Something She's Not Telling Us - Darcey Bell Page 0,47
to her doctor or just another wheezy little chest? Charlotte decides to change doctors, if need be, when they get home.
Charlotte’s never anxious or restless in Oaxaca. She always feels happy there, especially when she manages to get away from Mom and her expat friends. A few times Eli has stayed in New York with Daisy, and Charlotte has gone alone, or with Rocco; a few times Eli’s parents came up from Florida to watch Daisy so Eli and Charlotte could go together.
Charlotte loves the soft clear mountain light, the brightly colored walls, the hilly cobblestone streets, the gorgeous vegetation, and the smells of someone cooking something delicious behind the kitchen windows. Turning a corner to find herself in the middle of a parade with brass bands and people throwing baskets of candy at the happy children—that’s when Charlotte would miss Daisy most and wish they’d brought her along.
It’s Mom’s—Daisy’s grandmother’s—sixtieth birthday. Daisy has a right to be there. She belongs there. They can always fly home if something goes wrong. Mom will understand. Eventually. She’ll be frosty and then defrost after a couple of months. Anyway, nothing is going to go wrong.
There was only once—just once—when the trip was a nightmare.
That was before Daisy was born. Rocco and Charlotte had gone down there to help Mom get settled, only to find that she was already settled. She’d hired the endlessly kind, resourceful Luz to help around the house.
Rocco had been drinking heavily. He was unemployed. Probably homeless, though he never admitted that to Charlotte, who would have insisted that he come stay with her and Eli.
He’d gotten the money for the fare from Mom.
And one night, after who knows how many tequila shots, he’d pulled a knife—a kitchen knife, but still—on Mom and demanded to know why she’d burned down their house.
With Rocco inside it.
It’s one of those family . . . what? Not secrets, exactly. They all know about it. Charlotte and Eli. Mom and Rocco, obviously. But no one ever mentions it.
It’s one of those family . . . things that no one talks about. Ever. One of those things they all pretend to have forgotten, though no one will ever forget.
Charlotte was a senior in high school then, getting ready to leave for college.
One afternoon, walking home from the school bus stop, she had to jump out of the way of the town fire engine speeding toward . . . It took her a while to realize where the fire truck was going, but on this stretch of the road, it could only have been heading for her house.
She began to run. She could hardly breathe. She was already weeping. The wind—the same wind whipping up the fire—blew her scream back in her face.
Rocco would have been walking home from the bus stop with her . . . except that he’d stayed home, sick with a bad cold that day.
He’d stayed home with Mom.
Oh, Rocco!
A passing motorist had called in the fire. Flames were already shooting out of the roof of the house. The fire had started in the attic. Where Mom lived. Where Mom had been hiding out.
The sheriff was the first to arrive, and he and his deputy had gotten Mom out of the attic, and she had directed them to the bed where Rocco lay asleep.
Later Mom would stress that point. Didn’t that prove that she meant to save him? That she hadn’t been trying to kill him? That it was an accident . . . she’d fallen asleep smoking . . .
The police believed her. But Rocco and Charlotte never did. Without ever discussing it, they both believed that Mom had been living out the end of her Jane Eyre fantasy. The madwoman in the attic sets fire to the house.
None of the authorities seemed to notice—and no one pointed out—that Mom didn’t smoke. That is, she didn’t smoke then. Later she would start. As if to prove that her story could have been true.
The problem was that it wasn’t true.
By the time Charlotte got there, Mom and Rocco were standing on the front lawn, wrapped in blankets, shivering. Watching everything burn.
Mom had gone to the hospital. Charlotte and Rocco had gone to live with their father’s sister in New York City. Charlotte left for college. Rocco started drinking.
And no one talked about any of it until Rocco held the knife to Mom’s throat, in her kitchen in Oaxaca, and asked her why she’d done it. How could she?