Twisted Roots

by V. C. Andrews

  "He didn't seem that mad to me." Heyden said.

  "He isn't. My mother is just blind to everything but her own pain. I hate living there. I hate being there. I wish..."

  "What?"

  "I wish that somehow we could go away."

  "Boy, don't I?" He shook his head. I sensed there was an added pain or weight on his shoulders.

  "Something new?" I asked.

  "You probably thought I was just afraid to talk to you at school and I was avoiding you because of your stepfather. Well, there was some of that, but the real reason was I didn't want you coming back to this place."

  "Why not?" I thought a moment. Now that I realized it, it was unusually quiet. Where was Elisha? Why wasn't she playing her music too loudly? "Something to do with your sister? Something's happened to her?"

  She and two of her friends were caught with cocaine. Don't ask me how she and those friends of hers got a hold of as much as they did, but it was enough to have them all arrested,

  Because of her age, her name hasn't been in the papers. Of course, my mother is beside herself, and I didn't want to have anything to do with it.

  "We called my father, but he can't get away from his gig without losing it I'm supposed to keep him abreast of what happens next. She could go to some juvenile detention center, and if you ask me, she should."

  "Where is she now?"

  "Who knows. With her social worker maybe. That's a waste of time, too. In short," he said. "I couldn't be more ready or anxious to get away from it all, too."

  We were both silent for a moment. "Where would we go?" I finally asked.

  He lay back on the bed and put his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling.

  "We could go on the road, try to get small jobs here and there as a duet. You're almost seventeen and certainly could pass for eighteen or nineteen."

  "Are we good enough to get jobs?"

  "Sure we are and we look good. too. At least, you do." "I wonder if we really could do that," I said.

  He sat up quickly. "Actually. I have had a wild idea for some time now, fantasizing about it ever since we started rehearsing."

  "What?" I asked, my heart pounding with excitement.

  "Everyone who runs away goes hitchhiking across country, sleeps in one slop house after another, or lives like a homeless person camped out in hallways and under bridges. The country is full of thousands of people our age and younger living like la-amps, doing almost anything for a meal, a ride."

  "How would we be different?"

  He smiled. "We would rent a motor home," he said. "It's the cheapest way to travel. Most runaways eventually run out of money and end up on the streets. A motor home is economical housing, and we would be able to always be on the move, if we need be."

  "That does sound like a good idea." "Doesn't it?"

  But do you know anything about it, about getting one of those vehicles?"

  He nodded. "I know where I can get one relatively cheap. I found it advertised on the Internet, but it's still a lot more money than I have," he added, his smile drifting off his face to be replaced by the face of reality.

  "I don't have that much available, either. All my money is in a trust."

  "I figured that."

  "But what about my credit card?"

  "I thought about that. too. The problem is once you use that, and every time you use it, you leave a trail. Hannah. I'm sure your mother and your father would come after us. You're still underage. I might even get into trouble taking you along,' he said. "No," he continued, lying back again. "we're both trapped, "Without more money, some real money, it would be impassible," he said, quickly turning off the excitement in bath our eyes,

  "Maybe I could sell things," I suggested.

  "It takes time to do that, and there's a good chance you would be discovered doing it. I've pawned things. I can tell you that you don't get anywhere near the value of what you have."

  "I don't like feeling like this, feeling so helpless and trapped and unloved!" I cried and threw myself against him. He put his arm around me and stroked my hair.

  "We are all in our own little cages, I guess, cages we didn't create for ourselves. Like your uncle in a way."

  I buried my face in his chest to stifle my sobs and tears. After a few moments I sat up and wiped my cheeks.

  "I don't care what Mommy says. I'm going to visit Uncle Linden. He is surely terribly confused and alone after hearing the news. I can just imagine how he was left sitting in some corner of his room, wondering what was happening."

  I got up.

  "Now? You're going there now?"

  "Yes." I said determinedly, "Would you come with me?"

  He shrugged, "Sure," he said. "If we're going to get into trouble being together, we might as %yell do something worthwhile together."

  I smiled. "You're the best friend I have now, Heyden." "I want to be more than a friend. Hannah."

  You art," I said, and we kissed before starting out of the house.

  It was dark now, but the sky was clear, and there was a quarter moon full of promise.

  I got into the car.

  "Wait," Heyden said and ran back to the house. When he emerged, he had his guitar with him.

  "Might as well rehearse anyway. Maybe we'll hit the lottery or something. I'll leave my mother something, and we'll be on our way."

  He strummed his guitar and played a few chords of This Land is your land, this land is my land

  'Where is your mother?" I asked him. "Just finishing work. She'll be home soon,"

  "Shouldn't you let her know where you are?" I asked before starting the car. "I mean, with all that's happened to your sister''"

  He shook his head. "I stopped doing that long ago. Hannah, and she stopped asking about the same time. The truth is," he said. "I've left home already. The only thing is I'm the only one who knows it."

  I nodded with understanding.

  "I think I have as well," I said, put the car in drive, and pulled away with Heyden strumming, trying to create something that sounded hopeful.

  9

  Leaving in a Motor Home

  .

  Mrs. Robinson was very surprised to see us at

  the front door of the residency.

  "Oh, dear." she said. "I was so sorry to hear the

  terrible news. You all must be so devastated." "Yes, we are. Mrs Robinson. Thank you. How

  is my uncle since my mother's visit?"

  "He took it all very badly, I'm afraid, but two

  more visitors the same day will please him. I'm sure,"

  she said, opening the screen door for us and stepping

  back.

  "What do you mean, he took it all badly?

  What's happened to him?"

  "Well, he didn't have any appetite at dinner

  tonight, but I think he will be fine," she said. "It's so

  muggy tonight: it's hard for anyone to be enthusiastic

  about anything, even if they didn't have a family

  tragedy. Naturally, he's a little depressed. However."

  she said. smiling. "I'm sure you'll cheer him up." As usual Uncle Linden's door was closed. I

  knocked and waited, Mrs. Robinson had gone back to

  her living quarters and was not in the corridor. I

  knocked again and called to Uncle Linden. There was

  still no response. Worried now, I opened the door. The room was in total darkness, but fortunately

  the silvery sliver of moon gave us enough

  illumination to see Uncle Linden sitting by the

  window, gazing out.

  "Uncle Linden?" I said. "Why are you sitting in

  the dark?"

  He did not turn. I glanced at Heyden, who

  looked concerned himself now, and then I crossed the

  room and touched Uncle Linden's left shoulder. He

  shuddered and slowly turned his head toward me, "Willow? Have you come back?"

  "No, Uncle Linden.
It's Hannah."

  "Oh," he said, his voice going flat.

  "Why are you sitting in the dark. Uncle

  Linden?"

  "Am I?" he asked. "I guess I didn't realize how

  long I've been sitting here."

  Heyden found the light switch and snapped on

  the overhead fixture and the lamp in the corner. Uncle

  Linden blinked rapidly and smiled.

  "Well," he said after a deep breath. "You're all

  right then?"

  "Yes, I'm fine. Uncle Linden," I replied. "It's

  been very sad at home."

  "Yes, I know." he said. He glanced out the

  window again. "I was just thinking of Java del Mar.

  On nights like this I would go out on the beach and sit

  for hours listening to the ocean. I miss that." "I know you do." I said. It was so cruel to

  continue keeping him here, lacked in his private cage,

  as Heyden had said. "But it's not the same there." I

  added.

  "Right, right. Who was it said you can't go

  home again?"

  "Thomas Wolfe." Heyden replied quickly, Uncle Linden looked at him.

  "I remember you." he said. "You were here

  before.. Heyden, isn't it?"

  "Yes," Heyden replied smiling.

  "And you write songs. Written anything new

  lately?"

  "No, not lately, but I've got some new ideas."

  Heyden told him.

  "So much for him not having his wits," I

  muttered. Uncle Linden smiled,

  "Good. As long as you're creative, you're still

  alive." he advised. He looked at me again, his brow

  creasing. "So things are not good at home. How could

  they be with such a tragedy?"

  "No, Uncle Linden. Things are not good at

  either of our homes," I added, nodding at Heyden. "Oh? Sorry about that, but sometimes there's

  not much you can do about it. No." he muttered more

  to himself than to us. "not much."

  "You can leave," Heyden growled and flopped

  in the other chair.

  Uncle Linden looked up. "What's that? Leave?"

  He shook his head. "I used to think about doing that.

  but I never had the self-confidence, and I couldn't

  leave my mother anyway, could I?" he asked,

  searching for confirmation,

  "No, Uncle Linden, you couldn't," I said,

  patting his hand. I sat at the edge of his bed. "It's very hard to leave a mother when you are

  all she has, very hard." he muttered.

  "Mommy has changed so much since little

  Claude's death. I feel like a stranger in my own

  house." I told him. "I don't know if things will ever be

  like they were again."

  He nodded. "I know what that's like." he said.

  "When we moved out of the main house. I felt like a

  stranger. And when we moved back, it was never the

  same. I tried to make it feel the same, put things back

  where they were, get rid of things the Eatons had left behind, but it was different. Everything changes.

  Sometimes, you just have to let go." he said. "I'd like to." Heyden moaned. "So, let go. What

  would you do?"

  "We're going to continue developing our

  singing act together. Uncle Linden," I told him. "No

  matter who doesn't like it."

  "Why would anyone not like it?" He thought a

  moment. "Is it one of those loud, heavy metal things?"

  he asked with a grimace and his hands over his ears. "No," Heyden said. laughing. "Hardly." "So?"

  "There is just a great deal of sadness and blame

  raining down on us these days, Uncle Linden." I said,

  trying to explain. "We're caught in the middle." "I've been in that sort of storm too often." he

  said. nodding. "And there isn't an umbrella strong

  enough."

  Heyden shook his head. "Oh, yes, there is." he

  said. "Our music is our umbrella." He looked at me.

  "And it is strong enough."

  You don't say. Where would you two perform

  your music?" Uncle Linden asked. "On television?" Heyden lit up and leaned forward.

  "No, not right away. I'd love us to go on the road. There are hundreds of small places that would want an inexpensive but talented act like ours. We'd play for restaurants, nice bars. whatever. I know we can make a go of it and see a lot of this country at the same time. We would get all the experience we need. Mostly, we would get away for a while, a long while,"

  he concluded.

  "So you think you're that good. eh? People

  would listen to you and hire you on the spot?" "Yes. I know we are that good." Heyden said

  with steely determination in his eyes as he looked at

  me. "My father's a musician. It's in my blood. I've

  been around it long enough and heard and seen

  singers and musicians who aren't half as good as we

  are.

  "Now, there's a confident young man." Uncle

  Linden told me.

  I smiled. "That he is. Uncle Linden."

  "You should go for it. then. Take a chance. I

  never did. and I sit here and regret it. All I can do now

  is stare out this window and wonder." Uncle Linden

  said. "Don't make my mistakes. Hannah. Seize the

  opportunity, if you have it."

  "We don't have it. Uncle Linden. We have

  dreams."

  "Well, that's a start." He thought a moment.

  "Why don't you have it?" he asked Heyden.

  "It takes money, lots of money. I had this idea

  for us: We'd rent a motor home, you know, and we'd

  go on the road. That way we would always have a

  place to stay that wasn't some rat heap."

  "Very interesting and very sensible," Uncle

  Linden said. nodding. "I've never really been in one of

  those, of course, but I imagine they can be

  comfortable enough."

  "It's a small apartment on wheels!" Heyden

  said. "With a kitchen and room to sleep five. At least,

  the one I was looking at is," he concluded with a

  down note.

  "And you say you would just get in it and go? If

  you could, you would do it immediately?"

  "'Absolutely. Wouldn't we. Hannah?" I smiled.

  "I'm leaving on a motor home," I sang, parodying the

  famous song the folksingers Peter. Paul. and Mary

  sang.

  Heyden laughed and added. "Don't know when

  I'll be back again."

  We joined for. "Please. Uncle Linden, we've

  got to go."

  He laughed and shook his head, "You guys are

  great. So how much is it you need really?"

  "At least a few thousand." Heyden said. "We

  don't have enough to rent the motor home for a

  minimum of six months, which is what the owner

  requires, and stake ourselves for at least two weeks.

  We should get some work within that time." "A few thousand. huh? I've got money. Lots of

  money and I don't have much use for it."

  "We couldn't take your money, Uncle Linden."

  I said quickly. I didn't want Heyden to have any false

  hope.

  "Oh, you won't be exactly taking it," he said. He rose and walked over to the dresser drawer.

  Inside a sock he had hidden his bank account book.

  He held it up. "I have ten thousand dollars in here," he

  bragged.

  "Ten thousand?"

  "A little more." He opened the book and read.

  "Ten thousand, five hund
red, and seventeen at the

  moment. Is that enough?"

  "Sure is." Heyden said, brightening. "We're not

  taking his money," I insisted.

  "No, you're not taking it." Uncle Linden said.

  "I'm giving it to you as payment."

  "Payment? Payment for what?" I asked quickly. "For taking me, too." he said. smiling. "You're

  free to use it for whatever expenses are involved for

  the three of us."

  Neither Heyden nor I spoke. We looked at each

  other and then at Uncle Linden.

  "You want to leave Florida?" I asked.

  "Oh. I know everyone thinks I'm comfortable

  and about as happy as I can be living here. I know

  exactly where I am and what it means. I stay because I

  don't want to be in anyone's way or make any more

  trouble than I have already made for my family. What

  little family I have, that is.

  "But," he continued, crossing the room to look

  out his window again. "I'm really dying here.

  Sometimes. I feel like I'm in freeze frame, stuck and

  unable to move backward or forward.

  Don't misunderstand me-- everyone here has

  always been good to me and pleasant. But I'm like a

  flower, wilting.

  "My sunlight comes from what I can paint, and

  what I can paint here is limited to my memories,

  unfortunately. I'm sure there are many, many

  wonderful and beautiful things out there for me to see

  and paint.

  "I wasn't completely honest with you before, Once I did try to leave on my own. I started walking away from this place, but it was as if I hit an invisible glass wall. I had to stop. and I couldn't lift my foot to move forward. Finally, shaking and weak. I turned back and just dropped myself in the chair on the

  porch, feeling defeated."

  "We can't take you away with us. Uncle

  Linden," I said softly.

  "Why can't we?" Heyden asked.

  "He's under a doctor's care here. Heyden." "It doesn't sound like he needs a doctor to me,

  and besides, what's the doctor doing for him here?

  He's been here a long time. You told me that yourself" "Heyden...."

  "I thought you always wanted to get him out of

  here."

  "To bring him home, not to take him on the

  road!"

  "Well, what's the difference? The motor home

  is a home, and you heard him. He wants to see new

  things, to stimulate his creativity. If you aren't