Journals of the Secret Keeper (14 page)

Everyone settled into an uncomfortable
silence. Willetta had no idea on earth what she was
doing. Ricky and Martha had single-handedly
destroyed so many lives and the effects were still
rippling.
She and Martha had saved Ricky from a
punishment he most likely deserved. Willetta shook
her head.
She wondered how Ricky must have felt
when Richard died, "Mr. Ricky how did you feel
when Richard died?" She wanted to hear it from
him.
She heard his shaky intake of breath and felt
his hesitation. "I almost lost my mind. Richard had
written a letter for Jean to take care of Anita, if he
should die. He gave it to me to keep in case
something happened to him. I couldn't face Jean.
So, I left it on the porch and ran. During that time, I
was never at home. I was a cheater and a drinker,"
he said quietly.
#
Willetta finally turned into the gate of
Thompson Estates, parked and turned the engine
off. What was she going to do? She was sure she
had lost her clients. Her cell phone was still off and
even if she wanted to check her e-mail there was no
internet service down this road. But to be honest,
she hadn't had the heart or desire to do any
marketing. She was most definitely unemployed.
She had a little money in her savings, but
not enough to set up house all over again.
She was completely caught up in the past
and could feel it down to her bones. She didn't feel
like the Willetta she'd always known. She felt
different and more complex. The past was calling
for understanding and mercy on her part. It was
draining and hurtful.
Her grandmother and Andrik's father had
been lovers. Unspeakable tragedies surrounded
their union and intertwined with their mere
existence.
Martha's son had accidentally killed
Ricky's son. Ricky's wife was Martha's first cousin.
Ricky's son's fiance married Martha's son. Martha's
son raised Ricky's son. It was a tangle and a puzzle.
It was a mind scrambler. Was there more? Willetta
certainly hoped not.
In the meantime she had no help in dealing
with it all. Andrik was despondent and wrapped up
in the pain of being the product of a rape. He was
angry and resentful. He couldn't see the beautiful
lesson or the humorous irony. Willetta could see it
all. She could see what Mama Jean was doing, had
done. It was clear. This was the attempt of a very
wise woman to stop the cycle of secrets and family
dissension. It could actually work.
"I'll read the journals, Mama Jean," she
whispered into night. "I'll read everyone of them.
Believing in secrets is not the same as keeping
secrets. You never told me to keep the secrets."
Willetta climbed out of the car and went into
the house. She climbed the stairs quickly. It was
now twelve o'clock in the morning. The long
hallways were dark and the house was quiet.
Andrik was probably asleep. She opened the door
to her room and switched the light on. It softly
illuminated the hallway and she could clearly see
the suitcase of journals sitting beside Andrik's
doorway.
"Perfect," she whispered. She was glad she
had changed into jeans, t-shirt, and tennis shoes
before taking Martha to Clarksdale. It would have
been impossible to move the suitcase in her little
black dress without ruining it. So, she dug her
shoes into the wood and pulled on the suitcase. It
didn't budge. "What is it? Bricks," she murmured.
She pulled again without much improvement.
The door to Andrik's room opened. He
stood looking down at her with a look of irritation
sketched across his face. "Move, Willetta. Where
do you want them?" he asked flatly.
"In my room, please," she said. This was
the first time she had seen him without a shirt. The
tarry black skin glowed in the dusky light. His
chest was smooth with muscles. Damion Racy had
been hairy. Andrik had no hair to speak of on his
chest. Willetta liked it.
He grunted with his efforts to move the
heavy suitcase. "This is scratching up my floor," he
complained. "You could have just opened it and
gotten what you needed out of it until in the
morning."
"I didn't think of that," she said. This was
the first time she had seen him in jeans too. He
normally wore slacks and khakis. Willetta stared
unashamedly.
Andrik was not unaware of Willetta's eyes
on him. He wanted to make good of it, but his
curiosity about their visit to the nursing home won
out.
"So, how did you find my father," he said
sarcastically.
Willetta was totally unprepared for the
question. She couldn't think of what to say without
telling him everything.
She watched nervously as
he gave one final push to the suitcase. It was
completely in her room now. He stood up and
turned all of his attention on her. His eyes were
piercing and she knew he would not ask the
question again, but he wasn't leaving until she
answered it either.
"H…he was pitiful," she stammered.
"What does that mean," Andrik asked
quietly.
Willetta had never been good at lying either
by omission or outright. So, she did the only other
thing that was on her mind. She touched him.
The
dark skin of his chest was just as smooth and hard
as it looked. The heat of it was startling to the flesh
of her palm and she snatched her hand away.
"What are you doing," he whispered.
Andrik's eyes narrowed into slits and he watched
her predatorily.
"I've never seen a man without chest hair. I
just wanted to see how it felt." Willetta knew she
sounded stupid, but she was unable to stop the
idiotic flow of words.
"Oh, I see," was all Andrik said. He stood
before her as still as a statue. "Are you done," he
asked.
Willetta's experience consisted of the rape
and Damion Racy. Andrik was new territory in
more ways than one. She couldn't read him and
didn't know what to do with him. One thing was
clear. She was on her own. Martha was down the
road. They were all alone. She knew that, but
Andrik didn't. This, no doubt, was the reason for
his reserve. Willetta could see the pulse throbbing
in his neck. His body had responded instantly to
her touch. All she had to do was say the word.
Even though she wanted him, she felt a need to go
slower and deeper with Andrik.
She wanted more
from him than sex.
"Yes, I'm done," she said and backed away.
Andrik wasted no time getting out of her
room. "Dizzy female," he murmured as he walked
down the hall and back into his room. Once again
he violently slammed the door, but this time from a
totally different frustration.
CHAPTER 36
Volume 4, pg. 1 (June 1972):
"Anita talked some
more today about the rape. She said he called her
Martha. I got to think about this and what it means.
It ain't soundin too good, but I guess a heart can't
be broken again. Once its broke I guess its broke."
#
Octavia and Olivia knocked harder. No one
answered. "Now where is everyone this fine
Sunday evening?" Octavia said.
Olivia's sedate expression changed to one of
painful forbearance. She and her mother had been
sent by Aunt Olivia back to the Thompson Estate on
an errand. They were not to come home emptyhanded. Aunt Olivia had decided that forthrightness
was the best way to handle this delicate situation.
Their abject failure at the last attempt was not to be
repeated.
After knocking harder and in rapid
successions, the knob of the door began to turn. It
opened to reveal a very unhappy Andrik. Octavia
grabbed Olivia's arm as she stumbled back from the
ferocious scowl that adorned his face. They both
took a couple of steps back, because his face was
very very unwelcoming.
"We need to talk to you, Andrik. Could we
please come in," Octavia asked nervously.
Andrik groaned inwardly, but backed away
and let them file past him. He had not shaved and
his face had a day's growth of stubble on it. His
hair was unkempt and he still wore the jeans he fell
into bed in. He had grabbed a white t-shirt on the
way out the door. So, at least he was fully dressed.
He looked at the clock and was shocked to see that
it was one o'clock in the afternoon. He looked up
the stairs and wondered where Martha and Willetta
were. He followed Octavia and Olivia into the
living room. They sat on the couch and he stood by
the fireplace.
"What can I do for you ladies," he said
stiltedly.
"We were sent by Aunt Olivia to inquire
after an antique," Olivia began.
Andrik stared at her uncomprehendingly.
The first thing he wanted to know was how she had
the audacity to be here at all. After what she'd done
to Willetta, it was pushing the limits to even expect
him to let her past the threshold. He looked away
from her dismissively and turned his attention to
Octavia.
"Mrs. Octavia will you please explain to me
what it is you want," he said with impatience.
Octavia fluttered nervously around on the
couch until she sat perched on its edge. The timing
was all wrong and she knew they were very close to
being thrown out. Her interest in the piece was just
as keen as her mother's and so she girded herself
against Andrik's intimidation and pressed forward.
"You know that my mother was stolen from
her own mother by Etta," she hesitated at the look
of disgust that came across Andrik's face.
"Please don't go into the details. Get to the
point. I don't want to hear anymore about the past,"
he barked.
"There is a picture of a white woman with
red hair on a wooden screen somewhere in this
house. My mother has reason to believe that
woman is her actual mother. She wants it. She has
sent us to bring it to her," Octavia finished.
Andrik blinked and then blinked again.
Laughter rumbled from somewhere deep inside his
chest. He laughed until he was bent over with it.
He wiped at his eyes and held his stomach in an
effort to gain control, but he could not stop
laughing.
Octavia looked on in horror and Olivia
looked on passively. Both women felt he had lost
his mind, but neither moved a muscle. They waited
until he regained his composure.
"No," he said breathlessly. One could either
cry or laugh at insanity for it was both sad and
funny. Etta must have been a woman of another
world. There was no end to her diabolism.
Octavia was outraged. "What do you mean,
no," she said stonily.
"It doesn't belong to me. It belongs to
Willetta. Didn't your mother say that Willetta
inherited the house," he asked and then insulted
their intelligence by continuing. "Willetta had
Martha, Martha had Stanley, Stanley fathered
Willetta. So, this house and everything in it belongs
to Willetta. You'll have to ask her. I'll be glad to
get her," he finished.
Andrik took the stairs two at a time and
knocked on Willetta's door. There was no answer.
He pushed the door open. Willetta was nowhere to
be seen. Her bed was made and the room was neat
and clean. The suitcase of journals was closed and
he couldn't tell if she had read anymore or not.
He backed out of her room and shut the
door. He knocked on Martha's door and there was
no answer. She was gone too. With a frown on his
face he went down the stairs and looked out the
door. Willetta's car was gone. Now where could
they be and why didn't they wake him?
"Willetta is not here. I will tell her you
came by and what you wanted. Can you give me a
phone number? I'll have her call you." He was
eager for them to leave. The last thing he wanted to
do was spend another minute talking to Octavia and
her deranged daughter.
He was very relieved when
Olivia pulled pen and paper out of her purse and
wrote a number down. She then escorted her
reluctant mother out the front door. He watched as
the driver helped Octavia into the car and then
closed the door behind Olivia. He decided then and
there he would have to give Willetta the code to the
gate, because leaving it open invited all sorts of
riffraff.
#
"So, you're Stanley's girl," Ricky said. He
and Willetta were sitting on the porch, while Martha
banged pots and pans in the kitchen. They'd had
lunch and she had shoo'd them out to the porch
saying she would clean the kitchen. Willetta was
embarrassed by the new happiness and lively spirit
Martha displayed. If she didn't know any better, she
would think they had done something nasty last
night, but the thought was outrageous and virtually
an impossibility to her way of thinking, but then she
heard Martha humming loudly with joy and a sweat
broke out across her forehead.
"That's what they tell me," she said
distractedly. "My momma's name was Maureen."
"I knew Maureen. She was a quiet, sweetnatured girl. When she got sick the folk in town
couldn't believe it," he said reflectively.
Willetta's heart skipped a beat. Here was
another revelation that was in the journals no doubt.
She struggled with the strong desire to hear the truth
from the warm-blooded lips of a person who knew
rather than from the cold-paged diary of a dead
woman. She didn't have to make a decision. Ricky
wanted to talk.
"She had cancer. I don't know what kind,
but she had to decide what to do with you. She had
the wasting away kind of cancer. She didn't want
you to see her dying," Ricky stopped and looked
down at his hands. The skin was thinly stretched
across the bones and it was cracked with dryness.
His nails were thick and brittle like fossils. They
were hands of an anciently old man. He felt ancient
too.
"She couldn't turn to your daddy, because he
was all tied up trying to make amends for
something he should have been forgiven for. Jean
made a mistake when she made that boy marry
Anita," he said.
Willetta's eyes bore into his and she said
sharply, "Do you think you should have been
forgiven too, Mr. Ricky?"
"Naw, child. I ain't even talking about me.
I'm talking about Stanley. Anita and Maureen were
friends. When Anita married Stanley it near about
broke Maureen's heart. I had to tell her what
happened," he said quietly. He shut his eyes and
continued. "She got on her knees and laid her head
in my lap and cried for the both of us. She forgave
me. When she finished crying she got up and said
something I ain't never forgot all these years."