Brooke

by V. C. Andrews

  I nearly laughed. I looked away and then stood up. He had hired a limousine to take me to the foster home. All I knew was it was a group foster home run by a couple who used to run it as a tourist house. Supposedly, there were at least a dozen children of various ages already there. Peter was told, and he tried to convince me, that it was only a temporary situation. Other, more personalized homes were being sought, and I would soon have another set of foster parents, maybe even adoptive parents.

  I couldn't help thinking about my mother and dreaming that she was the one waiting for me outside. She had heard about my situation, and she had come from wherever she lived to claim me. Now she was waiting outside in her car, and in a moment I would set eyes on her for the first time.

  It was a wonderful fantasy, one that helped me walk with determination and confidence, something Pamela would be proud to see, I thought. That brought a smile to my face and confused Peter, who watched me with a strange half-smile of his own.

  "I've arranged for you to have some money," he told me at the door. "It's been deposited in the bank."

  I almost said, "I earned it," but instead held my tongue and stepped outside. It was a gray, overcast day with a stiff breeze that lifted the remaining strands of my hair from my forehead. It had been Peter's idea to buy me a baseball cap. I put it on.

  He had spared no expense on the limousine, I thought. It was a long, sleek black car with a driver in uniform. He stepped out and waited.

  "You're an exceptional young lady, Brooke," Peter said. "Don't let anyone try to convince you otherwise.

  Whatever you set your mind on doing, I'm sure you'll do. Maybe you'll become a lawyer someday and come to my firm."

  "I don't think so," I said.

  It wiped the smile from his face. He looked sad enough to cry. "I wanted better things for you," he said. "I hope you believe that"

  I nodded. Then I looked back toward the stairway. Pamela wouldn't even know I'd left, I thought. What did it matter? We had never really become mother and daughter, not in the way I had dreamed we would.

  Peter leaned forward to kiss me on the forehead. "Good-bye, Brooke," he said. "Good luck."

  "Thanks," I muttered, and walked down to the car. When I looked back, Peter was still standing in the doorway. The breeze lifted his hair. He raised his hand, and then, as if hearing himself paged, he turned quickly and went back inside.

  We drove off. The driver tried to make conversation, but I wouldn't answer any questions, and soon I was riding in silence, listening to my own thoughts. A little less than two hours later, we pulled up in front of the group foster home, a place named the Lakewood House. It was a very large two-story house of gray clapboard with a wraparound porch. I realized it was very quiet because all of the children were probably at school. The driver began to unload my luggage just as a tall man with dark hair that fell over his forehead came around the corner. He had a pickax over his shoulder and his shirt off. His shoulders were thick with muscle, as were his long arms. His hands looked like steel vises. The fingers easily held the tool when he paused to swing it down.

  "Louise!" he shouted He stared at me. "Louise!" he screamed again, this time followed with striking the side of the building with the flat side of the pickax. I imagined it must have shaken the building and everything inside.

  Suddenly, the front door opened, and a tall brunette with shoulder-length hair came hurrying out. She looked about fifty, with soft wrinkles on the sides of her eyes and over her upper lip, wrinkles that would have given Pamela the heart attack she claimed I had almost given her. Louise had young, vibrant-looking, friendly blue eyes, however.

  "Sure she brought enough?" the big man asked, nodding at my pile of suitcases and bags.

  "We'll find a place for everything," Louise assured me.

  "Not in the room she has," he corrected.

  "We'll figure it out. Hi, honey. My name's Louise. This is my husband, Gordon. He looks after the place. Did you have a long ride?"

  "No," I said.

  "She wouldn't feel a long ride in a car like that, anyway," Gordon said, drawing closer. He stood gazing at me as he wiped his hands on his pants.

  "You're lucky. You have your own room. You don't need to share at the moment, but Gordon's right. There's not enough closet space for all this," Louise said, looking at the luggage.

  The driver slammed the trunk.

  "What'd ya get for something like this?" Gordon asked him.

  "A hundred and fifty," the driver answered quietly. "Maybe I oughtta go into the limo business," Gordon muttered.

  "Be my guest," the driver said, and got into the car. We didn't say good-bye since we never really said hello. I didn't even know his name, and I doubted if he knew mine

  "Who's supposed to carry all this inside?" Gordon asked.

  "I can do it myself," I said. "Don't worry about space. There's a lot I don't want."

  He stared at me with a sharpness and then smiled. "Independent, huh?" he asked.

  "Let's get her settled in first, Gordon. Then we'll all get to know each other."

  "Can't wait," Gordon said, and sauntered of toward the garage.

  "Gordon's not used to having children around the house," Louise explained. "We ran this as a prime tourist resort. But that was before the resort business began to suffer," she continued, and explained her history and the building's as we took in some of my things and I settled in my room. Then she showed me around the house, where the dining room was, the game room, the kitchen, explaining what went on in each during the heyday of the resort period. There were pictures on the walls of guests and employees. I did think it was interesting and almost felt as if I had come to a hotel.

  But that was a feeling that wouldn't last long.

  "I'll get you into school tomorrow," Louise promised. "For now, why don't you rest and wait for the others to come home? You'll make lots of friends here," she predicted.

  I didn't say anything The overcast sky was beginning to break up so that patches of blue were visible here and there. The breeze was still strong but warm. I walked the grounds and sat at the top of a small hill, looking down at the lake. There were interesting, beautiful birds to watch. I was so deep in my thoughts, I almost didn't hear the school bus arrive and the voices of other children. I smiled at the sight of them. The house seemed to come alive when they entered, as if it was a big, loving mother opening its arms.

  Soon, some curious children came looking for me. I imagined Louise had told them. A small girl with beautiful gold hair and a face that belonged on a doll walked behind an older, taller girl with thick glasses who carried a textbook and notebook. They paused a few feet from me.

  "Louise said you just arrived," the girl with the glasses began. "I'm Crystal. This is Janet Taylor. You can think of us as your welcoming committee," she added dryly.

  I laughed.

  They drew closer.

  "My name's Brooke," I said.

  "This is actually my favorite spot," Crystal said. "As long as the weather's good, I like to start my homework here."

  I nodded and gazed at Janet, who seemed so shy she had to sneak looks at me. I smiled at her, and slowly she smiled back. Then they sat, and the three of us looked out at the lake. The sun was breaking out now, and its rays felt wonderful on my face. It was washing away all the false faces I had worn.

  Crystal and Janet stared at me but remained quiet. I knew they had been through the system. We were like soldiers who had fought similar wars and knew that we didn't have to rush to get to know each other. We would have lots of time, because all the promises of new homes that had been made to us would fade in the days to come.

  I didn't care. I couldn't think about that now. I was looking beyond the lake.

  I could hear all the voices, the cheers, and the screams. I was up at the plate, looking at the pitcher and then back- at Coach Grossbard. She closed her eyes as if in prayer and then opened them and smiled I took a deep breath and dug in.

  Almost as soon
as I had hit that ball, I knew it was going to be a home run. It carried my hope with it as it soared higher and higher. I didn't care if I forgot everything else, lost all my recent memories, as long as I could close my eyes and relive that moment.

  As long as I could come around those bases toward home.