"He was the one who used to take the pictures. My father told Laura and me that once,"
I stared at Kenneth's photo a moment longer. Then I gazed at the other pictures in the album. There was a really nice one of my daddy and mommy when they were in high school. They sat on a bench in a gazebo, Daddy's arm around her. She had her knees pulled up, her arms around them, and her head was back against his. There was a rose in her hair. Her face was radiant. Daddy looked as happy as I had ever seen him.
"I like this one," I said.
"Do you?" He gazed at the photograph. "They were good looking. Why don't you just take the picture?" Cary suggested.
"Really?"
"Who's going to know?" He shrugged. I looked at May and then ripped the picture from the page.
We looked for a while longer. There were pictures of relatives I had never heard of. Finally, we came to a set of pictures of a mousy-looking woman who continually looked as if she were going to burst into tears.
"And who's this?" I asked.
"That's Grandma Olivia's younger sister," Cary said. "Really? I didn't see any pictures of her in the house. Does Grandma Olivia have any brothers?"
"No."
"Where does her sister live?" I asked.
He paused as if to decide whether or not to tell me. "She's in some sort of hospital."
"Hospital?"
"She's not--" He pointed to his temple and shook his head.
"She's in a mental hospital?"
"Yeah, I guess. She had a drinking problem and other problems. We don't talk about her much. Grandma Olivia doesn't even like anyone asking about her."
"How terrible."
"I guess so," Cary said. "She was brought here for a little while years and years ago, but she couldn't handle life on the outside. I really don't know much about her," he added.
"What's her name?" I stared at the smallfeatured woman holding herself as if she thought she might fall apart.
"Belinda," Cary said.
"What a nice name. What's wrong with her?" I looked closer at the photographs. In one she looked more comfortable, even pretty. "I mean, why did she have a drinking problem and other problems? Did anyone ever mention that?" I asked.
"No, not really. I once heard my father say she laughed after everything she said and looked at every man as if he were her long-awaited prince, no matter how old or what he looked like."
"How sad," I said. I studied her face a moment longer and then turned the pages. I hated having to admit it, even to myself, but Grandma Olivia had been pretty when she was younger. Grandpa Samuel was always a good-looking man. As I perused these family pictures that captured moments like birthdays, parties, afternoon outings on boats and on the beach, I wondered about Mommy's childhood. There must have been happy times living in these rich,
comfortable surroundings. How I wished she had told me more about them. How I wished there had been an earlier end to the lies.
May was getting fidgety and Cary was afraid she would get dirty moving around the basement so much, so we put the pictures back. I held on to the photo of Mommy and Daddy and we left the basement. We
were surprised to find the butler on the back porch, searching for us.
"Oh, there you are. Good," he cried when he saw us coming. "I was sent to fetch you. It appears Mrs. Logan is somewhat under the weather and your father wants to take you all home."
"Ma's sick?" Cary said. He hurried on ahead of May and me.
Aunt Sara had apparently been struck with an upset stomach, and while we were down in the basement, she had spent most of the time in the bathroom throwing up her rich, delicious supper. Uncle Jacob looked distraught and angry.
"Where have you been?" he snapped. "We're going home. Your mother's got the heaves."