“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told her, and she stopped. Meanwhile, despite my sour face, our friends tried to include me in everything when I was in school. But thoughts about the poisoned boy and my grandpa distracted me again, and on the ride home, I was no better emotionally than I was on the ride back the first day. My heart was beating faster as we approached the front gates. I could feel every muscle in my body getting tense. All eyes would be on me if that boy was here. Everyone would be waiting for my reactions, for sure.
The moment I saw that Grandpa was already home, I knew he was there. He was in Willie’s room.
It was beginning. I had to face up to it. Right now, I thought. I would pretend that nothing was different, that he wasn’t there. I wouldn’t see him or hear anyone talking about him. The moment I entered the house, however, Grandpa turned from speaking with Dorian Camden and nodded at me.
“He’s here,” he said.
I looked down. For a moment, I didn’t move, and then I started toward the stairway.
“Clara Sue!” he called firmly.
“What?”
“I’d like you to welcome him. I’ll go up with you, and you can just welcome him, help make him comfortable.”
“He didn’t talk to me before, and he didn’t even want to look at me. He won’t now,” I said. “I don’t want to waste my breath,” I added, and before he could say another word, I shot up the stairway. I heard him shout after me, but I kept going. I practically ran past Willie’s room, not looking in, and when I got to my room, I shut the door quickly behind me.
My heart was pounding. I just stood there, anticipating my grandfather coming up after me.
But he didn’t.
Silence was uncomfortable, but I was glad to have it.
Later, I heard the activity in the hallway, but I didn’t look out to see. The walls in Grandpa’s mansion were thick enough to prevent talking or almost any reasonable noise from being heard by the person in the next room. I did put my ear to the wall to see what I could hear, but the murmur of Dorian Camden’s and my grandpa’s conversation was so muffled and incoherent that I quickly gave up. And then I chastised myself for having any curiosity or interest at all. It wasn’t good enough just to hide it from everyone else; I had to prevent myself from having it. Was that impossible? After all, he was here with all his mystery, his emotional and psychological problems, and my grandfather’s determination to do something about it. Those weren’t easy things to ignore.
At dinner, Dorian Camden declared that for the first few days or so, it would be wise for her to have her dinner with the boy. She explained to Myra and My Faith, who were obviously fascinated by all of it, that what she had to do was win his trus
t.
“All the patients I’ve had who were wounded or injured badly were angry at everyone and everything in the beginning. The first question that comes to mind is ‘Why me? What did I do to deserve this?’ ”
“Even someone this young?” Myra asked her. I couldn’t help listening. I tried to pretend I wasn’t.
“Oh, especially so, because at this age, you are dependent on someone who is supposed to care for and protect you. Obviously, that didn’t happen or was prevented from happening. I’ve spoken with Dr. Patrick, who has treated children who were taught to believe they were somehow unworthy.”
“You mean evil?” My Faith asked.
“Possibly, so between her work and what I will try to do, we have to get him to believe more in himself.”
She looked at me.
“We can all help,” she added. I turned away, tempted to ask, “What if he really is evil?” That would widen My Faith’s eyes for sure, but I didn’t say a word.
Grandpa was obviously very angry with me and said little at dinner. The way we were behaving, it could have been only a day or so after Willie’s funeral. The air around us was that heavy. A phone call drew him away, and I finished eating before he returned. Then I went up to do my homework. I walked quickly past Willie’s room, tiptoeing, in fact, so Dorian wouldn’t hear me approaching and try calling me in. Then I closed my door.
It was almost impossible to concentrate on my homework. Lila called. I told her the boy was here. Her sympathy began to irritate me, and I told her I had to finish my homework because I had been too upset to start it. She apologized for not coming over, “especially tonight.”
“Especially tonight, it’s better that you didn’t,” I said, and said good night.
Hours later, after everyone seemed to have gone to bed, I opened my door and peered out. The light from Willie’s room was spilling into the hallway. Would the boy always need a light on? I wondered. Was Dorian Camden still in there with him? Was he hooked up to the same sort of machinery he was hooked up to in the hospital? It was impossible not to be curious now. I relented and tiptoed down the hallway. Just before I reached the door, I heard Grandpa’s voice clearly.
“You’re in Willie’s room. It will make it easier,” I heard him say.
Make what easier? I drew closer and peered into the room.
The boy was in Willie’s bed but without any machinery attached to him. He was just lying there, and Grandpa was sitting beside the bed. It looked like he was holding his hand.
“Lots of his stuff has the initials W.S.,” he continued, “but there is one difference. You won’t be Willie Sanders, which was my grandson’s name, but I want you to be Willie Arnold . . . William Arnold. It will be more like you are another grandson. Yes, that’s my name, too, but it’s not uncommon for boys to be named after their fathers and grandfathers.”