Into the Garden by V. C. Andrews
"No, I'm fine," I said. There were tears under my lids, but I was holding them back. If he saw me cry, he would get enraged for sure, I thought. I lowered my head and started out. He held the door open for me and then he shut it hard, took me by the elbow and guided me to the car. He put my small overnight bag in the back, closed the door, and got in. For a moment he just stared at the garage.
"Remember when I made that dent?" he said, nodding at the place on the garage where he had backed the car into it. "She wouldn't let me fix it. She wanted it to remain there forever as a way of reminding me I had screwed up, like some scar. I was always tempted to do it again for spite." His brow folded and then relaxed when he turned to me. "That's all behind us now. Think of it as nothing more than a bad dream. It's time to wake up and be happy."
He started the engine and turned on the radio.
"Remember how she hated my playing the radio loud and especially hated it if I put it on one of those stations that played contemporary music? 'How can you concentrate on your driving with all this racket, Howard? Lower it,' she commanded, like some general.
"Orders. She loved to give orders." He laughed. "I bet she's giving Satan orders now and he's wishing she was good enough for heaven. Maybe he thinks she's another way to punish him, huh?"
He put the car into reverse and backed us out.
"Look at that sky. It looks even better down by the ocean, Cathy. The water makes it seem ...I don't know, bluer. I suppose there's some reason for it."
He started away. I looked back at the house. Suddenly, it didn't look half as bad as it always had. Suddenly, it looked like an old friend, deserted, left to wither and die alone with only the echo of our voices and our footsteps reverberating and evaporating, leaving it in silence and darkness, a monument to the troubled, sad family it had somehow served despite the tears, the cries, the moans, and small prayers for mercy that were the measurements of my desperate little existence.
My father seemed to blossom with light the farther we got from the house. He talked continuously throughout the trip to the marina, describing some of the things he had been doing since he had left our home.
"I actually did much better at work. I made a lot of money these past few months, Cathy, and I lucked out with the houseboat. I had this client who had just bought it, hardly used it, and lost money in some stupid investments. I saw a chance to get something for nearly half the original cost and pounced. The kitchen is bigger than the one in the house!
"It's got a nice living room and two bedrooms, not that I expect we'll have any guests sleeping over anytime soon. I want us to spend lots and lots of time together without any outside interference. We've got to get to know each other all over again, Cathy. The truth is, honey, we just have each other in this world. You know what I think of my family. I couldn't care less of what they thought of me, never did.
"You don't even have to go back to school if you don't want to. I'm thinking seriously of taking a year off. I can afford it now. I could do some business from time to time just to keep my hand in things, but we could travel. You know, we could go up the coast to Canada. Wouldn't that be something? There are some beautiful things to see, places to go.
"That's what I like about this new home...it's got freedom written all over it, and you know how trapped we both were back there with the warden."
He glanced at me and nodded.
"I know all this is strange and new to you, but you'll be surprised at how quickly that will change. You'll become a sailor. Now about that ankle...what else has to be done?"
"I'm supposed to go back for another X-ray the day after tomorrow," I said. "If I don't, the doctor will call."
"We'll go back. What's the big deal? Until then, we'll take it easy on you. No housework for my princess for a while, huh? I'll do the cooking tonight, too. I've become a good cook, Cathy. The truth is I was always a better cook than Geraldine, but she wouldn't stand for the spices and the seasoning, so we had to put up with bland food and pretend everything was hunky-dory."
"I never heard you complain about her food," I said.
"What good was it to complain about anything? Would she change anything? Would she deviate from her religious observance of her schedules and methods? No, a complaint just made things more miserable for us, for you," he said. "That's why I stayed and I put up with all her crap. You! I knew how she would take out her anger on you, so I kept my mouth shut.
"But that's all past us, Cathy. Let's make a pact to try to forget about it. Let's start all over, okay? Yeah," he said, liking his idea more and more, "let's do this. Let's pretend you and I are completely different people now. Don't think of me as Daddy anymore Think of me as the man who will protect and keep you happy forever and ever. In fact, I want you to call me Howard from now on, from this minute on, okay?"
I knew why he wanted that. It put a small buzzing in the base of my stomach, making me feel like I had a large fly there trying to find its way out.
He turned up the radio, sang along, and smiled at me. "Wait until you see our new home," he declared. "I can't wait to see your face."
He had the houseboat docked near a place called Fisherman's Village in Marina del Rey. The boat was bigger than I had imagined He said it was nearly forty-five feet long. As we got out of the car and made our way to it, he continued to describe it, telling me it had twin inboard engines. The deckhouse featured a ten-foot long dinette, an inside control station, and a bar. The galley was a full- fledged kitchen open to the deckhouse and adjacent to the bar. There were big windows providing lots of light.
He was proud of the outside area with its full walk- around decks, covered bow with a lounge seat, plus a huge sundeck and flying bridge control station with back- to-back seats. He seemed to know a lot about the boat, rattling off so many details, it made my head spin. I knew he was trying to impress me.
I was surprised at how roomy it was inside and how large the main bedroom was. It had a queen-size bed, carpeted floors, dressers, and a large built-in armoire. There seemed to be as much closet space as we had in the house.
"Just make yourself at home," he said. "Look around, explore, and then go up and sit on the deck, and enjoy the sea air," he told me. "I'm going over to the supermarket. I thought we'd have a special dinner tonight, filet mignon. I'll get us an apple pie and some ice cream for dessert. I know how you liked that whenever she let us have it," he said, and then slapped his hand over his mouth as if to stop any more words from emerging.
"Oops, my fault. I know, I know. I mentioned her and the past. You've got to stop me, Cathy, as soon as I do that. Okay?" He laughed. "You look stunned. It's beautiful, I know. You're going to be very happy here, very happy.
"I'll be right back," he said, and went off to the super- market.
I hobbled around looking at it all. I was surprised and even a little frightened by how many pictures of me he had. Apparently, he had taken many with him when he left the house and more when he had broken in. When I opened the armoire in the master bedroom, I discovered my mother's letters at the bottom, just behind pairs of his shoes. At least he hadn't destroyed them, I thought, and took them out. Then I went onto the deck, sat in a chair facing the outlet of the cove, and pulled the next letter from the pile. It was better than just sitting around and waiting for the world to fall on me, I thought. I had to keep my mind on something or I would go mad with fear.
My darling daughter she began this one.
Yesterday, I had the first sense that I might have made a serious mistake by giving you over to Geraldine. When the idea of having her and Howard adopt you was presented, she offered no resistence nor even suggested the slightest unhappiness about it; yet today I discovered that she has yet to give you some of the things I bought you. When I confronted her about it, she told me you weren't ready to receive things and you wouldn't appreciate them.
That wasn't why I bought them for you. I wanted to do things for you from the start and to always do things for you. I explained that to G
Your grandfather doesn't think anything of it. He says she's just adjusting to having an infant in the house. Of course, he might be right. I hope he's right, but as silly as it might seem right now, I wanted you to know why I haven't been visiting you as much. Geraldine makes it more and more difficult for me, discouraging me, telling me not to come today or finding some reason for me not to come tomorrow.
And she hasn't been here for weeks, months actually. She's turned down almost every invitation, finding some excuse or another why she or she and Howard can't make it for lunch or dinner I've even offered to take them both and you, of course, on a vacation with us, but she's b coming something of a hermit.
Howard complained to me about her a few days ago. He was here discussing a business in- vestment and he stopped in the sitting room to talk to me about her He says he can't even get her to go out to dinner anymore. I don't know what to make of it all. I'm worried.
Of course, I will call and try to visit as much as I can. Maybe it will all pass. Maybe Franklin is right: it's just a temporary adjustment to having a child for whom she must care and nourish.
That is a demanding responsibility and not everyone has the same reaction to it.
Howard is very unhappy, too. I told him I would do what I could, but then he went and said something to Geraldine about our conversation and now, this afternoon actually, she accused me of conspiring with him against her. Whatever I do seems to be wrong and to only make matters worse.
I wanted you to know all this. Isn't it silly? You're still an infant and I'm talking to you as if you were old enough to understand. Oh well, these letters are meant to be read when you can understand and I'm just trying to give you a sense of your history, our history.
Love, Mother
Every time I read that word, I felt a deep longing inside me. I was truly the orphan in our group. I had never known a real mother, nor father, for that matter. Right now, I felt like I was just a shell. It didn't matter what happened to me. I was as light and as empty as a shadow anyway. The only thing left for me to do was keep anyone else from suffering because of my horrible fate and destiny.
The letters that followed all described an 'everwidening chasm between my mother and Geraldine. In one letter my mother concluded that Geraldine was doing everything in her power to keep her from me. She described a terrible argument in which Geraldine accused her of all sorts of things, using words she had used when she had described her to me. She called her a slut and a whore. My mother claimed she even offered to take me back, but Geraldine wouldn't hear of it. What would it make her look like if she gave me up like that, she wanted to know. She blamed my mother for ruining whatever future she had, whatever hope for love and happiness she had. My mother wondered if Geraldine might not be right. I sensed that my mother went into a deep depression. Her letters became painted with apologies. I could almost hear her wailing and moaning as she wrote long sentences of mea culpa. Suddenly, I had become the embodiment of all her sins and my very existence was meant to serve as a constant reminder.
No wonder she had drifted away and I had seen so little of her after a while. It was both because Geraldine wanted it that way and because she herself had difficulty looking at what she considered her sins. I began to wish I had never found the letters and read them. My father had done me a favor by taking them. I wanted to toss them over the side of the boat.
Someday, I thought, I'll toss myself over as well, but not yet, not until enough time had gone by to ensure my friends would be safe.
I fell asleep in the lounge chair and woke when I felt a little chill and realized the sun was so far west, shadows were stretching over me. I could hear my father working to music below. A short while afterward, he came up to announce that dinner was ready.
"I knew you would enjoy sitting up there," he said as I started into the cabin. He saw the letters in my hand. "Oh, you found those, huh? I wanted to throw them away, but I thought I'd leave it up to you what to do with them. They are yours and Geraldine had no right to hide them from you. See," he added, "I'm going to treat you like the adult you are."
"I wish you had thrown them away," I muttered, and put them aside.
He stepped back so I could get a full view of the dinner table. He had candles lit and the table set with salads, French bread, and a bottle of wine.
"How do you like the china? Geraldine would never even dream of spending what I spent on dishes," he added quickly, and laughed. "Pretty, isn't it?" He lifted up a plate to show me the design.
"Yes," I said.
He pulled out my chair.
"Mademoiselle Cathy."
I looked at him, smiling, beaming, behaving like a schoolboy, oblivious to everything he had done and everything that was wrong with what we were about to do. He was fully caught up in his fantasies now and I was afraid of doing anything that might shatter the illusions.
I sat and he poured the wine.
"Can you imagine her sitting here watching me give you a glass of wine? I do. I imagine it," he said with a very strange, twisted smile on his lips. He nodded at a chair against the wall. "I see her there. I see her bound and gagged. Her eyes are bulging with anger. See her?" he asked me.
I couldn't help but look at the chair. He was nodding at it.
"Her face is bright red and the veins in her neck are popping like they always did when she got really enraged. She's struggling against the ropes. Stop struggling, Geraldine!" he screamed.
I jumped in my seat. He was staring at the chair with a mask of anger over his face that would rival Geraldine's if she really was there.
"You can't stop any of this now, so you might as well sit back and enjoy it." He turned to me. "Drool runs out of the sides of her mouth and down her chin like it would on some mad dog. But," he said, suddenly smiling again, "that won't stop us or even bother us in the slightest, will it? The more we enjoy ourselves, you see, the worse it will be for her.
"Good," he added and sat. "That's fresh goat cheese on the salad," he pointed out, and poked his lettuce with his fork, stabbing it and bringing it to his mouth. "Go on, eat," he ordered.
My stomach felt as if it was filled with rocks, but I forced the food into my mouth and chewed.
"This isn't cheap wine," he continued. "It's French, a merlot recommended to me by one of my more sophisticated clients. That's the good thing about dealing with people of great wealth, Cathy, you learn a lot without having to spend all that money on your own education and experiences. She," he said, nodding at the chair, "used to mock my work. She would say that making money on someone elses-- money is not honest work. When she was frustrated or angry at me, she would call me a financial pimp," he said, laughing. He looked at the chair. "A pimp, nevertheless, who made her financially comfortable." He stared a moment, and then looked at me and smiled. "You haven't tried the wine. Don't be afraid. Try it," he said, and I sipped it. "Well?"
"It's very good," I said, not knowing what would be good and what wouldn't.
"I know. Everything we do is going to be first class from now on. First class!" he screamed at the chair. Then he paused for a moment as if his brain had shut down, his eyes becoming a little vacant.
I didn't move a muscle. His face was so rigid, it frightened me more. I could hear the meat under the broiler.
"Should I look at the steak?" I asked, simply because the silence was terrifying.
"What? Oh, no.I'll do that. Relax. Rest. Recuperate," he said, and jumped up. "You like yours pink, right? Just like I like it."
He took out the meat and set up our platters with new potatoes and string beans.
"I made sure they gave us the best cut," he bragged, and brought the dinner plates to the table. "Go on, cut into it and let me know if it's done enough for you."
I followed his orders,
"Great, huh? Everything will be, forever and ever. I bet she's hungry," he said, nodding at the chair. He blinked when I just stared at him "Or, I mean, she would be if she was really here. Of course, that's what I mean." He laughed. "I'm so happy that I get carried away sometimes. Don't think anything of it, honey. I'm in tip-top shape." He shoved a thick chunk of steak into his mouth and chewed it vigorously, savoring the flavor and moaning about the pleasure of a good piece of meat.
I ate because I knew if I didn't, he would be very upset, and from the way he jumped from high moments of happiness to hot moments of anger, I was afraid of disturbing him It was better to let him travel up and down the highways of his own emotional journey and just keep as quiet and as unobtrusive as possible, I thought.
My heart had long since pounded itself into a state of numbness. Sometimes a look of his, a touch on my hand, a sudden jerky motion toward me would start it thumping again, but I didn't think it was possible to get my blood pumping around my body any faster than it was pumping now. I took tiny breaths, not only because I was afraid I might just pass out, but because my chest felt as if it was being held in a vise that tightened and tightened with every passing moment.
I ate all that I could force into myself and then I declared I was so full, I would burst.
"But you have room for our pie a la mode, right?" he asked, looking like a little boy who might be terribly disappointed if I said no.
I nodded.
"Always room for the fun things," he declared, and scowled when he looked at the chair. "She was like the fun police or something, ready to pounce on anything that gave us pleasure. You know, she was the only person I ever knew who couldn't be tickled. I used to try, just to torment her, but it never worked. She didn't have a soft, sensitive spot on that granite body of hers. She had so many calluses on her palms. She could have sanded wood with them."
He rose and started to clear the table. Almost by instinct, I began to help.
"No, no," he cried when he saw me gathering the plates. "You don't do anything, remember? I'll tell you what," he said, glancing at the chair. "Let's have dessert later, much later. For now, you go into the bedroom. I have a surprise for you there. Put it on," he said.