Secrets in the Shadows (Secrets 2)

"You've got to tell me everything that's been going on. Don't leave out a detail, no matter how small it might seem or insignificant. You never saw the importance of the little things like I did anyway. Oh, I have no more chairs here. Do you mind if we all sat on the grass? It's beautiful grass. They take such care of the property, don't you think? Well?" she followed before Aunt Zipporah could respond. My mother's burst of verbal energy was too

overwhelming. We both simply stared at her.

I recalled a conversation I once had with my science teacher last year. We were talking about what was known about memory, and he spoke about dogs and how their owners could leave them for days, even years, and when they returned to them, how the dog would behave as if they had been gone only minutes. "They don't have the sense of time passage we have," he said.

Was that what my mother had lost, her sense of time passage? Couldn't she see how much older Aunt Zipporah looked? How could she think she had just come from school? And what about me? Where did that put me?

"Sure, Karen. I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is Alice," Aunt Zipporah said, and my mother nodded at me, not so much with suspicion, I. thought, as resentment.

Did she think I had replaced her as Aunt Zipporah's best friend?

"I don't remember you painting, Karen," Zipporah said as we all sat on the grass.

My mother leaned back, propping herself on her hands, and closed her eyes to welcome the sunshine on her face. She had a wonderful

complexion, rich peach with not a wrinkle or blemish in sight.

We have the same mouth, I thought, and for the first time in my life I considered the real possibility that I was pretty.

Her eyes suddenly opened and she turned to me. "How long have you lived here?" she asked me sharply. "All my life," I said.

She stared at me so long that I had to shift my eyes from hers and look to Aunt Zipporah for help.

"Alice paints, too, Karen."

"Oh? Yes, I think I recall you," she said. "Maybe. You sat in the back of the room in art class. You were shy. What do we call the girls who are shy, Zipporah?" she asked my aunt.

"Turtles."

"That's right. Turtles. They pull their heads back into their shells and hope the world will go away."

That was the way I was, I thought. She had no idea how right she was about me.

"Alice isn't shy anymore, Karen," Aunt Zipporah said. "That's why I could get her to come with me to see you."

"Oh, well, that's good. How do you like my estate?" she asked us. "I told you I would live in a mansion someday, didn't I? Remember? A mansion twice the size of the Doral House with ten times the grounds. And there are no ghosts here," she said. "They vacuum daily," she added and laughed.

Aunt Zipporah laughed, too.

I saw the way my mother was constantly sneaking glances at me, and I tried not to look back and frighten her off.

"How are your parents, Zipporah?"

"They're fine. Everyone's doing fine, Karen."

"Good. I like your parents. I know I told you a hundred times that I wish they were my parents." She sat forward abruptly. "What do you like to paint?" she asked me.

"Scenes in nature, animals, birds, things like that."

"Sometimes I paint those things," she said. "I'm doing something different this time."

I gazed toward her easel. "Can I look at your picture?"

She thought a moment, then nodded. "It's not done," she said when I stood up.

I walked over to the easel and looked at the canvas. My heart nearly stopped, and I gasped. Aunt Zipporah was looking at me. I brought my hand to my heart and stared.

"What is it, Alice?" she asked.