Secret Brother

by V. C. Andrews

  “I have enough,” I said.

  “If you’d like someone to go shopping with you after school this week, I’d be happy to do it. Not that I know what’s in style these days,” she told my grandfather.

  “You can be sure I don’t. I haven’t bought myself much of anything since . . . since I lost Lucy,” he said.

  “The offer is good for you as well,” Mrs. Camden told him.

  I had never seen Grandpa Arnold blush, not like this. He mumbled something and then announced that he had some financial homework to do. Before he left, he complimented My Faith on her dinner. Mrs. Camden added to the praise, and then Myra appeared and the three of them began to talk about the week’s menu for the boy in Willie’s room. My Faith said she had kept his dinner warm. Apparently, Mrs. Camden had thought it better to let him sleep.

  “He’s still mending so much,” she said. “The poor thing probably doesn’t weigh fifty pounds. He must be about nine or ten. I feel like I might break his bones when I lift him.”

  “And that’s not all from the poison, is it?” Myra asked.

  I sat there, unable to feign disinterest, especially with Mrs. Camden’s response.

  “It could have damaged his appetite, of course, but Dr. Friedman believes he was kept on a diet lacking in the basic caloric intake a child that age should have, probably for some time. It’s stunted his growth somewhat. We’re treating his pituitary gland.”

  “Sounds like he was kept imprisoned or something,” Myra offered.

  Mrs. Camden shook her head. “I hope we’ll know someday, but that part has to come later.” She looked at me. “When he feels more trusting.”

  I rose. “I have to finish my homework,” I said.

  “That offer still stands,” Mrs. Camden called after me. “Whatever day you choose. I’ll work it out.”

  I didn’t reply. I kept walking away, even though my body was fighting to turn around on its own to accept her offer. It had been so long since I had gone shopping with my grandmother and, of course, way longer since I had gone with my mother. On a few occasions, Myra accompanied me, mainly to get some necessities. She was all business, in and out. Lingering over displays, seeing new fashions, and window-shopping were things she never wanted to do. She always had something waiting for her to do at home, even on her day off. What I had bought lately I usually had bought with some girlfriends, especially Lila, whose mother took me along with them. But a special day for myself was something that seemed lost forever.

  I didn’t pause. I intended as usual to walk quickly past Willie’s room, but as I approached, I could hear the boy moaning. I stopped to listen and then looked back to see if Mrs. Camden was coming up. There was no sound of footsteps on the stairway. Slowly, I went to Willie’s door and pushed it slightly open. The boy’s moans were a little louder. Should I go back and call for Mrs. Camden? I wondered. What if he was dying? If he died here after all my grandfather had done for him, how would that affect my grandfather? Would he think he had been wrong even to have begun all this? Would he blame himself? A terrible part of me wished for it as vengeance for his giving so much of Willie to this stranger. I didn’t like that mean and vicious part of me, but I couldn’t deny those feelings.

  I opened the door farther and stepped into the room. Mrs. Camden had left the curtains open, but the late-afternoon sun had fallen by now, and the sky was just past twilight. I could see some stars growing brighter. My Faith had once told Willie and me that the stars were the souls of the beautiful and good. Willie was always asking me which ones I thought might be our parents.

  The stars weren’t bright enough yet. The spill of hallway illumination was all the light in the room. The boy wasn’t moving. He was on his back, his head sunk into one of Willie’s big, soft pillows, his face so pale that it was ghostlike. Sometimes Willie fell asleep with his arms wrapped around that pillow, clutching it as if it was our mother, who slept beside him when he was sick or frightened. Grandma Arnold never did, but I had often after our parents were killed.

  I heard the boy moan again. Was he dreaming or calling for help? What if he was dreaming, and in his dreams, he was talking about his family and what had happened to him? I could overhear it and then tell everyone what I had learned, I thought. I inched closer.

  I was standing right beside the bed when he moaned again and then shook his head with his eyes closed and clearly said, “Mickey sick.”

  Mickey? “Who’s Mickey?” I asked. His eyes were still closed. “Mickey who? Are you Mickey? Is that your real name?”

  He didn’t speak.

  I looked back at the doorway and listened. I didn’t hear Mrs. Camden coming, so I touched his shoulder gently and asked again, “Are you Mickey? You’re sick, right?”

  His eyes looked sewn shut. His lips opened slightly, and he shook his head again and again said, “Mickey sick.”

  I shook him harder. “Who’s Mickey? Talk. Are you Mickey? Talk!” I said much louder.

  A burst of light brightened the room when the overhead fixture went on, surprising me. I turned toward the door. Mrs. Camden was standing there. “What’s going on?” she asked.

  The boy moaned and this time opened his eyes. He looked up at me, visibly terrified at how I was looming over him.

  I straightened up quickly. “He was moaning, so I came in to see why.”

  She nodded and walked toward the bed. I stepped back. “Hi, honey,” she said to him. “Getting a little hungry, maybe?”

  He looked at me and then at her and nodded.

  “He said ‘Mickey.’ I heard him say it. He said, ‘Mickey sick.’ That’s probably his real name. Ask him. Ask him!”

  “Calm down, Clara Sue. It’s not good to shout at him. That only frightens him and closes him up faster and tighter.”

  “Ask him,” I said more softly, choking back my excitement. “Go on,” I challenged, and folded my arms over my breasts defiantly.

  She looked at me and then turned to him. “Is your name Mickey, sweetie?”

  He didn’t speak, but I could see that he was surprised to hear the name.

  “See? He knows that name. It is. I bet it is,” I said.

  “We’ll see,” Mrs. Camden said. “Let’s let him calm down a little so that he’ll eat well, okay?”

  “Right,” I said. “Let him calm down. He’s the one who has to calm down.”

  I turned and marched out of the room, but I felt I had learned more than anyone else, and I was confident that it would mean something, perhaps enough to get him out of Willie’s room and bed and name.

  When I started to do my homework, I found it difficult to concentrate. Fortunately, Lila remembered I had promised to help her with math. She called, and we got into it enough for me to finish my own work. We talked a little more about Audrey’s party, and then I hung up, but before I could turn to my English assignment, the phone rang again. This time, it was Aaron.

  “Hey, how’s the Prescott General Hospital doing?” he asked.

  “Very funny. What did your father say when you told him what my grandfather was doing?”

  “Oh, I didn’t say anything about it yet.”

  “What? Why not?”

  “I didn’t want to start anything and get your grandfather mad at me just when I was working on seducing his granddaughter.”

  “Seducing? You’re a comedian. You can tell anyone you like about what my grandfather is doing. I’m sure it’s getting known anyway, so my grandfather can’t complain that you spread the story.”

  “You sound like you want me to.”

  “Whatever,” I said. He was silent a moment. “I didn’t thank you for bringing me home.”

  “It’s the other way around.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Thank you for letting me, which is why I’m really calling. Can I pick you up in the morning? It’s an easy s
wing by.”

  Things were moving between us quickly. Was I being swept off my feet by the school’s Casanova? Was I up to the challenge?

  “Am I going to find out that this is just another excuse to let you drive your new car more?”

  He laughed. “I won’t deny that’s a part of the reason, but it’s a minor part.”

  “I’m going to have to ask my grandfather,” I said.

  “Tell him I got an A-plus in driver’s education.”

  “Don’t be surprised if he has us followed to be sure. I’ll call you in a little while. Oh, what’s your phone number?”

  “Make sure you write it on your hand and never wash,” he said, and gave it to me. “That’s why there are so many girls with dirty hands in our school,” he added, laughing.

  “I have a good memory,” I said. “I won’t forget it unless I want to.”

  “Tough girl, huh?”

  Was I? “We’ll see,” I told him, and hung up.

  I thought for a moment and then started for Grandpa’s office. Mrs. Camden and Myra were in Willie’s room, talking to the boy as he ate his dinner. It was Myra’s voice that caught my attention. She had that sweet, loving tone that she had whenever she spoke to Willie, and she was calling him “love” and “sweetie,” which was what she always called Willie. The pathetic little imp was winning everyone over, and as they moved closer to him, they moved further away from my brother.

  Grandpa looked up when I entered. I didn’t walk all the way to his desk. I stood just inside the doorway, as if I wanted to be able to make a quick getaway.

  “Hey,” he said. “You need something?”

  Where should I begin? I thought. Yes, I needed plenty. I needed my parents back. I needed Willie back. I needed to be told that everything for years was just a bad dream, and I needed to be promised that I wouldn’t see so much sadness during the rest of my life. I shouldn’t be afraid of tomorrow or afraid of any more than anyone else.

  “Aaron’s picking me up for school tomorrow,” I declared. “I don’t need the driver to take me.”

  I tried to sound as tough and determined as I could, like someone who had firm control of her own life, but every muscle in my body tightened in anticipation of his burst of anger at my declaring what I was going to do without even pretending to ask his permission. It wasn’t like him to be silent. His face seemed to harden into cement. He didn’t grimace; he didn’t raise his eyebrows. The silence awoke butterflies of panic in my chest. I wasn’t sure if I should just turn and leave or wait for him to speak.

  Finally, he sat back. “I seem to recall a rule requiring a student’s parent or guardian having to give permission for her to ride in another student’s car. That’s why I was surprised today when you came home with Aaron Podwell.”

  “You only have to give permission if I leave before the school day ends.”

  “I see. So is this going to become a regular thing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It could be.”

  I could see a wave of sadness wash over his eyes and pass through his face. That took me by surprise, and for a moment, I felt sorry for my tone and attitude. But I was determined not to be treated like a little girl anymore. He nodded to himself and almost smiled. “Your grandmother warned me,” he said. “She said you’d suddenly grow into a young lady, practically overnight, and I’d better be prepared to hold my breath. She said it would be scarier than riding a bull in the rodeo.”

  “There’s nothing scary about it, Grandpa. I’m not getting married or anything.”

  “What’s anything mean?” he shot back, and then shook his head. “Okay. I’ll tell Bill to take tomorrow off. We’ll play it day by day.”

  I started to turn to leave but stopped. “By the way, I think the poisoned boy’s name is Mickey,” I said. “Have your detective check it out.”

  Before he could say anything, I turned and walked out, practically running up to my room to call Aaron, who answered on the first ring, as if he had been hovering over the telephone.

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  “Great. I’ll take you home, too, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Maybe one afternoon, we can take a ride to Butler Heights and have one of those famous waffle cones. It’s about an hour each way, but it’s worth it.”

  “The cone or going with you?”

  “Ha-ha. So how is the boy?” he asked. I was glad he didn’t say “William.”

  “I think he uttered his real first name in a dream. I heard him when I was walking by my brother’s room.”

  “What was it?”

  “Mickey.”

  “Mickey? Sounds like a nickname. It could be Michael or something. People don’t list their nicknames on official documents.”

  “Oh,” I said with a little disappointment.

  “Or . . . just maybe he was named after Mickey Mantle. Find out if he’s a Yankees fan,” he said. I knew he was joking now, but a lead was a lead.

  “Maybe I will. Thanks.”

  He laughed. “Okay, then, less then twelve hours.”

  “Until?”

  “I see you,” he said.

  “Are you always this romantic?”

  “Now, don’t ask me to give my techniques away.”

  I didn’t just smile. I also felt an exciting tingle run through me. The possibility of going out with him didn’t really begin until shortly before Willie’s death. I never had the chance to fantasize about what it would be like, but now, having his voice slip softly into my mind, I knew tonight was the night when I would dream about us. I was more eager than ever to get to sleep. “Got to get back to my homework,” I said.

  “Homework? Is that what this is on my desk? I thought someone left it as a joke.”

  “The joke will be on you if you don’t do it,” I told him. “Don’t be late. I’m never late for school, and my grandfather would consider it a capital offense.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am,” he said.

  I sat by the phone, thinking about Aaron for a while before turning to my homework, which was all that stood between me and my dreams. At least, that’s all I thought was in the way. But after I washed up and brushed my teeth, got into my pajamas, and started to crawl into bed, I heard some commotion out in the hallway and went to see what it was all about. My grandfather had come up the stairs with a doctor carrying his bag, and Mrs. Camden was standing outside Willie’s room waiting for them.

  “What’s happening?” I asked.

  Mrs. Camden glanced at me, but no one answered. Grandpa Arnold and the doctor went into the room, Mrs. Camden following. I stood there listening, but I couldn’t really hear anything, so I approached and stood just outside the door. I picked up some words here and there: “panic attack,” “hyperventilation,” “no heart trouble.” I heard the doctor talking softly to the boy and Mrs. Camden adding words of reassurance. Apparently, there had been some concern that his rapid breathing was from some pain or a lung problem, but the doctor was assuring my grandfather that was not the case. Their voices got lower. I returned to my room and closed the door softly.

  A flood of selfish thoughts began. Why did we need all this, especially now? The boy didn’t belong here; he belonged in some sort of hospital or mental clinic. This proved it. What had happened to Willie wasn’t enough to turn this house upside down? Go contribute thousands to some children’s charity, Grandpa. Or pay for whatever the boy needs outside of our home. Do anything but this.

  But then the image returned of him tiny and helpless in Willie’s bed, his head sinking into the big pillow, and I turned over to close my eyes hard and squeeze out the negative thoughts. I didn’t like being so mean and hateful. I knew that half of my reaction to him was probably out of jealousy. I wanted all of my grandfather’s attention now. I needed it, too. But it was difficult to deny that the poiso
ned boy needed so much more.

  I thought I would fall asleep quickly, but there was a knock on my door that I knew could only be Grandpa Arnold. He didn’t knock softly when he wanted my attention, that was for sure. I sat up just as he opened the door. He stood silhouetted in the hall light.

  “This business with the name Mickey,” he said. “Don’t you mention it to him again.”

  “I thought you wanted to find out who he really is.”

  “I don’t want you going in there and speaking to him until you speak to Dr. Patrick.”

  “Dr. Patrick? The psychiatrist?”

  “She’ll be here tomorrow in the afternoon when you return from school. Come directly home,” he ordered. “Call if you want Bill to bring you.”

  “Well, what just happened?” I demanded.

  “There are things that can stimulate very bad memories for him and cause what Mrs. Camden calls hyperventilation, a fit of rapid breathing. It can be terrifying. It’s usually because of panic, but it looks like a few bad things could be happening. He’ll be fine now,” he added. “Remember what I said.” He closed the door. I sat there in the darkness.

  Now he wanted me to see the psychiatrist? What happened was my fault?

  What was I supposed to do next, tiptoe past Willie’s room?

  Don’t mention Mickey? I’ll be damned if I’ll ever speak to that boy again, I thought, and slammed myself back on my pillows. I looked up at the vaguely starlit ceiling. Maybe I would just ask Aaron to drive up to Butler Heights tomorrow and leave that psychiatrist talking to herself.

  My body felt like a rubber band stretched too far. I was so tense I might just snap. My bed felt like a rowboat caught in a hurricane as I tossed and turned before finally falling asleep. Usually, I woke before my alarm sounded, but that morning, it thundered, and I snapped my eyes open. I had planned on looking especially good this morning for Aaron and for my friends when he and I entered the school building. Other girls, especially the older ones in our school, seemed to bloom when they were in happy romantic relationships. I could feel and see the envy in the ones who didn’t have boyfriends. The happier girls had voices full of excitement. They were far more animated, and their eyes sparkled as if they lived in a world where every day was Christmas or their birthdays.