Family Secrets (48 page)

“I won’t have a stranger in my house,” Jack said.

“It wouldn’t be a stranger. It’d be ours.”

“Do you know how much a kid costs? Food, clothes, shoes, school, then they have to have music lessons, they want to go out, they want an allowance, they want a car, they want to go to college … A fortune! I’m not spending a fortune on someone else’s kid.”

“It would be our kid, Jack!”

“Not to me it wouldn’t.”

There was no way she could sway him. An adopted child was a threat to him, not just as a stranger but as a threat to his identity, his masculinity.

“What do you want some illegitimate baby for?” he asked Rosemary. “Who knows what kind of dumb girl the mother was, getting herself in trouble with some dumb boy in the back of a car. Who wants their kid?”

“You wouldn’t ever love it, would you?” Rosemary said sadly.

“No. But I won’t have to, because I won’t have one here and that’s that.”

He had never been really adamant about anything before and Rosemary knew him well enough to know he would never give in. There was only one other avenue open to her. Not artificial insemination—thank God she was the one with problems, not him, because even she thought artificial insemination was nauseating—no, there was an operation the doctor had told her about. They blew air through the tubes and opened them up. Sometimes it worked. She would do it. If they had told her to eat worms she would. She had already taken hormones and they had only made her feel sick, but not with genuine morning sickness. All right, she’d have her tubes blown out. She knew it would hurt, and maybe it wouldn’t work, but she would do it. She had been putting off the operation out of fear that this last chance wouldn’t work either, and then she would be left without any hope at all.

“If somebody left a baby on our doorstep,” Rosemary said sleepily, “Would you take it?”

“That Paris will probably come home pregnant,” Jack said. “Off at college, doing who knows what, boy crazy. I see her with her girls friends, giggle-giggle, whisper-whisper, all about boys. I bet she gets knocked up.”

“Oh, Jack!”

“That’s who’ll leave a baby on our doorstep. On Jonah and Lavinia’s doorstep.” He laughed, pleased with himself. “Can’t you see them die of shock, those prudes.”

“Lavinia always tried to bring Paris up well,” Rosemary said. “It’s not her fault.”

“We’re lucky we don’t have a daughter,” Jack said. “But a son is worse. I pity Lazarus and Melissa with that Everett. I never saw a kid so horny. But I think all he does is talk about it. And wish.”

Jack Nature was not family. He knew it; Rosemary sensed it. They had gotten to know him, judged him, and found him wanting. His jokes were too crass, his mind too petty, he was stingy, they didn’t like his old car and older clothes. Despite the new blue suit he’d bought after the war he still went around in his prewar garb, baggy and beige. He complained about every cent he and Rosemary spent in the commune, even though most of it was hers, and he made fun of everyone behind their backs.

Rosemary knew that Jack was good with children. He got along better with Richie than he did with the adults in the family, although Jack wasn’t too crazy about Richie. He told Richie corny jokes and Richie laughed, which was more than the rest of them did. But Richie was only ten years old. No matter that she was a grown woman now, Rosemary thought, the family still thought of her as the young one, the least, the one who got the leftovers. She knew they thought they were better than she was, more poised, more charming. And in a way, they were right. Look at Cassie—she gave the kind of dinner parties Rosemary could never dream of giving in a million years. She had good and loyal help, a gourmet cook, and Rosemary had trouble with help (her girl and Hazel’s were always fighting in the one maid’s room and one of them always stalked off to catch the next train to the city), and Rosemary couldn’t cook at all. Cassie knew where to get floral arrangements that stunned you. Cassie served avocado stuffed with crab and Russian dressing for a first course; Rosemary served tomato juice. Rosemary’s salad dressing came from a bottle. Rosemary served cake made from a mix, or usually just fruit, but Cassie’s cook made seven-layer cake and Sacher torte and strudel and even home-made doughnuts. Cassie had finger bowls with China flowers in them and water goblets with eight-inch stems. Rosemary used the glasses the cheese spread came in for everyday, why break the good ones? She had the same good things as all the girls, but this was the country, wasn’t it? And in the city for just the two of them it didn’t seem worth the bother. And on top of all these worldly gifts, Cassie even had three wonderful children. No problems with those kids! They were beautiful, healthy, all-American kids like you saw in the movies or magazines, but never belonging to your friends.

The next day Rosemary called her doctor and made the appointment for the operation. It was really not so bad after all. She’d have to be ready for a lot worse—labor pains, if this thing worked. She felt calm and resigned, even cheerful, waiting to see what would happen. After she came back from the hospital and was lounging around at Windflower, the long quiet days stretched on, with Rosemary in a state of suspended animation, waiting for her identity.

Melissa was upset. Everett had told her on the telephone that he was coming to Windflower with his fiancée. Everett was engaged! The girl’s name was Frankie Riley, the shicksa who answered his telephone. Now he was bringing her up to meet the family, and he planned to get married in the fall in Miami Beach. Apparently the girl didn’t have any family she cared about and Everett was too shy for a big wedding.

“This Riley,” Melissa asked Everett on the phone, “is she a Catholic?”

“No, she’s nothing,” Everett said.

“Well, then, would she become Jewish for us?”

“Why should she? I’m not Jewish.”

“Everett!”

“Well, I don’t practice any religion and neither does she. We’re going to be married by a judge.”

“And your children,” Melissa said, “what are they going to become, judges?”

Everett chuckled. “They could do worse.”

Frankie Riley would sleep in Everett’s bedroom and Everett would have to sleep on the convertible couch in the downstairs library. It was too bad Everett’s room was such a mess, but if the girl intended to marry him she’d have to get used to it. They would take her to a restaurant in the town the first night to entertain her. After that they would lead their normal lives and she could see what she was expected to fit into.

So Everett’s getting married, Paris thought. She remembered how as a child she had always thought she would marry Everett. Well, now it was final, and she was being thrown out into the world. Goodbye, Everett. No loss for her. She was looking forward to seeing the girl. It would be nice to have someone near her age around for a change. Someone had cleaned up Everett’s room, probably Ben and Mae. Help thought a messy house reflected on them, not the occupants. Paris picked some flowers from the wild place near the river, tiger lilies, daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, and some pink stuff, and put them into a small vase on Everett’s bureau for Frankie Riley. It made the bedroom look less gray and masculine.

“Wear a dress and set your hair,” Lavinia told her.

Set your hair—set your hair—set your hair—ugh. It put her teeth on edge to hear that all the time. Paris put on a dress and did not set her hair.

Lavinia was absent-mindedly combing the back of Paris’ hair with her own comb. She could not bear to keep her hands off the child.

“Stop that!” Paris said, and jerked away. “Don’t comb my hair!”

“Well, you just left out a place.”

“My God, she’s not coming here to marry
me
.”

“I want you always to make a good impression. Even if the person you’re making it on isn’t worth a bean, it’s better that you be the one to reject them, not them reject you.”

Paris went into her room and put on lipstick and mascara. She heard the car drive up and saw it from her window. Everett and Frankie had taken the plane and he had rented a car at the airport. He was no fool. You didn’t come to Windflower without a car if you were under ninety years old unless you liked solitary confinement. She rushed down the stairs.

Everett had the bags. Aunt Melissa was hovering around, shy and nervous but hiding it well. No one else was anywhere in sight.

Frankie looked like Everett, Paris thought, she had a fox face too. She had bleached hair with black roots and her crinoline was hanging out from her dress in the back. The hem had come down from the dress and she had fixed it with a safety pin. Each of them had brought only one small suitcase so evidently they weren’t going to stay very long. Aunt Melissa had said maybe a week, unless the pressures of business made Everett rush back sooner. Aunt Melissa always talked about Everett’s business as if the world couldn’t go on if his radio repair shop were closed for a single day.

Everett kissed Paris hello on the mouth, as usual, and Frankie shook hands. She had a small, hard hand. Melissa shepherded them to their rooms to wash up and get ready to meet the rest of the household. Paris went back into her room and waited for a while, then, as she noticed Frankie had left Everett’s door open she went across the hall and knocked on the door frame.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Frankie said. She was sitting on one of the twin beds in the same blue dress she had worn on the plane, and had partially unpacked her small suitcase. She had a jewel box on the bed beside her, the kind you bought in the five and ten, and it was nearly empty. She was looking through it like a child playing. She looked up and sized up Paris. “So you’re Paris. My new cousin-to-be.”

“Yes.”

“Sit down.” Paris did. “What’s there to do here?”

“We swim and play tennis,” Paris said. “Can you ride?”

“No. Can you?”

“No. Can you swim?”

“Sure. Can you bowl?”

“I did a few times in high school,” Paris said.

“Is there a place to bowl around here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’ll find one.” Frankie was poking through her jewel box. She found a pin, a pair of silver wings, and held it up. “This is a pair of stewardess’ wings,” Frankie said. “A friend of mine gave them to me. Would you like to have them?” She held them out to Paris.

She thinks I’m a child, Paris thought. “I really hardly ever wear jewelry,” she said. “I couldn’t take them. Really. Thanks anyway.”

“Okay,” Frankie said and shrugged. She put the silver wings back into her jewel box and shut the lid. “What time is the cocktail hour around here?”

As it turned out, there actually was a cocktail hour that evening. Lazarus unlocked his secret closet and brought out a pint of whiskey, bearing the Prohibition label that said, “For Medicinal Purposes Only,” and opened it with great ceremony on the screened porch. The whiskey was very old and extremely strong. “Wow!” Everett said. “A hundred and eighty proof. It looks like maple syrup. You must have had this for a long time.”

“That is very valuable whiskey,” Lazarus said. “It improves with age.” He sipped at his little glassful appreciatively.

Jonah coughed and made a face, and Lavinia and Melissa put theirs down after the first sip to be polite. Paris didn’t drink it at all; she hated whiskey and there was no point in wasting something so expensive. Let Frankie drink it. Frankie was the only one who was obviously enjoying it.

“Don’t drink that, Jonah,” Lavinia said. “You’ll get sick.”

“I guess
we
have to drink it, eh, Lazarus?” Frankie said cheerfully. Lazarus looked displeased at not being addressed as Doctor Bergman by this stranger.

“I think it’s good,” Everett said. He held his glass up to his father in a toast. “To us.”

“To your health,” Lazarus said.

“L’haim,” Frankie said. “Isn’t that what you say?”

“Yes, l’haim,” Melissa said.

“Love, money, and the time to enjoy them,” Frankie added. “Santé, amour, é dinero.”

“Santé means health, not time,” Lazarus said. “And it’s French. Dinero is Spanish for money. You can’t have a toast with French and Spanish in the same sentence.”

“Why not?” Melissa said, trying to be nice even though Frankie, poor girl, was so ignorant.

“Who cares anyway?” Frankie said. She helped herself to another shot of the Prohibition whiskey.

“It’s incorrect and inaccurate,” Lazarus said.

“Then I’ll give you an old English toast,” Frankie said, holding up her glass. “Up yours.”

Everett choked with laughter and tried to look serious. He was already high from the hundred-and-eighty-proof whiskey. “Hey, what else have you got in that closet?” he asked his father.

“Never you mind,” Lazarus said. “That closet stays locked. This whiskey was a special treat.”

“Well, we have some sherry in the closet downstairs,” Lavinia said, “if anyone wants it. And I think we might even have some gin, or scotch. Which one is the scotch, Paris?”

“The brown one,” Paris said. “The gin is colorless.”

“Oh, that shows how much I know about drinking,” Lavinia said cheerfully.

“I’ll have a little sherry,” Melissa said to be polite. “Lazarus, would you get it, please?”

Lazarus went off to get the sherry, the dispensing of alcoholic beverages being his province. He gave a small glassful each to Melissa and Lavinia. Paris went to the closet that doubled as a bar and got some gin. In the kitchen she made herself a gin and tonic. She hated whiskey but she liked gin; all the kids at college did.

“What’s that?” Lavinia asked when she came back.

“Gin and tonic.”

“Ooh, drinking gin? Do you drink?”

“Sometimes.”

“You’ll get high.”

“I’m having
one drink
.”

“Do the girls at college drink?”

“Of course.”

Frankie was looking at all of them as if they were Martians. The pint of Prohibition whiskey was empty. “Where’s that gin, Paris?” Frankie asked.

“I put it back in the closet.”

“We never leave liquor in the kitchen,” Melissa whispered, glancing toward the house to make sure the help was not within earshot. “You know how
they
are when they get near liquor. No point in tempting them.”