Read Online The Language of Secrets by Dianne Dixon - Free Book Online
Authors: Dianne Dixon
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erased by someone with the sort of style and confidence that he could never muster.
It was Justin who had slammed onto the concrete floor, but itwas Caroline who had Robert’s attention at the moment. He was thinking about a Thanksgiving dinner four years ago, remembering how radiant she had been.
He had no way of knowing—during that routine family gathering—that less than a month later Caroline would bring a monumental change to his life, something that would leave him stunned, and feeling furiously cheated.
As they were all gathered around, watching Robert’s father carve the turkey, Caroline was laughing and joking with Robert’s brother, Tom. An ambergold light was pouring through the windows at the far end of the room, making everyone look resplendent and virtuous.
It was a beautiful scene, but Robert was too restless to remain part of it. He quietly pushed back his chair and left the table. He wanted to be somewhere else. He was tired of life in the house on Lima Street. He had literally been born in the place—squirming into the world as his mother sprawled on the kitchen floor, comforted by a young neighbor named Mary Marston.
And on the day of his birth, it seemed to Robert, the house had claimed him and marked him as its prisoner. He tried his best to escape it, but he had failed.
He spent his teenage years constantly traveling away from Lima Street—to the beaches of Southern California, to Huntington, Trancas, and the Rincon. He had dreamed of a life in which he would craft custom-made surfboards—an existence that would never require him to wear a tie, or carry a briefcase, or possess a neatly printed business card.
But in his early twenties, the house had abruptly reasserted its claim on him and Robert had returned to Lima Street with Caroline at his side. He had put on a tie, and picked up a briefcase—and he had felt in his pocket the weight of the newly printed business cards that bore his name.
As Robert walked into the kitchen, Caroline was calling to him from the dining room: “I just told everyone about how you doubled the size of the agency this year.”
He reached for the bottle of scotch that was in the cabinet above the refrigerator and heard his brother shout: “Hey, congrats, man!”
“Yeah,” Robert shouted back. “Born to sell insurance. That’s me.” He poured himself a drink, and within seconds his mother was in the room, giving him a delicately constrained smile.
Her voice was shivery with self-effacement as she said, “If only I could find a way not to be so terribly upset when I see a man I love with liquor in his hand.” She smiled again, this time with a coquettish sparkle. “I should try to be a braver girl, shouldn’t I? Less sensitive, more like Caroline. But I can’t help myself.” She picked up Robert’s glass and poured the scotch into the sink.
Robert knew what was coming. He’d been hearing it for thirty years.
“When I was a little a girl,” his mother was saying, “it was so awful to walk in here and see that my father was drinking. It was only when he drank, you know, that he was mean to my mother and me. Only then.”
She paused and smiled another one of her pretty-girl smiles. “When he wasn’t drinking he was very kind. I see the same kindness in you, Robert. Although now, most of it goes to Caroline, of course. But I saw it in you the moment you were born. It’s how I knew you would always be my precious gift from God.”
She held her arms out to him, and he understood he was once more being taken captive by her delicate despotism. And he deeply resented it.
His resentment had begun with the arrival of the acceptance letter from his first-choice college, the college his brother, Tom, was attending, the University of Hawaii. His mother had been atthe kitchen table. “Oh,” she had said. “Hawaii. You’ll be so far away. And I’ll feel so alone.” Then she had looked off into some sad middle distance and sighed: “But
It was Justin who had slammed onto the concrete floor, but itwas Caroline who had Robert’s attention at the moment. He was thinking about a Thanksgiving dinner four years ago, remembering how radiant she had been.
He had no way of knowing—during that routine family gathering—that less than a month later Caroline would bring a monumental change to his life, something that would leave him stunned, and feeling furiously cheated.
As they were all gathered around, watching Robert’s father carve the turkey, Caroline was laughing and joking with Robert’s brother, Tom. An ambergold light was pouring through the windows at the far end of the room, making everyone look resplendent and virtuous.
It was a beautiful scene, but Robert was too restless to remain part of it. He quietly pushed back his chair and left the table. He wanted to be somewhere else. He was tired of life in the house on Lima Street. He had literally been born in the place—squirming into the world as his mother sprawled on the kitchen floor, comforted by a young neighbor named Mary Marston.
And on the day of his birth, it seemed to Robert, the house had claimed him and marked him as its prisoner. He tried his best to escape it, but he had failed.
He spent his teenage years constantly traveling away from Lima Street—to the beaches of Southern California, to Huntington, Trancas, and the Rincon. He had dreamed of a life in which he would craft custom-made surfboards—an existence that would never require him to wear a tie, or carry a briefcase, or possess a neatly printed business card.
But in his early twenties, the house had abruptly reasserted its claim on him and Robert had returned to Lima Street with Caroline at his side. He had put on a tie, and picked up a briefcase—and he had felt in his pocket the weight of the newly printed business cards that bore his name.
As Robert walked into the kitchen, Caroline was calling to him from the dining room: “I just told everyone about how you doubled the size of the agency this year.”
He reached for the bottle of scotch that was in the cabinet above the refrigerator and heard his brother shout: “Hey, congrats, man!”
“Yeah,” Robert shouted back. “Born to sell insurance. That’s me.” He poured himself a drink, and within seconds his mother was in the room, giving him a delicately constrained smile.
Her voice was shivery with self-effacement as she said, “If only I could find a way not to be so terribly upset when I see a man I love with liquor in his hand.” She smiled again, this time with a coquettish sparkle. “I should try to be a braver girl, shouldn’t I? Less sensitive, more like Caroline. But I can’t help myself.” She picked up Robert’s glass and poured the scotch into the sink.
Robert knew what was coming. He’d been hearing it for thirty years.
“When I was a little a girl,” his mother was saying, “it was so awful to walk in here and see that my father was drinking. It was only when he drank, you know, that he was mean to my mother and me. Only then.”
She paused and smiled another one of her pretty-girl smiles. “When he wasn’t drinking he was very kind. I see the same kindness in you, Robert. Although now, most of it goes to Caroline, of course. But I saw it in you the moment you were born. It’s how I knew you would always be my precious gift from God.”
She held her arms out to him, and he understood he was once more being taken captive by her delicate despotism. And he deeply resented it.
His resentment had begun with the arrival of the acceptance letter from his first-choice college, the college his brother, Tom, was attending, the University of Hawaii. His mother had been atthe kitchen table. “Oh,” she had said. “Hawaii. You’ll be so far away. And I’ll feel so alone.” Then she had looked off into some sad middle distance and sighed: “But
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