House Of Secrets (9 page)

“Like being paranoid over a serial killer coming to take your children?” Geena asked.

“Exactly. Mom . . . Mom had a lot of struggles.”

The phone rang, stealing our attention. Piper went to answer it while I helped myself to breakfast. I thought of Dad praying over the food, but didn’t offer to repeat it. I wasn’t sure I even knew how. I realized, strangely enough, that I often talked to God internally, but my comments weren’t at all in an attitude of thanksgiving.

“Yeah, we noticed,” I heard Piper say. “And when do you plan to be back?”

I focused on my food, hesitant to eavesdrop on this conversation. I couldn’t answer for Geena, but a strange sensation came over me. It was like nothing I’d ever known. I looked at Piper and for a moment was transported back in time.

“Bailee, go watch your sisters,” Momma had commanded.

I hadn’t wanted to go. I wanted to listen to her talk on the phone. But I was scared for some reason. . . .

The image passed, and I simply sat there, staring at Piper as she hung up the phone.

“Dad says there’s been a delay with Judith’s flight. She’ll be in later this evening, so he’s just going to stay over in Seattle and handle some business.”

“Rather than come here and have to face us,” Geena said before stuffing her mouth with pancakes and fruit.

“He said he plans to sit down and talk to us when he gets back. In fact, he asked that we definitely set aside the time. He figures around nine tonight.”

I nodded. “That’s fine by me. I have some work to keep me busy.” I began to eat in earnest as Geena and Piper discussed how to spend their day.

“I have a book to read,” Piper said.

“As do I,” Geena replied. “But I think I’d rather go shopping. You wanna come?”

“Where?” Piper questioned.

“I thought maybe we could look for vintage clothes. There are several consignment stores that advertise a nice selection. I found them online before we left Boston.”

Piper shrugged and speared a piece of cantaloupe. “Sounds better than the book idea.”

“I wouldn’t mind some clamming either,” Geena added. “I have a great chowder recipe to try. One of my many suitors gave it to me.” She laughed, but her comment gave me a start.

“Many suitors? How many guys are you dating?” I tried to keep the sound of my voice casual.

“Well, I have three I’m just casually dating.” Geena smiled mischievously. “Though I could probably string along a half dozen or more. They think I’m hot.” She laughed and Piper did as well.

“Well, you do have that nice runner’s bod. I can see why the men would be crazy for you. They sure don’t look at me that way.”

“Oh, I think they’re after me for my mind,” Geena teased. “They probably realize I’m going to be an important lawyer one day and make tons of money.”

Piper shook her head. “They’re crazy for your long hair and the way you do your eyes all smoky and dark. You always look like you have something really intriguing to say.”

“That’s what I mean,” Geena said. “It’s my intellect they’re after.” She giggled and cut into her pancake. “I’m just irresistible.”

“Sounds like you have the day planned,” I said, pushing aside the niggling unease I felt at her declaration. “At least enough to keep you busy until tonight.”

“Yeah, until tonight,” Piper murmured.

We all looked up at the same time. I wanted to believe it would all work out—to reassure them of the same. But I didn’t have the words.

D
ad called around five to tell us that storms had further delayed Judith’s flight. Initially a change in aircraft and a problem engine caused her delay, but now thunderstorms and threats of tornadoes in Chicago were keeping her grounded.

“He said it’s some of the most violent storms the area has seen,” Geena declared after hanging up the phone. “He’s gonna get a room near the airport and just wait for her at SeaTac. He thought she’d still get out tonight, but she won’t arrive until late.”

“I guess we can save the chowder until tomorrow,” Geena offered.

I found I had lost my appetite with worry at the thought of confronting our father. Now that the discussion was postponed once again, I decided I might actually like to eat. However, I had toyed all evening with the idea of telling my sisters the truth about our mother’s mental illness, and now I had the opportunity.

Piper was sitting curled up with her book and Geena was focusing on a crossword puzzle. “I want to use this time to tell you both something,” I interrupted. “It has to do with our mother.”

Geena eyed me curiously, but Piper actually looked excited. No doubt once she heard what I had to say, she’d be less so.

I pulled up an ottoman and sat in front of them. “I started to say something earlier, but I wanted some time to think about it. I also called my therapist while you two were out. She felt it was important to move forward, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“So what is this all about?” Geena asked.

“When we talked earlier today, we spoke of Momma and her mental state—her problems. I’ve known something about them for some time, but I’ve never said anything. I felt it was my place to . . .” I didn’t know exactly how to finish that sentence, but Piper did it for me.

“Keep the secrets?”

“Yes. . . . I suppose that’s the best way to put it. I felt it was my place to keep the family secrets in hopes of protecting you two.”

“And now?” Piper eyed me quite seriously. “Now is it time to be honest about them?”

“I think so. I think it was time years ago, but perhaps we wouldn’t have been mature enough to deal with it. I know when I first found out the truth, it was very disturbing.” Now both of them were frowning. Geena’s brows had knit together as though she was actually angry. When she didn’t comment, I continued.

“When I was thirteen, I overheard our housekeeper on the telephone. She was talking about how sad it was for us—how much our father was mourning Momma’s death. Then I heard her mention that Momma had . . . that she was—” I paused and drew a deep breath—“schizophrenic.”

Geena’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding. You’ve known something like this all these years and said nothing?”

“What exactly does it mean to be schizophrenic?” Piper asked.

“It’s a severe mental illness,” Geena replied. “Genetic, if I recall correctly.”

“It can be,” I said. “But it doesn’t have to be.”

“What kind of mental illness?” Piper put her book aside. “Like really, truly crazy?”

“Our mother was a paranoid schizophrenic who had delusions and depression,” I began. “She feared ‘bad men’ were going to take us away. She said the legal authorities were after her—trying to read her mind—trying to steal us away. She also believed other men were constantly eyeing her with desire or sexual intentions.” My sisters’ eyes were wide. “She was always trying to hide us, but things got even worse about the time you were born, Piper. She heard about that serial killer and something seemed to snap.”

“But that was real,” Geena interjected. “I’ve seen the old newspaper articles on it. That serial killer was a real person, killing children—mostly girls.”

“Yes, he was real,” I agreed. “But our mother was not involved with helping the FBI to catch him. Neither was the FBI using us as bait. No one was coming to steal us away from her, yet she would wake us up out of a sound sleep to hide us away from supposed intruders.”

Geena shook her head. “I thought it was all a game. You know, like the fire drills at school.”

“It wasn’t a game to Momma. She honestly believed we were in danger. She also believed that most every man who caught sight of her was crazy for her. She believed herself to be irresistible.” I hadn’t meant to use Geena’s word from the previous evening. If she remembered it, she didn’t show any sign. But I couldn’t help but recognize the parallel between the two. My stomach clenched.

“Do either of you remember how she acted in church?” I stood up, suddenly unable to sit still anymore. I turned away, and I could barely speak over the lump lodged in my throat. “She’d stand up during the service and declare that the pastor or one of the deacons or other men in the congregation wanted to have an affair with her. She claimed she was confessing her sins and theirs—although nothing had ever taken place.”

“I do remember once when a kid in my Sunday school class said my mom had made his mom cry,” Geena said. “But I was only six or so. We didn’t go to church a whole lot after that.”

“No, we didn’t. We couldn’t.” My voice hardened. “The ‘good Christians’ of the congregation didn’t know how to deal with the mentally ill. Mom frightened them, talking about working for the FBI and giving gruesome details about the killings. The pastor asked Dad to keep mom home so she wouldn’t disturb the congregation anymore.”

“Why didn’t Dad go to church with us?” Piper asked.

“He always said he knew there was a God, but that was enough. He figured if God was truly all-knowing and all-powerful, then there wasn’t anything he could do to change God’s mind about the future. He didn’t believe God would be swayed by our begging, so why pray.”

“I’ve felt that way too,” Piper said. “I think that’s why I’m so surprised that he’s changed his mind now. How could a person completely switch the way he looks at something—especially that important?”

“I don’t know,” Geena murmured. She let the crossword puzzle book slip from her lap. “I still can’t believe you’ve kept this from us. What else do you know, Bailee? Tell us everything. Start at the beginning.”

I suppressed a shudder. I couldn’t possibly begin to share everything. “Momma sometimes woke us up in the middle of the night. She would load us into the car, and we’d drive all night. She said we were escaping the FBI.” I studied my sisters for a moment. “Geena, you must remember some of those drives.”

“I do, vaguely. But like I said, Momma always made it seem like a big game to me.”

“I remember once when we did get up in the night to go for a drive,” Piper suddenly said, as if it were all just coming back to her. “It was just before we came here the last time. I think we were living in California.”

I nodded and tucked my feet up under me. “We were. We lived just north of San Francisco. Dad was handling a major consulting job in the city. We had a housekeeper, as well as a nanny. Mom hated them both—she said they were spies. Anyway, one night when Dad was away, she waited until the housekeeper had gone home for the night and the nanny was asleep, then loaded us up in the car.”

“Why would they leave us alone with her if she was so bad off? Why wouldn’t someone stay awake? Why wouldn’t the nanny keep us with her?”

Piper’s questions were some I’d asked myself, but I didn’t really have a solid answer. I only had guesses. “Momma could appear quite . . . normal. Quite healthy. In fact, there were times when I was even convinced that the bad times were behind us. The staff was fairly new. They didn’t know how she could be. Dad had probably warned them or said something to let them know she had problems, but when she acted normal there was no reason to believe she was a threat to anyone. Especially for a person who wasn’t familiar with schizophrenia.”

“So Mom had us leave in the night. What happened?” Piper asked. “Because I don’t remember. I think I fell asleep in the car and when I woke up the next day, I was back in my bed.”

“Mom drugged you.” I waited for their reaction.

“Drugged? Both of us?” Geena’s tone betrayed her disbelief.

“Yes. I didn’t realize that was what was happening at the time, but later I figured it out. She would give you something to make you sleep. She’d put it in a cookie or pastry.”

Geena’s eyes widened. “I remember her giving us something to eat every time we went for a ride.”

“Exactly.” I could see they were starting to understand. “I didn’t know at first that she was doing this. She didn’t give me the treat—she said I had to wait. She said it was my responsibility to take care of you two, that I needed to make sure you were safe and that nothing bad could happen to you. She always offered me one of the cookies when we got home—after I’d helped her get you two to bed. Sometimes I ate it and sometimes I didn’t.”

Geena shook her head. “No wonder you’ve always watched over us like an armed guard at a bank.”

I didn’t comment on that. There wasn’t time, because Piper was already moving on with her questions. “But why did she drug us? Why did she take us out in the dead of night? How could she possibly believe there was a real danger? The only danger to us was her.”

“I don’t know what to say.” I looked at my sisters and then let my gaze travel beyond them to the back of the room. “I began snooping around to learn what schizophrenia was after overhearing Mrs. Brighton on the phone. I didn’t like the information I found—it sounded so hopeless.”

“It is rather hopeless,” Geena interjected. “There isn’t a cure.”

“That doesn’t make it hopeless,” I said. “There are medications that really help.”

“But a person has to be willing to get help,” she countered. “Obviously our mother wasn’t one of those people.”

“Sometimes she got treatment. Remember the times when she was supposedly off working with the FBI?”

I saw the understanding in Geena’s expression as she half stated, half asked, “She went to a loony bin during those times?”

I nodded. “Or the hospital. Dad tried to force help on her, but she didn’t want it. I read some old records that Dad had hidden in his office. Mom didn’t trust doctors or medicine. She was paranoid about getting any kind of help. For a time she allowed Dad to help her with medicine and food, but after a while she believed everyone was trying to hurt her. Even Dad.”

“And he was,” Geena responded.

“At least that last night,” Piper declared. She reached for one of the sofa pillows and hugged it close.

“Well, you seem to know everything; what else did Mom do to us?” Geena asked. Her emotionless expression gave me the distinct impression she blamed me for our mother’s problems, like if I would have said something, she might not have gotten worse. But it was no more than I’d told myself. Blaming myself for Mom’s death—for her problems in life—was something I was quite good at doing.

“She used to hide us in various places. Boxes, closets, trunks, you name it. She felt it was the only way to keep us safe.” I tried to keep my voice even. “Once she put all three of us in the trunk of the car. Piper was a tiny baby and I held her in my arms.”

Geena’s eyes widened. “I can’t stand small spaces.”

I knew that same fear. I didn’t even like to use the elevator at my condo. “There were times when . . . when her actions endangered our lives. She put Piper in a garbage bag once. I was able to get her out of it before she suffocated, but it was close.”

“Mom nearly killed me? When did that happen?”

“When you were an infant.” I felt my body tremble. “It wasn’t the only time. She did it with Geena too. Sometimes I still have nightmares about it. She tried to hide us once in the water. It was so cold that we all had hypothermia.”

“Why didn’t Dad do something about it? Why did he let her go on like that?” Piper asked, her voice rising.

Now came my moment to confess. “I don’t think he knew—after all, he wasn’t around all that much, and when he was, I think he ignored Mom’s idiosyncrasies. As for why I didn’t tell him . . . Momma told me I couldn’t say anything . . . to anyone.” I bit my lip. I was just a little girl, and my mother’s word was gospel. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t smarter about things. I should have said something.”

“Yes, you should have,” Piper agreed. “You could have stopped it from happening.”

Her reproachful tone hit me hard. Could I have stopped it?

“She was just a child—just like you and me,” Geena countered, surprising me. Perhaps she didn’t blame me after all. “We all could have said something at the time. Bailee can’t be held responsible. But Dad can. He should have known better. If the doctors told him Mom was schizo, then he should never have allowed us to be left alone with her.”

“And when you knew why she acted that way,” Piper said, narrowing her eyes at me, “you should have told us. You should have told Dad about the things that were happening even if you were scared. That way he could have protected us.”

“He tried to provide for our safety,” I argued. “That was the reason for the housekeepers and nannies. It was the reason he tried to work less during the summer—probably the reason we came here.”

“And the reason we moved so often,” Piper declared. “I always thought it was because of his job, but it was because of Mom, wasn’t it? Because she made things difficult.” Her words were clearly edged with anger.