Christopher's Diary: Secrets of Foxworth

by V. C. Andrews

  Suddenly, that idea passed through my mind like lightning. What if he did know? What if I could meet him? What would I say? What would he say to me? Would he be terribly embarrassed that I had read his diary or terribly angry? I would give it back to him, of course, but he would know that I knew his deepest, most intimate thoughts, and the truth was, no matter how honest we wanted to be, none of us wanted anyone to know all our deepest, most intimate thoughts.

  I literally had to shake myself to get back to what I was doing, but I put those images on a back burner. As Dad would say, “I’ll be coming back to them . . . someday.” I started rushing to get ready again.

  My father came home only a little while before Kane was due to pick me up for dinner. I was already dressed, my hair and makeup done, when I heard him come into the house. I couldn’t remember being more nervous about anything than I was when I stepped out of my room and started to descend the stairs. Dad was at the bottom looking up at me. The expression on his face stopped me cold. It was an expression I had never seen. He didn’t look upset exactly, and he didn’t exactly look pleased. I think it was more a look of shock and surprise.

  “For a moment . . .” he began, and then stopped himself and brought up his smile. “That dress . . .”

  “It’s Mom’s. I went through her things in the attic and chose it. We’re about the same size now. Is it all right for me to wear it?”

  “Sure,” he said. “She’d want you to wear it. She’d be proud of how you look. You look very beautiful, Kristin, and very grown-up.”

  “Thank you, Dad,” I said, and continued down.

  He stepped back. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, too. Reminds me a lot of her. I bought her that dress for our tenth-anniversary dinner. I still remember how other people at the restaurant stopped talking or doing what they were doing when we walked in and they saw her. She hated being the center of attention, but I got her laughing about it, claiming they were really looking at me. Where did you say he was taking you?”

  “The River House.”

  “Right.” He laughed.

  “What?”

  “I took your mother there for our eleventh anniversary. The food, especially the lobster fra diavolo, is famous around here. And quite expensive. Your mother wasn’t going to order it, but I insisted. That’s the way she was.”

  “Then I’ll order it,” I said.

  He continued to put away his things and went out to greet Kane when he rang our doorbell.

  “Don’t scare him, Dad,” I pleaded.

  “Moi? I’m a pussycat,” he said, but when he opened the door, he would have stopped an army of ants with his look. I could see Kane hesitate.

  “Hi, Mr. Masterwood.”

  “They’re calling for some possible cold rain tonight,” Dad said instead of hello. “Mind your driving.”

  “Yes, sir. My father said the same thing just now when he heard I was going out.”

  “Your precious cargo,” Dad continued, and stepped back to reveal me. I started to wrap my heavy wool black shawl over my shoulders when the two of them rushed forward to help. Dad realized Kane was intending to do the same thing and stopped.

  “You look fantastic,” Kane said.

  “Thank you.” I gave my father a stern look and saw his eyes begin to light his smile.

  “You guys have a great time,” he told Kane.

  “Thank you, Mr. Masterwood.”

  We started out. Dad remained in the doorway watching Kane rush around to open the door for me. He waved to Dad, who nodded, and then he got into his car.

  “Does your dad do that to all your dates who come to the house to pick you up?”

  “Do what?”

  “Intimidate them?”

  “He’s just being a dad,” I said. “What do you think you’ll be like when you’re one?”

  “The truth is, I can’t imagine it.”

  “It’s not that hard to imagine,” I said, and he smiled and backed us out of the driveway very slowly, practically crawling away from the house.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me to see him follow us,” he said, gazing into his rearview mirror.

  I looked back. Would he? “I don’t think so,” I said. “He’s probably alerted the police department instead.”

  “What?”

  “Just kidding, Kane,” I said.

  He shook his head. “I think I’ve finally met my match in you,” he said.

  The smile on my face threatened to be permanent or at least last the rest of this evening.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” he said.

  “I starved myself all day just so you could spend a lot of money on me.”

  He laughed. “There are girls who would, but somehow, Kristin, I don’t think you’re one of them.”

  The River House was everything it was described as. The main dining room was luxurious, with mirrored walls and sconces that were made to look like torches flickering. There were at least thirty tables, all dressed with fresh flowers and soft white tablecloths. The place settings had gold trim, and all the silverware and napkins had the restaurant’s icon, a seagull with the edge of one wing shaped into a fork.

  I don’t know if we made the sort of impression my father described when he and my mother had walked in here on their anniversary, but I did see that we drew the attention of most of the people at tables and some waiters and busboys. Kane was wearing a dark green dinner jacket and a light green tie. It brought out the green in his eyes. Because we were so young compared with the other couples there, I was sure we would attract some attention anyway. The waiter pulled out the seat for me and even unfolded my napkin for me to place on my lap.

  “We’ll have a bottle of Evian, please,” Kane said. “Flat. Or do you like carbonated?” he asked me.

  “No, flat’s fine.”

  When the waiter left, I leaned toward him. Everyone around us seemed to be listening in.

  “You really do look beautiful, Kristin. I was too frightened to look at you long with your father hovering.”

  “Stop making him sound so scary.”

  “He’s not scary. Well, maybe a little. You’re right, though. If I had a daughter who looked like you, I’d be armed when boys came around.”

  “You’re going to make me conceited.”

  “You should be.”

  “You’re not so bad yourself.” I paused. “And that’s no reflex response.”

  “A what?”

  “You know, compliment for compliment.”

  “Oh. Well, thanks.”

  “Of course, all the girls think you are conceited,” I added, and he smiled and gave me his Kane Hill shrug.

  “Right now, the only girl’s opinion that matters is yours.”

  The bottle of water was brought to us and the busboy poured it into our glasses. The waiter handed us menus, and my eyes went quickly to the lobster fra diavolo. It was fifty-five dollars. The least expensive entrée on the menu was thirty-eight, and that was a vegetarian dish.

  “Don’t worry about cost,” Kane said. “I saved up all the loose change in the house.”

  “What?”

  He laughed. “My father loves telling this story about himself and two of his friends struggling to pay for college, and one day one of them had the brilliant idea to search under the backseat of his father’s car. They found enough change for the three of them to go to dinner. In those days, it was less than twenty dollars for the three. He tells me a story like that once a week, if not twice. I know he’s making up half of them. He’s terrified that I might take money for granted.”

  “Well, he’s right to worry about it.”

  “I don’t. One thing’s for certain. I’ll never take you for granted.”

  “I think that’s a compliment.”

  He smiled, shrugged, and looked at the menu. “The fra diavolo is to die for,” he said.

  It was truly one of the most special nights out I had ever had. My father and I went to restaurants, and I had gone to them
with friends, but it was usually fast-food types, and the experience wasn’t unusual. My father had taken me out to eat, but it was different going to an especially good restaurant with my father. He was as attentive to me as he could be, and he was more relaxed and talked freely about his youth, his family, and my mother when we were out together, but this was so different, and not only because it was a very expensive, high-end place. I did feel more grown-up sitting there with Kane.

  Because of his father’s wealth and position in the community and his mother’s upbringing especially, he had been schooled in dinner etiquette as a prince might be. He wasn’t pedantic or condescending, but he instructed me about the extra silverware, the proper way to do this and that, never making any of it sound stupid or silly, the way I was sure my friends and most of the other boys would. Despite his casualness, he seemed to harbor a respect for all things elegant.

  It was at that moment, when he was talking about how he was trained to sit and dine properly, that I compared him to Christopher. I had made a real discovery this evening. Yes, I thought, Kane wasn’t just another pretty face. He really was more mature than his friends. Maybe, just maybe, he was someone who could be trusted.

  “You look like you’re drifting away,” he said at one point.

  “No, I hear you. You make me think about other things.”

  “Like?”

  “Things I’ve read,” I said.

  “That’s all I get?”

  “For now,” I said. “A girl can’t give away all her secrets too quickly.”

  He nodded without smiling. “You’ll be like opening a box inside a box inside a box,” he said.

  “You might get exhausted with the effort.”

  Now he smiled. “Please,” he said. “Exhaust me.”

  What if my girlfriends could listen in on all he and I said to each other? Would they believe it? Would they grimace and shake their heads, mumbling that we couldn’t be for real? Would they think we were being phony to impress each other? Would they get so bored with us that they’d plug in their headphones and drift off with the latest hit song?

  They couldn’t appreciate us.

  And they certainly couldn’t appreciate Christopher’s diary.

  After the meal we had, I didn’t think I could eat any dessert, but Kane insisted we have the baked Alaska.

  “They’re famous for it here.”

  “I’m beginning to think they’re famous for everything here,” I said, but agreed we should have it.

  It was so good I stuffed myself.

  “I think you’ll have to carry me out of here,” I said.

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t even think of it,” I warned.

  He was capable of breaking out into some outrageous act at any time. After he paid the bill, which I didn’t see but imagined to be the cost of at least a week’s worth of food for my father and me, he came around before the waiter could and pulled out my chair for me. Then he took my hand, smiled, and nodded at some of the people staring at us. He led us out to give the ticket for his car to the valet.

  “This was such a wonderful night, Kane. Thank you. I feel like the senior prom will be a letdown after this.”

  “Not if I can take you,” he said. “Okay,” he added after we were in his car and driving off. “I’ll confess. I was out to impress, even overwhelm, you tonight.”

  “You succeeded.”

  He laughed at my honesty. “I don’t think any other girl I would take here would have that reaction. Most of them would have looked and been uncomfortable in there.”

  “Would take? How many have you taken?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “A few.” He turned to me. “Always a disaster. Well,” he said, eager to change the subject, “looks like the rain your father feared came and went. Look at the clearing night sky, the stars.”

  We were both silent for a while. I think it was one of those quiet pauses when two people ponder which road to take, which decision to make, or which suggestion to offer that would not endanger an early and fragile relationship. He already knew I wasn’t someone he could rush along, but I was also conscious of the possibility that he would think I was too conservative or, worse, just a tantalizing tease.

  “Why don’t I call you late in the morning tomorrow, and if the weather isn’t bad, we try a picnic?”

  “A picnic?”

  “Fall is hanging in there. Did you see the weather report for tomorrow? They’re calling it a day of Indian summer. Winter is taking its time,” he said. “My father told me he’s not seen a fall like this since he was my age. He should have been a weatherman. He gives us a weather report like clockwork every morning.”

  “A picnic?” I smiled. “I’d like that. Where would we go?”

  “How about we go back to that lake?”

  “What lake? You mean the Foxworth lake?”

  “Yes. It was different, maybe because it’s so ignored. It looks interesting. We can find a nice spot there, I’m sure.”

  “I don’t know. My father’s still doing removal. Some of it has been fenced off and . . .”

  “Not the lake. You’ve got influence,” he said. “I’ll pick up some sandwiches, drinks, fruit.”

  “Oh, I can prepare a picnic,” I said. “It doesn’t seem like a picnic if everything is bought.”

  He laughed. “Okay. I’ll bring the blanket, then, and my new iPod and Bluetooth speaker.”

  “You’re sure about the weather?”

  “I’ll call you around ten. We’ll know for sure by then, and I’ll pick you up around eleven thirty. Otherwise, maybe we’ll go to a movie or something.”

  “I still have some homework. I’d like to be back by three.”

  “Yes, Madam Valedictorian,” he kidded.

  We talked for a few minutes in his car in my driveway. I thanked him for dinner again, but he insisted on thanking me, telling me I had made the dinner worth it, not the restaurant.

  We kissed, a long kiss but a soft, warm kiss that was full of promise, and then he walked me to my door, kissed me again, and whispered, “Good night. Dream of me, please. I know I will dream of you.”

  I watched him walk back to his car. He paused, gave me that tantalizing smile, and slipped in behind the wheel gracefully.

  I opened the door and entered. There was my father waiting up in the living room, doing his usual pretending to be too interested in something on television to go up to bed.

  “Well?” he said, turning to me. “Was it still everything it’s cracked up to be?”

  “More. At least, to me.”

  “Really?” He looked thoughtful. “Well, I’m glad for you, then, Kristin. You deserve good things.”

  “So do you, Dad. Oh,” I said, “it’s not raining. It was just a short shower, apparently, and the sky’s clearing. Kane wants to take me on a picnic tomorrow.”

  “Crazy weather. I heard it was going to be about ten degrees above normal tomorrow. Picnic in early November, but I guess you could enjoy it. Where are you going?”

  “We thought we’d go to the Foxworth lake, if that’s all right with you.”

  “The Foxworth lake? Kind of overgrown.”

  “It’s interesting. Kane thinks so. I guess I do, too. All right?”

  “Just stay away from the building site and the wreckage. I have it all fenced off, but there’s still a lot to do around it.”

  “Okay,” I said, kissing him good night, and I hurried up the stairs to prepare for bed.

  The thought of returning to Foxworth, however, brought me back to Christopher’s diary seconds after I had brushed my teeth and slipped under the blanket.

  Dared I think it?

  It was almost as if I was going to where my family had been, my lost family, almost as if they were drawing me to them with this diary and with what else they had left behind, especially all the secrets.

  Maybe, because I didn’t have many intellectually challenging things to do or adults to talk to, I began to think more and more a
bout our grandmother. What had turned her into the monster we saw? Was it simply being married to a very hard, fanatically religious man? What was her youth like? How did she come to marry such a man? Or was she the one who influenced him?

  A number of times, both Cathy and I caught her peering in at us. She would open the door slightly and spy on us as if she had expected to catch us doing one of the unholy things she had forbidden. Then I thought maybe she was really curious about us now, not thinking that we would do evil but wondering how we could be such attractive and intelligent children and yet be born of what she called a sinful act. I even wondered if she didn’t believe we would change form or something, become other creatures once the door was closed. Rarely did we see her spy on us when we were in the attic.

  One day, Momma told us why her mother wasn’t keen on going up the narrow stairway to the attic. She said she was claustrophobic ever since she had been locked in a closet when she was a young girl. That was apparently a form of punishment her parents had used on her. Locking us up wasn’t all that unfamiliar to her, then.

  Whenever she confronted us, she was obsessed with questions about our sexuality. It had become almost a religious chant for her. Did we touch our private parts? Did we look at each other naked? Did boys and girls use the bathroom together? She asked the questions like a police interrogator, asking quickly in the hopes of catching us lying or maybe one of the twins blurting out something sinful that we were covering up.

  “I bet her husband never sees her naked,” I told Cathy. “Not that he would want to.”

  “Don’t they share a bedroom?”

  “I don’t know, but even if they do, she probably has her underwear glued on.”

  Cathy’s eyes brightened. At last, we had something to ridicule. “No, they’re nailed on,” she said.

  “How did they have children?” I pondered.

  “Blindfolded,” she suggested.

  I thought that was clever. The twins thought we had gone mad. They had no idea what was making us laugh so hard.

  One time, while I was painting and needed water, Cathy went down the stairs and ran into her. When she came back, she described how angry our grandmother was about her doing my bidding. She warned her about being so obedient and following my commands. Cathy said she told her that I knew what was evil more than she did, because the male of the species was born knowing evil, and I would only lead her to damnation.