Secrets in the Shadows

  "You're walking so much better, I see," Aunt Zipporah told me as we started down the driveway. "No pain?"

  "No, but I hate my limp. It makes me feel as if one leg is shorter than the other now."

  "It's hardly noticeable."

  "To the blind," I said, and she laughed.

  "You never permit anyone to rationalize. You're

  more like your grandmother than you realize." "Which is why I wanted to take this walk with you."

  "I don't understand. What does that have to do with anything?" she asked.

  "We should all face up to the truth, and the truth, Aunt Zipporah, is I really have never been a source of any happiness for Grandma and Grandpa," I began.

  Of course, Aunt Zipporah tried to convince me otherwise. She had the verbal energy I dreamed of having. Immediately, she came at me with a barrage of arguments against my statement, describing the pleasure they took in my art, my good schoolwork, and simply my growing up under their protective wings.

  "You made them feel young again when you gave them another bite of the apple," she concluded.

  "Right now," I said calmly, "that's a bite of the forbidden fruit, Aunt Zipporah."

  "What? Why, that's--"

  "I'd like to do more than just go back with you and start working at the restaurant for the summer." "More?"

  "I'd like to come live with you," I blurted.

  She stopped walking, finally speechless for a moment. Then she smiled and said, "Well, you are. You're coming for the summer, Alice."

  "No. I want to register for school there and finish my senior year there. I don't want to return to this school, and I don't want to live in this town anymore. I can't."

  "But . ."

  "If you don't want me, I'd understand," I said.

  "Oh no, Alice. That's not it. Why, if I didn't want you, would I have you there for the summer?"

  "This is different. It's longer, and Grandpa will be the first to warn you that you'll be responsible for me, my legal guardian or something. Maybe Tyler wouldn't want that. I wouldn't blame him. Who wants to be responsible for me?"

  "Tyler? Tyler loves you. He's constantly inquiring after you. No, of course not. I just .. ."

  "What?"

  "I just don't know how Mom and Dad would take that, Alice. Right now, especially after all that happened, they might think you don't love them anymore or they've somehow failed you."

  "It's just the other way around. I've failed them and will continue to fail them as long as I'm here. It's not their fault. It's not anyone's fault. It just is."

  She nodded but still looked very troubled. We continued walking.

  "Maybe you should just do as you've done, come for the summer and see how it goes. You might not want to stay much longer than that and--"

  "I don't mean this as a threat, Aunt Zipporah, so please don't take it that way," I said interrupting, "but if I don't move away for my last high school year, I'll run away. Just like my mother," I added, and her eyes widened.

  She shook her head. "Your mother never ran away, Alice. That's all a ruse."

  "She came here to hide. That was the same thing, and both of you used to run away up in the attic."

  "That was only two silly girls pretending."

  "No. For my mother it wasn't pretending, just as it's not for me. I'm determined about this, Aunt Zipporah. You don't know, can't know, how I feel and how it will be for me returning to that school. I hate the idea of merely going into the village and facing people, especially with all that's been said about me and still being said about me."

  She nodded. "I wouldn't tell your grandmother all that exactly as you're stating it, Alice. If she knew exactly how you feel about this town, the people, she'd go after Mrs. Harrison with a meat cleaver."

  "She knows. I don't have to spell it out for her, Aunt Zipporah. All that hangs in the air in this house. You don't live here and experience it as I do. It's so thick that you can feel it. It's not the Doral House anymore. It's the Gloom and Doom House."

  We walked in silence again while she thought. "Okay," she said finally. "But let me be the one who brings it up first. In fact," she added, "let me pretend it was my idea from the start and I just told you out here while we were walking."

  "No," I said a little too sharply. She stopped and winced.

  "What? Why not?"

  "I'm sorry, Aunt Zipporah, but I don't want to contribute to any lies or deception anymore in my life, no matter how small they seem to be. They're like cancer cells that eventually grow bigger and poison your body."

  She smiled and raised her eyebrows.

  "Maybe you're right," she said. "But there is such a thing as a little white lie, Alice, an attempt to keep someone you love or care about from suffering or feeling badly."

  "In the end we're all better off with cold, hard truth. Maybe that would have been better for my mother."

  "Your mother's situation was too complicated for any easy answers," she said. She paused and looked back at the house. "When do you want to talk about this with Grandpa and Grandma, Alice?"

  "Before I do, are you absolutely sure it would be all right with you and Tyler?"

  "Yes, I'm sure."

  "Then right now," I said. "There's no point in putting it off until the last possible moment and springing it on them."

  "How did you get so wise?"

  "I'm not very wise," I said.

  "You're wiser than I was at your age."

  I looked back at the house. How could I tell her, explain that whatever insight I had came to me mysteriously up in the attic? She would surely think I was weirder than she could imagine, I thought. And then I thought maybe she won't. Maybe she once believed in the magic of the Doral House attic, too. I decided for now, however, to keep that secret to myself. I didn't want her to have any reason to fear my coming to live with her and Tyler.

  I started back toward the house. She followed with her arms folded under her breasts, her head down. She looked very nervous, even a little afraid. It occurred to me that Aunt Zipporah might have rushed to move away for the very reasons I had. Her sense of guilt for contributing to what finally happened with my mother and its impact on her parents left her forever scarred and ashamed. Once, when I asked her why she had done it, why she had kept such a secret from her own parents, she thought a moment and said, "Misplaced loyalties. I should have had more faith in my parents."

  I never forgot that, and now, recalling it again, it seemed even more appropriate that I should be with her, the two of us away from the people we loved the most and could hurt the most, both she and I now emotional refugees fleeing our own self-made wars.

  Grandma had a nice lunch set out for us. All the ingredients and condiments for a variety of sandwiches were placed on the kitchen counter. I saw my grandfather chafing at the bit.

  "I'm starving," he cried. "Where were you two? C'mon."

  We all fixed our platters, then went into the dining room. I decided to let everyone get into their food first, and then, just before my grandmother started to talk about dessert, I folded my hands in front of me and said, "I would like to discuss something."

  My grandparents looked at each other and then at Aunt Zipporah, who shifted her eyes quickly in a vain attempt to look completely innocent.

  "What is it, Alice?" my grandfather asked.

  "I'd like to move to New Paltz and live with Aunt Zipporah and Uncle Tyler for my last high school year," I said. "I'll help out in the cafe as much as they want me to help."

  "You mean move out of our house

  completely?" my grandmother asked.

  "For the year," I said, nodding. I paused a moment, then added, "Maybe I'll go to college there, too."

  The silence that fell around and about us was more like a rainfall of ashes from a great fire. It was the sort of silence and experience that steals away your heart for a moment and leaves you speechless.

  "You want to leave us then?" my grandmother finally asked.

  "Not you. I
'm not going to be happy at my school here, Grandma. Grandpa knows that. He wouldn't have worked so hard to get me out of having to attend the last few weeks, and he made it possible for me to take my exams separately. Nothing is going to change dramatically over the summer."

  She looked at my grandfather. He nodded slowly, then turned to Aunt Zipporah and did exactly what I told her he would.

  "Are you for this, Zipporah?"

  "If you two are. I have no problem with it. Neither will Tyler, I'm sure."

  "You realize it means you'll have to take on the guardian responsibilities?"

  "Yes, Dad. That doesn't worry me, won't worry us, but you two have to be in full agreement, otherwise--"

  "Are you sure your heart is set on this, Alice?" my grandmother asked me. "Set on moving out?"

  "I don't want to leave you two. I want to leave this town, this community. I'd like to have a fresh start."

  "We did the best we could for you. We've always loved you as much as any parent could love his or her child," she said:

  "I'm not saying no. Please understand, Grandma. There are too many ghosts in this town now," I added. Fier eyes widened.

  "Why don't you just do what you planned to do," my grandfather said in his calm, reasonable manner, "and if toward the end of the summer you're still of the same mind, Zipporah will register you at the high school and we'll bring up whatever else you want from the house. How's that?"

  "It's just putting off the inevitable," I said with cold firmness.

  My grandfather stared a moment, and then he smiled.

  "She'S your granddaughter all right, Elaine. No sugarcoating permitted."

  "Whatever," my grandmother said, rising. I wasn't sure if she was simply angry or simply too exhausted to argue or care. "Anyone want a piece of apple pie? I have vanilla ice cream, too."

  "I would," I said.

  "Let me help you get it, Mom," Aunt Zipporah said, rising. I knew what she wanted was some private moments with my grandmother, so I sat.

  My grandfather leaned forward.

  "I'd be the last one to put obstacles in your path, Alice. You know that. And I appreciate all that you have endured because of some mean-hearted people. Maybe what you're proposing will be the best thing for you. I just want to warn you that sometimes what we think is an escape is simply a short diversion. Sometimes, running away doesn't work because you carry so much with you. It's better to face your demons head-on where they are."

  "It's not worth it, Grandpa. Except for being with you and Grandma, there's nothing here I want to win or achieve."

  "I'm only saying casting yourself out isn't as promising as you might think. We're all on rafts of one sort or another, and the only thing that gives us any stability, any hope, are the lines between us and the ones we love."

  "I'm not breaking them. I'm only stretching them a bit," I said, and he laughed.

  "Okay."

  Moments later, Aunt Zipporah and Grandma brought in our dessert. My grandmother seemed more upbeat. I was confident Aunt Zipporah would quiet her fears and smooth it over for me. I sug gested, of course, that I leave with Aunt Zipporah after lunch.

  "Today? But if you're going for a longer period, your packing," my grandmother said. "And . ."

  "I don't need much right away."

  "She's right. We'll bring the rest of her stuff a little at a time, Elaine. We'll take a ride next

  weekend," my grandfather said.

  I could see the reality taking hold rapidly now in my grandmother's face. To talk about it was one thing, but to actually see it happening was another.

  "I was going up there anyway within the week to work for the summer. What difference does a few more days make?" I asked.

  She nodded. She knew that, but now that I had added the idea that I wouldn't be returning, she seemed frightened again.

  "Don't worry about me, Grandma. I'm going to be all right," I said.

  Afterward, Aunt Zipporah came up to my room to help me put my things together. My grandmother stopped in to be sure I was taking everything I would definitely need. "For a week or the rest of your life," she added, a little grumpy.

  My grandfather stopped by to say he would bring up my art materials.

  "I don't expect to have much free time for it," I said, but Aunt Zipporah disagreed.

  "You'll have some wonderful scenic

  opportunities, Alice. Both Tyler and I will want you to continue your art. Maybe you'll do one for the cafe," she suggested. "And don't forget the studio we have behind the house." Her ability to be upbeat about everything was another reason I wanted to go back with her now and stay there.

  "It's not a problem for me to bring the materials," my grandfather repeated.

  "Okay. Thanks, Grandpa," I said.

  Everyone helped pack the car.

  "She's spent two summers with us already, Mom," Aunt Zipporah told my grandmother, who looked like she was about to burst into tears.

  "I know, but all I seem to be doing these days is saying good-bye to everyone."

  "It's not good-bye, Grandma. It's so long for now. I'll come see you if you don't come to see me," I promised.

  "I've always done the best I could for you, Alice. Both of us have."

  "I know, and I don't love either of you any less today than I did yesterday or I will tomorrow."

  My grandfather stepped up to her and in a whisper loud enough for me to hear said, "Let her go, Elaine. Give her a chance."

  She nodded, then stepped forward to hug me. She held onto me tightly a moment.

  And then she said something to me that she had never said. "You're the rainbow after the storm, Alice. Always remember that."

  She turned and started back to the house.

  "Hey, call soon," my grandfather said and kissed me. He turned to quickly catch up with my grandmother to comfort her.

  "C'mon, Miss Picasso," Aunt Zipporah said and got into her car.

  I got in quickly. I wasn't going to look back at the Doral House. I was going to be strong and just keep my gaze on what was ahead, but I couldn't help it. I turned around.

  They were already inside. I did feel badly for them. Aunt Zipporah was right about creating some white lies and putting hard decisions off for as long as possible, I thought. I shouldn't have been so

  pigheaded about it.

  "They'll be okay," she said as we continued down the road I had walked all my life. "It takes some getting used to, this living in a quieter house with just yourselves. But they've always been there for each other, so I'm sure they'll be fine."

  "They've always been there for me, too."

  "Sure, and for me and for Jesse. Dad was even there for your mother," she added.

  When we entered the village, I looked hard at it all, and especially at the Harrisons' home. Their house was empty now, too. I gazed up at what had been Craig's room and, before that, my mother's. The curtains were closed, and it looked dark. In fact, despite the sunshine, the whole house looked imprisoned in shadows, trapped behind the bars of tragedy and sadness. No bright flower, no rich lawn and well-trimmed hedge could rescue it from what it was, what it had become and maybe would always be.

  Now I truly wondered if anything could rescue me from who I was and what I was.

  I gazed back as we left the village proper. Aunt Zipporah caught me saying my visual good-byes.

  "It's funny how your mother and I used to make so much fun of the place. We had funny names for people and places, and she was great at imitating some of the village characters."

  "Sometimes, you make it sound as if it was more fun than you thought."

  "We did what we could. Your mother used to say Sandburg is so small the sign that says you're now entering Sandburg has you're now leaving Sandburg on the back," Aunt Zipporah told me and smiled.

  "It's not small to me," I said. "It's been my whole world."

  She nodded with understanding.

  We were both silent then.

  And as we drove on, I looked f
orward just like any explorer searching for signs of promise, for that Wonderland my name had promised.

  11 A Home Away from Home

  . Any college town has a unique energy about it. The school, its students and faculty become the lifeblood. So many businesses cater to their needs and profit from their existence. There's also that constant sense of rejuvenation, new students flocking in and bringing with them their excitement and high expectations. I even felt it during the past summers, when the student population was smaller but nevertheless still a major presence. It was such a dramatic contrast to quiet, sedate life back in Sandburg that I always became optimistic almost the moment we drove into the city.

  Aunt Zipporah and Uncle Tyler lived in a unique, Swiss-chalet style home approximately five miles out of the city and away from their cafe. Uncle Tyler had bought the home from a well-known sculptor, who eventually returned to Switzerland. To give himself a sense of his heritage and homeland while he lived and worked here, he had the house built in the Swiss style. Behind it was a small building he had constructed to serve as his studio. It would obviously serve as an ideal location for my studio as well. It had good lighting, some long, large wooden tables, an oversized sofa and a half dozen chairs. The bathroom had a small stall shower. He even had a smaller kitchen there so when he was very involved in his work, he didn't have to leave his studio. Other than that, it was a very unimpressive, basic structure with nothing done to dress it up or cause it to give much more value to the property. The walls within looked unfinished, the windows were curtainless and the floors were cracked concrete. Some of the electrical wiring still hung loosely from the ceiling. My uncle left the studio exterior just as it had been, a basic light gray stucco.

  Uncle Tyler was someone who liked to step a little to the right or left of what would be known as mainstream, whether that was how he dressed, which was usually a black leather vest, jeans and Westernstyle boots with a tight-fitting, faded T-shirt and a baseball cap on backwards, or what he drove--a restored small English car called a Morris Minor. Instead of signal lights, it had signal flags that came out of the sides when he made a right or left turn. It had a very small backseat and a floor shift. The year before, he'd had it repainted an emerald green.