I do not own The Dollanganger Saga or any of its characters, likenesses, or places. They belong to V.C. Andrews. Help with diner description courtesy of Wikipedia.
An entire day passed, and not one word from Momma. Grandmother Alicia did her best to lift our spirits, telling us that our mother was worn out from her trip and that she'd call us in the morning. Our grandmother's words seemed to be precisely what Christopher needed to set his mind at ease. He spent the remainder of the afternoon upstairs in his and Cory's room, studying the information in the medical encyclopedias of Grandfather Alistair. I, alternatively, was not so fortunate. Truly, I felt there was nothing that could be done to keep the tourniquet of pain from wrapping itself forcefully around my heart.
For the time being, Cory and Carrie appeared to have recovered from their separation from our mother. Presently the twins were in the backyard with Grandmother Alicia, who was showing them all the wonders of the swing-set. When I'd gone to peer through the parlor window at them earlier, I had no doubt my grandmother was one of those people who enjoyed the company of children. Daddy had been the same way when it came to us, his children. Always did he have time for a game of trains with Christopher, or one of dinosaurs with Cory. Never had Daddy minded relinquishing his masculinity for an hour or so to have a tea party with Carrie, or to play dolls with me.
It was the dear memories of my beloved father that suppressed my pessimism as I watched my grandmother amuse herself with a child's toy. I heard the faint sound of her childish laughter through the windowpane, paying heed to the smile on her face as the twins ran to embrace her as she came down the slide. Carrie and Cory had taken quicker to Grandmother Alicia than Christopher and I had expected. Normally Carrie blatantly refused to speak to anyone she had never met or didn't know well, while Cory was indescribably shy. But each related to Grandmother Alicia as a child does Santa Claus. She was Daddy's mother, and yet her appearance and personality was an immaculate counterpart to that of Momma's.
Having no idea what to think, I returned to Grandmother Alicia's stepping stool by the telephone in the kitchen. I had done little else all afternoon but sit there on her stepping stool, leaving only to use the bathroom. Determined was I to sit and wait, until the telephone rang and I heard Momma's voice.
The phone still hadn't rung when Grandmother Alicia and the twins came back inside. She announced that we would be going out to dinner and for Cory and Carrie to inform Christopher. Christopher was still upstairs studying, while I had remained loyally by the phone, waiting for a call that I was beginning to think might never come.
"Have you heard anything from your mother yet?" asked my grandmother, as the sound of the twins' feet bounding down the hallway echoed off the cottage's walls. The pity in her voice revealed that, although she knew the answer, still wanted to offer me her compassion.
I shook my head.
"Don't worry, darling. It isn't that she's forgotten you—she just has a lot to contend with at the moment." As she continued, the innocence faded from her face and a veil of wistfulness came over it. "If you ever have the opportunity to meet your grandfather—and I pray to God you never do—then you'll understand the daunting authority he has over others."
"Momma says he's very angry with her for something she did long ago." I desperately wanted to ask Grandmother Alicia what that 'something' was, but knew it was unlikely that I'd receive an answer; no less a truthful one.
"Yes, Cathy, there's that…"
I couldn't stop myself. All of a sudden I blurted out the question I'd been longing to ask ever since Momma had received that letter from her parents. "Grandmother Alicia, do you know what Momma's secret is?"
"I do," Grandmother Alicia said, and I had to admire her for at least being honest with me, "though I don't feel I'm the right person to tell you."
"Then who is?"
"Your mother. The decision is hers alone, of course. But I can assure you that the only reason she's chosen to keep the truth from you for so long is to avoid hurting you—and, quite possibly, to avoid hurting herself."
"Why? What was so terrible that would cause her to think such things?"
"It's as I said before, Cathy: It isn't my place to disclose to you any information on the subject."
Disappointed but respectful of my grandmother's wishes, I nodded my understanding. Grandmother Alicia came over and hugged me just as Carrie and Cory returned with Christopher.
"So," asked the cheerful optimist, "what's for dinner?"
Twenty minutes later the five of us were all piling out of Grandmother Alicia's tan station wagon in front of Millie's Diner. Like many diners of the 1950s, Millie's was built of stainless steel panels, where a red neon sign displaying the name flashed brightly above through the onyx sky. Two sets of stairs led up to a pair of light green doors (one for entering and the other for exiting) on either side of the restaurant.
The inside was a welcoming sight indeed, with white walls decorated in celebrity memorabilia of the time; including framed photographs of famous entertainers, such Marlon Brando and James Dean; there was even a Gone with the Wind poster with an illustration of Rhett Butler passionately kissing Scarlett O'Hara.
At one end of the diner were a number of red, cushiony booths, where at the other stood the combination bar and countertop. To the far right of the entrance was a large, red jukebox where a group of teenagers were enjoying the vocals of Elvis Presley.
Although it had been four years since Christopher and I had been to Richmond, Virginia, our memories of Millie's diner were still as vivid as they had been then. It was the place where we'd shared so many delicious meals and unforgettable conversations with our parents and grandmother. Each time the four of us had come to visit Grandmother Alicia, she'd treated us all to dinner at the restaurant. The owner of the diner, Millie Friedman, had expressed the same interest in us as that of our acquaintances back in Gladstone. Each time we came to her diner, Millie had greeted us at the entrance and announced to everyone in an excessively loud voice that "The Dresden Dolls have just arrived!" As a child such a salutation had delighted me, but if it was done now I knew my face was apt to flush bright red.
So taken was Millie by our little family that she had insisted upon snapping a photograph to display on the wall of her restaurant. I was all for it, and so was Christopher—until Momma blanched and Daddy went off on some absurd explanation of how people with pale complexions and fare hair need to limit the number of times they're photographed month to month.
"There's believed to be something in the flash," he clarified, "that causes skin cancer."
Either Millie had honestly believed him, or she had no intention of arguing with him; for she never offered to photograph us again after that.
The following day when I informed Mary Lou Baker of this, she'd laughed in my face and told me my father was crazy. "Not only that, Cathy, but you're crazy for believing such a tall tale!"
After that I'd pushed her down in the mud, giving neither hide nor hair about the soiling of the new white dress that her mother had bought her for church. All the way home I had run, ignoring her irate cries of "I'm gonna tell my mother on you, Cathy Dollanganger! And believe it when I say you'll be sorry!"
But I wasn't sorry. Not even a little. Mary Lou Baker had it coming the minute she opened her big mouth and insulted Daddy. She had known me long enough to gain a thorough understanding of what lines she could and could not cross with me. And she'd crossed the ultimate line when she'd snubbed my father. It wasn't so much my own reputation I was defending as it was his.
Just as she had every other time we'd come into her restaurant, Millie waved to us the moment she spotted us. In no time at all she had rounded the corner and was hurrying in our direction. As she ran, her enormous breasts bounced like a pair of large melons. She was big woman, and her breasts were packed into a uniform that was too small on top to fully conceal them. She had curly, dark brown hair that was cropped long on top and short at the bottom. She had kind, grayish-blue eyes and a warm smile that never failed to make you feel welcome and at home in her restaurant.
As soon as she reached us, Millie grinned and slapped her hands against her huge hips. "Well, well, well. If it isn't my three favorite customers. Why, I'll be darned!" Her eyes flicked from Christopher to me, measuring us up. "But you two have certainly grown since the last time I saw you. What grades might you be going into this year?"
"I'll be entering my first year of high school," Christopher answered proudly.
"And I'll be starting my second year of junior high," I replied, though without the eagerness of my brother. I had never cared much for school, preferring to practice my ballet over an activity as tedious as learning about things for which I had little to no interest.
"Unbelievable! It seems like just yesterday you were ten and eight years old. My goodness, how time flies!" Millie's eyes then drifted to the twins, who had resorted to clinging to Grandmother Alicia at the sight of the big, hefty woman. So much for my hope of Carrie and Cory conquering their fear of strangers. "Oh. And who might these two young'uns be?"
"These are my two littlest grandchildren," Grandmother Alicia replied proudly. "Carrie and Cory."
Cory turned to hide his face in the crook of our grandmother's arm, while Carrie merely chose to look away.
"They're twins," our grandmother added, as if this fact was capable of shedding light on their behavior.
Unlike most of the adults I knew, Millie wasn't the type to take the conduct of children—especially those as young as Carrie and Cory—personally. After winking at the twins, she raised her hand to the side of her face and shouted: "The Dresden Dolls have just arrived!"
Oh, good-golly, but I could have keeled over and died right there! My face brimming with the onset of scarlet humiliation, I lowered my head and followed my family and Millie to our assigned booth. All the while I was praying to be seated by the window, just to be able to gaze out and avoid the stares of the customers.
Thankfully I got my wish, and immediately scooted over to the inside of the booth before Millie had even put down the first menu. Christopher slid in beside me, while Grandmother Alicia and the twins sat across from us.
"I was so sorry to hear about your son, Alicia," Millie said, her enthusiasm no longer her prized asset. "He's one whose presence has been greatly missed around here."
Grandmother Alicia smiled faintly. "Thank you, Millie. Your words are truly a comfort to us."
"I don't mean to pry, but where is Mrs. Dollanganger? There hasn't been a time I can remember where she wasn't with you."
"She'll be in Pennsylvania for the next few weeks, getting some of Christopher's affairs in order. Until they're settled, the children will be staying with me."
Christopher and I swapped an expression of uncertainty. It was so unlike our grandmother to tell a fib, and yet I knew—as I'm sure Christopher knew—that she had her reasons. What those reasons were I had no idea, and yet they were reasons that would eventually uncover the secrets of our family.
"You're a saint, Alicia," Millie said. "I've always believed it, but actions speak louder than words, as they say. And your actions are as loud as they come."
Millie excused herself, only to return a few minutes later to take our orders. We gave them to her and then watched her disappear once more, this time to the back of the restaurant where the kitchen was.
Eventually our meals arrived, and we ate in singular silence. My mind was whirling with all sorts of questions; questions about why Momma had left us in the care of our grandmother; questions about what sort of secret Grandmother Alicia was covering up for Momma; and questions about why my grandmother had just lied about something that didn't even seem worth lying about.
As I washed down the last of my cheeseburger with a swig of Coke, I vowed that as soon as we heard from Momma, I would confront her with the questions that had plagued my mind from almost the moment Daddy had died. It wasn't fair of her to keep us, her own flesh and blood, in the shadows, simply because we were children. I may have been young, but I was still old enough to know that we deserved more credit than that.
Much, much more.
The telephone was ringing off the hook when we returned to Grandmother Alicia's cottage later that night. Like one of the wild beasts Grandfather Garland had hunted during his safari days, I pursued that telephone as if it were my prey, racing madly down the hallway to the kitchen where I quickly snatched up the receiver.
I flung myself down on my grandmother's stepping stool as I answered. "Hello?"
My heart raced as I anticipated the response of the caller. For several excruciating seconds, the only resonation was that of shallow breathing. I was preparing to repeat my question, when a faint cry echoed from the other line.
"Momma!"
"Oh, Cathy, is that you?"
Upon my relief in finally—finally!—hearing from her, I failed to notice the huskiness in her voice, or the effort it apparently took her to form each word.
"Yes. Yes, Momma, it's me. Where are you? Are you in Charlottesville? Or at your parents' mansion? Why didn't you call us this afternoon like you promised you would?" I fired one question after the other, desperate to know exactly why she'd taken so long to get in touch with us. "Did the train let you off at the wrong depot? Was the phone there out of order? Do your parents not have one?" I realized how silly that last question sounded…why wouldn't people as wealthy as Momma's parents have a phone? Golly-lolly, but they probably had one for every room—even the bathroom!
"I'm so sorry." The shame in Momma's voice made me feel guilty for being so demanding of her. "I had planned to call you from the station, but my parents had sent Lucas, their chauffeur, to retrieve me. He was already there when I arrived, and so I hadn't time to go in search of a phone."
Her excuse struck me as not only unconvincing, but unpardonable, and I let her know it as delicately as I could. "You couldn't have asked him to wait while you made the phone call?"
She whimpered in my ear, a sound which served as extra fuel for my remorse.
"Oh, darling, I wanted to call you…I just couldn't. My parents are very strict when it comes to punctuality—especially my father—and so I couldn't keep them waiting."
"You could have called when you arrived. Told them you had children waiting to hear from you. I sat by the phone all afternoon, just to be sure I wouldn't miss your call!" I was angry with her now for noshing out excuses instead of just being honest with me. It was one of the things that separated her from my grandmother. "When you didn't, I thought something terrible had happened! I thought the train had crashed!"
"Something bad happened to Momma?" Cory asked fearfully.
I twisted my head to see him staring at me from across the room. The eyes of him and Carrie were equipped to fill with tears if someone didn't say something to guarantee our mother's safety.
"No," Christopher answered for me. His own eyes were ablaze with irritation for my inadvertent, yet foolish, slip of the tongue. "Of course it didn't."
A firm yet reassuring hand on my shoulder prevented me from anything else I would regret. I raised my head to see Grandmother Alicia, whose blue eyes reflected an ocean of concern for everyone—even Momma. It was enough to completely drain away my irritation, replacing it with indignity for myself and compassion for my mother.
Turning back to the phone I said, "Yes, Momma, of course I understand that you couldn't help those things. And I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have yelled."
"No, Cathy. You have every right to be upset with me. I let you down, and I deserve any punishment you see fit to give me."
"No one wants to punish you, Momma."
There was a long, drawn out pause on the other line, broken eventually by my mother's heartbreaking sobs.
"Momma, what's wrong?" I was in a panic now, terrified that the insolence I'd shown her had wounded her more than I thought (oh, if only I had known how ironic that concept would soon prove). "Why do you sound so sad? Are you ill?"
"I'm not ill, darling. Just very tired."
"Maybe you should rest then, and call us tomorrow."
"No, Cathy!" Carrie objected. "I wanna talk to Momma now!"
Just as she had that morning in her bedroom, Grandmother Alicia used her beguiling ways to terminate Carrie's tantrum before it could take off. "Cathy, it's getting late. Why don't you and Chris take the twins upstairs and give them each a bath? Afterward, the two of you can wash up. I'll be up in a little while to say good-night."
Christopher and I both agreed, and I wished Momma good-night before relinquishing the telephone to my grandmother. As I departed the kitchen with my siblings, I glanced once over my shoulder at Grandmother Alicia. Her hand layered the mouthpiece of the telephone as she spoke to Momma, and I wondered what it was they could possibly be discussing.
I was forced to put this thought out of my mind as I gave Carrie her bath. Because it was late (nearly nine o'clock), she didn't give me as much trouble as she usually did, and I was able to get her washed and into her pajamas in just under twenty minutes. Then it was Christopher's turn to come in and help Cory, who nearly nodded off inside the tub until Christopher splashed his face with water. Cory managed to stay awake long enough after that to finish his bath and allow Christopher to button his pajama top.
Carrie, on the other hand, announced that she wasn't in the least bit tired, and that she wouldn't sleep unless it was by Cory's side.
"Do you think Grandmother Alicia will mind the twins sleeping together?" I said to Christopher.
"Why should she mind? Whenever you and I came for overnight visits with Momma and Daddy, we always slept in his old room."
"Yes, but it's probably a good idea to ask permission first."
"Fine. You go get permission if you want to. In the meantime, I'm going into the bathroom to take a shower."
Christopher departed Daddy's bedroom where the four of us had all gathered. I followed shortly, but not before seeing to it that the twins were nestled safely together like a pair of newborn kittens in Cory's bed. They would almost certainly be asleep before Christopher or I returned.
As I descended the stairway, I prayed with all my might that Grandmother Alicia would grant us her permission for Carrie and Cory to sleep in the same bed. I was less than halfway down the stairs when I heard Christopher start the shower in the upstairs bathroom, followed by Grandmother Alicia's voice. Was she still on the telephone with Momma?
With great care I moved down the remaining steps, my grandmother's voice escalating in sound and becoming clearer the closer I came to the bottom. When I reached it, I rounded the balustrade and flattened myself against the wall, moving stealthily toward the kitchen.
I paused beside the china cabinet, stretching myself as tall as I could on tiptoe (point, I thought, remembering the many hundreds of hours I had spent in ballet classes) to hide myself from Grandmother Alicia's view if she happened to glance out into the hallway.
"…Corrine, I implore you to leave Foxworth Hall straight away. Tonight, if possible. Even as an invalid, your father is no less a madman now than when I knew him. If you don't leave now, then I fear he might—"
Oh, how I despised eavesdropping—I always felt so guilty afterward! And yet, Grandmother Alicia's words kept me hanging like a fish from the hook of a fishing pole. It made precise sense now why Momma had taken so long to call, and why she'd sounded so distraught when at last she had. Poor Momma, and damn the grandfather for doing whatever it was he had to upset her so!
"Stay the night in a motel," Grandmother Alicia persisted, "and tomorrow take the train back to Richmond. I promise that together we'll figure out a solution to all of this. You have the skills required to work in a boutique or grocery store, whether you know it or not. All my life I was taken care of, and so after Alistair died I didn't think I would be able to stand on my own. But I soon learned that I didn't need a man or anyone else to support me. I used my flair with the piano as a way to support my son and myself. Don't you see, Corrine? You don't need your father's forgiveness or his money to live the life you and your children deserve."
Grandmother Alicia said nothing more after that, and hardly any time at all passed before I heard the telephone being returned to its receiver. Afraid she might emerge from the kitchen and see me, I quickly and quietly stole back to the stairway, eager to inform Christopher of what I'd discovered.
