Twisted Roots (5 page)

In the beginning when I started to visit Uncle Linden by myself. Mommy questioned me in detail about each occasion, wanting to know what was said, what sort of things Uncle Linden wanted to talk about, and how he reacted to the things I told him.
I
assumed she had a purely professional interest in it, but the time before last, when Uncle Linden mentioned his desire to do a painting of me, she became very agitated and concerned, so much so. that I was frightened,
"No!" she cried almost before I was able to get the news through my lips. "Absolutely out of the question. Don't you even think of it."
But why not? What harm could that do to him?" I asked. disappointed. I was actually looking forward to posing and having the picture. I couldn't help but be curious as to what he would see in me and how he would portray me. He had done one other portrait while he was at the residency, as far as I knew, and that was of another resident, a woman who was at least twenty years older than he was, and yet she looked twenty years younger. and
I
thought there were resemblances to Mommy.
"He's always talking about how much you and I look alike," I told Mommy. "I guess he just wants to paint that."
"I forbid you to do it. Hannah.
If
you don't listen to me. I'll have to tell the Robinsons not to permit you to visit Uncle Linden without my being present, too." she threatened.
I felt hot tears come up under my eyelids, "I don't see what's so terrible," I muttered.
"It's complicated psychological business." she explained. "His doing
a
portrait of you or me or anyone so close to him is a catalyst bringing on deeper emotional issues. You won't understand if I go into great detail. You will have to trust my judgment. Hannah. I don't mean to say or do anything that is painful or unpleasant. You have to believe me that what I am telling you is best for Uncle Linden. okay? Will you promise? Will you?"
"Okay,"
I
replied in a small voice of
disappointment. "I promise."
I
didn't bring it up again, but it left me feeling so tentative and uncertain whenever
I
visited him now. I hated lying to him and when he asked me again to pose for him. I had to tell him I couldn't spend that much time there.
I
had this or that to do for school or something at home. I could see he was so
disappointed it made him sulk. and I hated myself for doing that to him, but what else could I do?
"You remember that Mommy was pregnant, Uncle Linden." I told him. "She gave birth to a boy and she named him after her father. Claude. He was born under-weight, actually premature, and so they are keeping him under observation for a week, but the doctors believe he will be fine. I'm sorry no one has called to tell you everything, but I'm sure Mommy and Miguel just didn't want you to worry. They have been very occupied. too."
He looked at me and nodded,
"I told her what to do," he said. "I told her what to take and what to eat and I told her not to depend so much on doctors. You can become just another number, a statistic.
I
explained all that to her.
I
gave her things to read. too."
Read? What things did he give her to read? I never saw anything. And where would he get such material?
"But she didn't listen, did she?" he continued, more vehemently.
"Now, as I feared, there is a problem. Thatcher." he said, practically spitting out my father's name. "Thatcher Eaton."
"What does he have to do with it. Uncle Linden?"
He looked at me and twisted the corner of his mouth up into his cheek for a moment and then shook his head,
"Nothing," he said. "He has absolutely nothing to do with it."
He sat back in the rocker and gazed up at the clouds that spiraled in the wind toward the horizon. The breeze had picked up, and the American flag the Robinsons had on their front lawn snapped briskly, sounding like the striking of a wooden match. The sound seemed mesmerizing for Uncle Linden.
"I'm working on a new song for the next school variety show, Uncle Linden."
I
said, deciding to quickly change the topic. I could see I was already losing him. and
I
had just arrived.
I
had never seen him this bad. It frightened me and turned my heart into a tin drum. It put some panic in my voice. "You told me once that it was your mother's favorite, and I'm singing it in French.
La Vie en Rose
. You'll come to the show, won't you? You said you would."
He rocked slowly, nodding at his own thoughts now, his lips firmly pressing against each other, his eyelids blinking rapidly. He was no longer hearing me
"Uncle Linden?"
The front screen door opened. and Elizabeth Robinson stepped out, smiling as soon as she saw me.
"Hannah, how nice to see you. I was just coming out to see how Linden was doing. How are you? How's your mother?"
She gave birth two days ago, nearly a month too early."
"Oh, is she all right?"
"Yes."
"And the baby?"
"Yes, although he's small."
"Well. I'm sure everything will be fine. As
I
recall, you all already knew it was to be a boy, right?"
"Yes. They named him Claude, after her father."
I
spoke quickly, so quickly someone would think the words and the facts were fermenting poison in my brain.
"Good. Well, please, give your mother our congratulations. And your stepfather. too. Did you hear all about that. Linden?" she said, turning to him. "You're an uncle again. You have a little nephew."
He continued to rock and stare.
"Oh." Elizabeth said, realizing he was in one of his deep trances. "How long have you been here, honey?" she asked me.
"I just got here. I just told him about Mommy and little Claude."
"Urn," she said. She stared at him a moment. "Well, don't let this upset you. He's doing real well, you know. He's been working regularly and eating well. too."
She put her hand on his shoulder. "Linden, aren't you happy to hear the good news? You have a new little nephew," she repeated, hoping to get a response and bring him back from whatever thought or memory had seized his brain.
He continued to stare blankly,
"He gets quiet like this sometimes. It's not usually good to force him to listen. He'll come around when he's ready. I'm sure you'll have a better visit next time." she told me and turned back to him. "Hannah's leaving now. Linden.'
"I wasn't going to leave." I said.
She smiled and squinted. "I'll get him to go in and rest a while before dinner. That always works best." she said. "Linden, would you like to come inside and rest up far a while?" He lowered his head slowly and then nodded.
"Yes. I'm tired." he said. "I'm very tired."
"Sure you are," Elizabeth told him. He was working all morning on a new painting. He was at it intensely. Weren't you. Linden?"
"Yes," he said.
With her urging, he stood.
"Tell Hannah you'll see her another time. Linden," Elizabeth suggested.
He looked at me as if he had completely forgotten I was there. It put a cold chill in my heart.
"Tell Willow to come with you next time." he said. "I haven't seen her for a long time. We have things to talk about. She's not taking proper care of herself for a pregnant woman," he said and turned with Elizabeth toward the door.
She looked back at me and mouthed. "Don't worry. He'll be fine."
I
watched them go in.
I
felt like I had swallowed a rock. Was this why Mommy was always warning me not to talk to him about the past? This wasn't the past, but something triggered his withdrawal so quickly and get him confused.
I
thought.
Frustrated and disappointed. I stepped off the porch and walked to the car. I wanted to tell Mommy about this, but then I was afraid she would be angry I had been the one to tell Uncle Linden the news. She might tell me he wasn't prepared properly or something, and she might forbid me to come back without her.
I felt so alone. I thought about calling Daddy.
I
sat in the car and dug into my bag to find my cell phone, a birthday present from Miguel.
"I know kids your age have too many electronic toys and such, but this makes sense. It's good to have it in an emergency," he said, more for Mommy's ears than mine. She was always warning him about spoiling me or trying to buy my affection, something she knew Daddy loved to accuse him of doing. She hated giving my father the opportunity to pounce on anything, which only made it harder for me when I was alone with either of them, part of that tightrope I walked.
"Why did you tell him that?" she would ask, annoyed after he threw something I had said back into her fact. "Why is it any of his business?"
What should I tell him then? I wondered. What was his business? It wasn't my fault there was a No Man's Land between them. I didn't create it they did.
I
never said any of this to either of them, Maybe
I
should have. I thought, Maybe
I
should have asked her for a list of permissible subjects.
Daddy's secretary, Mrs. Gower, answered on the first ring. "Eaton. Cooperman. and Robatille," she said.
"It's Hannah," I said. Usually that was enough,
"Just one moment, please." she replied. All these years
I
called his office. Mrs. Gouter never was anything but correct and businesslike with me.
'Hannah. I'm right in the middle of something. Anything wrong?" Daddy asked quickly.
"No. I just wanted to tell you Mommy gave birth."
"Yes. I heard." he said.
"Oh."
I
don't know why it surprised me, even though I was sure neither Mommy nor Miguel would have told him. Gossip was the lifeblood of this community,
I
thought
"Some family planning." he muttered. "You'll probably be married with kids of your own before he's out of diapers."
"I will not. Daddy. That's silly."
"Yes, well, silly is as silly does." he said. "I'll call you tomorrow. I might be home for dinner Friday, and you can come over and have a normal evening," he said. "No one will analyze the salad dressing."
"Daddy..." I began.
"Sorry, Hannah. I have to get back to work. I'm in the middle of winning a half million dollars for a client whose poodle was accidentally on purpose dropped down a laundry shaft in one of our better hotels."
"Really?"
"Gotta go." he said. and the phone went dead.
My feelings seemed to do the same thing: just come to a stop and drop away, leaving me numb and silent inside. There was nothing to do but go home.
That must mean something terrible.
I
thought. to think of home as the absolutely last place you wanted to be.
.There was a message waiting for me. Miguel had gone to the hospital. and I should either follow or have dinner at home by myself. Reluctantly I was going to go to the hospital, but a surprise phone call stopped me from doing that.
It was Heyden Reynolds.
"I decided to keep poking my nose in your life." he began. "Before you ask. Selma Warden gave me your phone number. She was guarding it as hard as she's been guarding her virginity," he added. and I laughed.
"Then how did you get her to give it up to you?"
"Can't tell you. If I did.
I
would have to kill you immediately."
It felt good to smile. He was like some antidote for depression, a dosage of fun.
"I know it's a precious school night and all, but I was wandering if you would like to go for some fast food. I can afford as much as a royal, deluxe supreme burger or chicken delight supreme, if you don't order any extra French fries.
"I know," he added before
I
could respond, "someone has already prepared dinner for you."
"For your information. Mr. Know-it-all, no one has. and I was on my way out to eat some hospital cafeteria food."
"Oh. Well, if you would rather do that. I can meet you in the emergency room or even the OR."
I laughed again.
"I'll meet you at your favorite fast-food restaurant. Just give me directions."
I
said and he did.
When I hung up. I felt a surge of new energy and excitement. The heavy cape of dark depression slipped away, and I hurried to fix my hair, put on some fresh lipstick, and change into
a
one of my prettier blouses and a pair of designer jeans. Then I thought I was over-doing it for a fast-food restaurant and felt a sense of new panic. Would he think I was silly? Was I being too anxious? Confusion added to delay, which intensified my panic. Stop acting stupid. I finally ordered myself and shot out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door. I heard the phone ringing behind me. but I didn't wait to see who it was.
Minutes later I was heading for the Flagler bridge to drive into West Palm Beach. Both Mommy and Miguel didn't like me going into new places without them or without them being aware of it. but I wasn't feeling like paying much attention to their rules at the moment. The particular area of West Palm Beach into which
I
was driving was not an area featured in any tourist magazines. The housing was the least expensive and the least attractive. It was home mostly to the people who served as menial laborers and service employees in the fancier resorts. The storefronts were dull and weathered, the streets not as clean looking. Coming directly here from Palm Beach's Worth Avenue was one of the best ways to appreciate the vast gap between the rich and the poor in America,
Sometimes
I
think rich people are threatened by the mere sight of poor people, of poor communities. They prefer to ride through them quickly or pull down the shades on their luxurious limousines following the premise that what you don't see, what you don't know can't hurt you. Who wants to be reminded just how disgustingly wealthy he or she is? As Mommy often says, "Rich people here put a gag on the mouth of their conscience."
Heyden was standing outside the front entrance of the fast-food restaurant when
I
drove into the parking lot. Mommy's Mercedes C-class looked out of place. Heyden wore a smile of amusement as he started toward me.
"Feel like you're slumming?" he asked.
I
looked around. "Actually, I'm here every other day."
"Sure, and there really is a Santa Claus," he said. laughing. "C'mon. I've decided to splurge and buy you extra large fries. too."
It seemed like everyone was looking at us when we entered, but
I
blamed that on my own nervousness, we got right in line, and he read off the choices printed on the wall. I really wasn't hungry, but I let him order me the deluxe hamburger and the fries,