Echoes of Dollanganger (9 page)

“You want me to make your famous blood oath?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said, and then he laughed.

We talked a lot about events in the earlier part of the diary. Kane found it hard to believe that Christopher Sr. had left his family so destitute.

“The man has no life insurance? He had four
children. There's something odd about it, about the way they behaved together, anyway. It was like a family of children. They lived in a bubble, and the bubble burst. They thought all they had to do was change their name to Dollanganger, and they could make the past disappear. You know what I think? I think by the time we get to the end, Christopher Jr.'s going to think his parents were just plain irresponsible. You saw the way he began to doubt his father, thinking he might have been some kind of dreamer who talked a good game but never had his grasp of anything substantial. Even his job might have been all fluff.”

“You were supposed to be the objective pair of eyes here, Kane,” I said. “No preconceptions. Wait until we get to the end before making judgments.”

“I know, I know. I get . . . frustrated too easily. But you'll keep my feet on the ground,” he added, reaching for my hand. “Just the way in the end Cathy will keep Christopher's. That's a bet.”

We stared at each other, but I felt as if we were looking through each other, looking at our visions of Christopher and Cathy rather than ourselves.

“I still have some work to do,” I said, “and I'd like to spend some time with my father before I go to sleep.”

“Sure.” He signaled for our check.

When we pulled into my driveway, I could see my father was home. His cherished pickup, Black Beauty, was parked there. He treated it like some revered old friend, full of mechanical arthritis but still ambulatory.
Sometimes I would catch him just looking at it and stroking it affectionately, lost in some memory that involved it or perhaps thinking about my mother sitting beside him.

“Maybe I could get your dad a good deal on a new truck,” Kane said. “I'll talk to my father.”

“Don't bother. Even if you brought one over for free, he'd drive his. He says they grew on each other. He even named it: Black Beauty.”

Kane laughed. “Tell him people like him will put my father out of business.”

“I will,” I said.

He kissed me softly. “I would have preferred being the older child in my family,” he said. “I kind of like the idea of looking after someone the way Christopher is doing, without the situation, of course.”

“You will someday, with your own children,” I said.

He nodded, but I could see he meant something else. “See you in the morning.”

“You sure? I mean, I could drive myself and—”

“Absolutely not. I'm looking after you as if there was no one else,” he said. “As if we had no one but each other.”

It sounded like something I should appreciate, but it followed me all the way to the front door, the way something eerie and haunting might. He backed out, waved, and drove off. I gazed up at my bedroom window. In my wild imagination, I saw Christopher Dollanganger peering out between the curtains. The image disappeared as quickly as it had come, but a night that
had begun with a warm, cozy feeling suddenly had a chill.

I didn't hear the television when I entered. It was too early for my father to go to bed, and he wasn't at the desk he used in the den for his paperwork at home.

“Dad?” I called. Either he hadn't heard me or he was in the bathroom. Nevertheless, I went into the living room and saw him sitting in his chair, staring at the television. It wasn't on. “Dad?”

He turned slowly. “Oh, Kristin. I didn't hear you come in. Have a good time?”

“Yes. What's happening? Why are you just sitting here practically in the dark?” I asked. He had turned on only a small lamp next to the sofa.

“Oh, I must have nodded off a little.”

“Aren't you feeling well?” I asked, not hiding my nervousness.

Ever since my mother's sudden illness and death, I would practically panic when my father complained about an ache, developed a cough and cold, or just looked exhausted. His health actually was very good. I couldn't recall a time when he had missed work or even gone in late, but for that matter, I couldn't recall my mother ever showing signs of any serious illness before she had her cerebral aneurism. Like most young children, I took it for granted that my parents would always be there, would live forever. Many nights I woke up crying for her. It took months for me to get past expecting her to be sitting where she always sat, standing where she stood in the kitchen, hearing her footsteps in the hallway or her voice somewhere in
the house. I kept pushing the reality of her death away, thinking of it as only a bad dream.

For Christopher, Cathy, and even Corrine, the appearance of those policemen who had come to report their father's fatal accident surely became the basis of nightmares that would follow them into every sleep, perhaps for the rest of their lives. Cory and Carrie were still young enough to fail to grasp the impact of the tragedy. Every day, just like I expected to see my mother miraculously appear, they expected to see their father come through that front door, calling for them, eager to embrace them, and maybe, even though they didn't say it according to Christopher, they were hoping he would come and take them away from Foxworth Hall, too.

The younger you were, the longer it took for death to find its way completely inside you. But they all felt lost, vulnerable, and frightened, even Christopher, who portrayed himself as older and mature. No wonder they were so willing in the end to do what Corrine demanded. They could rage, throw tantrums, cry, and moan, but in the end, they would tolerate far more than ever, because they had only her now. Maybe Kane ascribed other motives to Christopher because he didn't understand this, never having lost a parent.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” my father said, but he rose as if he had aged years in hours.

“You didn't hurt yourself today?”

“Oh, no.”

“Something's up,” I said. I reached back into
myself, perhaps into that part of me that was my mother, to sound firm and demanding. “What is it, Dad?”

He looked at me and instantly knew he couldn't get by with some lame excuse. He took a deep breath and tried anyway. “Things just got a little more complicated at the site, that's all,” he said.

I stood my ground. “Why?”

“It's probably nothing. I'm just a stickler for perfection, for everything I do being clean and straight.”

“Dad,” I said, and I put my hands on my hips, something he would do when he wanted to get to the bottom of things.

“It's really nothing you'll be interested in, Kristin.”

“Which means it is,” I said.

He sighed deeply and sat again. I came around and stood in front of him, my arms crossed over my breasts. He looked up at me and smiled.

“What?”

“You look just like her doing that. Whenever I tried to keep something from her, she would plant herself in front of me and fold her arms, practically singing, ‘I will not be moved.' You even hold your head the same way.”

“And you told her what it was?”

“Always,” he said.

“So?”

“Okay. I had occasion to look at the paperwork on the property late this afternoon. Not the architecture or materials, none of that.”

“What, then?”

“The title, who owns it.”

“I don't understand.” I sat on the sofa. “I thought Arthur Johnson owned it.”

“So did I. Turns out it was bought by a trust, and the trustees are not revealed.”

“What does that mean?”

“I'm not sure. I'm not even sure Arthur Johnson and his wife will live there.”

“But you said he was so involved—haunting you, I believe, was the way you put it.”

“Yes, that's true.”

“So?”

“I don't know. That's what irks me. Maybe I'm just spooking myself. Like I said, it's not anything to talk about. As long as I'm paid, I guess.”

“It still matters to you, and there's some reason for that.”

“I just don't like mysteries involving something I'm doing. Especially on that property,” he muttered.

“What could it be? Who would want to keep the fact that they had bought and were building on Foxworth a secret?”

“I don't know.”

“Someone from Charlottesville?”

“Maybe. Look, I'm tired, Kristin,” he said, getting up again. “It was a longer day than usual. We'll talk about it some other time, maybe when I find out more. Okay?”

He did look tired. I didn't want to keep nagging him and making it all worse. “You're right to think
it's weird,” I said sharply, then turned and went upstairs.

How much of this should I tell Kane, or should I tell him anything about it at all? What could it possibly have to do with Christopher's diary? I stood staring at my bed and thinking about the diary. Should I do what I had promised and not read it until Kane and I could read it together? Or should I read ahead and be more prepared for what happened? Would Kane realize it, as he claimed he would? Probably, I thought, and then he might be the one who felt betrayed, and who knew what would happen then?

No, despite the temptation, I would have to wait. Nevertheless, I went to sleep thinking that maybe including him in reading the diary would turn out to be a big mistake in the end for many reasons, some unforeseen.

My father looked surprised the following morning when I told him that Kane was picking me up again. He was thoughtful a moment, and then he smiled.

“Well, I guess we'll save a lot on gas and tires,” he joked. He didn't seem as bothered by what he had discovered yesterday, so I didn't bring it up again. “Let me know when I should sell your car.”

“Like I would,” I said. “Ever.”

He laughed. “I'm going to get down to business about Thanksgiving,” he said, changing his tone. “It's only days away. I reserved a fourteen-pound turkey.”

“Sounds bigger than last year.”

“Just in case we have another guest or two,” he replied, his eyebrows up in expectation.

“Not Kane,” I said quickly. “His family has a big Thanksgiving with lots of relatives. He has to be there.”

He nodded. I was sorry that the way I had said it made it sound like I was unhappy with our small group. “Your aunt Barbara might still come. She was invited to her boss's home, but . . . she might still come.”

“Whatever. We'll have the best dinner for miles around,” I told him.

It brought a weak smile to his face. “Did I ever tell you about your mother's and my first Thanksgiving together?”

He had, but I shook my head.

“I was still at the diner, and I made a six-pound turkey just for the two of us. We ate late, after the crowd had gone. We ate in the kitchen. It was the best Thanksgiving we had until you were born and could sit at the table with us. She was the one who said, ‘No matter how good the food is, it's better when you share it with people you love. Otherwise, it's just good food.' Sounds like it should be on a greeting card, huh?”

“Yes.”

He was thoughtful for a moment and then snapped back quickly. “She'd sure bawl me out for doing or saying anything to diminish ours.”

“You didn't, and you won't,” I said. “Besides, you're with someone you love and who loves you.” I got up and kissed him. I heard Kane's horn.

“He's early.”

“Eager to get to school and learn,” I said, and left him laughing as I rushed out the door.

Kane put up his hand as soon as I got into his car.

“What?”

“We don't talk about the diary ever until we're up in the attic from now on.”

“Well, I agree, for reasons I've said. I don't want us to talk about it in school in case someone overhears, but when we're alone, too? What's brought you to that conclusion?”

“I thought about it a lot last night. We've got to give it authenticity, and that will come only when we're in it, when we can feel it on us. I don't want to make this into some school project. You know, like we're studying a book in English class or for an exam. Do you?”

“No, but—”

“So good. Good,” he said, and backed out. He looked up at the attic before driving off. “It doesn't exist except up there,” he added firmly.

At first, I thought his attitude was a bit extreme. Of course, I liked the idea that it would be kept an even better and tighter secret, but there was still something about it that bothered me. It didn't frighten me or anything, and I certainly agreed about not turning it into some extra-credit book report. Like him, I wanted to step away from that sort of thinking. There was nothing personal about that. Maybe what bothered me was what had begun to bother me from the start. Kane seemed even more into this than I was, and I had far more reason to be. As distant as
the relationship was, the Dollanganger children were still related to me through my mother. And it was my father who was working on the property and who had found the diary. What got me thinking harder about it was wondering why Kane was so into it. What was he bringing to it that I had never expected or could have known? At times, he seemed to be very critical of Christopher, but then he would suddenly embrace him. Our English teacher, Mr. Madeo, who also directed the school plays, once told us that an actor has to find something with which he can identify in a character he plays, even if he plays a villain.

What was it that Kane found in Christopher and the whole Dollanganger situation that enabled him to get so into it? Maybe there were some resemblances to his own family. The Dollangangers were a loving family at the start of the diary, but it was clear that with the loss of their father, the children were drifting away from their mother. They were almost like orphans. Kane did admit that he didn't like his mother; he'd said he loved her like a child should love a mother, but he didn't particularly like the person she was.