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"We have all this grief, all this tragedy, one thing after another. Everyone's trying to deal with it, to make the best of things, to restore a bit of normalcy to our shattered lives and you . . . you rotten and spoiled . . ."
"I am not rotten and spoiled!" I shot back, my spine straightening into a steel rod. "And whose life was shattered? Certainly not yours!"
"Uh huh," she said, shaking her head. "Uh huh." She smiled coldly. It was a sickly, small smile around her lips. "I didn't think I would find you remorseful. I didn't think the pain you put us through would make any difference to you. You think only of yourself." The smile faded quickly. "Well, you're under our supervision. We're responsible for you and for how you behave. You've done a very bad thing and you must be punished."
She straightened up to face me, her eyes fixed on mine.
"You are confined to your room until further notice. You may come down only for meals and then you march right back up there, you hear me.
You will receive no phone calls nor make any, nor will you be permitted any visitors. And let me warn you, young lady," she said, stepping closer and sticking her long, bony forefinger at me, "don't even think of violating any of my rules anymore.
"Go on upstairs. Go on!" she ordered, pointing to the stairway. I looked at Uncle Philip, who seemed subdued by her outburst. Then I charged away from both of them and pounded my way up the stairs. As I hurried to my room, I saw the door to what was Jefferson's and now Richard's room, too, open. He peered out at me, his face full of self-satisfaction.
"What are you looking at?" I snapped.
He kept his smile, but he closed the door.
I burst into my room and stood fuming for a few moments. How dare she talk to me like that? I thought. I should have told her the truth. I should have told her why I ran away. It would have left her so flabbergasted, she wouldn't be able to speak for days. And when she did speak, she would stutter. I felt good knowing I could smash her with the truth any time I saw fit. But once my fury subsided, I realized that announcing what Uncle Philip had done to me was not the easiest thing to do. It would hurt me as well. It was a double-edged sword, just like most tools of revenge.
No, it was better to ignore her, too, I thought, to pretend she didn't exist, to pretend none of them existed. I would tolerate them until Jefferson was well and then, I would think of something else to do. I had no other choice.
In many ways it was good to be home, to be in my own room again and to see the stuffed animals Mommy and Daddy had given me. It was wonderful to smell my own linen and use my brush while sitting at my vanity table. My room was filled with good memories, too, and they were all memories that reminded me of times with Mommy and with Daddy.
I was exhausted. Now that I had stopped moving, now that I was settled in my room again, the events of the past twenty-four hours plowed over me. All the emotions, the tensions, the horror and the hardship came rushing back at me, drowning me in a sea of weariness, draining me of whatever iota of energy remained in my body.
I began to undress for bed, but when I went to my closet to hang up my clothes, I was greeted with another welcome-home surprise. My wonderful Sweet Sixteen dress had been sliced in two. It lay on the floor like a fatally wounded sea gull, the shoulders of the bodice spread like two wings. It had been cut right at the bottom of the neckline and the billowing skirt torn and shredded. It looked like it had been attacked and hacked by a madman.
"Oh no," I cried, kneeling down and embracing the ravaged garment to me. "Oh no!" I screamed. "No!" The door of my room was thrust open.
"What is it? Why are you screaming? Don't you realize how late it is?" Aunt Bet demanded.
"Look," I said, holding my dress out toward her. "Look at what one or both of your precious special twins did."
She gazed at the dress and smirked.
"I'm sure neither of them would have done that. They don't do those kinds of things. Anyway, it's your own fault," she said, folding her arms and straightening as firmly and stiffly as an iron pole. "If you hadn't run away, you would have been here to take care of your things, wouldn't you? Now, stop screaming and go to sleep," she added and closed the door. Then I heard a key turn in the lock and realized she had locked me in my own room.
I sank to the floor, clutching the dress. All I could see was Mommy's radiant smile when she had come in and seen me in it. I felt as if the tears that were streaming down my face were her tears. She was crying through me and with me. My body shook with the sobs until my stomach ached. I sat there bent over with the soft crinoline against my face until finally I could shed no more tears. Then I rose slowly and laid the dress out on the bed and fell asleep beside it, hoping that somehow when I woke up in the morning, I would find that it had all been one long, horrible dream.
I would wake up and it would be the morning of my Sweet Sixteen party. Mommy and Daddy would be alive, Jefferson would be well, Gavin would be coming along with all the wonderful guests and dear friends like Aunt Trisha. The sky would be blue and the ocean would look crystal-
clear and fresh.
Was there ever, ever a time like that?
The only thing that got me up in the morning was my desire to find out about Jefferson. Despite the late hour at which I had gone to sleep, Aunt Bet was determined to keep me from sleeping late anyway. She pounded on my door and then opened it abruptly.
"Still in bed?" she asked. I wiped my eyes and sat up slowly. "We have a new maid who follows very specific orders. Breakfast is served only once. If you miss it, you don't eat until lunch and if you miss that, you don't eat until dinner. We're all dressed and ready to go down so I would advise you to get out of bed and get dressed rapidly if you want anything to eat."
"I want to know about my brother," I said. "That's all I want."
"Suit yourself," she said and closed the door.
I fell back against the pillow. My eyes shifted to my torn dress again and my heart ached. Finally, I rose and went to my dresser drawers to get fresh undergarments and then go into the bathroom to shower, but when I pulled open my drawer, I stepped back in horror. Dead worms and clumps of mud had been tossed over my panties.
This was all Richard's work, I thought, but it would be no good to call Aunt Bet in to see it. She didn't care and she would only defend him. I pulled out the drawer and carried it into the bathroom where I emptied the mud and dead worms into the toilet. I took out my panties and put the drawer back. Then I looked around the room. Who knew what else he and his sister had done here? What else would I find broken or spoiled?
I did find more vandalism. Some of my perfumes and colognes had been mixed together and ruined. There were globs of skin cream in my shoes, lipstick smeared on blouses, and water had been poured into one of my jewelry boxes. I repaired as much of the damage as I could and then took my shower, but by the time I was ready to go downstairs, Aunt Bet had declared the breakfast hour over. She did so by appearing at my door before I opened it and turning the key in the lock again.
