#
"Let's go," Andrik said.
Willetta got up off the couch and scooped her pumps up off the floor. "Where we going?" she asked.
"Up to my room," he said flatly.
Willetta suddenly realized she had never seen his rooms. The thought of being sequestered away in Andrik's private rooms would have been appealing under different circumstances, but Willetta knew what this late night meeting was about. The journals were the only thing on his mind.
"Are you sure you want me around when you read them," she asked. There was no need to expound on the situation at hand. Mama Jean's death, the journals, and all the surrounding mystery were upon everyone's minds.
Andrik stopped before the stairs and looked down at Willetta. His eyes shuttered and were impossible to read. "Did anyone ask about your eye and cheek," he asked softly. He changed the subject, albeit not smoothly, but definitely.
Willetta's hand automatically went to her face. It was odd, but no one had seemed to notice her face. Sammy had looked at her as if she was the most beautiful woman in the room. He hadn't uttered a word about the bruise around her eye and the cut on her cheek.
Andrik chuckled softly and said, "No, I guess not. There was too much else to focus on."
Willetta sensed a double meaning to his words, but remained silent. He reached down and took her shoes from her hands and stepped back for her to go ahead of him. She mounted the stairs nervously and Andrik followed. With the darkness and the deep-south quiet all around them she and Andrik could have been the only two people on earth.
The double doors to his rooms were an indicator that she was entering a den of sheer luxury. This was no bedroom. This was a suite of rooms. Four or five rooms all connected to make one huge apartment for one man, Andrik Thomas. Willetta's bare feet sank deeply into the creamcolored carpet and with a flick of a switch light filled the room.
"Andrik, this is amazing," she whispered.
The room was obviously customized to taste. There was not one thing ordinary about the space. Huge ceiling to floor windows covered one wall completely. The light from the rising sun would be phenomenal. The one room went on forever. Willetta surmised that the walls separating the next room had been knocked down to expand the room. The effect was breathtaking. There was enough floor for a child to get winded running from one end to the other.
The space was divided into allotments. There was a sleeping area, a lounging area, and a reading area. It was all made cohesive by a chocolate and cream color scheme with a few unexpected splashes of deep red.
"What's beyond this room," she asked.
"The bathroom," he said quietly. Andrik was enjoying the amazement registered on Willetta's face. He'd often wondered why she hadn't asked to see his room. He figured it had been out of politeness or maybe plain disinterest. He couldn't control the smug look that crossed his face. He couldn't wait until she saw the bathroom.
Willetta walked over the threshold into a bathroom she could spend the whole day in. "Oh, I don't believe this," she said. "Who are you supposed to be; the king of the south?" she breathed.
Andrik's laughter filled the room. "I'm the king of the castle," he said playfully.
"You could have told me about all this. I would have put you out a few nights just to enjoy this bathroom," she said.
A Jacuzzi of inordinate size occupied one side of the room. It was filled to the top with bubbling blue water. A glass window opened above it within the ceiling. One could control the closing and opening of the window with a remote. Willetta crossed over to the Jacuzzi and dipped her hand in. "This bathroom is larger than my room," she stated matter-of-factly.
"It's two times larger than your room," Andrik said.
There was a fireplace, a regular tub, a shower, a long vanity, a closet area, and a gym all included in the bathroom. The toilet was in a small room off to itself, but it too was opulent with marble walls, floors and ceilings within the small space. Willetta was in disbelief.
"I can see that it is," she said. "So, you were willing to give up all of this for the journals," she asked.
Andrik shrugged, "Not really. I thought we could come to some agreement on the living arrangements."
Willetta burst out laughing. "You know I would have eventually found out about all of this decadent extravagance you got going here and you would have ended up in my small room, while I enjoyed all of this," she said.
Andrik's expression changed and he fell silent. He seemed nervous.
"What's wrong, Andrik," she asked.
"We need to start looking at the journals," he said.
For the first time, Willetta realized that he was afraid. She wondered why he would be afraid of the past when she was only curious. She asked him as much.
"I don't know. It's just a feeling I have. I'm afraid it might change my beliefs about people. I don't want to feel bereft after reading it. I want it to help me, Willetta; not hurt me," he said.
"All those people are dead, Andrik. They can't hurt you anymore. It's the past we'll be reading, not the present. What's done is already done. Be curious, but not afraid. Please," she whispered.
They both grew silent and listened to the bubbling water of the Jacuzzi. Willetta watched patiently as Andrik wrestled with his fears. He was a man educated in human emotion and psyche and yet he was afraid of it.
Without warning he was upon her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist, "It's either you or whiskey and I don't want to go back downstairs," he murmured against her mouth.
CHAPTER 32
Volume 1, pg 5 ( September 1971): "Ricky came home tonight. He smelled like strong liquor and nasty women. I didn't ask him where he been the last two nights. He will just tell the same old lie that he been working. He is as drunk as ever." #
They were settled into the lounging area. The soft sounds of Maxwell played in the
background. Willetta had never really been a great fan of his, but somehow his music seemed appropriate for tonight. The music was often mellow with soul-searching themes.
Willetta relaxed against a couch of soft cushions and plush pillows. Her feet curled beneath her and she felt warm and comfortable. Her lips stilled tingled and felt swollen from the kiss she and Andrik had shared. She touched them with her fingertips and marveled at how Andrik's kisses were so different from any she had ever experienced.
She watched as he went to his knees before the old-fashioned suitcase. It was reminiscent of days gone by with its cardboard texture and metal latches. It was large enough to hold four peoples' clothing for a two week vacation. Andrik gingerly flipped open the latches and lifted the top of it.
There was a library of journals inside the suitcase. They were much larger than the ones in the grave and instead of lying down they stood upright. Mama Jean had made a crude filing system that was easy enough to follow. It was divided into two groups. Each group was labeled either "Andrik" or "Willetta". The books in each group had a number written over the pages at the top of the book. Willetta and Andrik stared at each other and Willetta felt goose bumps rise on her skin.
"Why would she send the journals about me to Atlanta, Georgia, when she could have just left them here for me" he asked.
Willetta had no answer for it. It seemed odd to her too. "Maybe the answers are in the journals," she said.
Andrik pulled out the first journal in his group and the first one in Willetta's group. He handed her the journal from the Willetta group and settled beside her on the couch with his own.
A strange feeling of uneasiness came over Willetta. The feeling gave way to fear and she dropped the journal.
"Andrik, when did Gwenneth say Mama Jean sent her these journals," she asked.
"A year ago. What's wrong with you," he asked. "You look scared."
"I am. How did she know we would be together?"
Andrik stretched his long legs out before him. The starched white shirt was irritating him. He wished he had changed clothes. He had discarded his jacket and t
ie hours ago. He unbuttoned his shirt and slipped out of it, leaving his undershirt on.
"Willetta, she couldn't have known we would be together," he said, but he wasn't as convinced as he sounded.
"Well, I think she did. I want to ask you something," she said quietly. Willetta had a disturbing thought and she just couldn't dispel it.
"What is it," he said. Andrik didn't like the look on her face. It was making him
uncomfortable.
"What if you found out that every moment of your life had been arranged even down to the woman you would marry? What would you do," she asked.
Andrik's heart slammed against his ribs. Realization dawned slowly and he understood what Willetta was thinking. "This is the year twothousand seven. People don't do that anymore. Plus, I make my own decisions," he blustered.
"Didn't you come home, when Mama Jean asked you to," she reminded him.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say he would have anyway, because his father had died. But then he remembered Stanley Thomas had not been his real father and Mama Jean knew that. Yet, she had been the one to ask him to come home and stay for a while. It wasn't long afterwards that she started badgering him about Willetta. She had painted a very wrong picture of Willetta too. When he'd finally met her, he couldn't believe his eyes. The element of surprise had certainly worked, because Willetta had slipped underneath his skin and at this point he didn't care if it was prearranged or not, he wanted her.
"It doesn't matter, Willetta. Let's just read the journals. We can sort it all out later," he said. There was no denying that Mama Jean had for the most part orchestrated his life. He had come to that conclusion on his own. It did nothing for his male ego and he wasn't about to discuss it with Willetta.
He bent to retrieve the journal she dropped and placed it in her lap. He watched as she opened her journal and began reading. After a moment or two he opened his own journal and a piece of paper fell onto his lap. It was brown with time.
#
July 28, 1971 Dear Momma,
Please take care of Anita. I promised that I would marry her even though she is pregnant. I love her and I want her and the child to be safe and comfortable. The baby is not mine. We were trying to wait until we got married, but Anita came to me one night crying and bleeding. She'd been raped. She wouldn't tell me who did it, but she said he was drunk. I've been angry and messed up on the inside ever since. I don't love her any less, but God forbid if I ever find out who did this to her. You know Anita's daddy is mean and self-righteous. He won't show her no mercy. I love you, Momma and I trust you will do right by my girl..
Your son,
Richard Myers
# Andrik's whole body shook. The strangled noise that rose up from his chest was loud and animalistic. He got up off the couch and took long quick strides across the room.
Willetta sat immobilized and stunned until she heard the door downstairs slam. She had been so engrossed in her journal she had forgotten Andrik was sitting beside her. She picked up the paper he'd thrown down and began to read. After seeing Ricky Myers today, the implications of the letter were clear. There had to be an accounting for the likeness in the two men. Her stomach heaved and Willetta knew she was going to be sick. She ran to the bathroom.
CHAPTER 33
Volume 4, pg. 1 (February 1972): "When Ricky saw the baby, he ran. I was glad, because there was no telling what I would have done. Poor Anita. The child just wept and told me everything. I took her in my arms and sang lullabies to her and to myself. We two heartbroken women. I hope Ricky got sense enough to stay away. "
# Martha heard the door slam. It was a fierce intrusion upon her ruminations and her body trembled. She'd been deep in thought about Ricky Myers. The sight of him had wiped out her reserve of energy and emotion. It left her a tired old woman.
She listened into the night and there was no other sound. She shifted in the bed and pulled the covers up under her chin. She'd seen the look of shock on Ricky's face when he saw Andrik at the funeral. It had been too satisfying to her. It must have been frightening to see the past staring him right in the face.
Martha sighed into the night. "Martha old girl you can't judge. That'd be like the pot calling the kettle black."
She turned onto her side and slid her hands beneath her head. She lay in the fetal position and thought. Maybe that's why she and Ricky were still alive. Maybe they still had some bills to pay. Her plan had been to get the journals and destroy them, but now that was impossible. She was too old to be playing cowboy and Indian games with Andrik and Willetta. There was no telling what those two might do to her if they caught her tampering with the journals.
She could leave before they found the truth, but that was too much like the same-old-same-old. She would just stay put and face the music. It was a shame because they liked her now and she loved them. Andrik was everything Ricky had not been. He was conscientious. He didn't drink or smoke. He was clean. He treated Willetta like gold. He was even good to her. She knew he still didn't trust her and that was fine, because she'd never been one to trust anyway. It just proved his ability to read people was on cue.
Willetta was a balm to her bruised soul. Just the sight of her made Martha's heart skip with gladness. It made her feel that she had done something right, because without her there would have been no Willetta. Martha was proud for the first time in her life. She had no idea how Mama Jean had gotten Willetta and Andrik together, but it was clear they were perfect for one another. Martha hoped she lived long enough to see them married. She felt deep within her soul that their union would wipe away the long years of dissension and scandal that prey upon the family.
Suddenly, light from the hall flooded her room. "Martha, are you awake." It was Willetta.
"Yes, child. What's wrong," she said.
Willetta turned the light on and crossed the room to Martha's bed. "Grandma, please tell me you didn't know," she cried. Willetta's eyes were red from crying.
"Didn't know what," Martha was alarmed. Willetta had never called her grandma before and she was obviously upset.
"That…That Ricky Myers is Andrik's father. That he raped Anita," she whispered.
Martha screamed. Willetta made a strangling sound of distress. "He's hurt, grandma. He ran out the house and I can't find him. Please come with me so we can talk to him."
Martha was struggling to regain her breath. "You telling me that Ricky Myers raped Anita, when he knew she was going to marry his son?" she wheezed.
"He was drunk," Willetta cried.
"That ass!" Martha screamed again. "I been sitting up there thinking I was bad. He was the bad one. I don't care how drunk a man get, he still know what he doing. Get my shoes and the keys. We fixing to go wake up some old people."
Willetta got on her knees and dug around underneath the bed for Martha's shoes. She wasn't exactly sure what she was getting herself into, but she didn't feel like just going to bed after such devastating news. If Martha planned on confronting Ricky Myers, Willetta was all for it.
"It's a wonder it didn't kill poor Jean. I see why she left Andrik under the care of Stanley. Stanley would have killed Ricky, if he knew. He loved Richard. But he hated Anita. He thought she had been disloyal to Richard. Oh lord, my poor Jean had to make some tough decisions," she said breathlessly.
Martha stopped and held on to the door frame until her breath went back to normal. She was worked up and it wasn't good for someone her age. She told herself to calm down. Finally, she stood up straight and stepped into the hallway.
She and Willetta made their way down the stairs and into the foyer. The door opened as they reached for it and Andrik stepped in. He stood before them with a selfdepricating look upon his face.
Martha looked up into the face that had become dear to her and her heart bled. She swallowed and leaned heavily upon Willetta. She gave a quick prayer for the strength to say what she was about to say.
"Andrik, the day of a man's death is better than his birth. Do you know w
hy?"
Andrik didn't answer. He just looked at her as if he was looking through her. He wanted to push pass both of them and go to his rooms, but something in Willetta's face stilled him. She had a look of determination that was oddly out of place. He had expected to see pity. If he had seen pity in her face, it would have sent him into the rage he was trying to control.
"When a man dies, people know all about him and what he did with his life. A baby comes with a clean slate. You came with a clean slate," she finished. She hoped it would be enough to take the look of self-disgust off his face.
"That's not true," he said. "I'm the product of a rape."
Martha snatched her arm from Willetta and reached up and slapped him as hard as she could across the face. "Just stop it! You didn't suffer like Anita, your momma, did. Don't be stupid. That woman loved Richard. To have been raped by his father, must have killed her on the inside. And think about how Jean felt when she found out. She was still mourning her only child's death. In spite of all that hurtin, those two women did what they had to do to protect you. So, I don't want to see you standing up here acting like the victim. You wasn't the victim!"
"I was a victim," Andrik yelled into her face. "Your son hated me and he made it clear he hated me. From as far back as I can remember, the man I thought was my father, detested the sight of my face. He felt I ruined his life," he said bitterly.
Martha's shoulders sagged and she just shook her head. "This is what comes with keeping secrets. The truth gets harder and harder to find. Andrik, Stanley didn't hate you. Don't you see that he couldn't love you? He couldn't enjoy you. He had accidentally killed Richard. Then he was forced to marry the woman he thought betrayed Richard. He didn't know she was raped. They didn't tell him. He drew the only conclusion he could. So, he hated himself, Anita, and Ricky, but never you. I got a letter upstairs that he sent to me. You need to read it," she said.
Journals of the Secret Keeper Page 12