

  ruining her brand- new manicure.

  "We'll bring her down to earth yet," Star

  declared with a smirk. "We'll bring her right down to

  earth with the rest of us."

  Misty called home to tell her mother she was

  going to spend the night with me, but her mother had

  still not re- turned from the movies.

  "She must have gone someplace afterward with

  her friend," she said. "I just left a message with her

  answering service. It's actually easier this way. Half

  the time, we talk to each other through that answering

  service anyway. I'd feel strange not having it between

  us." She looked around and then turned to me. "Where

  will I sleep?" Before I could suggest anything, she

  declared, "Not in your half sister's room!'

  "I'll sleep on the sofa and you can sleep in my

  room," I said. Her eyes darkened with thought. She

  glanced up the stairway and shook her head. "No, it's not fair to take your bed. I'll sleep on

  the sofa."

  "You're just afraid to sleep upstairs," Jade said,

  laughing. "Well, it's all right for you to sound so

  brave. You're not sleeping here tonight. I am." "It would be easier for Cat to avoid going up

  the stairs," Star said. "Didn't we tell her that?" she

  reminded Misty with an impish smile.

  Misty looked trapped.

  "We can both sleep in my bed," I said. "It's big

  enough, if that's all right with you."

  "Yes," she said quickly, seizing the suggestion.

  "Of course it's big enough and it'll be more fun. We'll

  test out your new bedding and hang your curtains,

  too."

  Jade and Star looked at each other and laughed. "Well, we'll both feel better," Misty added,

  nodding. "Tomorrow, we should do something with

  your half sister's room, like rip it apart and start over

  again. We'll get every trace of her out of there just the

  way my mother got every trace of my father out of our

  house after they separated. And we'll paint it, too, a

  color she hated."

  "That's just about everything but white,:' I said. "All right," Jade said, growing serious. "Do

  what you want, you two. I've called for the limousine

  to pick up Star and me and take us home tonight. It'll

  be here any minute. In the morning we'll meet here

  and start thinking about planning our first party and

  stuff," she said.

  "Don't forget, Cat, you're coming to my house

  for dinner tomorrow night and you're staying with

  me," Star told me. "We don't have to worry about

  ghosts there," she said, teasing Misty.

  "There's no ghost here. Stop it," Misty moaned.

  Star and Jade laughed.

  When the limousine arrived, Misty and I

  watched them leave. Misty looked like she wished she

  was leaving with them.

  "You really don't have to stay with me," I told

  her. "I was all right last night. I'll be all right tonight." "We decided and that's it," she insisted. "I'll be

  fine and so will you. We can talk and talk until we

  pass out," she said. "We'll be fine."

  "I'm afraid I don't have anything really nice for

  you to sleep in," I said. "Just cotton pajamas." "That'll do, although I'll probably look like I'm

  floating in them. I don't know why I don't grow," she

  complained. "I think my hormones went on vacation

  right after I turned twelve."

  "You're perfect," I said, laughing. "You're ..." "Don't you dare say 'cute,'" she warned me, her

  right forefinger jabbing the air.

  "Petite," I risked. She turned over the word in

  her mind, smirked and sighed.

  "I guess I'll look twenty years younger than I

  am for the rest of my life. My mother says that's a

  blessing I'll first realize the day I turn thirty. But until

  then," she said, "it's a curse. C'mon. Let's go hang the

  curtains."

  We turned off the lights and started up the

  stairs.

  "Maybe you'll read me one of your mother's

  letters afterward," she said. "Unless you think they're

  just too personal."

  "I don't know what they are," I replied. Then

  after thinking a moment, I added, "After the things we

  told each other at Doctor Marlowe's and after what

  we've pledged to each other, nothing's too personal

  anymore, anyway."

  She paused and looked at me on the stairs. "That's how I feel," she said, "only it's nice to

  hear you say it. It's nice to know you believe it." "I do," I said.

  She looked emboldened and happy, and began

  charging the rest of the way up the stairs with no hint

  of fear or trepidation in her stride.

  "Well, if Geraldine's ghost is in this house, we'll

  throw her out," she vowed, and continued up to my

  room.

  I watched her climb the stairs and realized that

  this was the first time ever I had
had a friend sleep

  over. Geraldine never approved of the idea, nor did

  she approve of my sleeping over at someone else's

  house. She might certainly wake up from the dead to

  haunt us tonight. But let her, let her come. We're

  ready for her, I thought.

  I hoped.

  After we hung the curtains and changed the

  bedding and we were both snugly under my blanket, I

  reached for the pile of letters and pulled out the next

  one. Carefully, I unfolded it. The paper was so fragile

  and crisp from age that I had to be gentle. It would

  take only the smallest amount of pressure for it to tear. "Dear Cathy," I read aloud.

  "I assume by now you have read my first letter I

  do hope you will have read all of them before we get a

  chance to talk privately. Of course, I will want to

  answer all your questions. I know you will have many.

  I would if I were you.

  "I imagine the first question that comes to mind

  is why I went ahead with the birth. The moment I set

  eyes on you, of course, I was happy I had. I can't

  imagine a world without you in it now"

  "That's nice," Misty piped up. "Remember

  when I first began in the group therapy session and I

  jokingly said my parents tried to give me back, but it

  was too late? I have no doubt that if they had a chance

  now to have a child all over again, they wouldn't. At

  least she wanted you even after you were born," Misty

  pointed out.

  I nodded and returned to the letter.

  "Relationships between men and women are

  very complicated, Cathy. I know this is some- thing

  you will learn for yourself I only hope I might still be

  around to help you get through some of the more

  difficult times. I'm not sure Geraldine is equipped for

  the kinds of crises a young girl might experience." "Boy, was she right about that!" Misty cried. "As I said in my first letter, my parents, especially my mother, really believed I would learn to love

  Franklin, but love has to come from a deeper place, a

  place other than your brain. You don't study someone

  and memorize his every mannerism and his habits so

  that you can please him and call that love.

  "Whether we like to admit it to ourselves and

  others or not, we women need real passion and

  affection in our lives. We like to feel good, to be petted

  and fussed over It's nice to see a man's face light up

  when you enter a room. It's heart- warming to see he

  is willing to show you how much he does love you.

  Unfortunately, Franklin was never capable of that. He

  is a good man, a moral man, a considerate man, but

  he's not a passionate man. Maybe it was wrong for me

  to let my eyes wander; to let my heart have a louder

  voice than my conscience and my brain, but I did. "Sometimes, I let myself believe Franklin knew

  what I was doing. It helped me to think that he did, to

  imagine that he even condoned it because he

  recognized that my lover provided something for me

  that he could never provide. I told myself Franklin

  just wants me to be happy and he is willing to look the

  other way if that means be happy. Perhaps it was only

  foolish hope on as I have said, a way of rationalizing

  my infidelity, but I let myself believe it.

  "I want you to learn from this how important it

  is to give yourself to a man you can truly love and

  who can truly love you in all respects. Settling for

  anything less will lead to lifelong unhappiness, deep frustration, and eventually disaster in one form or

  another. Just look at me as an example.

  "I was so reckless about my affair that I didn't

  take the proper precautions. I think now that deep in

  my heart I didn't want to. Yes, as horrible or as

  shocking as that may sound to you, I wanted my

  lover's child growing in my womb. Maybe it was my

  way of confessing and if you are a really moral

  person, even if you can get away with a sin, you will

  have a great need to confess it. Eventually, you must.

  Remember that, Cathy. Never fool yourself into

  believing you can escape your own conscience. It's a

  voice that dies only when you die, and you will hear it

  in your sleep as long as you live."

  I paused because my throat had tightened, and I

  looked at Misty who was lying there so still, listening,

  her eyes fixed on the wall, her face full of

  anticipation. She realized I had stopped and turned to

  me. We stared at each other a moment.

  "Don't even think it," she warned. "It's not a sin;

  we didn't kill her or anything. We did what we had to

  do to protect you. What difference does it make where

  she rests in peace or who knows?"

  I nodded, but my chest felt so full, so heavy

  with the guilt I wanted to believe would go away. "It's a beautiful letter. I agree with what she

  said about love. Don't stop reading. There's more, isn't

  there?" she asked hopefully.

  "Yes," I said. I looked at it again and continued. "I think I can actually pinpoint when you were

  conceived. It was on a rainy Friday. Franklin was out

  of town on business and your father came to the

  house. Shall I tell you now who he is? My fingers

  tremble with the pen in hand. Will I cause more

  trouble, hurt more people? Do you have a right to

  know? Of course you do. Whatever happens as a

  result is my fault only Never never blame yourself for

  anything.

  "Your father was Franklin's much younger

  brother Alden. He was actually only five years older

  than Geraldine. Does that make it sound like I robbed

  the cradle? I hope not. The truth is Alden was

  emotionally wiser and older than most of his

  contemporaries, although he was a disappointment to

  his parents and especially to Franklin, who was the

  hardest on him--even before he knew Alden and 1 had

  become lovers. Alden didn't want to be confined to a

  business career His love was music, composing. He

  played the piano beautifully and many a night, he

  performed only for me.

  "In college he majored in music, and won many

  awards. He earned a small living tutoring, giving

  private lessons, but he had no ambition to be wealthy

  and powerful. He was a beautiful man: poetic,

  romantic, a dreamer I suppose, and he was very

  handsome. I expect you will inherit his good qualities,

  Cathy. I really do.

  "However by the time you begin reading these

  letters, I don't suppose you will know all that much

  about Alden. The family wasn't proud of him as they

  should have been and they refrained from talking

  about him if they could. It was as if his personal

  creative ambitions were considered a sign of-

  madness. Perhaps he was a little mad, but all creative

  people are. I found his disregard for material wealth

  and for all the things Franklin and his family found

  important to be charming. He was refreshing, as

  refreshing as a warm but crisp late summer breeze,

  and he had a sm
ile that could melt the hardest, iciest

  heart-- yes, even Geraldine's.

  "He spent a lot of time with Geraldine. He tried

  to get her to play the piano and she did take lessons

  from him, but I think she did it more to be in his

  company than out of any love of music. She did

  passingly well, but the moment she found out about us, she stopped the lessons and hasn't put her fingers

  to keys ever since.

  "I know Geraldine felt more betrayed by Alden

  than she did by me. Her deep love and affection for

  him soured into jealousy and hatred. It got so she

  wouldn't speak to him unless she absolutely had to

  and she avoided him as much as she could. She didn't

  even go to his funeral.

  "I expect you know about his death of course,

  but you will have known it only as a family tragedy

  and not, as you now do, as the death of the man who

  was your true father

  "The tears are rolling off my cheeks so fast, I

  think I have to stop for a while. I wanted to tell you

  about our wonderful night together, the one in which

  you were created; however I'll save that for the next

  letter

  "Love can be so painful sometimes that I envy

  Geraldine for being so hard. She once told me bitterly

  that she didn't need to love anyone or have anyone

  love her I know she was just speaking out of anger

  and disappointment that she had never met anyone

  who loved her dearly, passionately, but there are

  times when I wish it had been true for me.

  "And then I think how lonely she must be and I feel absolutely dreadful for her. The truth is every time I look at her I think of my own guilt. I am partly responsible for her misery and all the beautiful music and true feelings in the world can't erase that from my

  heart. It's a scar

  "You, you are the only hope I have for

  redemption. Be wonderful, be someone full of love

  and compassion, and never stop searching until you

  find someone who fills your heart with so much joy

  you can hardly breathe without him beside you. "I'd like to know I was responsible for that. "For now, Mother"

  I put the letter down and looked at Misty. She

  was wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  "That was beautiful," she said. She sat up and

  gazed at the letter. "So now you know who your

  father is or was, I should say. What do you know

  about him?"

  "Hardly anything," I said. "Geraldine never

  talked about him and there isn't even a picture of

  him--that I know of, that is. I know where he is