Homecoming
. Finally the decorators I'd hired to do over Jory's suite of rooms were finished. Now everything there was planned for his entertainment and comfort and convenience. With Melodie beside me, we stood and surveyed all that had been done to make the room bright and cheerful.
"Jory likes color and lots of light, unlike some who want only darkness because it's richer
appearing," explained Melodie with a strange look haunting her eyes. Of course I knew she meant Bart. I gave her a quizzical look, wondering again how much time she spent with Bart, and what they talked about, and if he'd tried anything. Certainly all that wistful yearning I'd seen in his eyes would force him to make advances. And what better time than while Jory was away and Melodie was desperately needing? Then my safety valve turned on . . . Melodie despised Bart. She might need him to talk to, but that was all.
"Tell me what else I can do to help," I said, wanting her to do most of it so she'd feel needed, useful. In response she smiled for the first time with some show of happiness. "You can help me make the bed with the pretty new sheets I ordered." She ripped open the plastic wrappings, the movement making her fuller breasts jiggle. Her jeans were just beginning to show a slight bulge.
I was almost as worried about her as I was about Jory. An expectant mother needed to eat more, drink milk, take vitamins, and then there was this unexpected reversal of her former heavy depression. She was now completely accepting of Jory's unhappy situation. It was what I had wanted, yet it had come about too quickly, and that gave me the feeling it was false.
Then came an explanation of her newfound security. "Cathy, Jory's going to get well and dance again. I dreamed last night he was, and my dreams always come true."
Now I knew she was going to do what I'd done in the beginning, convince herself that Jory would recover someday, and on that kind of fantasy she was going to construct her life--and his.
I started to speak, to say what Chris had to me, but Bart stepped into the hallway outside, his large feet clumping heavily down the long, dim hall. He glowered at the once dark paneling that was now painted off- white so that paintings of the sea and shore would show up beautifully. Easy enough to see he was displeased with our changes.
"We lid it to please. Jory," I said before he could object, while Melodie stood silent and stared at him with the wide-eyed, helpless look of a child caught in a sticky situation. "I know you want your brother to be happy, and no one loves the sea, the surf; the sand and seabirds more than Jory. So, into this room we're putting a bit of the sea and shore--giving him the knowledge that all the important things in life will still exist for him. The sky above, the earth below, and the sea in between. He's not going to lack for anything, Bart. He's going to have what it takes to keep him alive and happy, and I know you want to do your part."
He was staring at Melodie, not half listening to me. His eyes riveted to those larger breasts, moving to study the curve of the baby swelling her belly. "Melodie, you could have come to me and asked before you did anything, since I'm the one who'll pay the bills." I was completely ignored, as if I weren't there at all.
"Oh, no," denied Melodie. "Jory and I have money. We can pay for the changes we've made in here .. . and I didn't think you would mind since you seem so concerned about him."
"You don't have to pay for anything," said Bart with surprising warmth. "The day Jory comes home, attorneys will be coming in the afternoon to read the will again, and this time I'll know exactly my full worth. I'm damned sick and tired of having that day postponed."
"Bart," I said, stepping so I was between him and Melodie, "you know why they haven't reread the will. They want Jory to be here and fully cognizant of what's going on."
He walked around me to deliberately lock his eyes with the huge, sad ones of Melodic. He spoke to her and her alone. "You just tell me what you need, and I'll deliver it yesterday. You and Jory can stay as long as you like."
They stood staring at each other across twenty feet of sea-blue velvet carpeting. Bart's dark eyes probed into her blue 'ones before he said softly, winningly, "Don't worry so much, Melodic. You and Jory have a home here forever if you want. I don't really give a damn what you do with these rooms. I do want Jory to be as comfortable and happy as possible."
Were they formula words to satisfy me--or calculated words to seduce her? Why did Melodie blush and gaze down at her feet? Cindy's tale resounded like distant church bells in my memory. Insurance for all the guests . . . in case of accidents. Wet sand that should have been dry sand. Sand that clumped into cement and didn't instantly pour out to make the papier-mache columns safe.
Into my thoughts flitted memories of Bart when he was seven, eight, nine and ten .. .
Wish I had legs as pretty as Jory's. Wish I could run and dance like Jory. Gonna grow taller, gonna grow much bigger, gonna be more powerful than Jory. Someday. Someday.
Bart's mumbling boyhood wishes, said so many times I'd grown indifferent to them. Then, when he was older .. .
Who is gonna love me, like Melodie loves Jory? Nobody. Nobody.
I shook my head to rid myself of unwelcome memories of a little boy wanting to equal the stature of his older and more talented brother.
But why was he looking now at Melodie with such significance? Her blue eyes lifted to meet his briefly; then she looked away, blushing again, positioning her hands in the ballet position all dancers used to keep from drawing attention away from the main performer --her feet toed out. On stage, Melodie was on stage, playing a role.
Bart strode off, his long legs confident and sure, as they'd never been when he was a young boy. I felt sad and sorry he had to wait until he was out of Jory's shadow before he could find even the ability to use his body coordination with skill. Sighing, I decided to think of the present and all that had been done to give Jory's convalescence the perfect environment.
A large color TV was at the foot of his bed, and he had a remote control unit to change channels and turn it off and on from his bed. An electrician had arranged a way for Jory to open and close his draperies when he chose. A stereo was within his reach. Books lined the back of his adjustable bed, which would sit him up and turn him into almost any position he wanted. Melodie and I, with Chris's help, had wracked our brains to come up with every modern convenience that would enable him to do what he could for himself. Now all we had to do was to see he stayed busy with some occupation of real interest, enough to absorb his energies and challenge his innate talents.
A long time ago I'd started reading books on psychology, my poor attempt to try and help Bart. Now I could help Jory with his "racehorse" personality that had to compete and win. He couldn't endure boredom, lying about doing nothing. There was already a barre along the wall without windows, put there recently, to give him the promise that one day he'd stand up, even if he would have to wear a
back brace connected to leg braces. I sighed to think of my beautiful, graceful son stumbling along like a horse in a harness; then tears were streaking my face. Tears I quickly blinked away so Melodie wouldn't see them.
Soon Melodie was tired and left to lie down and rest. I finished up in the room, then hurried to oversee the ramps being constructed to take Jory down to the terraces and the gardens. No effort was being spared to see he would not be confined to his room. There was also a newly installed elevator put where once there had been a butler's pantry.
At last came the wonderful day when Jory was allowed to leave the hospital and come home. The cast was still on his back, but he was eating and drinking normally and had gained back his color and a little of the weight he'd lost. My heart ached with pity to see him flat on a stretcher, being rolled to the elevator, when once he'd taken the stairs three at a time. I saw him turn his head to stare at the stairs as if he'd sell his soul to use them again.
But, smiling, he looked around the grand suite of rooms all refurbished and his eyes sparkled. "It's great, what you've done, really great. My favorite color combination, white and blue. You've given me the seashore--why, I can almost smell the surf, hear the seagulls. It's wonderful, truly wonderful what paint and pictures, green plants and planning can do."