The Promised World (35 page)

“Let go! You’re hurting me!”

Lila dropped her arm and gasped, “I’m sorry.” She’d thought she
was barely touching her niece, and the idea that she’d hurt Pearl brought tears to her eyes.

“Go on, now,” her mother said. “I want to talk to your aunt.”

Pearl left, but not before she glanced back at Lila. Her niece’s expression was still angry, but Lila thought she saw confusion as well.

She told her mother she wasn’t leaving until she got a chance to talk to Billy’s children.

“I assume you’ll be staying until morning, then,” her mother said brightly. “How nice. We’ll have a chance for a good, old-fashioned mother-daughter chat. Have a seat. I’ll make tea.”

“No thanks,” Lila said, but her mother was already gone.

She found it too oppressive, standing in this dreary room, faced with the ivory chessboard, surrounded by her mother’s trophies. She walked to the front hall, and while she was considering whether to follow her mother to the kitchen or find another room, she heard a noise above her head in the room that used to be Billy’s. It sounded like someone crying, though she knew that might be her imagination conjuring up all the cries she’d heard in this house years ago.

As she rushed up the stairs, she kept her eyes straight ahead, unwilling to be distracted by the window seat on the landing or anything else. She was determined to find out what was going on before her mother could stop her. When she got to the door, the pitiful sound was louder: it was unmistakably real, coming from a little boy. Then she noticed the button on the knob was pushed in, and she instantly knew what had happened to William.

She turned the button and flung open the door. The bedside lamp was on, but he wasn’t in bed; he was pushing on the window latch, trying to get it open.

“Daddy did it last time,” he stammered. “I thought I knew how, but I can’t.”

She had no idea what he was talking about, but it didn’t matter. He was crying so hard that nothing mattered but gathering him in her arms. He felt hot and limp, as though he’d been sobbing for hours. He didn’t resist when she picked him up and carried him to the chair across from the bed, to hold him in her lap. His hands were clasped tightly behind her neck.

After a moment or two, he said, “I didn’t do nothing bad.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”

“Come on now, William.” Her mother was standing in the doorway. “Tell your aunt the truth.”

“I don’t care what he did. Locking children in their rooms is horrible.” Lila stood up, shifting William’s weight to her hip. She walked to the doorway holding the shaking little boy, and her mother stepped out of the way, thank God. Lila didn’t want to stay in this room another minute, for fear her mother would lock them both in.

“It’s past his bedtime.” Her mother sounded eerily calm. “I know you’ve never taken care of children, but surely even you can see that a child needs sleep.”

Lila looked down the long, dark hallway before turning the other way, to the light and the stairs. She carried William down very slowly, making sure her foot was firmly in the middle of each step. Though small for his age, he was still very heavy for her. When they got to the bottom, she walked into the first room and sat down on a beige love seat, hoping to catch her breath.

If the chess room was Lila’s least favorite room in this house, this one she’d always liked because of the wall of books her mother owned, including several first editions going back to the early nineteenth century. She liked that the books remained even when her mother changed everything else, from the furniture, none of which she recognized now, to the mantel on the fireplace, which Lila thought had been brick before or maybe white, but which now
looked like marble. She felt better just sitting in this room, and William was calming down, too, even though her mother had followed them and was standing a few feet away, lecturing Lila about how tired William was going to be tomorrow when he had to go to school.

“I’m taking him with me,” Lila finally said. “I’m taking him and his sister home.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Their mother is still under investigation, and I don’t think social services will look kindly on you as a guardian, given your history… not to mention your recent behavior.”

Lila winced, but her voice stayed firm. “We’ll see about that.”

“Can I get my toys?” William said, looking at Lila. He sounded like his usual sweet self now. He was even smiling shyly.

She was a little uneasy, but she said, “Sure, honey, if it’s really important to you.” He must have felt it was, because before she could stand up to carry him back to his room, he’d jumped off her lap, and he was halfway to the front hall when it hit her that he didn’t intend for her to go with him. She didn’t force the issue; she knew he would be all right as long as her mother was down here, haranguing her. But she couldn’t resist telling him to hurry. “And let your sister know what’s going on. Tell her as soon as you guys are ready, we’re leaving.”

“I won’t let you do this,” Lila’s mother said. “You shouldn’t even be driving. It’s not safe.”

“What?” Lila forced a laugh even though she was intimidated by the way her mother was looking down on her with unmistakable condescension. “I’m a very good driver. I’ve never had an accident in my life.”

“Perhaps, but I’m sure you’re aware that your brother did not want you driving with his children in the car.” She crossed her arms and smiled slightly. “I’d think you’d want to honor his wishes.”

If only she could have shot back that this was absolutely false. Instead, she felt her face get warm as she realized that she’d never driven Billy’s children anywhere. But wasn’t this just a coincidence? Whenever the two families went out together, either Patrick was driving or Billy and Ashley had the kids. She did remember discussing this with Billy once, a long time ago, when Pearl was four and Lila was going to take her to get an ice-cream cone. She’d just started to back out of the driveway when her brother came running out without his shoes on, saying he wanted to come, too. “Scoot over,” he said. “I’ll drive.”

She did as he requested, though she found it a little strange, knowing Billy disliked driving and let Ashley take the wheel nine times out of ten. “In case you’ve forgotten,” she said, “I do know how to drive. You taught me how. Remember?”

“And I did a good job, if I do say so myself.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“There’s no problem. I just wanted to test out your brand-new car.” Her “brand-new car” was a beat-up Datsun that she’d bought for nine hundred dollars, all she could afford on her grad school stipend. “And I love ice cream.” He turned around to Pearl. “Tell your aunt how much I like ice cream.”

“He likes the icky coffee kind!”

“All right,” Lila said, “but you better not be turning into one of those macho guys who never lets his sister drive.”

“Quién es más macho?”
he said, holding up his arm and flexing his muscle. At which point Lila smiled, but Pearl cracked up as if it was the funniest thing in the world, which made Lila and Billy laugh, too. Before long, the conversation had turned to other things, and the subject never came up again.

Now Lila was swallowing hard, trying to remember that her mother was dangerous. “She wanted to hurt you,” Dr. Kutchins said. “It made her feel powerful to hurt a defenseless child.” And
she wants to hurt me now, Lila thought. She wants me to ask her why Billy wouldn’t let me drive with his children.

“I’m a good driver,” Lila said. “You’re making this up.”

“Oh, you poor thing, he never told you, did he? Does that mean you’re no longer taking your medicines? I think that’s risky, but if your doctor feels it’s no longer necessary… I assume he’s a specialist. I would hope so, given the stakes here.”

She thought of Mrs. Lewis saying some of the drugs were to keep her from having seizures. One of Lila’s students had epilepsy and couldn’t drive. Was that what her mother was talking about?

Oddly enough, she felt as if she knew exactly what having a seizure was like, but she’d always thought this was because of Billy’s story. She didn’t remember the title; he’d written it years ago, while she was still in college. The main character was a lonely young girl who feared she was going mad. The girl saw herself throw things in anger, heard herself scream from frustration and nightmares, but inside her mind was another child: quiet, calm, reasonable, good. The way Billy framed the story, the seizures seemed like a metaphor for the painfully harsh criticism the girl constantly leveled against herself. But the onset of each one was described so vividly that Lila felt like she’d experienced them right along with the character—she remembered the intense dread, the sudden brightness of the room, the sense that the objects around her were melting, the pervasive scent she could only describe as the smell of the color yellow.

Her voice was trembling, but she forced herself to look straight at her mother. “I don’t have epilepsy anymore, if I ever did. And I think most of those medicines you gave me were to control me.”

“Not most, but some of them, yes. You had violent outbursts, but the doctor said you would grow out of it in time.” She shrugged. “Perhaps you finally have.”

She felt like her mother had slapped her. Before she could stop herself, she said, “What are you talking about?”

“The doctor said the seizures and all the rest were a direct result of the skull fracture and the damage to your brain.”

Her mother’s face was a mask of concern, but her eyes weren’t cooperating. They were laughing at Lila, mocking her for not remembering any of this. Mocking her the way they always had for being too stupid to win at chess.

But Lila couldn’t say anything because she was feeling the truth that had been left out of Billy’s story. She was tumbling, flying, flailing, falling. She tried to grab the rail, but she was going too fast and the sharp corners of the steps kept coming up to hit her in the face and arms. Though she would never remember the end of it all, when her head slammed into the concrete floor of the basement, she knew exactly what it felt like to fall into the darkness that had ended her childhood. The strange part was that she hadn’t really even been afraid, except that she would get in trouble for ruining her special black dress.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

B
efore he packed up his toys and stuff, William ran down the hall to tell Pearl that they were going home right now. Aunt Lila had come to save them!

He hadn’t seen Pearl at all since New Grandma had locked him in his room ‘cause he tried to do what Daddy wanted and protect his sister. It was after his bedtime, but he thought he heard Pearl crying so he’d snuck back downstairs. They were in the chess room, and he crouched down by the doorway in the dining room where he could see and hear everything.

“You believed he married her because he loved her? Oh, my poor girl. I thought I was simply stating a fact.”

Pearl didn’t say anything. She was sniffing and gulping and staring at the chessboard.

“Your father was a complicated man. Very few people knew who he really was.” New Grandma moved her queen and said, “Check.” Then she hit the button on the chess clock.

Pearl looked at the board for a moment before she knocked her king over to resign. She turned away from New Grandma, toward the window. “I really thought I did.”

William could see his sister’s reflection in the window. She looked so sad that he stood up and walked over to her and patted her face. He had to do it ‘cause it was like New Grandma was trying to squish Pearl’s feelings like a bug.

He knew he would get in trouble for not being in bed, but he didn’t care. When Grandma told him to go back to his room, he decided it was time to be super-duper brave. He said no and then he said, “You stop being mean to Pearl.”

She laughed. “Why, William, I can’t believe you would say such a thing.”

“It’s not funny. You’re making her sad. You hurt her arm.”

She stood up and put her hands on her hip bones, which stuck out like knives. Her skinny elbows were bent out like paper clips.

“I think you’re making a mistake,” she said, staring into his face. “If so, I assume you’d like to apologize.”

He was blinking like mad and clearing his throat, too, but he said it again. “You’re mean to my sister. YOU should say sorry!”

“Go on, buddy. I’m okay.” Pearl’s voice was still the flat pancake, but she called him “buddy,” which made his eyes start itching.

“Your concern for your sister is quite touching,” New Grandma said. “But I’m afraid this is getting tiring.” She leaned down and said in his ear, “If you don’t go to your room right now, I’ll have to ask Pearl to carry you there. Do you want that?”

He felt trapped. It would be so embarrassing to be carried to his
room like a baby. Plus Pearl’s arm would hurt a whole lot worse if she did.

He said he would go upstairs, but before he left he said to New Grandma, “Don’t hurt my sister anymore or I’m gonna call Mommy and the social worker. I’ll tell my teacher, too!”

“Stop it,” Pearl said. Now she sounded mad at him. “I told you she didn’t hurt me.”

“Obviously, I’ve completely misjudged you, William.” New Grandma’s face was red as a ham. “You’re nothing like your father. You’re no different from every other American boy.” She snapped her fingers and pointed to the stairs.

He ran away, ‘cause he was scared of her ham face. But when he got in his room, he felt kind of proud. She said he was nothing like Daddy, but he didn’t believe that. Daddy always said being an American was a good thing. Even if the government was evil, Daddy said, the people were good and the American books showed that. Plus, being a boy was a whole lot better than that romance thing.

He figured New Grandma had to be sort of scared, too, ‘cause now she knew she would get in big trouble if she kept hurting his sister.

He fell asleep for a while, and he woke up and the clock by the bed said it was 1:55, the middle of the night. He’d heard a loud noise, like something falling over, but he couldn’t run downstairs to make sure Pearl was okay and he couldn’t get to the phone to tell on Grandma ‘cause she’d snuck upstairs and locked him in the bedroom. It had to be Grandma ‘cause Pearl wouldn’t do this to him and there was nobody else there. He was so scared, but he knew he had to think hard and not cry. This was just like the escape Challenge and Daddy had told him there were two ways out. He could pick the lock or he could climb out the window and crawl down to the kitchen roof and then hold the big pipe until he got
to the ground. First he tried to pick the lock with a Lego, ‘cause he didn’t have a credit card like Daddy had used. He forgot he was supposed to keep one of Mommy’s dead credit cards with him all the time. He pushed against the door hard with his shoulder and that didn’t work, either. So he had to do the window, which was a lot worse, ‘cause sliding down that pipe made his hands burn. Plus he’d have to go outside in the dark.