The question didn’t seem to concern her. Back to Charleston Heights, if he liked, or any comparable suburban neighborhood. A year-round beach house on Isle of Palms might be nice if he didn’t mind the commuting time. Just so they got out of where they were — that was all she cared about.
That and proximity to Channing, he thought.
He couldn’t sit still. He got up, carried his brandy glass through the downstairs rooms of the house. There was, he decided, nothing wrong with this house and a great deal right with it. The three of them ought to be capable of being very happy in it. They’d been a family once, a happy and complete family. Roberta’s affair and Caleb’s birth had interfered, had changed things, but Caleb was gone now (think of God’s will, good and acceptable and perfect) and if only Roberta were herself again—
And there was the problem.
She was seeing Channing. She was behaving curiously, her voice edged with brittle anxiety, her face sharp and drawn. She barely spoke to Ariel, treating her like an unwelcome stranger. And through it all she maintained poor Caleb’s room as some sort of morbid shrine, dusting it almost daily, insisting that he and Ariel stay out of it. He’d almost suggested she hang a padlock on the door, only refraining out of fear that she’d take him at his word.
If they were to sell the house, he had thought of telling her, she’d have to let strangers into her precious Caleb’s room. You couldn’t very well expect a prospective house buyer to leave one of the upstairs rooms uninspected. And, when the house sold, she’d have to clear out the room. The new owners might not want to maintain the room as it was, giving it National Landmark status.
He finished his brandy, but instead of pouring another he set down his pipe and climbed the stairs. They creaked underfoot. Ought to be able to do something about that, he thought, but the sound didn’t really bother him. An old house ought to have its repertoire of sounds. They were like gray hairs on an old man’s head.
Ariel was in her room, sitting on her bed with her notebook open on her lap.
“I didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said. “I suppose you’ve got a lot of homework?”
She shook her head, closed her book. “I’m all finished, daddy,” she said. “I was just looking over what I wrote.”
“They keep you pretty busy at this school?”
“I don’t mind it.”
He nodded absently. “I just felt like talking,” he said. “Unless you’ve got something you wanted to do.”
“No.”
“Some program on television you wanted to watch.”
“No.”
He sat on the bed beside her, looked at the portrait he’d hung for her. It was disproportionately large for the room, but she seemed to like it and that was all that really mattered. What had Roberta been saying about the portrait? He hadn’t been paying much attention, only recalled that she didn’t like it and seemed to find it symbolic of everything that was suddenly wrong with the house.
“Well,” he said. “What’s new, honey?”
“Nothing much.”
“School coming okay?”
“Sure.”
He put an arm around her and she snuggled her head to his shoulder. He felt a rush of warmth to his chest not unlike the sensation he obtained from swallowing a generous measure of brandy. His voice suddenly husky, he said, “Then everything’s okay with you?”
“Everything’s fine.”
“You like it here, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
“Better than our other house?”
“Tons better. I love this house.”
“How about your school?”
“It’s better.”
“Better teachers?”
“They’re about the same. The kids are better, though.”
“And you’ve got a best friend.”
“Erskine.”
“I haven’t really met him yet.”
“Well, he’s shy around grownups.”
“I was the same way when I was a kid.”
“You? Honest?”
“Honest.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Something I wanted to talk about with you,” he said. “Your mommy’s going through a hard time lately. I suppose you’ve been able to sense that yourself.”
She didn’t say anything.
“It’s the shock of what happened to your brother,” he went on. “She’s having trouble getting over it. It’s given her bad feelings about this house and—”
“Are we going to move?”
“I don’t think so. You don’t want to move, do you, honey?”
“No!”
He smiled at the determination in her tone. “Neither do I,” he admitted. “And I don’t really think it’ll come to that. It’s just something your mother has to go through right now, and we have to go through it with her. She’s been short-tempered with me and probably with you, too. She’s under a lot of emotional stress and it’s very difficult for her.”
“How can I help?”
“Just be understanding.”
“Okay.”
“And if you’ve got problems of your own, don’t keep them bottled up inside you. Bring ’em to me, hear?”
“Sure.”
He gave her another hug. “I love you so much,” he said “Your mother and I both love you. You know that, don’t you?”
“Sure.”
He glanced at his watch. “Rhoda’s going on in a minute,” he said. “Want to watch it with me?”
“Okay, sure.”
“You go ahead downstairs,” he said. “I’ll be down in minute.”
He walked into the upstairs bathroom while she hurried downstairs. What Roberta had said was true, he noticed — the stairs made no sound when Ariel used them. She weighed less, he thought, and walked lightly.
He didn’t really have to use the bathroom. He just wanted a moment alone, so he rinsed his hands and dried them and stood for a moment in thought.
“Your mother and I both love you. You know that, don’t you?”
Did Ariel believe it?
Was it true?
He loved her, certainly. And never more than he did tonight.
But Roberta?
He left the bathroom, walked the length of the hallway to the closed door of Caleb’s room.
And remembered.
Roberta at the hospital right after she’d had the baby. They were wheeling her to the recovery room and she was still delirious from the anesthetic. People always said crazy things when they were coming out from under anesthesia. It didn’t necessarily mean anything.
“David? David, there’s something you have to do.” And, when he’d leaned forward to catch her words, she’d whispered, “Get rid of Ariel, okay? We have a real baby now so we don’t need her anymore. Okay? You get rid of her. You take her back where she came from and I’ll bring the real baby home from the hospital. Okay, David?”
It didn’t mean anything. That’s what he told himself now and what he had assured himself at the time. People said crazy things under such conditions, and she was delirious and had no idea what she was saying.
“Your mother and I both love you. You know that, don’t you?”
He stopped to pour a glass of brandy and fill a pipe, then joined Ariel in front of the television set. They were still watching Rhoda when Roberta returned, barely acknowledging their greetings. She brushed past them into the kitchen, set down a bag of groceries, then swept past them to carry the rest of her purchases upstairs. The two of them went on watching television. David was on the point of saying something to Ariel, something about having to understand her mother’s behavior, but he couldn’t find a sentence that would improve the situation. He took a small sip of brandy instead and drew contemplatively on his pipe. It was perhaps ten minutes later that they heard Roberta scream.
Fifteen