Surrogate Child Page 18

  Martha didn’t need Joe to remind her about the significance of the day; Solomon had been reminding her in little ways, not the least of which was his humming of “Happy Birthday.” She heard it Monday afternoon while she was taking the clothing out of the dryer. Images from the night before had been recurring all day, shooting across her eyes with lightning swiftness, turning a thread into a rope, a plant into a tree, a pair of pants into a pair of dangling legs and the creak of the stairway into the creak of a branch straining under the weight of Solomon’s body.

  Joe thought she had had a bad dream. Of course, he didn’t see what she had seen, so he wouldn’t understand, just as he wouldn’t hear the sound of Solomon’s humming. She looked up from the basket of dried clothing and listened. When she went to the doorway, he stopped. But as she carried the clothing upstairs, she turned and saw him at the foot of the stairway.

  He was looking up at her and wearing one of those funny little party hats they used to buy when they had birthday parties for him. They had those parties up until his eleventh birthday, after which he insisted they stop making it into a national event. He settled for a private celebration without any of the accoutrements.

  “You would have been sixteen,” she told him. “Sixteen. A high point of your young life. Joe would have gone with you to motor vehicles to get your driving permit, and he would have spent time teaching you how to drive. You would have gotten your license this year, and maybe I would have talked your father into buying you your own car.”

  “Saturday,” he simply said. “This Saturday.”

  “Salt upon a wound,” she said. “That’s what you’re doing by reminding me.”

  “Happy birthday to me; happy birthday to me.”

  “Stop it.” She turned away and left him below. But she heard him singing it again and again. She chose to ignore it, or at least pretend to ignore it.

  “What good is reminding me of your birthday?” she demanded when he appeared in the living room on Thursday, still wearing that silly party hat. “Can I invite your friends over to celebrate? Can I buy you a wonderful present since it’s your sixteenth? Can I be happy for you? You went behind this house and murdered all your birthdays.” She turned away from him.

  “Happy birthday to me; happy birthday to me.”

  “No,” she said, the tears stopping at the edge of her lids without going over to run down her cheeks. “It’s not your birthday anymore.”

  “You can’t stop birthdays,” he said.

  “Oh, no? Maybe I can’t stop them, but I can replace them. In two months and four days, it will be Jonathan’s birthday, and we’ll sing happy birthday to him. Happy birthday dear Jonathan; happy birthday to you.”

  Did she laugh? She couldn’t remember, but when she turned back to him, he was gone.

  And now he was coming back at her through Joe, she thought. He couldn’t get satisfaction by addressing her directly, so he was planting the ideas in Joe’s head. Why else would Joe have been so upset about her refusal to be sad and depressed? She was conscious of all Joe’s efforts to make her happy. Joe hated to be reminded of the tragedy. He would do anything to avoid any reference to it, and she thought she could count on her fingers the references to Solomon he would initiate. It had always been she who refused to let the wounds heal.

  It had to be Solomon speaking through him. Joe would never have made that comment about Solomon’s not liking grits, she thought. And now she had no other choice. As cruel as it would seem, she would have to be indifferent and hard all day. She might even have to ignore Joe, since he wasn’t in complete control of his own thoughts and words. It was their best defense. In the end, he would understand, and he would be grateful.

  She didn’t want to tell Jonathan that Saturday was Solomon’s birthday. Why burden him with the sadness, especially since it was going to be a special night for him? But he found out on his own, and, bless his soul, she thought, he was determined to do what he could to ease her pain and suffering.

  “I know about Saturday,” he told her on Thursday. Her first thought was that Solomon had appeared to him to tell him, and now he knew that his spirit haunted this house.

  Joe was downstairs, watching television and reading. He had a knack for doing both at the same time, looking up from his book or magazine whenever something that would interest him appeared on the screen. He told her it was auditory discrimination.

  “You tune into a certain frequency, just the way our garage door opener does, and ignore all others.”

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to be compared to a garage door opener, but she knew what he meant.

  Jonathan knocked on her open bedroom door. Dressed in only her bra and panties, she was sitting at her vanity table, studying herself and considering a comment Jonathan had made earlier that week about women who use cosmetics creatively.

  “Everybody says Joan Collins would look plain and unattractive without her makeup on,” he said, “but the truth is she is beautiful with it on.”

  “You think Joan Collins is beautiful?” she asked him. Now that she realized it, he didn’t talk much about movie stars or television personalities, and he didn’t go out and buy any new posters for his room. Just like Solomon, he was friendly with Audra Lowe and, Martha had to admit, Audra Lowe was an attractive young lady. Audra and she had a similar look: the natural look. Unlike other teenagers her age, Audra did not go in for heavy and dramatic makeup. So why then did Jonathan suddenly make this comment about Joan Collins? Were his tastes changing? Would Solomon’s tastes have changed?

  “In a way, she is very beautiful. Sure,” he said.

  She had watched “Dynasty” a number of times and seen Joan Collins in many magazines, so she was familiar enough with that look. That was why she was now studying herself in the vanity table mirror: she wondered what she would look like with eye shadow, longer lashes, brighter lipstick, face makeup, and blush.

  “What?” She turned to face him in the doorway.

  “I just wanted you to know I know about Saturday, and you don’t have to do anything special for me that day. I can take care of my own things. I understand how difficult a day it will be for you.”

  She didn’t say anything for a moment. He stepped into the room.

  “If you want, I’ll go with you and Joe to the cemetery,” he added.

  “Oh.” She turned back to the mirror. “I don’t know if I want to go to the cemetery this time,” she said. Almost on cue, Solomon’s face began to appear over hers in the mirror. She fought back the dissolve, determined not to let him come between her and Jonathan. Then she wondered how Jonathan had found out. Joe certainly hadn’t told him, she thought. “How did you know about Saturday?” she asked.

  “I found his birthday cards. He saved them all, even the ones people sent him when he was only one.”

  “Oh.”

  “I couldn’t help looking at them. I’m sorry.”

  “That’s all right. There’s no harm in your seeing his cards. I’m just sorry you learned about Saturday. Now, forget about it,” she said, “because that’s what I intend to do.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I don’t want to wallow in sorrow any longer. I didn’t tell him to go out there and do something so stupid,” she said. Jonathan didn’t reply. She realized she had raised her voice and probably appeared mad, so she smiled quickly. “Besides, Saturday is going to be a big day for you. I want it to go well.”

  “Thank you.”

  When she looked into the mirror again, she saw Solomon standing across the room, glaring at her in his unique way. She looked at Jonathan, but she could tell that he couldn’t see him. All she had to do was ignore him.

  “I bought some makeup yesterday,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about experimenting with my looks.”

  “Good,” Jonathan said. “Can’t wait.”

  He left her, and she did put on everything she bought. Solomon stood behind her the whole time, staring in silence, smirking and sometimes smiling
disdainfully. She continued to ignore him.

  “You look ridiculous,” he finally said.

  “To you maybe, but not to Jonathan.”

  “He’s ridiculous. How would he know any different?”

  “We’ll see,” she said. She wasn’t going to lose her temper; she wasn’t going to get excited. That was just what he wanted. She might even cry, and everything would smear, and then she would look ridiculous.

  “Wait until Joe sees it.”

  “He’ll like it.”

  “Just like he liked your hairdo.”

  “It just takes getting used to. Anything new does.”

  “Ridiculous,” Solomon repeated.

  “Yes,” she said, turning around, “almost as ridiculous as putting a rope around your neck and tying it to a tree. You want to talk about looks? About bulging eyes and swollen noses and lips?”

  He said nothing, and when she turned back to the mirror, he was gone.

  She didn’t leave the bedroom wearing the makeup, however; she was still insecure about the new look. It was so different from what she had been to this point in her life that it was almost like looking at a stranger. Besides, she wasn’t sure she had done everything correctly. It would take a few more experimental sessions before she would be confident enough to show Joe and other people.

  On Saturday afternoon, when she probably would have gone to the cemetery if Jonathan hadn’t come to live with them, she went up to the bedroom and experimented with her makeup for hours. She had even found a full-page close-up of Joan Collins and tried to imitate some of her cosmetic style. Afterward, she washed it all off, but she felt a good deal more secure about what she had accomplished.

  The late part of the afternoon was spent helping Jonathan get ready for his party. He had trouble styling and blow-drying his hair to look as good as it did the day he came back from Barbara Jean’s, so she sat him down at her vanity table and worked on it until they both agreed she had gotten it right.

  Joe walked in and out twice, but he said nothing to either of them. He had been quiet and withdrawn all day. He left the house in the early afternoon and didn’t return until nearly four-thirty anyway. She had gone to the dry cleaners and done some other shopping, so when he did return, she told him she hadn’t prepared anything for their supper.

  “I guess we’ll go out,” she told him. She was setting him up for a surprise. He was totally taken aback by the idea.

  “Go out? To dinner?”

  “Of course, Joe. It is Saturday night. People do go out to dinner on Saturday night, don’t they?”

  “Yeah, but . . . where do you want to go?”

  “I called Mindy and Kevin.”

  “You did?”

  “Uh huh. They didn’t go to that new place in Goshen after all, and they thought it would be a great opportunity to do so, so Mindy made reservations for the four of us,” she said quickly. He didn’t reply. “They’re coming by at seven-thirty to pick us up. Okay?” she said. He still looked stunned. “I said, is that all right?”

  “Yeah, sure, I guess so.”

  “Fine. I’ll get back to Jonathan,” she said, and she went upstairs. It was her idea to give him one of Joe’s pinkie rings to use just for the evening. She asked him if he could, and he said as long as the boy took care not to lose it. She gave him the blue onyx in the white gold setting. It went well with Solomon’s watch and chain. That afternoon she had bought him some cologne, too. He picked out Solomon’s favorite. She tried to talk him into another scent, but he seemed determined about it.

  “Audra likes it, too,” he said. She felt heat come into her face, but she didn’t want to argue about something so seemingly insignificant. She couldn’t very well stand there and explain to him that every time she smelled that scent, she thought about Solomon. A few times she had smelled it first, and then Solomon appeared to her. She concluded that if she did tell him such things, she would only be permitting Solomon to dictate what she should buy for him and what she shouldn’t buy, and she was determined not to give him such control of their lives. He had had that control when he was alive; she’d be damned if he would have it now.

  After Jonathan put on his clothes, he came back to her bedroom for her final inspection. When she saw him dressed in Solomon’s finest slacks, sports jacket, shirt and tie, and black leather loafers, with his hair styled and the jewelry glittering, she was rendered speechless. She brought her hands to the base of her throat and stared in admiration. A tingle of electric warmth traveled up her waist and under her breasts.

  “Well?” he said.

  “You’re a very handsome young man, Jonathan.”

  “Thank you,” he said. “I’ll go down and talk to Joe. They’ll be picking me up in fifteen minutes.”

  “Have a good time,” she said.

  “You, too.”

  “And thank you for helping me get through the day.”

  “It wasn’t hard. You’re stronger than you think you are,” he said. How she loved him for it. She wanted to kiss him, but she was afraid to draw him closer to her, afraid that if she embraced him, she wouldn’t let him go.

  “See you later,” he said, and left. She stood there staring at the empty doorway for a few moments. Then she realized the scent of Jonathan’s cologne wasn’t just lingering. Solomon was behind her, lying on the bed, his hands behind his head. She tried to ignore him. It was time to think about getting dressed herself. Joe had already put on his clothes and gone down to wait.

  “He’s a pretty boy,” Solomon said. “A very pretty boy.” She didn’t look at him. She knew he was smiling sarcastically.

  “Much more handsome than you were. Your clothing and your jewelry never looked as good on you.”

  “Think he’s sexy, huh?”

  “He’s sexy.”

  “Does he understand sex? Does he understand it the way you understand it?”

  “Shut up.”

  “Does he need explanations, comfort? Is he coming to you with his problems?”

  “He might,” she said, spinning around on her vanity table chair. She glared at him, and for a long moment, she heard nothing and said nothing. Then Solomon turned to lean on his propped-up elbow. He used to spend hours lying on her bed like that, watching her work, watching her dress.

  “Will you help him like you helped me?”

  “You’re spiteful. I never realized how spiteful you were. What did I ever do to deserve it?”

  “You’re breaking my heart. Anyway, he doesn’t need your help. He’s been around. He comes from the gutter.”

  “He does not come from the gutter. He’s had a hard time, but he’s not a low-class person.”

  “He might even have been sexually abused.”

  “Ridiculous,” she said. She turned away and began working on her makeup. “You can tell when someone’s been sexually abused.”

  “What is sexual abuse, Mother?”

  She didn’t say anything. Her heartbeat had increased so rapidly, she was having trouble breathing. There was almost no need to put the blush on her cheeks; they were red enough as it was.

  “What is sexual abuse?” he repeated. She didn’t look back at the bed.

  “I’m glad you hanged yourself,” she said in a loud whisper. Then she raised her voice. “I’M GLAD. I’M GLAD, I’M GLAD.” She turned to him, but he was gone, and she was shouting at an empty bed. A few moments later she heard Joe calling from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Martha?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you calling me?”

  “No.”

  “I thought I heard you yelling.”

  “I just . . . I just cursed my curling iron for taking so long to get warm. Sorry.”

  He didn’t reply. She took a deep breath, bit gently on her lower lip, and went back to her makeup.

  Joe was in the living room watching the national news when she came down the stairs. Jonathan had long gone. She stepped into the doorway and waited for Joe’s reaction. He turned a
way from the set slowly and then took a double take.

  “My God,” he said, “what have you done?”

  “I decided I needed a new look. Well?”

  “You look like you’re wearing a ton of makeup.”

  “All I have done is highlight things, Joe. What do you think?”

  “Highlight? You smothered them, is more like it.”

  She didn’t cry; she didn’t even get angry. She nodded slowly, expectantly.

  “You’re a beautiful woman, Martha. You don’t need all that paint on your face.”

  “It’s all right, Joe. I understand.”

  “Understand what? I’m telling you what I honestly think.”

  “It’s not you talking,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  They heard the sound of a car horn.

  “The Bakers are here,” she said, and started to turn toward the front door.

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean, it’s not me talking?”

  “You can’t help it, but it doesn’t matter. I’m strong enough to deal with it. Just as Jonathan said, I’m stronger than I think I am,” she added, and smiled with such assurance that it gave Joe the chills. For a long moment, he was unable to raise himself out of the chair.

  He looked back into the house before he closed the front door behind him because he thought he heard the voices of little children gathered around the table in the kitchen as they began to sing, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Solomon, happy birthday to you.”

  He closed the door to shut away the sound of little hands clapping.

  ELEVEN

  Audra felt herself cringe in the backseat of Gary’s car as Jonathan came out of the Sterns’ residence. Her involuntary movement didn’t surprise her. It was as though she were two people now: one very much infatuated with Jonathan, and one very much afraid of him.

  But why afraid? she wondered. Was it simply because of her mixed emotions and her confusion about him, or was there something else, something more frightening that she sensed, but couldn’t express, even to herself just yet?