"She can't swim, you know," he said in his defense.
"She can't swim?"
"No. Even if she could, the undertow can sometimes pull the strongest swimmer out to drown."
I kept us a good distance from the water.
"I understand why you are so protective of her, Cary, and it's a good thing, a loving thing, but you've got to let her breathe."
He stared at me. The wind made the strands of his hair dance around his face. I felt the sea spray on my own. Above us, the terns circled and cried.
"I know why the family had nothing to do with your father and why he and your mother ran off," he confessed.
"You do?"
"Yes." He knelt down and plucked a shell out of the sand and handed it to May. "It wasn't something anyone told me," he continued. "I learned about it all in bits and pieces over the years just being nearby when they would discuss it.
"When my father realized what I had learned and knew, he pulled me aside one day and forbade me to ever mention anything, especially in my
grandparents' presence."
"Tell me." I asked softly.
"Your mother should have been the one to tell you, or your father, but I'm sure they were too ashamed and afraid," he added.
My heart seemed to stop and then start, and accompanying that came a thumping that made my blood rush to my head.
"Ashamed of what? What had they done?"
"Married," he said.
"So? Are your parents and our grandparents so conceited, so arrogant, that they can look down on someone who wasn't from what they call the best families? Someone who was an orphan? Just who do they think they--"
"Your mother was an orphan, yes. But she never told you the truth about who her adopted parents were."
I held my breath.
"What do you mean? Who were they?"
"Grandma and Grandpa," he said. "Your mother and your father grew up like brother and sister, and when they found out she had become pregnant with you, it was even more of a disgrace."
I shook my head and nearly laughed aloud.
"That's stupid. That's some ridiculous lie your father told you to cover up for the disgraceful and disgusting way they treated my daddy."
"It's the truth," he insisted.
"No!" I put my hands over my ears. "I won't listen to another horrible word."
May stared at me, her face in a grimace. She started to sign quickly, asking what was wrong. I shook my head at her.
"I thought you should know so you would understand why everyone has these feelings about your mother and father. Maybe you won't blame Grandma and Grandpa and my father and mother so much."
"I blame them more!" I screamed at him. "More for lying."
"They're not lying," he said softly. "I'm surprised those gossipmongers in school haven't said anything to you. It's an old story, so maybe they don't know, or maybe they just don't realize who you are."
I shook my head and backed away from him. "You're just getting back at me for what I said about May. You're cruel. I hate you," I said. "I hate you!"
I ran down the beach, tears streaming down my cheeks. I ranas hard and as fast as I could, my feet slipping and sliding in the sand. I even splashed through some water without caring, and then I fell forward on the sand, exhausted, my chest feeling as if it would explode. I took deep, hard breaths.
He had to be lying, or passing on their lies. Why wouldn't Mommy or Daddy ever have told me?
Moments later, Cary stood at my side. "I knew I shouldn't have said anything."
"You shouldn't have said anything so stupid," I retorted, looking up at him. He stood holding May's hand. She looked frightened, as if she might start to cry herself. I got to my feet and brushed off my clothing.
"When we get back to the house, I'll show you something," he said. He turned and started away. I took May's hand and we followed.
At the rear door, Cary paused. "This way." He took us around to the north side of the house where there was a metal cellar door. He reached down and pulled it open. There was a short, cement stairway that led to another door. "It's the basement."
I hesitated. He went down the stairs and opened the next door, stepping in to pull a cord that turned on a swinging, naked bulb. When I walked down the stairs, I saw the basement had just the ground for a floor, but there were metal shelves against the old fieldstone foundation. I passed through cobwebs. There was a dank and musty odor.
"This is under the oldest section of the house," Cary explained. "I think it was once the fruit and vegetable cellar. Something like that. Laura and I used to think of this as our clubhouse. We didn't mind the dampness or the spiderwebs and mice."
"Mice?"
"They've scurried into their hiding places by now." He smiled, then stepped across the small room to one of the metal shelves and pulled a carton off the second shelf, lowering it to the basement's dirt floor. The cardboard, left in this clamminess, was soft and nearly ripped under his touch as he opened the box slowly.
"Here," he said, waiting for me to approach. I took slow steps, my chest feeling as if I had
swallowed lumps of coal that now lay stuck against my heart. May remained at my side, clinging to my hand. I gazed into the box. It was filled with photo albums. He took out the first one and opened it.
"Your parents were gone by the time Laura and I had discovered all this, of course. When we asked Grandma Olivia about these pictures, she forbade us ever to come in here again. We didn't for a long time," he said.
I looked at the pictures. They were old photos taken of children, two boys and a girl.
"This is your father and your mother and this is my father," Cary pointed out. He turned the pages, which contained pictures of Daddy, Mommy, and Uncle Jacob as they grew older. The resemblances became sharper and clearer with every turn of the page. "Your father was always a big guy, huh? And your mother, she was pretty from the start," he said.
Tears streamed down my cheeks as he slowly turned the pages, revealing pictures taken at lawn parties, on the swing bench, near the flower gardens, pictures on sailboats and fishing boats. There were school pictures, as well as group family pictures.
I shook my head in disbelief.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm sorry you never knew the whole truth."
I bit down on my lower lip and sucked in air through my nose, ignoring my hot tears. He put the albums back in the carton, neatly closed it, and placed it back on the shelf.
"There's a lot more here, but maybe some other time," he said.
I turned away, releasing May's hand. It felt as if I had let go of a lifeline and I was now drifting in space. Dazed, I went back to the cement steps and up into the daylight, vaguely hearing Cary put out the light and close the basement door behind us. I stared out at the glittering sea, the ocean looking like a floating mirror, mesmerizing.
A cocoon of lies had been spun around me. Cary had sliced it open and I was looking out at the world with different eyes.
But more was yet to come. I sensed it, and that ominous dread put thunder in my heart. I would know it all, I vowed, no matter how damning the truth might be.
11
He Says I'm Pretty
.
Cary stepped up beside me and stood there for a
few moments without speaking. Two terns flew by. Their cries sounded like screams to me. Maybe that was because I felt I was screaming inside myself. In moments my world had gone topsy-turvy. The blue sky now looked gray. The soft blue water had turned to ice.
"I'm sure my parents were unaware that you didn't know about Hailie, Melody. At least, I never heard my father say anything. I'd appreciate it if you didn't let them know I was the one who told you," Cary said.
I spun on him so sharply, he winced as if he expected to be slapped. "I guess I could lie and tell them Mommy had told me all this. Or I could pretend someone at school told me. Maybe I just figured it all out myself, right? I mean, everyone here grows lies as abundantly as the cranberries
. I have lots to choose from, don't I?"
He nodded. "I understand how you feel." "Do you?" I snapped, the skin on my face feeling hot and sunburnt. "Yes," he replied firmly. His green eyes grew dark, but held me with their sincerity. "I do, Melody. When I first realized you didn't know the whole truth about your parents, I was shocked. Even before today, I thought about telling you because I was tired of hearing you complain about how my father treated your mother and your father, but--"
"But what, Cary Logan?" He looked away, swallowed, and then turned back. "I didn't want to happen just what is happening now," he blurted.
"And what's that?" I demanded, hands on my hips. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw May watching us, confusion on her face. "Well?" I demanded.
"I didn't want you hating me," he confessed. My heart continued to thump, but the steel in my shoulders and back softened. I relaxed and looked back at the ocean.
"I don't know what you mean," I muttered. "I don't remember the story, but I remember the lesson the teacher taught," he continued. "It was some-thing about how, we always hate the messenger who brings us bad news. That's why we hate to deliver it."
"I don't hate you for telling me the truth," I said. "But I am angry, mostly at my mother. She should have told me everything before she brought me here and dumped me on the family that hates the sight of me."
"No one hates the sight of you. How could anyone blame you? But you're right: your parents should have told you," he said, nodding. "They should have trusted you with the truth about their past and all that had happened. I guess my father hit the nail on the head: they were ashamed of themselves. That's why they ran from here to live in West Virginia after they had gotten secretly married."
"But. . . I just don't understand it all." I shook my head. "Why did Grandpa Samuel and Grandma Olivia take my mother into their home and adopt her if they considered her inferior? And even though my parents lived like brother and sister, they weren't brother and sister. Why was it so terrible, terrible enough to disown my father, to hate him so much that none of you even mourns his death?"
"Look, I don't know details. As I said, no one likes to talk about it. Maybe now your mother will tell you everything," he concluded. "You can ask her."
"Yes, I will ask her," I moaned, "if she ever calls me or comes for me."
"I'm sorry, Melody," he said. "It all stinks like a rotten fish."
I gazed into his now softened emerald eyes and saw how deeply he felt my pain.
"Thank you for caring," I said. His eyes brightened and a small smile formed on his lips.
May stared up at me, waiting for an
explanation. My outbursts and anger had frightened her. Why should someone so innocent and sweet be hurt by my miserable mood? I thought.
"Everything's all right," I signed and reached for her hand. She grinned from ear to ear.
"We better go back inside now," Cary said. "They'll be looking for us." He told May to be sure her shoes were clean before we all re-entered the house.
"There are the children," Aunt Sara said as we appeared in the living room doorway. "I was just going to call you. Where did you go, Cary?"
"We took a walk on the beach."
"Find any interesting seashells?" she asked me. "Laura always found the most unusual ones, didn't she, Jacob?"
He grunted.
It was so hard looking at them all, now that I knew more of the truth. Grandma Olivia sat in the oversized high-back chair, her arms on the arms of the chair, her back straight. She looked furious when she gazed at me. I felt her eyes burning through me. I don't care what Cary says, I thought. She hates me. She hates the sight of me because she can't look at me without seeing my mother. I couldn't wait to leave.
On the other hand, Grandpa Samuel's face was softer, a small smile on his lips. "You take your cousin sailing yet, Cary?" he asked.
"No sir."
"There's no hurry," Aunt Sara said, her voice fluttering with fear.
"I can't think of anyone I would trust more in a sailboat than Cary," Grandpa Samuel said, his eyes still fixed on me. Cary blushed. "He's the best sailor the family's ever had, eh Jacob?"
"Aye," Uncle Jacob said. "That he is." He slapped his hands on his knees and stood. "Well, I guess we had better be moving on." He glanced at Aunt Sara and she rose quickly. Then he looked at Cary.
"Thank you for the brunch, Grandma," Cary said quickly, prodded by his father's look of expectation. Uncle Jacob's gaze moved to me.
"Thank you,." I said, my lungs so hot I didn't think I could make sounds. I wanted to add
sarcastically, "Thank you for keeping my mother and father's pictures buried in a carton in the basement. Thank you for hating your own son so much that you won't even mention his name, much less mourn his death. Thank you for blaming me for anything and everything they did." But I swallowed back the thoughts and turned to watch May signing her thank you. They barely acknowledged her. Maybe that was their way of pretending she didn't have a handicap, I thought. Another lie was being added to the piles buried in the Logans's sea chests and dark closets.
"I'll call you during the week, Sara," Grandma Olivia said, barely turning her head, "and tell you when the dinner will be."
"Fine, Olivia. Thank you," Aunt Sara said. She looked at Uncle Jacob for direction. When he started out, she followed. I noticed no one kissed anyone good-bye, just as no one had kissed anyone hello. Only Grandpa Samuel followed us to the door.
"Have a good week, Jacob," he said.
"Thanks, Dad," Uncle Jacob replied. He shook his father's hand and started for the car, all of us following.
"I'm looking forward to hearing you play your fiddle," Grandpa Samuel called to me. "Bring it with you when you come to dinner."
I gazed back at him. He was smiling warmly, his eyes twinkling. We had barely exchanged any words or spent any time in each other's presence, but I thought he seemed too nice to have disowned my father, too nice to carry anger in his heart so long and so firmly.
"Did you have a good time, Melody?" Aunt Sara asked me after we had all gotten into the car. Cary glanced at me nervously.
"Yes, Aunt Sara. The food was wonderful and this is a beautiful place," I recited dryly.
"Isn't it though? I love coming here. Laura used to visit Grandpa and Grandma Logan often. In time you will, too, I'm sure."
"I'm not so sure," I muttered under my breath. Cary was the only one who heard me, but he didn't say anything.
"We've all been invited to dinner this week. Isn't that nice?" Aunt Sara said. No one, not even Uncle Jacob, replied. We drove home in silence, with May the only one comfortable in such a muted world, I thought.
It was a relief to change out of formal clothes and put on dungarees, sneakers, and a sloppy blouse. I had felt so constrained in Laura's clothes. Aunt Sara treated them like holy garments. I buttoned my own blouse half-way down and tied the front ends in a knot at my waist, just the way Mommy often tied her own. My mind still reeled from the discoveries and revelations about my parents.
When did they first realize they were in love with each other? Was it really like falling in love with your brother or your sister, even though they weren't blood relatives? How did they tell Grandpa and Grandma Logan? There was so much I didn't know about my family. I felt like someone who had been living with strangers.
Everyone else was still changing when I stepped out of my room. I knew May was looking forward to spending time with me, but I craved solitude. I hurried down the stairs and out of the house. Confused, angry, and frightened, I dug my feet into the sand and furiously marched toward the ocean. The breeze whipped through my hair. Large, puffy clouds blocked the sun. I felt a bit chilled and realized I should have worn more than a cotton blouse. But I didn't want to turn back.
On the hard-packed sand of the beach, the tide rushed up so fast I had to leap out of the way to dry ground. It was as if the ocean itself were snapping at me. I took off my sneakers and socks and waded through the water, oblivious t
o the cold, If I came down with pneumonia, it would be Mommy's fault. No one would care anyway. I fumed so hard I imagined smoke pouring out of my ears.
How could Mommy not tell the truth? Didn't she think the day would come when she would have to admit to all the lies?
Surely Daddy would have eventually told me everything. He was just waiting for me to be old enough. Daddy wouldn't have wanted to see me hurt this way. But Mommy must have realized I would hear the whole story while I was here. All she worried about was getting away and doing her thing, becoming famous.
"It's not fair!" I shouted at the ocean. My words were drowned by the roar of the waves.
I didn't realize how far I had walked until I turned to look back at the house. I folded my arms across my breasts and sat on a dry mound of sand, staring across the ocean waves. There was a constant breeze, but the sky wasn't as cloudy as it had first seemed. The weather here changed so quickly it was as if a Cape Cod magician controlled it. I sensed the sun was stronger down by the water, reflecting off the sand. Like a Ping-Pong ball, I was bouncing from warm moments to cool ones. The breeze brushed the tears from my cheeks. I sighed so deeply I thought I might snap like a brittle piece of china. I even envisioned my face shattered in pieces like some alabaster puzzle. All the king's horses and all the king's men . . couldn't put poor Melody together again.
Suddenly, I saw and heard a motorboat skipping over the waves, the spray flying up around it. Whoever was driving it turned it sharply toward the shore and sped up, heading directly toward me. I watched with curiosity as it drew closer until it was near enough for me to realize who was driving. Adam Jackson waved. He shut off the motor and the boat drifted in with the tide.
"Hey!" he called, his hands cupping his mouth. "What are you doing out here all by yourself?"
The boat lifted and fell until he was nearly to shore. "Just taking a walk," I shouted back.
"I thought it was you. I have great eyesight, huh?" He laughed and then held up a pair of binoculars. "Come on. take you for a spin."