After the Reunion (15 page)

But day two did not work the same way. Elizabeth looked at her new toys, watched some television, and then she wanted to leave again. “For God’s sake, Daphne,” Richard said, annoyed, scowling at last.

Elizabeth scowled, looking just like him. Daphne laughed. Then they had Christmas dinner and Elizabeth put her hands into the food instead of using her spoon. “Don’t do that, darling,” Daphne said, trying to help her. But Elizabeth pushed Daphne’s hand away and began to smear her mashed sweet potatoes into the lace tablecloth. This time Daphne did not laugh. “No,” she said firmly. Elizabeth deliberately knocked over her cup of milk.

“She’s a savage,” Richard said angrily. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

“She’s just upset,” Daphne said.

“Well, I’m upset too,” he said, tossing down his napkin and getting up from the table.

“Richard, don’t …”

Elizabeth reached out her hand and patted Daphne’s arm. “No,” she said in a consoling tone. She looked at Richard. “No fight.”

Daphne’s heart broke. She looked at her sons, who were looking as if their sister were an intransigent pet, and at Richard, who was ready to leave the room. “She’s right,” she said. “Please let’s not fight.”

“All right,” he said. “Because it’s Christmas.”

That night Elizabeth did not want to go to bed. Daphne realized she was homesick, and wondered if she should sleep in the room with the child. But Richard would be furious. She didn’t dare. She held her daughter in her arms and rocked her, crooning to her. “You’ll get used to us. You’ll like it here, I promise. I love you. We all love you.” Finally, when Elizabeth fell asleep, Daphne went back downstairs. Richard was sitting in front of the fireplace, looking at the fire, a bottle of brandy beside him, a glass in his hand.

“Is she really staying for the whole Christmas holiday?” he asked.

“That’s what we planned,” Daphne said. The fact that it was longer than he had planned, and much less than she was planning, remained unsaid.

“But not after New Year’s, when we go skiing?”

“It’s still the holiday. We’ll take her with us.”

“Daphne, are you crazy?”

“I’ll take care of her. And during the day, when we’re on the slopes, I’ll put her into the beginners’ group.”

“What about at night?” he asked, his voice tight. “When we go to restaurants.”

“She’ll be good by then. She knows how to behave like a little lady, you saw that last night. Tonight she was tired and cranky. You know how babies are.”

“Daphne, she’s not a baby! She’s almost ten years old.”

Daphne was thankful that she’d been on her medication ever since her seizure after Jonathan’s death. She would be strong and healthy and work this thing out. “Please, Richard, let’s not talk about it just now, all right?”

He looked at her for a long moment, and Daphne realized he was thinking about her seizure too, realizing what stress could do to her, not knowing she was safer than he thought. She let him remain concerned, knowing it would help her achieve her victory. “All right,” he said quietly, and poured her a glass of brandy.

They sat there together, gazing at the fire, sipping their drinks, walking the fragile tightrope of conciliation … perhaps because they loved each other, perhaps because they had been part of each other’s lives for so long … perhaps because it was Christmas.

The next morning when they went downstairs for breakfast Elizabeth was sitting beside the front door, all dressed, her dolls and messily packed suitcase beside her.

“Home,” Elizabeth said.

“She’s just like E.T.,” Matthew said, laughing, coming in from the kitchen.

“You stop that!” Daphne said.

“Well, she’s been there for hours, going ‘Hoome … hoome.’” He shrugged, disappointed that his joke was unappreciated.

“This is your home, sweetheart,” Daphne said gently. She took the suitcase. “Let’s put this back in your room and have some breakfast.”

“No.”

Finally Daphne tricked her by leaving the suitcase by the door and taking Elizabeth into the kitchen, and while Elizabeth was eating, under the watchful eyes of their cook, Ina, Daphne sneaked the suitcase and dolls upstairs, unpacked Elizabeth’s clothes, tried to start all over again. In the kitchen she realized that Elizabeth had eaten everything with her fingers, and what was worse, had smeared jam and oatmeal on the walls.

“Ina!”

“I couldn’t stop her, Mrs. Caldwell. I told her no, but that made her do it more. I was afraid to grab her—I thought you’d mind. It’s only washable wallpaper and tiles.”

“Next time you grab her,” Daphne said. “But not hard. Just so she knows we don’t want that kind of behavior.” She turned to Elizabeth. “Elizabeth, you don’t do that at …” She sighed, and continued. “At home, so I don’t want you to do it here. All right?”

Elizabeth sulked and refused to look at her.

“It will take her a while to get used to things,” Daphne said.

But everything only got worse. Every morning when the family came downstairs, Elizabeth was already sitting beside the front door, her suitcase packed, her dolls by her side. She was so awkward that Daphne realized it must have taken her a long time to do all this, go up and down the stairs, bring the dolls one by one, then the suitcase. She must have slept very little. Jane Baldwin had been right; Elizabeth was stubborn. But she would get used to them, grow to love them … she had to. They were her family. Before, when Daphne had visited her, Elizabeth had been so cheerful and sweet. Now she never smiled anymore, and hardly spoke at all. Daphne didn’t know what to do. She tried closing Elizabeth’s bedroom door firmly, but Elizabeth managed to get out, and that night for the first time she soiled herself.

“Oh, no,” Daphne cried, annoyed and guilty. Was this a sort of punishment for being shut in, or a regression? All she knew was that saying no was absolutely the wrong thing to do. Once that “No” had escaped her, it was as if she had said “Do it more.”

Elizabeth was no longer toilet trained. Daphne had to keep her in diapers. She seemed to have forgotten everything she had ever learned, and did whatever she could to annoy everyone. Richard stayed away from the house as much as he could. He spent a lot of time with the boys, taking them places, when he wasn’t working. Daphne knew he was counting the days. Only kind-hearted Ina kept making excuses for Elizabeth along with Daphne, for which Daphne considered herself blessed, because any other cook would probably have threatened to quit over the mess. The only one of the boys who paid any attention to Elizabeth now was Teddy. Sometimes Daphne saw him watching her closely, as if she were some sort of curiosity. He also played with her, and Elizabeth seemed to like him. In fact, Teddy seemed to like her, too.

Jane Baldwin called. “How is Elizabeth getting along?”

“Fine,” Daphne lied.

“I hadn’t heard from you, so I wondered. When are you bringing her back?”

“Well,” Daphne said cheerfully, “we’re going skiing for a week right after New Year’s. We’re going to take her with us.”

“She’ll enjoy that,” Jane said. “She likes to play in the snow because she knows snow. But don’t take her on the ski lift. She’ll be terrified of open spaces.”

That woman must think I’m an idiot
, Daphne thought. “They don’t let little children on the ski lift,” she said. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Well, then, I’ll see you when you get back. You’re really lucky there haven’t been any problems.”

“I know,” Daphne said.

Chapter Eleven

January, 1983

I’m beginning to think that if anybody finds this secret journal there is going to be real trouble in this house. Not that there isn’t already. Ever since my sister Elizabeth came here things have been very strained. It’s strange to think that she’s my sister, because I don’t know her. I guess it’s sort of like somebody bringing home an orphan from Vietnam and saying “Here’s your new relative.” Then you all get used to it together. But Elizabeth doesn’t want to be here, and my father doesn’t want her here, and she IS my long lost sister. The whole thing seems upside down.

It’s sad because she can’t tell anybody how she feels. Nobody in this family is allowed to express his real feelings, and Elizabeth doesn’t know how. Also, I noticed that even though she sulks, she never cries. We never cry either, because my father doesn’t like it. It’s a strange coincidence that we do the same thing for different reasons. I don’t know why she doesn’t cry. The truth is, she’s pretty devious and not as dumb as everybody thinks. The minute you tell her not to do something she realizes you don’t like it, and then she does it even more on purpose to annoy you. Her table manners are horrible, and she messes up everything, and she’s not toilet trained anymore, which is really gross. Living with Elizabeth is like living in “Animal House,” which was my favorite movie after “E.T.,” but I wouldn’t want to live there. I know she does all this so my parents will send her back, because that’s where she really wants to be. I feel sorry for her, because my mother is pretending she’s a little baby and that she can replace Jonathan. Nobody can replace Jonathan, ever, so what’s the point?

New Year’s Eve everybody went to parties except me (and Elizabeth, of course). I was supposed to go to my friend Mike’s party, but then his mother found some joints in his underwear drawer and his parents canceled the party. Mike has been drinking and smoking dope since we were all eleven. I don’t know what took them so long to figure out why their son was so spaced out all the time. We wanted to have another party somewhere else but nobody could get any plans together. Also, everybody’s parents started to be really nosy and strict, and suspicious of all of us, even mine. I am only thirteen years old and have my whole life ahead of me, and I never do drugs and I hate liquor, but anyway there was no New Year’s Eve party. Sometimes I get really depressed about the injustice of my existence.

So there I was alone at home with Elizabeth and the babysitter, which was Ina actually, since no one else wants to baby-sit for us anymore. It turned out to be a good experience, because I had a lot of time to be with Elizabeth alone. I always keep looking at her, trying to figure out what’s in her head, and I ask her, but she can’t tell me. So that night I sat down with her and stared into her eyes and she stared back, and I tried to get on to some other sphere, like a psychic thing, and read her mind. She just thought it was a game. She’s an excellent mimic, so what I did she did. I kept thinking there was more in there than we knew, and if she couldn’t get it out then I would go in and find it.

It didn’t work. I felt very close to her, and I even loved her, but I didn’t find out any secrets. Maybe there aren’t any. Maybe she’s just what she seems. She’s telling us what she wants the best way she knows how, and we’re the stupid ones.

I miss Jonathan all the time. While he was still alive I should have thought of trying to get inside his head. Maybe then I could have stopped him. Nobody in this family EVER talks about him anymore. His birthday is coming up soon. He would have been fifteen. I guess nobody will mention it. I would like to go out to the cemetery and put some flowers on his grave, but we’re all going to be away skiing.

Chapter Twelve

Emily, sitting in her friend’s chalet in Vail, watching the snow fall prettily outside her window, thought how strange it was that she was here. Who would have expected it? She didn’t even know how to ski. But then, who would have expected all the other strange things that had happened to her in the past few months? The night she fled from Ken’s madness—and his gun—she went to Peter’s apartment. She stayed only two days. Ken was phoning everybody, trying to find her, saying he wanted to make up. Emily was terrified. Of course he called Peter, and she made Peter lie and say he didn’t know where she was. But she was such a creature of habit; her volunteer work, her tennis group, that it was only a matter of time until Ken would track her down, unless she became a recluse. She had tried to protect him from scandal and he was calling all her friends, saying she had left him. He implied it was her fault, that she’d had a tantrum. She finally had to tell a few best friends the truth, and swore them to secrecy.

Her friends rallied around her. Karen lent Emily her beach house at Malibu, since it was no longer beach weather and the house stood empty. Karen and Sue practically dragged Emily to her former home, when Ken was at the hospital, to pick up some clothes and her credit cards. “You’re still married to him,” they told her. “He has to pay the bills. And if you get divorced it’s community property here in California, you know. He’ll try to make up and get you back, just wait and see.”

Why didn’t any of them say Ken loved her? She supposed they didn’t think she was dumb enough to believe such a thing after what he’d done.

But when she finally called Ken, from a public telephone in a restaurant because she was so scared of him she was getting paranoid, he was very sweet, just the way he used to be before all this happened. He asked her if she’d been to see a lawyer. No, she said, and had he? No, he didn’t want a divorce. He wanted her to come home and try again. He would get off the coke, but he needed her to help him. Her friends had been right, but Emily didn’t want to go home. She told him she would keep in touch but that she needed some time alone to think.

Who would believe she would turn out to be so brave? No, not brave … frightened. But she had Dr. Page, and she had her friends. Dr. Page convinced her to go back to her volunteer work, that Ken wouldn’t confront her at Children’s Hospital and make a scene. She gave Emily an extra hour of analysis every week during this crisis.

And then winter came, and the storms and high tides. People watched their oceanfront homes floating out to sea on television, million-dollar piles of wreckage. The roads were blocked and flooded. Emily had to move back to Los Angeles, renting a furnished security apartment near Beverly Hills. She called Ken once in a while, only to keep him at bay, and they had civilized conversations. During the holidays she went to her friends’ parties, and he went wherever he always did when he wasn’t with her. She tried not to think about it, because now it not only made her sick but very angry. Dr. Page said the anger was good, a sign Emily was giving up her ingrained role of victim trying to please.