"Remember to put half in the kitchen pot," he countered and continued down the steps toward the living room.
"Is that you, dear?" I heard Aunt Sara call from the kitchen doorway, where she stood wiping her hands on her apron. She came forward, looking very excited.
"Hi, Aunt Sara."
"I have some news for you." She stepped forward and in a loud whisper asked, "Did Jacob tell you?" I shook my head.
"Olivia called this afternoon to invite you to lunch on Saturday. Just you!" she exclaimed girlishly. "Just me? Why?"
"I don't know dear, but isn't that nice? She's sending Raymond with the car to pick you up at twelve sharp. You'll wear something nice, one of those sun dresses. Maybe the one with the yellow tear drops and the white collar?"
I really hadn't gone through Laura's entire wardrobe and didn't recall the dress, but I nodded anyway because Aunt Sara acted as though I had worn it.
"I'll just go wash up and then come down to help you, Aunt Sara."
"Everything's done," she said. "Don't hurry. Rest. You're a working girl now." Her smile froze. "Laura always wanted to be working, but Jacob didn't want her to do anything involving tourists. She liked Kenneth, especially his paintings and statues. She would have wanted to work for him, too," she added, sighing deeply as she returned to the kitchen.
I gazed into the living room and saw Uncle Jacob sitting in his chair, staring out at me. He had the strangest look on his face, a dreamy, far-off expression, softer than I had ever seen. He realized he was staring and quickly dropped his gaze to the newspaper in his lap. I hurried up the steps to my room and saw that the ladder to Cary's attic hideaway was down. That meant he was up there working on his models. I was only in my room for a few moments when May appeared at my door. Most evenings she would come to my bedroom to excitedly relay the events of her day.
May continued attending her special school during the summer and had only a short ten-day break before the start of the regular school year. Her summer day was abbreviated, but she would rather have had the summers off just like the kids who attended the regular public school. Ever since I started working for Kenneth she had been begging me to take her to see his studio. Uncle Jacob had forbidden it up until now, telling her she couldn't miss a day of her school just to waste time watching me clean someone else's house and make someone else his lunch. But with Cary on the fishing boat and me away most of the day, she had to spend more time alone than ever. She was starved for conversation and attention by the time Cary and I returned from work each day.
As usual, May's hands went a mile a minute, signing questions, telling me about things she had done, and expressing her desire to accompany me to Kenneth's studio.
I promised I would ask Uncle Jacob again, but she didn't look hopeful. In fact she looked downright sad. May was smaller than most girls her, age, and it seemed to me that she was even paler and thinner these days. I thought she resembled a flower without enough rain and sunshine, withering under dark, oppressive clouds. In her large, shadowed hazel eyes lingered more dark sufferings than a child her age should know, I thought. She lived in a silent world, hearing only her own thoughts, craving smiles, wondering about the sound of lau
ghter.
It occurred to me that May didn't even know what it was like to hear someone cry. Of course, from the looks on people's faces, she knew happiness from sadness, anger from approval, but for me, someone who loved to make music and listen to it, the idea of being deaf seemed overwhelming. The eternal silence would drive me mad, I thought, and wondered what made May so strong. Sometimes her strength worked against her, and people forgot that she still needed little joys in her life. How could Uncle Jacob refuse her anything? He must have beach sand in his veins instead of blood, and a heart made from an old barnacle.
I told May about the things I had done all day, though I didn't reveal that Cary had visited. I was sure she would be upset that he hadn't offered to take her along. As I described my walks along the beach with Ulysses and even the cleaning I did in Kenneth's house, May stood looking at my hands as though I were drawing the most wonderful pictures of fun. Her eyes were wide and she nodded and smiled to keep me going. She laughed aloud when I described how Ulysses hid under Kenneth's jeep whenever the sky filled with thunder and lightning. When she asked me about Kenneth's paintings and statues, I looked away in shame, thinking about Mommy in Kenneth's secret paintings.
For the first time I realized that Mommy had lived a whole other life here. She had made friends she had never mentioned, especially boyfriends. How could she keep secret growing up at that big, wonderful house, living on the beach with the sailing and the swimming and all the parties? How could she drive those memories down so deeply that she never even slipped and mentioned something nice to me? Didn't she have any happiness here? Wasn't there anything that she had longed to see again, to hear again? The smell of the ocean was so strong, it soaked into your very being. I was sure of that because it already seemed to be part of me. How hateful and traumatic her flight from Provincetown must have been for her to keep so many secrets, I thought.
May tapped me on the shoulder. I had become so absorbed with my musings, I forgot that she was standing there. I smiled at her and then began to describe the vase Kenneth was creating. She nodded, thought about something for a minute, and then asked me to wait right there in the room until she returned. She hurried out and I went to the closet to search for the dress Aunt Sara had described. I found it hanging all the way in the back of the closet. She was right: it was a happy, bright dress, perfect for an afternoon. Moments later, May returned with a drawing pad in her hands. She hesitated, her eyes filled with trepidation, and then handed it to me.
Curious, I sat on the bed and lifted the cover. What I found amazed me. In the pad were excellent India-ink drawings, many of which were of me. There were pictures of me standing on the beach, pictures of me in the kitchen, and pictures of me holding May's hand and walking with her down the street toward town.
I quickly signed how wonderful I thought her pictures were, and then she shook her head.
"What?" I asked, even more curious. She took the pad from me and flipped the pages to the end to show me the inside of the back cover. I gazed down at it and felt my blood freeze in my veins.
"I don't understand," I signed. "Aren't these your drawings?"
She shook her head and I looked at the words scribbled on the inside back pages again.
"But--"
I flipped through the pad, gazing more closely at the drawings I thought were drawings of me. I guess it was just that I assumed it was I who had been depicted. How strange . . . eerie. This pad had belonged to Laura. She had been the artist and she had drawn pictures of herself and pictures of herself with May.
Somehow, maybe because of the way Aunt Sara treated me and spoke to me, or because I was living in her room and wearing her things, I had mistaken Laura for myself in these drawings. At this moment I could appreciate and understand what Aunt Sara was experiencing when she looked at me with sad eyes that told me I reminded her of Laura.
"Do you draw, too?" I asked May. She shook her head and asked me if I wanted to show the pictures to Kenneth.
"Yes, maybe I will," I signed, which pleased her. I perused the rest of the pad and found a picture of Cary that intrigued me. In it he was standing on the beach, holding his hands out while sand was falling through his fingers. It was as if he were saying that something he thought was important really had no meaning.
Just then, as if on cue, I heard Cary coming down the ladder. May saw the direction my eyes had taken and turned in anticipation, too.
"Hi," he said. "How did the rest of the day go?" "Fine."