Yellow Lies

by Susan Slater

  “How does Tommy’s mother figure in the accident?”

  “Ah, yes, well, she said it wasn’t an accident. She told Ed Rawlings when she came along Hannah was holding the child under. There had been no struggle or screams for help. She said Hannah was trying to drown the child.”

  “My God. What did she do?”

  “To hear her tell it, she had to fight with Hannah to get Harold away from her. It was Tommy’s mother who took Harold back to the house and called a doctor. He was barely breathing. Tommy’s mother resuscitated him.”

  “Where was Hannah?”

  “Well, this is the part that makes her look guilty. She ran. They found her a day later, incoherent, wandering along the highway to Ramah.”

  “Whatever happened, it must have been the shock,” Ben said.

  “Yes. Shock.” Dr. Lee seemed to be considering something. “It changed everything, ruined what little marriage there was. Ed never trusted Hannah with the child again. He got a full-time nurse and sent Hannah away for awhile—to stay with her sister, I think.”

  “How long?” Ben asked.

  “Oh, six months or so. When she came back, Ed was cold to her, distant, wouldn’t talk. And Harold was still weak. He didn’t have the reserves to bounce back—not from a near drowning. He suffered from numerous upper respiratory illnesses; in general, there was diminished lung capacity, the result of the accident, no doubt. Ed sent him off that fall to a children’s hospital in Albuquerque. It must have cost him a fortune. The next spring Ed had his heart attack.”

  “Tragic story. But I don’t see how I can be helpful.”

  “I’m coming to that. Before he died, just after Hannah came back from her rest, Ed drew up a new will. He didn’t trust Hannah so this time he put in a provision to protect his son. If anything happened to Harold, if he were to die or fall prey to some new accident, Hannah would get nothing. Not one penny. Whether it was her fault or not. Furthermore, to ensure that Hannah would give Harold the best of care, in order to inherit, she had to wait until Harold was twenty-one. He had to attain manhood unscathed.”

  That explains remaining out here when she hated it, Ben thought.

  “In addition, in order to inherit anything, Harold must prove to be trainable—vocationally. He must demonstrate the ability to learn a trade, hold a job, and fend for himself eventually—that sort of thing. It was Ed’s hope that Harold would enter the workforce and be able to support himself. Maybe not a normal life, but then what’s a definition of ‘normal’?” Dr. Lee looked at Ben and laughed. “I bet you can’t come up with one.”

  Ben shrugged. He wasn’t going to get into an argument on that one—not now, anyway. This was getting interesting.

  “Hannah hasn’t spent much time with Harold over the past ten years. She’s kept him in schools, kept her part of the bargain, only visited him once a year but has done her best to see that he’s prepared for life. So, now he’s home. And you know the rest. The property has sold. The proceeds will either go to Hannah as guardian for Harold, or to Harold alone with a guardian appointed by the estate, depending ...”

  “Depending?” Ben asked.

  “On whether she’s kept her part of the bargain which old Ed felt would be proved if Harold reached twenty-one and could be trained to earn a living.”

  “And who’s going to determine that?”

  “Exactly.” Dr. Lee beamed. “This is where you come in. Hannah asked me to do it, to test Harold—just a preliminary thing before he goes before a panel of judges made up of psychiatrists, psychologists, doctors, the like—the ones appointed by the estate. He has to prove he can be a contributing member of society.”

  “It seems cruel, Ed Rawlings holding the money over Hannah’s head and tying her to the land for sixteen years before she could even be eligible for any part of it after all her work,” Ben said.

  “It assured him a legacy. The Rawlings investment would be cared for—land and child. It’s logical.”

  Ben wasn’t certain how much ‘logic’ played in all this compared to vindictiveness. He was beginning to feel sorry for Hannah.

  “Will you do it?” Dr. Lee leaned forward.

  “Do what?”

  “Test Harold. Give him the same battery of tests that he might expect from the panel next week. Do it as a dress rehearsal, make Harold feel at ease with being questioned. He likes you. Hannah said so. And I’m limited. I’ll do a medical examination, but since we have a psychologist on board, I suggested you do the testing. It makes it more real.”

  “Wasn’t there something done before he was released from school? Exit exams? Tests to show capabilities?”

  “You’d think so. But ... well, I ...” Dr. Lee looked up nervously, “hope I can trust you.”

  “Go on,” Ben said.

  “Hannah took Harold out of school when he was fifteen. There was some incident involving sex—teenager stuff, some boys knocked up one of the kitchen help, and she found out the hospital had him on drugs, saltpeter, she says. Anyway, she threw a fit and wouldn’t have it. She won a court order to take him out of the school and send him to her sister’s in Maine. She gave him a ‘country life,’ she calls it. And it certainly seems to have worked. Harold is robust. There are no more asthma attacks. He seems well adjusted—as much as he can be, of course.”

  “And that didn’t negate a provision in the will?”

  “Not really. This final test is what counts. He’s got to prove that he can cope. Then Hannah will enroll him in school this fall after the settlement, a vocational school.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure I’m comfortable doing preliminary work that might clearly prejudice the situation,” Ben said.

  “You’re not coaching him for God’s sake. I know the kind of questions you’ll ask. You’re not giving him the answers.” Dr. Lee didn’t hide his exasperation. Then, after a deep breath, he continued. “Look, you’ll do it after hours or on the weekend. I’m giving my permission to use hospital facilities. Hannah thinks it would be best if it were done in a clinical setting—someplace he’s not been before—replicate what he’ll face with the appointed board. I think it’s important—crucial—to how well he’ll do from the standpoint of comfort. I look at it this way, without this ‘rehearsal,’ he could fail if only from nerves. Now, is that fair?” Dr. Lee waited.

  “How soon does it have to be done?” Ben asked. He thought again of the injustice done to Hannah.

  “In the next few days. I know, I know, not much notice. But now that the property has sold, time is of the essence, as they say. Hannah didn’t think it would sell so quickly.”

  Ben leaned back, propping his straight legged chair against the wall. What was he about to agree to? It certainly wasn’t something he hadn’t done before, maybe, a hundred times before. It wouldn’t be that difficult. And he could see that a trial-run would be helpful. So, why was he reluctant? Was he worried about the ethics? But what really was unethical? What was real was how sorry he felt for Hannah. Women were always getting taken by men, battered by them—unwittingly, innocently putting themselves in positions to be victims. He didn’t like Ed Rawlings. The man had been dead for sixteen years but Ben knew his kind. He had patients who were the wives of such men.

  “Okay,” Ben said.

  “Great. I knew you’d be willing to help.” Dr. Lee jumped up. “I’ll call Hannah. She may want to go over details with you tonight, set a date, that sort of thing. Let me know so I can coordinate the physical—maybe the same day—not too much stress on our young man, get everything out of the way at once. Well.” Dr. Lee stood and held out his hand. “Thank you.”

  And then he was gone. But the handshake had surprised Ben. Testing .22 must mean a lot to Yellow Skin. Ben checked his calendar. Tomorrow, Saturday morning, might be a good time to do it, over the Fourth of July weekend very few people would be at the clinic. He’d ask Hannah tonight. Ben glanced at his watch. He needed to call Chu’s automotive. They had promised his truck would have new glas
s in an hour. But something told him that might not happen—unless he reminded them. He needed it by four-thirty and hoped he wouldn’t have to wait.

  But he did have to wait. Not a lot happened on time on the reservation—not on Anglo time. So when he got back to the boarding house, Hannah was just serving supper to a gathering that included the new owners and the real estate agent. It was obvious Hannah was pleased. Dr. Lee sat a few spaces to Ben’s right and beamed down the table at him every now and then.

  What an odd way to win approval, Ben thought, agree to test a young man with severe handicaps. But there was no doubt he was getting special treatment. The slab of prime-rib Hannah plopped on Ben’s plate almost dragged the table.

  “What slaughter is she fattening you up for?” Julie whispered and pointed to the meat that had crowded his baked potato onto a side plate.

  “Do I detect there’s no love lost between you two?” Ben asked, keeping his voice low.

  “Uh huh.” Julie leaned toward him. “Landlady and I are allergic to each other.”

  “Let me have your attention.” Hannah tapped the edge of her knife sharply on her water glass. “I’ve opened a few bottles of wine. I think a toast is in order.” Hannah finished filling everyone’s glass. “To the new owners. May their joy abound.”

  There was polite applause. .22 tried to take his mother’s wine glass. She poured apple juice into a stemmed goblet, handed it to him and he quieted. They were sitting side by side tonight. Hannah probably thought it looked more loving. In fact, she seemed more loving toward him—straightened his bib, wiped spittle from the corner of his mouth, cut up his steak—even brushed his forehead with a kiss before she began to hand around the bowls of vegetables.

  Ben couldn’t imagine how Hannah must feel to be this close to leaving a prison; yes, that was a good word for it. She was caught up by the binding words of a tyrannical husband who held her captive with a piece of paper long after his death.

  “One glass of wine and you’re blitzed. You’ve been staring at the centerpiece for five minutes,” Julie whispered.

  “Not so. Maybe two minutes.”

  “Three,” Julie said.

  Ben grinned and passed on a bowl of mixed yellow and green summer squash. Why didn’t he mind that she got the last word in—always. Probably because he realized he could be in love. But was he ready to share that yet? Maybe not. First, he’d make sure they had time together, lots of it, and soon.

  “What a sparkling conversationalist. I had my choice of sitting by you or by .22—I’m beginning to think I chose the wrong dinner partner,” Julie teased.

  “Sorry. Guess I’m a little preoccupied.”

  “Any chance of getting you to take a stroll in the moonlight after dinner?”

  “A big chance.” Ben grinned.

  But dessert was some intricate flaming thing that took extra production time, and was well worth it. Then the new owners begged him to pair with Julie and round out a foursome for bridge. Hannah and Dr. Lee had reneged and retired to the parlor, but not before Hannah had reminded Ben the two of them needed to talk. Ben knew Julie had overheard. She didn’t say anything just pulled her lower lip over her teeth and feigned interest in one of the water colors on the dining room wall.

  “What was that all about?” Julie asked, but didn’t wait for his answer before adding, “You don’t need to tell me. I’m just being snoopy. But I don’t trust her. Promise me you’ll be careful?” Her hand was on his arm, lightly detaining him. He heard an earnestness in her voice.

  “Will the two of you quit mooning around and get this game started?” the woman called out good-naturedly. “We’re ready for a challenge.”

  It was after midnight before the game broke up. Hannah had walked Dr. Lee to the door and asked Ben to join them.

  “Let’s talk outside. I think Harold’s asleep but I can never be sure. I don’t want him to be more upset by all this than he has to be.”

  “Did you check your calendar?” Dr. Lee asked Ben.

  “Tomorrow morning is best for me,” Ben said.

  “Good. I think that will be fine for us, but what should I tell him? I don’t want him to sense the importance of what you’ll be doing and get nervous, overreact or something,” Hannah said.

  “I think if you tell him he’s going to visit me, it should go all right. I wouldn’t use the word ‘test.’ Just say that we’re going to talk.”

  Hannah nodded.

  “How soon will you know anything?” Ben noted the anxiety in her voice. This was pretty important to her. It sort of validated the last sixteen years or—

  “I mean, if he fails, will you know right away? Will you have suggestions for things he could do to make it better when he’s tested by the examiners?”

  “Are you suggesting that I prompt him into passing?” Ben asked a little coolly. Wasn’t this what he had dreaded? That he’d be asked to do a little coaching?

  “She doesn’t mean any such thing.” Dr. Lee took Hannah’s arm. “This is a trying time for her. So much is at stake.”

  “Forgive me.” Hannah’s cheeks glistened in the soft yellowish glow of the yard light. She dabbed at her eyes with a Kleenex. “I didn’t mean that.”

  She was distraught. There was good reason for it. Ben suspected .22 might not do well. What would it be like to have your fortune riding on the answers of someone retarded? Someone who had caused you grief but bound you to him by the very fact he was impaired? Ben felt real empathy for Hannah. Whatever weirdness there was, wasn’t there a good explanation for it?

  The silence became awkward; Hannah blew her nose. Maybe, if he reassured her.

  “Are you familiar with the type of questions that I’ll be asking?” Hannah shook her head. “We’ll cover a variety of topics,” Ben began, “I need to test his vocabulary, general information, verbal comprehension, memory—things like that. We’ll do simple arithmetic, some reading. We may have time for puzzles or picture assembly.” Ben paused. “I’ll probably have him go through a few simple neuro-psych exercises.”

  “What do you mean?” Hannah’s eyes were wide with alarm.

  “Oh, nothing out of the ordinary—repeating sounds, copying geometric figures, tracing numbers—that sort of thing. I’ll be as complete as I can be. I don’t know exactly what he’ll be asked by the panel but I’ll come close.”

  This seemed to appease her and she managed a smile. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this. It will mean so much to Harold. He won’t be frightened with strangers if he knows what to expect.”

  Dr. Lee nodded vigorously. “This will be perfect. Shall we say nine-thirty tomorrow?” This time Hannah shook Ben’s hand, maybe squeezed was a better description. But she looked relieved, even happy. That made him feel good. Ben excused himself and walked back into the house. He hoped Julie might still be up. As he reached the door to his room, he heard the front porch screen slam shut and the soft hurried steps of someone coming toward him. He was almost knocked off balance when Hannah threw her arms around his shoulders.

  “I don’t think you can know what this means to me.” She was standing on tiptoe, her head buried in his chest. “It seems like I’ve waited for this moment all my life. I just get sick when I think he might blow it. Can you understand that?” She pulled away to look into his eyes. “Yes, of course, you can. I knew the minute I saw you that there was compassion and it wasn’t put on. You have real feeling for others. It’s rare, that. I haven’t found it very often.” She slid her arms up to circle his neck. ”How can I thank you? Anything. You can ask anything.” Before he could pull away, she brought his head down and found his mouth with hers. Her lips were soft. She moaned in an eagerness that quickened a response in him. He hadn’t planned this, wanted this. “Anything,” she whispered, her voice husky with sexual innuendo as she pulled back to look into his eyes then leaned forward again seeking his mouth.

  “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Julie called out from the stairs.

  Hann
ah sprang away from him. Ben could see the front of her shirt rise and fall with her rapid breathing. And, he could feel the anger—cat fight came to mind. He was caught between two felines, one circling, one guarding her prey.

  “Now that you’ve finished the—what would I call it? Warm-up act? I’ll take over from here.” Julie walked around Hannah to stand next to Ben.

  Hannah was furious. In a flash, Ben got the distinct feeling she might try to get even, retaliate, literally lash out, attacking Julie. But the moment evaporated. Hannah laughed.

  “I can imagine what this looks like. But it’s just a little ‘thank you’ to a special human being for his incredible thoughtfulness.” She gazed up at him and took his hand. “I’ll be forever grateful.” She looked ethereal and waif-like standing in the subdued light of the hall, vulnerable even, as a warm breeze from the open front door played with a strand of white-blond hair at her neck. And then with a sweetness and light smile meant just for him, Hannah pushed past Julie and went up the stairs.

  They waited until they heard the door to her room close.

  “Near miss.” Julie sounded ticked. “It seems like I can’t leave you alone around that woman.”

  “You’re making it out to be more than—”

  “Bullshit.” He’d never seen Julie this mad. She was spitting the words out. “She’s evil. She uses sex. Uses people.”

  “I think you’re wrong. I think I could prove you’re wrong.”

  “I think you’re under some kind of spell. The kind that starts about eight inches below the belt buckle.”

  “If you want to keep me off the streets, marry me,” Ben said. For a moment, he could hear the tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall.

  Then Julie said, “You always get the lines mixed up. You’re supposed to keep me off the streets.” But she was laughing, leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded across her chest. She seemed calmer.

  “You think the next time Tommy Spottedhorse hints around about asking you out, I won’t deck him? I don’t think either one of us is safe on the streets.”