Journals of the Secret Keeper (12 page)

Every hair on Andrik's body stood up. He
heard Martha cry out, "I thought he was dead."
The old man stopped next to their aisle and
stared at Martha, "Well you see I ain't dead."
Martha hissed in his direction and clamped
her mouth shut. Andrik's gaze locked with the old
man's. His eyes widened and he seemed to struggle
with whether to go forward or backward. The sight
of Andrik had clearly unnerved him. The silence
was so thick you could hear the rain fall against the
windows of the room.
Andrik's heart slammed against his ribs.
This was his grandfather.
He felt Willetta's hand
slide along his arm and into his. He squeezed it in
response.
#
Mr. Rick Myers was wheeled up to Mama
Jean's casket. He stared at the body and knew that
not many more days would pass before he would be
in this same position. He was seventy-six years old.
It was a wonder he had lived this long. The nursing
home he lived in was in a deplorable state and it
was reflected in the caliber of the staff. Most of the
aids were impatient, if not cruel. But Rick took it as
his comeuppance. He had not been a good man in
his lifetime. The woman before him had covered
over many of his transgressions. He still wondered
if it had been for him personally or for some other
reason. Maybe he would never know. He sighed
and gestured that he was finished.
The room remained unnaturally quiet as the
old man was wheeled up onto the stage. A
microphone was lowered to his face and all waited
for him to speak.
"My name is Rick Myers. I married Jean
Myers on August third nineteen-fifty. She was a
good woman. She knew how to forgive. She knew
how to love. Most of all she made it her business to
know her people. I loved her then and I love her
now. Even with all my mistakes, I never stopped
loving her." His voiced cracked and he gestured to
be taken down off the stage.
Andrik's hand was moist with sweat.
Willetta didn't care. She held on. She knew he
needed her. Looking at Rick Myers was like
looking into the future. He and Andrik were one
and the same. The resemblance they shared was
extraordinary. The fact that they'd never met was
inexcusable.
Rick and Andrik stared at one another one
more time before Rick was wheeled out of the
room. Andrik wanted to jump up and run behind
the old man and ask him a billion questions, but he
kept his dignity and silently plotted his course. He
stayed seated beside Willetta with her hand
squeezed tightly within his own.
The remainder of the funeral was uneventful
except for a severe melancholy that settled over
Martha. She seemed older and debilitated. Willetta
and Andrik had to take turns leading her through the
throng of people and through introductions and
farewells.
Willetta and Martha's family from Atlanta,
Georgia were going to be in town for another week
or so and made lunch dates with them. Martha
perked up a little at this, but the faded look never
completely left her face.
Willetta was kissed and hugged by them all.
Sammy's mother and father Gwenneth and Samuel
Gray were so excited to see Willetta again. They
talked all over themselves.
"It was so hard for me to keep the secret that
you were actually our kin. Especially when I saw
how sad and lonely you were sometimes, but Mama
Jean convinced us it was for the best. She said that
everything would come to light eventually and that
you were too young to deal with it all right then,"
Gwenneth explained gently.
"She thought about letting Stanley know
about you, but your mother had made her promise
not to. She said that he had done such a poor job of
being a father to Andrik, she was terrified he would
ruin your life too," Samuel said.
Willetta and Andrik both frowned. Martha's
sad face turned into a face filled with consternation.
"My son didn't know he had a daughter," she
asked.
"No, I don't think so. According to Mama
Jean he never knew about Willetta."
"Well, how did she get that name," Martha
asked suspiciously. She assumed Stanley had given
her the name.
"Mama Jean named her," Gwenneth said
matter-of-factly.
"How do you know all this," Andrik said.
"We have Mama Jean's journals. She
mailed them to us for safekeeping about a year ago.
She said she was done writing them," Samuel said
excitedly. "They were wonderful to read. I
especially enjoyed _" he was cut off by Gwenneth.
"We have forgotten that you all may not
know everything. I am sorry. Excuse our bad
manners, please," she said. "But Mama Jean
instructed us to give her personal journals to you,
Andrik. They are in the car. We will give them to
you before we leave," she finished.
Andrik, Willetta and Martha could only
stare in amazement at the turn of events. Willetta
felt sick to her stomach. Old feelings of
abandonment resurfaced. Since the inheritance of
the journals, she'd felt a warm feeling of acceptance
and love, but with the new turn of events, she felt a
mockery. She didn't look at Andrik. He would
gloat. She'd been very hard on him about the
journals and now the most important journals were
being placed into his hands. Willetta was torn
between happiness for him and outrage at the
unfairness of the situation.
Andrik's hand slid to the middle of her back.
He bent over to whisper in her ear, "I'll share them
with you."
Willetta closed her eyes and allowed the
ensuing embarrassment to flood her senses. She
deserved it.
CHAPTER 31
Volume 1, pg 1 ( September 1971):
"I
found a letter from my son on the porch this
morning. I don't know who left it. Richard has been
dead for two weeks now. The letter scared me and
my breath hitched something awful. When I could
breathe again, I started reading. I cannot stop
crying for my sweet boy.
"
#
The house was finally empty. Aunt Olivia
and her entourage were the last to leave. It was
strange how they lingered. Conversation had finally
stalled and Aunt Olivia kept falling asleep and
sputtering back awake. Olivia's eyes shifted
restlessly around the room as if she was looking for
something. Aunt Octavia hummed hymns and
loudly recited scriptures every now and then until
Martha finally demanded her to be silent.
When they finally took their leave, Martha
hobbled to the door and slammed it until the panes
in the window rattled. "Something is up with them
old hoots. They would have done better to just spit
it out," she mumbled. "My bones is aching. Its been
a long day. Burying the dead ought not be so taxin.
I'll see y'all in the morning."
She heaved a great
heavy sigh and climbed the stairs.
#
"Let's go," Andrik said.
Willetta got up off the couch and scooped
her pumps up off the floor. "Where we going?" she
asked.
"Up to my room," he said flatly.
Willetta suddenly realized she had never
seen his rooms. The thought of being sequestered
away in Andrik's private rooms would have been
appealing under different circumstances, but
Willetta knew what this late night meeting was
about. The journals were the only thing on his
mind.
"Are you sure you want me around when
you read them," she asked. There was no need to
expound on the situation at hand. Mama Jean's
death, the journals, and all the surrounding mystery
were upon everyone's minds.
Andrik stopped before the stairs and looked
down at Willetta. His eyes shuttered and were
impossible to read. "Did anyone ask about your eye
and cheek," he asked softly. He changed the
subject, albeit not smoothly, but definitely.
Willetta's hand automatically went to her
face. It was odd, but no one had seemed to notice
her face. Sammy had looked at her as if she was the
most beautiful woman in the room. He hadn't
uttered a word about the bruise around her eye and
the cut on her cheek.
Andrik chuckled softly and said, "No, I
guess not. There was too much else to focus on."
Willetta sensed a double meaning to his
words, but remained silent. He reached down and
took her shoes from her hands and stepped back for
her to go ahead of him. She mounted the stairs
nervously and Andrik followed. With the darkness
and the deep-south quiet all around them she and
Andrik could have been the only two people on
earth.
The double doors to his rooms were an
indicator that she was entering a den of sheer
luxury. This was no bedroom. This was a suite of
rooms. Four or five rooms all connected to make
one huge apartment for one man, Andrik Thomas.
Willetta's bare feet sank deeply into the creamcolored carpet and with a flick of a switch light
filled the room.
"Andrik, this is amazing," she whispered.
The room was obviously customized to
taste. There was not one thing ordinary about the
space. Huge ceiling to floor windows covered one
wall completely. The light from the rising sun
would be phenomenal. The one room went on
forever. Willetta surmised that the walls separating
the next room had been knocked down to expand
the room. The effect was breathtaking. There was
enough floor for a child to get winded running from
one end to the other.
The space was divided into allotments.
There was a sleeping area, a lounging area, and a
reading area. It was all made cohesive by a
chocolate and cream color scheme with a few
unexpected splashes of deep red.
"What's beyond this room," she asked.
"The bathroom," he said quietly. Andrik
was enjoying the amazement registered on
Willetta's face. He'd often wondered why she
hadn't asked to see his room. He figured it had been
out of politeness or maybe plain disinterest. He
couldn't control the smug look that crossed his face.
He couldn't wait until she saw the bathroom.
Willetta walked over the threshold into a
bathroom she could spend the whole day in. "Oh, I
don't believe this," she said. "Who are you
supposed to be; the king of the south?" she
breathed.
Andrik's laughter filled the room. "I'm the
king of the castle," he said playfully.
"You could have told me about all this. I
would have put you out a few nights just to enjoy
this bathroom," she said.
A Jacuzzi of inordinate size occupied one
side of the room. It was filled to the top with
bubbling blue water. A glass window opened above
it within the ceiling. One could control the closing
and opening of the window with a remote. Willetta
crossed over to the Jacuzzi and dipped her hand in.
"This bathroom is larger than my room," she stated
matter-of-factly.
"It's two times larger than your room,"
Andrik said.
There was a fireplace, a regular tub, a
shower, a long vanity, a closet area, and a gym all
included in the bathroom. The toilet was in a small
room off to itself, but it too was opulent with
marble walls, floors and ceilings within the small
space. Willetta was in disbelief.
"I can see that it is," she said. "So, you were
willing to give up all of this for the journals," she
asked.
Andrik shrugged, "Not really. I thought we
could come to some agreement on the living
arrangements."
Willetta burst out laughing. "You know I
would have eventually found out about all of this
decadent extravagance you got going here and you
would have ended up in my small room, while I
enjoyed all of this," she said.
Andrik's expression changed and he fell
silent. He seemed nervous.
"What's wrong, Andrik," she asked.
"We need to start looking at the journals,"
he said.
For the first time, Willetta realized that he
was afraid. She wondered why he would be afraid
of the past when she was only curious. She asked
him as much.
"I don't know. It's just a feeling I have. I'm
afraid it might change my beliefs about people. I
don't want to feel bereft after reading it. I want it to
help me, Willetta; not hurt me," he said.
"All those people are dead, Andrik. They
can't hurt you anymore. It's the past we'll be
reading, not the present. What's done is already
done. Be curious, but not afraid. Please," she
whispered.
They both grew silent and listened to the
bubbling water of the Jacuzzi. Willetta watched
patiently as Andrik wrestled with his fears. He was
a man educated in human emotion and psyche and
yet he was afraid of it.
Without warning he was upon her, wrapping
his arms tightly around her waist, "It's either you or
whiskey and I don't want to go back downstairs," he
murmured against her mouth.
CHAPTER 32
Volume 1, pg 5 ( September 1971):
"Ricky
came home tonight. He smelled like strong liquor
and nasty women. I didn't ask him where he been
the last two nights. He will just tell the same old lie
that he been working. He is as drunk as ever."
#
They were settled into the lounging area.
The soft sounds of Maxwell played in the
background. Willetta had never really been a great
fan of his, but somehow his music seemed
appropriate for tonight. The music was often
mellow with soul-searching themes.
Willetta relaxed against a couch of soft
cushions and plush pillows. Her feet curled beneath
her and she felt warm and comfortable. Her lips
stilled tingled and felt swollen from the kiss she and
Andrik had shared. She touched them with her
fingertips and marveled at how Andrik's kisses were
so different from any she had ever experienced.
She watched as he went to his knees before
the old-fashioned suitcase. It was reminiscent of
days gone by with its cardboard texture and metal
latches. It was large enough to hold four peoples'
clothing for a two week vacation. Andrik gingerly
flipped open the latches and lifted the top of it.
There was a library of journals inside the
suitcase. They were much larger than the ones in
the grave and instead of lying down they stood
upright. Mama Jean had made a crude filing system
that was easy enough to follow. It was divided into
two groups. Each group was labeled either
"Andrik" or "Willetta".
The books in each group
had a number written over the pages at the top of
the book. Willetta and Andrik stared at each other
and Willetta felt goose bumps rise on her skin.