Unfinished Symphony (23 page)

Yesterday's storm had passed and the small vanilla scoops of clouds looked like they were melting over the powder blue sky. The instant I saw Cary's truck, I ran out to greet him. As we drove away from Grandma Olivia's dreary home, Cary and I remarked on how bright the sun seemed, how clean and clear the air, how beautiful the grass and flowers. It filled me with a renewed sense of hope and reminded me of when I was younger and I believed life would be like one long and perfect summer day, a day just like this one.

I was about to see my closest relative again. I hoped that taking her off her medication had cleared her head. I couldn't wait to hug her and talk to her about everything, especially all my dreams and plans for the future. At least Belinda had time to listen, I thought. At least I had someone neither Mommy nor Grandma Olivia could take from me.

As we drove up to the rest home, Cary talked about the times his twin sister Laura had gone to see my grandmother before Uncle Jacob had forbidden any further visits. Cary hadn't talked about Laura for quite a while. When I had first come to Provincetown, just pronouncing her name seemed to bring pain to his lips.

"Why did Laura visit her so often, Cary?" I asked. He thought for a moment, his memories brightening his sea-green eyes.

"Belinda took to Laura the first time she met her. It was as if they recognized something soft and loving in each other, some secret the two of them shared. No matter who else was present, Belinda directed herself only to Laura. No one knew about the first time Laura visited her up here. In fact, if I recall, my father didn't discover it was going on until the third or fourth time, and only then because some spy of Grandma Olivia's told her about the visits. She called Dad and he chastised Laura for going; after all, Belinda was the black sheep of the family. We weren't supposed to mention her name, much less visit her.

"But Dad always had trouble forbidding Laura to do things," Cary continued. "Whenever Laura and I did something he didn't approve of, Dad would direct himself mainly to me, barely looking at Laura, as if she hadn't been involved at all He never thought he let his soft spot show, but it was obvious he always thought things were my fault anyway, as if I was the one who should have known better or should have been more responsible. Laura would fly to my defense, of course, taking as much blame as she could, but Dad wouldn't hear of it. He would accuse her of trying to protect me."

'But Dad,' she would exclaim, 'Cary wasn't even there!'
"No matter,' Dad would growl back. 'He should have been there to stop you or warn you.' "
"Once," he said turning to me as we drove up the side road toward the rest home, "I took quite a beating for the both of us. He whipped me with a thick leather strap and I had so many welts on my rear end I couldn't sit for days. I had to lie on my stomach. Laura came into my room and sat beside the bed, crying as if she felt the pain as much as I did. I tell you, I stopped feeling sorry for myself and didn't feel as much pain. One of my tears would draw ten of hers, so I had to stop crying or she would drown the two of us," he explained with a laugh.
"Anyway, she would bike all the way up here to visit Belinda, and Belinda really looked forward to her visits, from what I heard. I think Grandma Olivia was jealous. Laura never biked over to visit her." He smiled, turning to me. "Like you, Laura cared more about other people than she cared about herself, especially those who were less fortunate, whether it was because of lack of money or lack of love."
We pulled into a parking space and got out of the truck and made our way to the entrance of the home. A pretty nurse greeted us just inside the lobby. Her name tag read MRS. WILLIAMS. I hadn't seen her before. She didn't look much older than her late twenties.
There weren't as many residents sitting there as the last time I had visited, but once again, my appearance, and especially Cary's, too, drew all their attention, quieted their conversations, interrupted their checkers and card games.
I explained who we were and whom we had come to visit, but before Mrs. Williams could respond, Mrs. Greene stepped out of her office and drew our attention as she came toward us, her high heels clicking over the tile floor.
"Well, it's been some time since your last visit," she said. "Iron led me to believe you would be here frequently," she added as if she had caught me in a lie.
"I've been away," I explained. She smirked and turned to the nurse. "I'll see to them, Mrs. Williams."
"Yes, ma'am," the nurse said and returned to the other residents.
"Your grandmother is in the garden," she said, glancing quickly at Cary. "This is a family member, I assume?"
"Yes, he is. How is she doing?"
"Quite well, actually. I should warn you that since you've been here, Miss Gordon's formed a friendship with one of our other residents, Mr. Mandel, and the two of them spend most of their time together."
Cary smiled but Mrs. Greene didn't even acknowledge him.
"It's just a companionship, of course," she continued, speaking through her tight jaw as she led us through the lobby and down a corridor to a side door that opened on the gardens and walkways, "but we encourage such things. We find it's good for their mental health to develop relationships with other residents."
"You talk about them as if they're some other species," I remarked. Cary's eyes widened, surprised at my tone of voice and confrontational demeanor, but I recalled this woman's attitude about me the other times we had met, and I was sure she was somehow on Grandma Olivia's payroll.
"The elderly practically are some other species," she replied, not skipping a beat. "However, only someone who has to work with them day in and day out would understand, I'm afraid,"
She flashed as artificial a smile at us as I had ever seen and then nodded toward Grandma Belinda and a short, bald man sitting on a bench. He had a dark wood cane and leaned on it as he sat. His glasses had slipped down the bridge of his nose until they tottered at the very crest of his narrow nostrils. He wore a blue suit jacket, but pants of a lighter shade, almost gray actually. His tie was awkwardly knotted with one half far longer than the other and his socks sagged around his ankles.
As we approached I was hoping Grandma Belinda would remember me. When her face brightened, I thought she had.
"Well, look who's here, Thomas, my
grandnephew and grandniece," she said and I realized that because I had come with Cary, she assumed I was Laura.
"No, Grandma," I said. "It's Melody, not Laura."
"Melody?" She looked at Cary.
"That's right, Aunt Belinda. It's your
granddaughter, Melody. How are you?"
She looked from him to me and blinked rapidly. Even though she appeared to be struggling with her memory, she was far from as pale and drained as she had been the last time I had visited. She looked bright, her cheeks a little rosy. She had taken care to brush her hair neatly, and she even wore a little lipstick. I saw she was holding on to Mr. Mandel's left hand. He smiled up at us, nodding.
"Oh," Grandma Belinda said. "I want you two to meet Mr. Mandel. He used to be an accountant and can still add lots of numbers in his head, big
numbers!"
"Don't exaggerate, Belinda. I'm not anything like I was," he said jovially. "Pleased to meet you. I guess I'll let you visit with your family, Belinda," he said, rising and patting her softly on the back of her hand.
"You don't have to leave, Mr. Mandel," I said, seeing the disappointment on Grandma Belinda's face.
"No, no, I have to talk to Mrs. Landeau about her tax shelter investments. I promised her. You go on. Here, take my seat," he said to me.
Grandma Belinda looked sadly after him as he wobbled away on his cane. Then her eyes shadowed, growing deep, dark, her face turning angry and resembling Grandma Olivia's face.
"I know what she's up to, asking him for advice," she muttered. "She had her eyes on him the moment he came over to sit with me in the dining room. Green with envy, that one. I bet she hasn't a cent invested in anything anymore. She's just lying to get him to pay attention to her. I know that type. They can't stand to see someone else happy."
Cary laughed. I shook my head at him so he would stop; I didn't want Grandma Belinda to think he was laughing at her. Then I sat beside her, taking her hand into mine.
"Grandma, don't you remember my coming to see you before?" I asked. "Don't you remember our talks?"
She glanced up at Cary and then smiled at me.
"Of course, I remember. How are your parents?"
Cary and I exchanged looks of disappointment. Should we confront Grandma Belinda with doses of reality or was it better to assume the roles her confused mind assigned us?
"Look at me, Grandma Belinda. I'm Melody, Haille's daughter, your granddaughter. I'm not Laura. I've come to tell you about Haille. I went to see her in California."
She stared at me, pressing her lips together. Then her face turned harder, her eyes colder.
"I don't have a daughter," she said. "Everyone has to stop saying that." She turned to look after Mr. Mandel, her voice full of rage. "Now you've gone and chased Mr. Mandel away and that Corina Landeau is going to get her claws into him. Every time I find someone, someone tries to steal him away. My sister's no exception either." She turned back to us and her face suddenly softened again with a sweet smile. "How's your mother? You tell her I enjoyed the cookies and if she wants to make me some more, I won't object."
"Grandma," I said with more desperation, "please, try to remember my other visits. I'm Melody, Melody, Haille's daughter."
She continued to look after Mr. Mandel and from the faraway look on her face, I could tell she wasn't listening to me. I sighed deeply and Cary put his hand on my shoulder.
"Grandma Olivia wanted me to come up here and give her a dose of reality. I think she knew what I would find," I said bitterly.
"She was here," Grandma Belinda said, her gaze still fixed away from us. "She paid me a visit. I suppose I'm to be honored."
"Who was here, Grandma?" I asked.
"Her majesty, who else?" she said, turning back to us. "She told me Haille was dead, killed in a car accident long ago. So you see, I can't have a granddaughter. I don't have anyone. I had Mr. Mandel, but now----"
"That's not true, Grandma. She lied. You have me, Grandma," I said. "Please, look at me, remember me. I visited you before. Don't you remember?" I cried, practically pleading with her. She stared at me, her eyes empty.
I turned to Cary and so did Grandma Belinda. "How's your mother, Cary?" she asked. "Does she still do that beautiful needlework?"
"Yes, she does, Aunt Belinda." He smiled and she nodded.
"I used to do needlework, but my fingers are too clumsy now. That's what happens. You get older and your fingers get clumsy." She shook her head sadly and then turned back toward Mr. Mandel and pressed her lips together so hard little white lines of rage formed.
"Just look at her beaming over there," she muttered under her breath. "He's talking and she's beaming. She doesn't have a penny invested. I told him, but men don't listen. Some other woman bats her eyelashes at them and they go chasing after them. You understand, don't you?" she asked turning back to me as if she just realized I was sitting beside her. She smiled. "Just look at you. Look at you. You look so grown up, Laura. So grown up. Don't fall in love too fast," she warned as she turned back to look at Mr. Mandel. "Why don't we just walk over there and I'll pretend to need him to help me with my money, too. Yes," she said, pleased that she'd come up with a solution to the problem.
"Grandma . . ."
She continued to stare after Mr. Mandel.
"It's no use, Melody," Cary said. "She's not going to remember. You're just wasting time and facing more disappointment."
"But she is all I have left, Cary. I have no other family," I moaned.
"You've got me," he said emphatically.
"I thought she'd remember," I said, gazing at her wistfully. "I thought we'd have some time together, but obviously Grandma Olivia made sure we wouldn't," I added. "She came up here and confused her. She did it deliberately."
"Let's go, Melody."
"She's jealous of everything, even the fragile relationship I was building with my grandmother. She just came bursting in here and swept it all away."
"Melody, you're getting yourself all worked up. Come on," he urged.
"Do me a favor," Grandma Belinda said when I stood up. "Just go over there and ask Mr. Mandel to come back. Tell him I need him right away."
"He'll come back to you, Grandma," I said. "You're much prettier than she is."
"I am?" She brightened again and nodded. "Yes, I am much prettier, aren't I?" she agreed, brushing the sides of her hair with her palms. "He'll see that. She's got that mole on her chin with tiny hairs. I don't even have many wrinkles, do I?" She turned to us, raising her face to the sunlight, her eyes closed, her lips pursed like a young flirt.
"No, Grandma, you don't," I said and touched her cheek. She opened her eyes and gazed up at me.
"You look like an angel now," she said. "Your mother must be very proud of you."
"She is," Cary said quickly. "Very proud."
"That's nice. That's the way it should be."
She turned back to glare in Mr. Mandel's direction. Cary tugged my hand and I stood up beside him. "She'll be all right," he said.
"You're right," I said. I leaned over and gave her a kiss on her cheek, but she didn't notice. Her gaze was locked on Mr. Mandel. "Bye Grandma. I'll come back. I promise."
"Don't forget the cookies," she called as we started away. I looked back at her once before we left the garden. Mr. Mandel had left the other woman and was hobbling down the path toward her and she looked very contented, very happy.
"Maybe it's time you started thinking more about yourself, about us," Cary said as we left the rest home. "Maybe it's time we both looked to the future and not to the past, huh?"
"Maybe," I agreed, but I wasn't as confident as he was that the past would let us do that.
I said nothing to Grandma Olivia about her visit to the rest home. I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had once again gotten her way. When she asked about my visit, I said it was fine and left it at that. If I was Jo survive in her world, I had to learn to play the game her way. For the time being, I would pretend to be the young woman she wanted me to be.
The next day, as Grandma Olivia had promised, Miss Burton arrived at the house to begin my education in etiquette, making me feel from the start that I wasn't much better than some hick who had just arrived on these precious Cape Cod shores. I was sure it was how Grandma Olivia had described me to her.
She called me down to the parlor and
introduced me.
"Miss Burton, I'd like you to meet my granddaughter, Melody," Grandma Olivia said, and I looked at the tall, thin woman who stood so straight, I thought she had a steel rod for a spine. She had very small shoulders, the bones of which pressed up sharply against the dark blue cotton dress that hung over her body in a straight line. Its hem reached her ankles and it was buttoned at the collar.
Miss Burton said nothing but held out her hand.
"Hi," I offered, shook her hand quickly, backed away and looked at Grandma Olivia, whose head bobbed slightly in approval.
"Until school begins, Miss Burton will meet with you promptly at nine A.M. each weekday morning. After school begins, you will arrange your schedules accordingly."
"For how long?" I asked.
"For as long as it takes to turn you into a lady," Grandma Olivia replied curtly.
"I think I am a lady," I returned. Grandma Olivia grinned coldly and looked at Miss Burton.
"As you see, you have a real challenge here, Louise." "I'm sure we'll do what we can," Miss Burton said, still scrutinizing me intently.
"Then I'll leave you to begin. I know you need all the time allotted for your lesson. And then some," Grandma added and walked out of the parlor. For a moment Miss Burton and I just looked at each other, sizing each other up like two combatants. Then she cleared her throat and took a step toward me as if someone had given her a shove from behind.
"I can help you only if you want to be helped," she said grimly.
"I don't think I need to be helped," I replied honestly, since she wanted to be frank.
"Oh, my dear," she said smiling and shaking her head, "you most definitely need to be helped."
"Really?" I said dryly. "And how can you tell so quickly, or are you basing everything on what my grandmother has told you about me?"
"I make my own evaluations of people. Let's simply begin with your entrance this morning. Mrs. Logan introduced you properly to me. A young person is always introduced to an older person, but you don't say 'Hi.' The very least you say, is simply 'Hello.' This is acceptable in any situation except, of course, after a very formal introduction. We had a somewhat formal introduction. You should have said, 'Hello, Miss Burton, I'm glad to meet you,' or 'How do you do, Miss Burton.' Furthermore, a formal verbal greeting should be accompanied by direct eye contact, which indicates that you are actually paying attention to the person you are acknowledging. You let your eyes wander to Mrs. Logan, the room, me, Mrs. Logan, back to me again," she lectured. "Should I continue?" she asked.