Secret Brother

“You don’t want to sound uncharitable, Clara Sue. He’s a helpless soul.”

“Maybe we all are,” I muttered, and she gave me one of her schoolteacher disapproving glances that could probably stop a charging bull in its tracks. “I’ll get up for lunch.”

“Mrs. Camden will be happy to hear it. She thought it was nothing more than an upset stomach.”

“I’ll bet,” I said, and paused. “‘Mrs.’? I don’t remember Grandpa saying she was married. How can she be married and live here, anyway? What about her husband?”

“Her husband passed away a little more than three years ago. She said he was a severe diabetic, and that led to other complications.”

“What about her children?”

“They never had any. She’s really a very nice lady besides being a very good nurse,” Myra said. “Your grandfather hired her to do a job, and that’s what she’ll do.”

In other words, I shouldn’t take my unhappiness out on her, I thought. That’s what Myra was saying. I grunted and drank a little more tea. Dorian Camden had been right, of course. I was making myself sick, and who benefited from that? Not me.

“Please tell My Faith that I’ve been thinking about her scrambled mushy eggs,” I told her.

She smiled. “Good.”

“Is that Dr. Patrick still here?” I asked. I was thinking that I’d like to ask her some questions and maybe get at the truth.

“No, she just left, but your grandfather is coming home.”

“You told him I was sick?”

For a moment, she looked confused or afraid to reply. She shook her head. “No. I didn’t speak with him. He called to let Jimmy know he was bringing a contractor to do some work. He’s arranging for a wheelchair for the little boy,” she told me. “Mrs. Camden thinks they should be able to get him up and into it in a day or so.”

“What did you mean by ‘some work’?”

“Your grandfather is thinking about making some changes in the house to accommodate him,” she replied.

“What sort of changes?”

“I don’t know yet, Clara Sue. Changes. I’ll tell My Faith you’re coming down, then,” she said, and left.

Why would Grandpa be making changes in the house? How long was the boy going to be here? How long would he be in a wheelchair? Did I care? Was he turning this place into a hospital or something? Hospitals smelled like . . . hospitals. Was that what the hallways outside my room would soon be like? How could I bring any friends here?

I went to take a shower and get dressed. Curiosity about the things Myra had told me was motivating me to get up and about. By the time I descended, Grandpa was home, and there was a man talking to him about the stairway.

“We’ll have two wheelchairs, then. One for upstairs and one for downstairs,” I heard Grandpa say before he saw me. “Hey,” he said. “I just heard you were home from school because you were sick this morning.”

“Just an upset stomach. I’m all right now,” I told him.

He nodded. I knew what he was thinking. Grandpa Arnold was never good about anything that could possibly be related to feminine problems. He fled from the mere suggestion. He returned to talking with the man, the back of whose shirt read, “TLC Healthcare Equipment.” I lingered to hear more of what they were saying. Grandpa wanted the man to install a stair lift. The man was saying he’d been busy doing that work ever since the polio epidemic had created such a dramatic need for lifts, especially for young children who were teenagers or young adults by now. He wanted to know if the child had not had the Salk vaccine and had contracted polio.

“From what little I know of the way the boy was treated, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that his parents never had him vaccinated, but no, that’s not his problem,” he said, and didn’t say anything else.

Install a stair lift? I thought. On that stairway Grandma Arnold was so proud to show off because of its thick, embossed mahogany banisters and newel posts carved from a single block of wood? As soon as someone entered the house, it was the first thing they saw. It was like our centerpiece. Sometimes Grandma used to laugh and pretend she was some actress in a movie descending those steps. I remember how my mother laughed at her and called her Scarlett O’Hara. What would it look like with a lift?

After lunch, I would discover that Grandpa had also contracted with some construction workers to build a ramp in the front right beside the short stairway. They were already constructing it, in fact. What other changes would he make? Would he buy an ambulance and have it parked outside the front door?

I returned to my room. In a few hours, Lila was sure to be calling to see why I didn’t go to school. I thought I would do some reading for English class. This time, as I approached Willie’s bedroom, I paused and glanced in. The boy was sitting up in bed. He had what looked like a small pile of new comic books. Grandpa would always buy a bundle of them for Willie when he was home sick. The boy was wearing what I knew to be a newer pair of Willie’s polka-dot yellow pajamas. When he glanced up at me, I hurried away.

As expected, Lila called the moment she came home from school to find out why I wasn’t there. I told her I had woken up sick, but it was just an upset stomach.

“You know, I still get bad menstrual cramps occasionally,” she said. “Sometimes so bad that I don’t want to go to school, either, but my mother makes me.” I could sense that she wanted my problem to be anything other than my sadness or my attitude about the boy taking over Willie’s things.

“It wasn’t that, but I’m okay,” I told her.