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"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised. "Whenever you need me, I'll always be there," he added before hanging up.
Perhaps it was Logan's promise, more than anything else, that opened the floodgates for my tears to rush out. I knew he meant what he said, and the softness in his voice reminded me of how much I needed and wanted family. I had once hoped that Jillian would be more like a mother than a grandmother to me. She turned out to be neither and I resented her for that, but I had never stopped wanting her to love and need me.
I thought about all the family I had lost--the mother I had never known because she died giving birth to me, the father I thought I had, but who resented me because my birth took away the young wife he adored, my granny, who was old far before her time, worn down and haggard by the hard life in the Willies, my grandpa, who had come to love and rely on me, but who was lost in his own imaginary world until the day he died, and my gentle and loving brother Tom, the victim of a cruel freak accident, an accident caused by my need for love and retribution.
For me love had always been like a small cloud of smoke drifting through my life. I reached out to touch it, my hands plunged right through it, and it drifted on, farther and farther until it disappeared in the distance. Only Logan had remained constant as the sun. Only Logan promised always to be there. And Troy. . . at the thought of him all I could do was cry. I cried for myself as well as for Troy and for Jillian. I cried for Granny and Grandpa and Tom and the mother I never knew. Finally I cried only for Jillian. Perhaps as she sat before that false mirror and put on her makeup for the last time, she came to know the truth. Perhaps she turned to a dark corner in her suite and saw Death standing there, waiting patiently, smiling gently as Granny had smiled when she died. I could almost hear her talking to Death, as if He were someone who had come to escort her to the most gala affair of her life.
"Oh, dear," she would say, "are you here already? You must be patient; you must give me time to prepare myself properly. There are distinguished people to meet and see. I must refuse to go anywhere until I am ready," she would insist. Then she would have gone to her closet and sifted through all the garments until she settled on that black suit, thinking it was perfect for this particular occasion.
"And anyway, Tony always tells me that black is my best color. What do you think?" she would ask, turning to Death and showing Him the outfit. Death would nod and smile and she would put it on, splashing the jasmine perfume over her breasts and arms beforehand. Then she would have worked on her hair, choosing those beautiful pearl combs. "These Tony gave me years ago. As a surprise, you know. He was always coming home with some surprise or another. He loves me so. Worships me, you know."
Yes, Death knew.
She made Him wait as she worked on her makeup, perhaps for hours, until she was satisfied. Then, rising from her seat, she turned and spun and studied herself from every angle. Finally she went into Martha Goodman's room and found the bottle of tranquilizers.
Back in her suite she swallowed pill after pill, chattering away about this friend or that, about something this one wore that was in style, something that one wore that was out of style. Death was patient, a good listener. How happy He made her right to the end.
"I'm very tired," she must have finally told Him and He finally came out of his corner. Perhaps she lifted her hand as He approached, and when He took it, she closed her eyes. His wait was almost over.
In her mind she must have heard music and long strings of thin laughter. There were people all around her, fine guests dressed in elegant clothing, and Tony standing off to the side as usual with his business associates watching her proudly, for she was his forever young and beautiful wife, even to this moment, this final, wonderful send-off party at which she was the guest of honor.
As it should be, as it always would be.
I sighed, rubbed away the tears with my fists, and rose to go to the bathroom and wash away the evidence of my mourning. I had to be strong for Tony and for Logan and for the servants. I had a responsibility now. I couldn't be a little girl from the Willies.
The doctor had already arrived, examined Jillian, and declared her dead by the time I joined everyone downstairs. An ambulance had been sent to take her body to the nearby hospital where an autopsy would be performed immediately. Since it was a suicide, the police had to be called in. Tony
submerged himself in all these things eagerly, grateful for the distractions.
Of course, the servants were depressed. There was a heavy, mournful pall about the great house, even though it was a bright, warm d
ay. Curtis kept the curtains closed; everyone spoke softly and looked at one another with sad, drooping eyes. Martha Goodman remained in her room most of the day. I visited with her twice. Her plan was to remain at Farthy until the funeral and then leave.
Jillian still had two living sisters and a living brother. Her mother, Jana Jankins, whom I had met when she was already eighty-six years old, was now quite senile and in a nursing home. Tony called the sisters, who lived together, and they said they would call their brother and all be at the funeral. He told me that from the tone of their voices, it was pretty clear they were all expecting some inheritance.
"They're going to be terribly disappointed," he said. "Jillian was never close with them. In fact, she despised them. There is nothing in her will for them. But there is something for you," he said.
"Please, I don't want to talk about it now," I insisted.
"But we must, Heaven. It was something she decided to do shortly after the incident with Troy, when she told him about Leigh and me and who you really were. She made me promise never to mention it to you. She wanted to be sure that you didn't think she was trying to buy back your love and affection for her. Of course, after she became the way she was, I never gave it much thought and until now I forgot all about it."
"I guess she was a little more complicated than I had thought," I said. He nodded. "We all seem to be torn between our loves and our hates, pulled in two different directions much of the time, tormented by our feelings. It's almost better to be . . to be . . ."
"To be like she finally was," he offered. "Lost in a comfortable illusion." He stared at me. "How much you look like her now, like her when she was young and very, very beautiful," he said.
I couldn't remember when he had last looked at me so intently. It made me uncomfortable.
"Is there anything else I can do?" I asked quickly.
"What? No, no." The phone rang. "I'll be all right. Logan should be here soon," he said, picking up the receiver.
Tony remained in his office most of the day, refusing to take anything but tea. As the news spread, phone calls came from his business acquaintances and friends. I left him alone when I realized there was still a good hour before Logan's arrival and I had time to go to Troy and tell him the terrible news. I didn't imagine that Tony would have thought to inform him.
This time I went quickly through the maze, threading through the corridors automatically, without so much as a thought about this turn or that. As usual this time of the day, the front of the little cottage was bathed in sunlight, its storybook appearance an inviting respite from grief and sorrow. Once again I thought of it as an escape from reality, this time very sad and tragic reality.
I knocked on the door softly and turned the handle, surprised to discover that the door was locked. I knocked harder. It was unusual for Troy to lock his cottage door. He never worried about thieves or intruders, even when he left the cottage for a prolonged period of time. Since I didn't hear his footsteps, I peered into a front window. The cottage looked empty, quiet. There seemed to be no sign of him.
"Troy," I called. "Are you in there?"
