House Of Secrets (4 page)

F
or several minutes none of us said a word. It was as if the truth, spoken aloud, had somehow caused us all to go mute. Pain in my hands made me realize I had gripped the steering wheel as if it were a life preserver. I loosened my hold, but it didn’t do much to relax me.

“Look, I know we made a promise to never talk about it—to never ask Daddy about it,” Piper began, “but I can’t help but think enough time has passed. We’re all grown, after all.”

“I doubt any amount of time is enough when a murder was committed.” Geena turned to me. “But I do agree with Piper. Enough is enough. We have to confront him. We have a right to know what happened that night and why.”

“But we know what happened,” I said, shaking my head. “Confronting Dad won’t change that, and it very well might ruin our relationship with him.”

“Relationship?” Piper asked. “I have more of a relationship with his checkbook than with him.”

I shrugged. “Well, it will put us all in an awkward position.”

“More awkward than what we’ve already known?” Geena asked. “Come on, I think we all know this family can’t get much more dysfunctional.”

“Things can always get worse,” I muttered.

Piper surprised me with her growing irritation. “But I would like to know the truth. Look, Dad probably wants to tell us as much as we want to know. Can you even imagine carrying something like this around for all these years? I think it would be a relief to share the story.”

I felt my stomach lurch. I was either becoming seasick or talking about that night was getting to me. I sipped my coffee and closed my eyes. Coming here had been a bad idea. A really bad idea. And I found myself simply wishing I could talk . . . not to my therapist, but to Mark.

Where had that idea come from? Was it now, when I felt time and memories ganging up on me, that I would admit my longing for Mark Delahunt’s comfort? I chided myself silently. Next thing you knew I’d be thinking about God as well. Better to put an end to such thinking here and now.

People were returning to the cars around us, and all I could think of was how glad I’d be to leave this ferry. The walls had closed in on me.

“I think we should just go slow with this,” I finally replied.

Geena rummaged through her handbag and pulled out a stick of gum. “Dad said he wanted all of us here for some announcement. It could be he does want to talk about that night, but it could also be that he has something else in mind. Let’s just wait and see what happens.”

But that was just the problem, I thought. I hated surprises. Hated anything out of the norm. I had come to depend on my schedule and order over the years to keep me on an even keel.

Geena secured her seatbelt. “We’ve spent a lifetime keeping this to ourselves. What’s a few more days or years?” Sarcasm laced her words.

I noted the bitterness in her tone, but I said nothing. I had no desire to get into this further. In fact, I wished fervently that I could forget we’d ever brought the subject up.

Geena had already plugged in our address on the GPS, while I maneuvered through the ferry traffic to disembark. Lights glittered from the buildings and reflected on the black waters of Sinclair Inlet. It felt hauntingly familiar. I followed the other cars onto Washington Avenue without another word.

This was a huge mistake, I told myself. Over the years I’d learned to live with our family secrets—our life of unspeakable questions. What in the world was Dad thinking to bring us all here now? I felt my chest tighten.

“At the next street make a right onto the Manette Bridge,” Geena instructed about the time the GPS announced the same.

I suddenly felt exhausted. A sort of oppression had settled over me—weighing me down, stealing all of my residual energy. I heard the siren before I saw the flashing lights of the ambulance pop around the corner ahead of us. I braked hard and waited for it to pass, but in my mind I saw the ambulance in the tree-lined driveway of our summer home.

I could still hear the paramedics calling out numbers, orders, concerns.

“She’s not breathing. We’re going to need to intubate.”

“She’s not responding.”

“There’s no heartbeat. Charging the paddles. Clear!”

“You can go now.” Geena’s voice came through the muddled images in my mind.

I looked at her for a moment. From her expression I knew she had no idea where my thoughts had taken me. I nodded and made a quick glance over my shoulder before pulling out.

For the first time in years, I really found myself wishing that I had faith in God. Mark always seemed so strong in his beliefs, but I couldn’t help but equate God to a sense of betrayal and church to the scorn my mother had faced—that we all had faced.

“I don’t remember any of this,” Piper announced from behind me as I turned onto the bridge.

“I know what you mean,” Geena said. “Most of it is a blur. But wait! Look on the other side of the water—there’s a restaurant there. I remember going there a long time ago. Oh, what was it called—the Boat House?”

“The Boat Shed,” I replied mechanically.

“That’s it!” Geena seemed so excited.

I found myself sharing aloud what my therapist had said. “Dinah thinks that coming here is a good idea. She said there will most likely be many visuals that will help with unlocking memories, and in turn, help with healing.” Why didn’t I believe her?

Geena ignored my comment and continued to give directions. “You’re going to angle over and get on Eleventh Street.”

I had never driven this route, but I had ridden it many times before. Our house was on the east side of Bremerton, facing the water. Dad had purchased the house long ago as an investment and getaway for the family. Momma hated the area’s rainy weather, but she always seemed to like the seclusion this beach house offered. She told me once that it was safe here. I never really understood what we were safe from.

“At Trenton, turn left. Then you’ll stay on that for a mile or so,” Geena instructed.

“Do you suppose any of it will look familiar to us?” Piper questioned.

I felt fairly confident that far too much would look familiar. “I think we’ll be able to gauge that better in the light of day,” I answered.

It seemed appropriate that we should return to this place under cover of darkness. It was rather like naughty children sneaking back into their rooms—like we had done that fateful night. I sensed, more than remembered, that we were getting very close. I followed Geena’s directions, turning first right and then left again. When Geena declared with the GPS that we were arriving at our destination on the right, I was already starting to turn. How could I have known? I was just a little girl the last time we’d made this turn.

Our house was set on a rocky ledge that rose about fifteen feet from the shore. The drive to our home was narrow and steep, and dropped down considerably from the higher roadway. We were canopied by trees of various types, their branches stretching at awkward angles along the way. From the road there was no indication of a house below. For all intents and purposes, it looked like an abandoned, heavily forested piece of property. Exactly the reason our father had chosen it.

“This is really creepy,” Piper said from the back seat. “The trees are snuffing out all of the light.”

“Not that there was much to begin with,” Geena interjected.

The last of the streetlights faded from view as the driveway curved and declined in a steep grade toward the bay. I couldn’t see the house or the water yet. The thickness of cedars, firs, yews, and alders blended as one in the limited illumination of the car’s headlights. I didn’t remember it seeming so frightening.

We passed a small building to the right. I figured it must have been the guest cottage Dad had contracted a few years back when tourism in the area really began to build. There had always been a small building there, but it wasn’t used for guests until Dad had it rebuilt. Now caretakers rented the cottage and beach house out to vacationers. Dad said it was quite profitable; he was actually thinking of acquiring additional properties.

“Sure glad the rain hasn’t made it too muddy,” Piper said.

“Dad had the drive packed with rock,” Geena threw out. “He said it was nearly as solid as asphalt and that we shouldn’t have any trouble.”

We rounded the last bend to see lights shining from the house. Dad had said he’d arrange with the caretakers to have the place readied for our arrival. I supposed that meant leaving the lights on for us.

I pulled to a stop outside the garage and turned off the engine. For a moment none of us moved. I figured we all had that same strange sense of returning to the scene of a horrible accident.

Glancing up at the house, I remembered someone describing it as a two-story Alpine saltbox style. You found a lot of saltbox houses back east. They had been a popular Colonial period design. Here, however, I thought the house looked displaced. Perhaps that’s why Dad had purchased it. Maybe it had reminded him of his childhood in New England.

“Well, the car won’t unpack itself,” Geena said, opening the car door.

Piper quickly followed suit, leaving me to decide whether to remain seated or do likewise. I moved rather stiffly to open the door. My senses were assaulted by the damp, earthy scents. We gathered our things from the trunk and hurried up the stone walkway to the front door.

“I have the key,” Piper offered. “Dad gave it to me just before he flew out on business.” She edged past Geena to unlock the door.

We might have hesitated to enter, but the rain was now falling in earnest, sending us quickly inside. We maneuvered in just far enough to close the door behind us, however. I momentarily forgot about Piper and Geena as my eyes caught sight of the surroundings. Despite at least two remodeling jobs on the main house; the place had an odd feeling of familiarity.

Looking past the entryway, I could see the large great room. Without thinking, I set aside my luggage and walked forward, soaking it all in. The high vaulted ceilings, the stone wall and fireplace, the dark wood floors. To the right was the staircase and above, the landing where we girls had spied on our mother and father.

“I don’t like to think of strangers renting this place,” Geena said, coming to stand alongside me. “I know Dad kept the master bedroom off-limits to the tourists, but I still feel as though people were intruding here.”

Piper moved around the room touching the furniture. None of it was the same stuff we’d known. She turned and looked at me and shook her head.

“I really can’t remember much of anything. I know my room was upstairs. I remember sitting on the stairs all those times we snuck out of bed.” She went to the window. “I remember the stone steps to the beach and all the trees.” Piper pulled back from the glass. “I wish I could remember more.”

No you don’t
, I thought.
Be glad you don’t remember.
How I wished I could forget more than I already had. I glanced once more to the stairs. I could almost see three little girls crouched there in silence. Dinah told me that burying memories was my way of protecting myself. So why couldn’t I forget that night along with the other things I’d put away from my mind?

“I wonder if anyone thought to stock the fridge,” Geena said, heading across the room to the kitchen.

Here more than anywhere the house looked different. The kitchen had been anything but grand when we’d been little, but now it looked like something a professional chef would have designed. A large granite-topped island separated the kitchen from the rest of the great room. Large stainless-steel appliances had been purchased to replace the old standard white ones, and rich cherry cabinets lined the far wall.

Geena opened the refrigerator and gave a nod. “There’s some sodas, bottled water, and what looks like everything we need for sandwiches.”

“There’s bread and a big bowl of fresh fruit over by the sink,” Piper said, pointing.

“Guess we’ll make it until we get a chance to go shopping tomorrow.” Geena popped the top on a can of soda.

I felt the strain of the day begin to overwhelm me. “I think I’m just going to go to bed.”

Heading back to where I’d dropped my bags, I retrieved them and walked to the stairs. I paused for a moment and glanced upward. The landing was empty except for a plant stand, which hugged the corner where the stairs turned.

“I guess we should turn in,” Geena said. “It is pretty late.”

Only Piper seemed at all disappointed. She took up a handful of grapes. “I suppose,” she said, shrugging, “we can talk more tomorrow.”

Heading on up, I left the conversation at that. I really didn’t want to explain how I felt or listen to Piper or Geena bring up the past. At the top of the stairs, I flipped on the hall light and noted the open doors of the bedrooms and bath. It seemed quite welcoming, but still I hesitated.

“Bailee?”

When I turned I momentarily saw my mother, but then Piper smiled—once again my younger sister. “You’re blocking the road.”

“Sorry about that.” I turned left to take the only bedroom that faced the front of the house. I felt Geena and Piper breeze by me and head to their own rooms as I switched on the bedroom light.