Finally, Cary agreed to drive me there one day, but he refused to follow me inside.
"I'll wait out here for you," he said. "Don't be more than a half hour."
That was my first visit. It was our secret for a long time. He drove me there one other time, but that was months ago. Neither of us spoke much about Aunt Belinda. Cary didn't ask any questions about my visits. It was as if he thought it was so forbidden a subject, even to show curiosity was a sin. He would rather act as if it never happened.
Occasionally, because it had been done so many times before in conversation, he would make a remark like, "That's something only crazy Aunt Belinda would do or say." She was truly a skeleton dangling in our family closet.
The day of my conversation with Theresa in the cafeteria, I asked Cary to drive me to the rest home.
"What? Why? You haven't been there for months," he said.
"I know. I feel sorry for her, Cary, but I want to talk to her about other things."
"What other things?"
"Things," I said. "If you won't do it, I'll have to ask Robert," I said. That was enough to cause him to make a decision quickly.
"I'll do it, but I won't go in with you."
"I know. I'd rather that you didn't anyway," I said.
He looked at me with a face full of curiosity, but he just shook his head.
"You've been acting really strange these past few days, Laura. Sometimes keeping a secret buried so long can make it fester like a sore," he warned.
"I'll be all right, Cary. Just do me this favor. Please."
It was almost impossible for Cary to refuse me anything if I asked him strongly enough.
"As soon as we get May home, we'll go up, but it can't be for long, Laura. You know we can't let Daddy know."
"I know. I think that's wrong. She's really a very lonely, sweet old lady and no threat to anyone," I said.
He didn't reply. We picked up May from school and walked home quickly. Then he and I got into the truck and drove to the rest home.
We rode for nearly a half hour before Cary turned up a side road heavy with pine, wild apple, and scrub oak. It seemed fitting that our aunt who was kept a secret and whose past was to be forgotten had been put in such an isolated place.
The rest home had a pretty setting. The ocean was directly behind it and the grounds in front of the building consisted of a long, rolling lawn with benches, a rock garden, and some fountains.
The Wedgwood-blue home was a three-story building with a front porch the width of the building. Behind the building there was an elaborate garden, more benches and fountains, and a gazebo twice the size of Grandma Olivia's. There were some full red maple trees, more scrub oak and pine, and the pathways wer
e lined with trimmed bushes. I had spent my second visit with Aunt Belinda out among the gardens.
After he shut off the engine, Cary turned to me.
"Remember. Not more than thirty minutes," he ordered, tapping his watch. "We want to get back before Daddy gets home and starts asking questions."
"Okay, okay."
I got out and walked the flagstone walkway to the short row of steps. I glanced back at Cary, who stared at me with a face the picture of worry. He looked about as if he were afraid to be caught here, as if he were the driver for a gang of bank robbers.
I entered the building. The lobby had light blue curtains, a blonde oak slat wood floor with dark blue oval area rugs. There were large paintings of country scenes and ocean scenes, some with fishermen, some simply with sailboats. The cushioned chairs and settees were all done in a light blue floral pattern. There were small wooden tables, book and magazine racks, and several rocking chairs were lined up in front of the large, brick fireplace.
There were only a few residents seated, a pair of elderly gentlemen playing checkers, with the rest just reading or talking softly. I didn't see Aunt Belinda.
The receptionist turned from a nurse and hurried toward me.
"Yes?"