Twisted Roots by V. C. Andrews
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, I chose a battle of water as an offering to the god of diet and nutrition, and then we sat at an outside table.
We were right at the center of a busy
intersection. There was a constant stream of traffic going by the fast-food restaurant and a continuous flow of traffic and people coming to it and leaving it. This was certainly not the mast romantic or private place to meet someone for the first time, but for some reason, that was what gave it its charm,
"I have this philosophy as far as being creative is concerned." he began, noticing how I was looking at everyone and everything. "I think you have to be in it, to feel the rhythms of real life. You can't hide out behind those high walls and hedges all your life and do anything good.
"In other words," he said. "I'd be here even if I didn't have to be. At least, once in a while." he added with a smile.
"The hamburger is as delicious as I've had in fancy places," I said and he laughed.
"How's life at the palace?"
"My mother is still in the hospital. I haven't been there yet today:"
"Oh." He thought a moment. "I didn't
"No. I was visiting my uncle instead." I said. "Your uncle is in the hospital too?"
"He's in an adult residency near Boca."
"Oh? Is he that old?"
"It's not that kind of residency. It's for people who can't live on their own."
"Really? What's wrong with him?"
'He suffers from manic depression. He was in a clinic for years and years and then improved and was placed in the residency. Some day I'm going to get him out of there," I declared.
"Is he your mother's or your father's brother?"
"Mother's."
"Your house is as big as a small hotel, isn't it? Why wouldn't she want him to live with you if he could?"
"She doesn't think he can." I said bitterly, "but she's wrong."
"Well, isn't your mother a psychologist? Shouldn't she know better than you?"
No It's--"
"-- complicated," he finished for me. "I know, I know." "No, you don't know." I flared.
"Why is it all the other students at our school, especially the girls, believe they have a monopoly on emotional and psychological problems? I call it the 'No one has it as bad as I do' syndrome,
"Poor Massy Hewlett can't control her weight. She never met a bonbon she didn't like, Poor Brigitte Sklar hasn't found a decent hairdresser. and Tina Olsen? If Tina doesn't get her mother to let her go to Aspen the next spring break, she'll nun away from home. Not to mention Natalie Alexander's crisis over zits,"
I laughed and then, looking critical, said. "So you listen in on our conversations? Everyone thinks you're bared to death most of the time and couldn't care less about anything anyone says."
"That's true. I am bored to death. but I'm not deaf, and to tell you the truth, it gives me some moments of amusement."
"I'm glad you think that's all we are, moments of amusement. My mother is always telling me that rich or poor, emotional and psychological baggage is still a serious problem. If someone makes a mountain out of a molehill, it's still a mountain to him or to her."
"Very charitable."
"If you can't be compassionate, compassionate with everyone, you can't be a good doctor or a good psychologist or anything that has to do with helping people. Heyden. Don't be so smug just because you have a normal life," I snapped.
"Normal?" He laughed the hardest he had.
"Well. I don't know much about you, except what I've heard on the rumor network."
"And what have you heard exactly? Go on, tell me." he urged, seeing my hesitation. "It's okay. I'm a big boy and I have the skin of an alligator."
"I know your mother's Haitian."
"And practices voodoo," he said,
"Really?"
He laughed at how quickly I believed what he said.
"No. but I enjoy fanning the flames of stupid prejudice. My father is a jazz musician. He's away from home twenty or so days a month. I have a sister who is studying to be a terrorist, I think. She's fourteen and goes to public school here. She already has a record some of your hardened urban criminals would envy. Last night I found ecstasy pills in her room. I flushed them down the toilet and didn't tell my mother, not that it would do much good if I did tell her."
"Why not?"
He looked away a moment and was so quiet. I thought he wasn't going to explain. But then he turned back to me, his eyes smaller, darker. "You ever wonder if animals get reincarnated as people? You know, you look at someone and say he or she reminds you of a bird or a hog or something?"'
"Yes," I said smiling.
"My mother is definitely a reincarnated ostrich. Her head is buried so far down..."
"Oh."
"I'm sure there is a psychological term your mother could apply."
I nodded and said. "I'm sorry."
"I'm tired of being my father, know what I mean?"
"I think so." I offered. but I really didn't. I had few if any adult responsibilities and was fighting to be given some.
He smirked and then turned it quickly into a smile. "Anyway, why talk about depressing things? All that does is depress you."
I was happy to agree to that and ate another French fry. We just stared at each other for a long moment. I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head. Why was I here? How interested in him was I really?
"What?" I finally asked.
"I don't know if you have the time, but I'd like you to hear a song I wrote far my guitar. I thought of everyone in that school, you'd be someone who might appreciate it. Not that I'm saying I'm that great or anything."
"I don't think I'm any authority on the subject. but I would like to hear it very much," I said.
"Okay. I'm not far. Actually, just a block down and to the left. I walked here rather than take my moped."
I glanced at my watch. By now Miguel and my mother were surely wondering where I was. It was unlike me not to let them know where I was going, especially when I had Mommy's car. I thought about calling on my cell phone. but I knew they would be upset and would want me to come to the hospital immediately or go home immediately. Better I call them after I hear Heyden's song, I thought.
"I'm ready." I announced, taking my last bite of my hamburger. "Great."
We got into Mommy's car and I pulled out of the parking lot. "First time I've ever been in a Mercedes," he said.
"It's the only car I've ever driven. It's my mother's car. My parents want me to get a job before they'll get me my own car."
The nerve of them." he quipped.
"Actually," I said. "it's not that important to me."
"As long as you get to use this when you want, huh?"
"I don't, but for some reason, I've lost interest."
"That's just temporary. You're going through something. You'll snap out of it."
"Yes. Dr. Reynolds." I said, and he laughed.
"Sorry," he said. "I'm no one to give anyone advice. That's for sure."
"Now who sounds like he's cornered the market on suffering," I said.
He raised his eyebrows. "Wow. You're tougher than I imagined."
I smiled to myself, thinking, finally a compliment I really appreciate.
-Here it is." he said, nodding at a duplex. "Joya del street."
"Very funny," I said. Actually, I was flattered he knew so much about me already. Obviously. I had been in his line of sight for some time. Was I simply oblivious or was he that good at hiding his intentions?
Before we reached the front door, it flew open and Heyden's sister came charging out. She was almost as tall and lean as he was, but with a darker complexion, short licorice black hair, and what were at the moment blazing coal black eyes.
"You were in my room again!" she screamed at Heyden, stepping right up to him and putting her face into his. "You went through my things again and you took it You're not my father! You have no right to do that!"
"You shouldn't be playing with that stuff?" Heyden yelled back. "And you certainly shouldn't be bringing it into the house."
"I hate you!" she cried, barely taking note of my presence. "I wish you weren't my brother."
"That makes two of us." he said.
"You'll be sorry soon," she threatened, and then she smiled so coldly, it even put a chill in my body. "You'll see," she added and charged past us.
"Elisha!" he screamed after her. She just kept going, her head dawn, her arms tightly crossed tinder her small breasts, crossing the street and gone before he could call out to her again.
"Damn," Heyden muttered. He looked at the front entrance. "Better go inside," he said. "I have a bad feeling,"
It was a small apartment, the living room being the biggest roam, the kitchen not much bigger than our pantry closet. The furniture looked ten years past its retirement, and the rug was worn thin enough to see the wood floor beneath it in the living room. Some dirty dishes were piled next to the sink, and a partially filled coffee cup with what looked to be morning cof
"Elisha didn't do her chores again. My mother is still at work," he said. She takes as much overtime as she can get."
"What does she do?" "She's a chambermaid at the Breakers, so we have a lot of hotel soap." he added bitterly.
He walked slowly through the kitchen to the hallway and paused at an open door. I saw him bring his hand to his forehead and then lean against the doorjamb.
"Damn her to hell." he said. "What?"
"Look for yourself."
Slowly I stepped up beside him. There, smashed to pieces on the floor of his bedroom, was his guitar.
3
Parental Concern
.
With his guitar broken. Heyden was unable to
play and sing his song. I offered to listen to it anyway or at least read the lyrics, but he was too despondent. "It won't be the same. Another time," he said, picking up the pieces.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"Me, too." He paused and looked at me as if he were first realizing I was there in his room with him. "You're lucky your only brother is so much younger than you. You won't have to go through stupid stuff like this. You'll be out of the house by then. Me. I'm trapped. I'd leave tomorrow. if I could, and I won't hesitate the moment I can." he vowed.
"Wouldn't your mother be upset?" I asked.
"She'd just pretend I was in school or something. I told you. My mother would do anything to avoid crying or being sad. People don't mind lying to themselves if it will make their lives easier."
He gazed down at the broken guitar.
"But isn't that what you would be doing by running away?" I asked.
He looked up so quickly, I thought he was going to be any at me, but instead, he smiled.
"Now you sound like a psychologist's daughter. How come you can be like that with other people but not yourself?"
"Why do you say I'm not?'
"Because you fume and pout and rage just like the rest of us. At least, that's what you were doing in the cafeteria when I spoke to you."
I laughed and nodded, "You're right," I said "But remember what Miss Foggleman always tells us in music appreciation class: Do as I teach, not as I do."
As far as I'm concerned, that's the oath of a hypocrite," he replied.