Stranger in the House Page 14

“We’re going,” she said. Anna turned to Iris, who was shaking her head with concern. “I’m sorry. I’ll call you, Iris.”

  She forced a path through the guests, and Paul followed her blindly, his young face haggard and deathly white.

  10

  Edward strode out across the sloping lawn of his estate. All the Japanese lanterns had been extinguished, and the extra people they had hired were cleaning up the remains of the party by the illumination of the terrace floodlights and the pool.

  Edward spotted Iris just out of the floodlights’ range. She was dressed in a flowered kimono and slippers, and she was eating a cream-filled pastry horn, which she had lifted from a tray that was still on one of the buffet tables.

  She started as she saw Edward approaching her and quickly tried to put the pastry back down on the table. Edward glared at her and then turned on one of the women who were cleaning up at the other end of the table.

  “Remove this food at once,” he ordered. “Why is this cleanup taking so long?”

  The woman looked up, surprised, and then quickly came over and collected the tray.

  Edward turned back to Iris. “Well,” he said, “I hope you’re satisfied.”

  “With what?” Iris asked, baffled.

  “The evening was a total disaster.”

  “Oh, I didn’t think so, Edward. I thought everyone had a nice time.”

  “That boy’s display threw a pall over the entire party. As soon as that happened, everyone started to leave.”

  Iris shook her head. “The poor thing. I felt sorry for him. He was so embarrassed.”

  Edward snorted. “I was the one who was embarrassed. I was humiliated in front of my guests.”

  “I’m sure everyone understood,” Iris suggested meekly.

  “The question is, why did you invite those people in the first place?”

  “What people?”

  “The Langes, Iris. The Langes. They don’t belong in our set. They are completely out of place here. And now they managed to ruin my party.”

  “Edward, that’s not so. They’re our friends.”

  Edward turned away from her in exasperation. Iris stood uncertainly, wadding up the belt of her kimono. “I guess I’ll be going to bed,” she said.

  “And who,” Edward demanded, “was that woman in that muumuu? Whatever was she doing here?”

  Iris squirmed and looked down. “I invited some of the volunteers from the hospital. She’s my ceramics teacher. She works at the hospital, helping the children.”

  “That outfit she had on looked like something out of the circus.” Iris sighed. “I’m awfully tired, Edward. I think I’ll say good night.”

  “They won’t be invited again,” said Edward. “Any of them.”

  “Good night, Edward.”

  “I’m going to do some things in the windmill. I have to relax somehow,” Edward announced.

  “Oh,” said Iris, surprised to be informed, “fine.”

  Edward watched her as she walked back toward the house, her dressing gown billowing out behind her like laundry hanging on a line. She was a graceless creature, he thought. She had always been that way, even when they met.

  The first time he had ever seen her was at a party, much like this one tonight. The party had been given by a rich lawyer from one of New England’s finest families to reward all the people who had worked on his victorious primary campaign for the Senate. Edward had joined the campaign in hopes of meeting some of the right people who could further his young career. The race had proved unsuccessful for him, however. He had done a thousand errands and kissed as many rear ends. But he had ended up at the party without the offer of a position or even a promising lead.

  He was irritable that evening and frustrated by the fact that, just as they had at Princeton, these wealthy people had closed their circle to him. The only reason he had noticed Iris at all was that she was behind the punch bowl, ladling punch in a drab dark outfit. He mistook her for a servant and was becoming increasingly angered, as he waited in the line, at the slow and awkward way that she was serving. When he reached the punch bowl, she offered him a glass which, unbeknownst to her, had a crack in it. Edward stared at the cracked cup, and the rage began to boil in him. He felt as if this low-class serving girl had somehow singled him out to receive the damaged glass. He drew the cup back and was about to toss the red punch at the front of her dress and slam the cup down on the table when the campaign’s largest contributor, a paper mill magnate, came up, kissed her on the cheek, and introduced her to the victorious candidate as his daughter. Overhearing that remark saved Edward from an embarrassing faux pas and turned Iris from a frog into an heiress in his penetrating eyes.

  All in all, marrying her had been a shrewd thing to do, he thought. It was true that she was an embarrassment to him, of sorts, but her father’s money had gotten him started in his business. The rest he had done himself. Now he had it all, all the things he had dreamed of and missed as a boy. He was important, rich, and powerful. And he had made it happen.

  One of the cleaning women came by and gathered up the tablecloth off the buffet table. “It’s about time,” Edward muttered. “And take all that food out of this house.” At least, he thought, there would be nothing left for Iris to gorge on before she went off to her spa.

  He shook his head in disgust. It was a waste of energy to think about Iris when he had much more important things on his mind. The night still held a difficult task for him, and he anticipated it with a twinge of anxiety. The cleaning people were beginning to leave the yard. It was almost time, he realized, to get over to the windmill and gather up the equipment that he needed for the night ahead.

  Thomas peered out the back window at the shape of the boy sitting hunched on the glider.

  “He’s still sitting out there.”

  Anna sighed and looked out the window again. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Maybe we should just let him be,” said Thomas.

  Tracy came into the kitchen and took a pear from the refrigerator. She rubbed it on her bathrobe and took a bite out of it.

  Anna shook her head. “He’s terribly upset. Maybe if we talk to him…”

  “He might not feel like talking right now. He might want to be alone,” said Tom.

  Anna turned to Tracy, who was seated at the kitchen table, eating her pear, and staring vacantly into the center of the room. “Tracy,” she said, “what happened at the Stewarts’?”

  “Nothing. Why? We were just fooling around, and then he just stood up and fainted.”

  “What do you mean, ‘fooling around’? Did anyone say something to upset him?”

  “No,” Tracy cried. “We were just having some fun.”

  “Fun? At Paul’s expense? Maybe this is the problem. Maybe you owe him an apology,” Anna said.

  “Me? Why me?”

  “Do as your mother says,” Thomas barked. “Go out there and apologize to your brother.”

  Tracy scowled, but she knew better than to argue with her father when he looked angry. She did as she was told. She opened the back door and stepped out into the darkness. She waited for a few moments while her eyes got used to the dark. Then she walked over to where Paul was seated on the glider. She stood several yards away from him, waiting for Paul to acknowledge her. He did not look up.

  She did not know how to get him to look at her. In movies people always coughed to get someone’s attention. She decided to try it. She coughed. He continued to ignore her.

  “Don’t you think you better go in?” she asked in a soft voice. “It’s pretty late.”

  “No,” he said stonily, staring across the nocturnal landscape.

  “My parents are worrying about you. Why don’t you come in?”

  Paul did not reply.

  “Look, we were just kidding around over at the Stewarts’. I didn’t know you were sick. You should have said something.” Tracy glanced back at the house. She could see Anna’s silhouette in the kitchen window, watching t
hem. Tracy sighed and tried again.

  “I guess, you know, with your cat running away and everything, you probably feel bad. But why don’t you come in now? If you want, I’ll help you look for him tomorrow.”

  Slowly Paul stood up and turned to face Tracy. For a moment she felt relieved that she had accomplished her task. Then she saw the fury in his eyes.

  “What did you do with him?” he said.

  Tracy frowned and took a step away from him, drawing the tie on her bathrobe tight around her. “What?”

  “What did you do with Sam? Where is he?” Tracy shook her head.

  “You did something to him. I know it.”

  “That’s a shitty lie,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Paul took a menacing step toward her. “You and your friends probably had a good laugh about it.”

  Tracy stuck out her chin. “You asshole. I wouldn’t laugh about that.”

  “I’m an asshole, right?” He turned his back on her, returning to the chair. “Get away from me.”

  Tracy hesitated, stunned for a moment by his accusations. Then she approached the chair, fighting back the tears that were forcing their way out. “You’re just acting like a baby. Blaming it on me. It’s not my fault your cat ran away. It’s not my fault you came back here. I didn’t want you back.”

  He kept his eyes averted from hers, staring coldly ahead of him. “Thanks,” he said. “I know.”

  Tracy’s face turned scarlet. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said.

  “Yes, you did,” he said. “You’re a spoiled little brat. You get all the attention. That’s the way you like it, don’t you? Well, I’ve got news for you. I don’t want to be here either. I hate your ugly face.”

  Tracy charged the glider where he was sitting, and landed a glancing whack with her fist on his shoulder that set the seat in motion. “I hate everything about you,” she cried.

  Paul jumped up from the glider, whirled around to face her and grabbed her wrist. “Don’t touch me,” he growled at her. He gave her a shake and then released her. Suddenly he let out a groan. He gripped his head with his hands and slowly sank to his knees. Tracy watched in astonishment as he collapsed on the ground. The back door of the house slammed, and Anna sprinted across the yard.

  “What’s going on?” she cried out. “What are you two fighting about?”

  Tracy looked up at her mother in bewilderment as Paul rocked back and forth on the ground, holding his head. “He said I was ugly,” she cried.

  “I ask for your help and this is what you do,” Anna said grimly, bending down beside Paul.

  “He said I did something to his cat,” cried Tracy, staring at the boy on the ground as he writhed.

  “What is it?” Anna pleaded with her son. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “My head,” he groaned.

  “I didn’t even touch his head,” Tracy insisted.

  “Go inside, Tracy,” Anna ordered. “Haven’t you done enough damage for God’s sake?” Tracy backed away from her mother and the boy on the ground, her eyes wide. “Let me help you,” Anna pleaded with Paul. She put an arm under his and clambered to her feet, pulling Paul up beside her.

  “Come on,” she said, “we’re going to the hospital.”

  “No,” the boy cried. “No hospital.” He tried to wriggle free of her. “Just leave me alone.”

  “All right,” she said soothingly “All right, no hospital. But please, come inside.”

  They approached the back of the house through the soft grass. The air was filled with the hum of crickets and other peaceful summer-night sounds. Anna could feel her son shivering. “I’ll help you,” she said.

  “I feel better now,” he said as they slowly climbed the steps to the house.

  He was asleep as soon as he lowered his head to the pillow. She sat at one end of the bed and watched him fall away, his thin face white from the strain of the headache. His mouth fell open, as if he were gulping to breathe, and in the moonlight his face was all shadows and hollows. His hands fell open outside the sheet, weak and helpless. There was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and upper lip.

  He is sick, she thought. There is something terribly wrong with him. That’s what Rambo meant. Try as she might, she could not stop thinking the worst. A brain tumor. Some kind of cancer. That had to be it.

  She thought that maybe she should get up tomorrow and just take the boy directly to the doctor and never meet Rambo at all. It was utterly clear to her now that Rambo knew about this illness, and that was what he was going to tell her. A doctor would probably be able to diagnose it in no time. But the thought nagged at her that perhaps Rambo knew something about it that was vital. After all, the boy had grown up in his household. Perhaps he had sustained some injury, taken some kind of drugs, or something. She had to find out what Rambo knew. He might disappear, and she would never find out what he really meant. Anna felt her thoughts racing around her head like a dog chasing its tail. She did not want to waste precious time with Rambo if the boy was ill and needed to be hospitalized. But it was her only chance to find out. She tried to steady herself. Do as you planned, she told herself. Courage. Tomorrow you will know.

  She wished for a minute that she could talk to Thomas. But she knew he would not let her go. She shook her head. She would do it alone. Anna stood up quietly from the end of Paul’s bed. He was breathing normally at last. She opened the door and let herself out. She closed the door behind her and started down the hallway.

  As she passed the door to Tracy’s room, she noticed a faint light emanating from the crack beneath the door. Still up, she thought. Then, from behind the door, she heard the sounds of gasping, as if someone were trying to catch her breath. For a moment Anna hesitated. Then she put her hand on the doorknob and tapped. There was no answer. She pushed open the door to the room and peeked in.

  A tiny reading lamp threw a pool of light on the floor of the darkened bedroom. Tracy sat at the edge of the circle of light. Her head was bowed, and in her arms she held Fubby, the stuffed rabbit she had loved from when she was a baby. Tracy’s shoulders shook as she cradled the rabbit to her chest.

  “Tracy,” Anna whispered. Tracy jumped and whirled around, hiding the rabbit behind her and staring defiantly at her mother. Anna could see that her daughter’s eyes were pink, and there were tears still dribbling down her freckled face.

  “Go away,” Tracy cried.

  Anna stepped into the room. “Tracy, what’s the matter? Tell me what’s wrong?”

  “Just get out of here,” the teenager wailed.

  “Please, Trace,” Anna pleaded, “talk to me.”

  “No,” Tracy spit out.

  Anna bit her lip and put a hand out to touch her daughter’s flushed, contorted face. “I’m sorry I yelled at you, Trace,” she whispered. “It’s all so stressful. But, I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

  Tracy jerked away from her touch and turned her back to her mother, hiding the rabbit in her folded arms. Anna sighed and put her hand on the doorknob.

  A small resentful voice came from Tracy’s huddled frame. “I’m just sick and tired of being blamed.”

  “Oh, Tracy, I don’t blame you,” Anna assured her, relieved to have an opening. “I know I got mad at you, but I was just worried about Paul. These headaches of his. I’m afraid it might be something serious—”

  “You always blamed me,” she said bitterly.

  Anna shook her head. “It probably seems that way to you. I just have so much on my mind right now, but believe me, it’s not you. I mean, brothers and sisters fight. I’m sure that’s just the first of many…”

  “Not only for that,” Tracy interrupted her furiously. “For back then, when they took him.”

  “When they took him?” Anna looked at her daughter in confusion. “What—”

  “You always blamed me,” Tracy said accusingly. “You always thought it was my fault.”

  Anna’s face slackened in amazement. Tracy was hol
ding the stuffed rabbit tightly under one arm. Tears welled in her angry eyes, but she seemed oblivious to them.

  “Of course, it wasn’t your fault, Tracy. No one in the world ever thought it was your fault,” Anna protested, wrenched by the sight of her daughter’s misery.

  “Yes, you did.” Tracy corrected her bitterly.

  Anna shook her head helplessly. “I never did.”

  “You always did,” Tracy insisted.

  “Tracy,” Anna cried, “you were just a baby. It was something done by grown-ups. It had nothing to do with you.” She reached out her hand to her daughter.

  Tracy spurned her touch and shook her head.

  “Why would you ever think that?” said Anna.

  “You said so.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “I was sick,” Tracy cried. Anna stared at her. “I was sick.”

  Anna shook her head, uncomprehending.

  “Every time you told it that’s what you said. I was sick. And you came in the house to take care of me. And then he was gone. You always say that. You had to come in because I was crying. Because I was sick.” Tracy looked down at the rabbit under her arm as if she had just remembered it was there. “I was sick,” she mumbled. “And so they came and took my brother.”

  Anna felt tears stinging her own eyes. “No, no,” she whispered.

  “I didn’t want them to take him,” Tracy said. “He was my brother.”

  Guilt sizzled through Anna as she stared at her daughter’s unrelenting eyes. “I never thought…” she said.

  For a moment Anna wanted to beg for forgiveness. But she was struck by the sense that she needed time first, to consider her crime, repeated time after time, for years, without thinking. She felt stunned by it, like someone who had learned that the cigarette she thought she had stubbed out had set a house on fire.

  “Is that what you thought, all this time?” she whispered in a stricken voice.

  “Leave me alone,” said Tracy. Ignoring Anna, she climbed into bed, tucking the stuffed animal in beside her. She turned her back on Anna. Anna walked over to the bed and put a hand on Tracy’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry you ever thought that. It’s not true. I didn’t mean it that way…”