Little Lies

Chapter 12: Uncle Phil Takes Over

Mama, Aunt Fran, and Uncle Phil were eating breakfast in the dining room when I sat down.

"Why are you sitting in Papa’s chair?" I asked Uncle Phil. "You don’t belong there."

"That chair doesn't have Papa's name on it," Mama said. "Anyone can sit there."

"Why are you acting like Papa never existed?" I stood up. "I'm not hungry."

"Sit down and eat, Clara," Uncle Phil said.

"I said I'm not hungry." I looked at Bessie, who stood behind Uncle Phil. She shook her head.

I sat down and scowled.

Bessie put a bowl of oatmeal in front of me.

I stirred it with a spoon.

"Would you like some fruit in your oatmeal, darling?" Mama asked.

"No."

"Eat some fruit," Uncle Phil said.

"No."

Uncle Phil stood up, walked over to me, and dished some fresh fruit onto my oatmeal.

I slumped into my chair.

"Clara, eat." Uncle Phil stood over me.

I mushed a half a strawberry into the oatmeal, then spooned a blueberry on top. I flattened the blueberry, then spooned a raspberry on top.

Mama put her napkin on the table. "Clara, what are you doing?"

"Nothing."

Uncle Phil put his hands on either side of my bowl. "This is breakfast, not a building project. Eat."

"You're not my papa! You can't tell me what to do!" I stood up and tried to run, but I wasn't fast enough. He grabbed my arm.

"Your papa is dead!" Uncle Phil said. "I'm the head of the family now, so it's my job to tell you what to do."

"Papa isn't dead to me!"

Uncle Phil pulled me out of chair, out the door, and down the path to the cemetery.

"Let me go!" I dug my feet into the dirt, but he dragged me behind him anyway.

"Come along, young lady. Here's your papa."

He flung me on top of Papa's grave. Fresh flowers surrounded the marble slab. I knew they were fresh because I put them there every morning. The engraving on the headstone was still deep. I knew, because I traced it with my finger every day, as though somehow that would bring Papa back.

I rolled over and looked at him and placed my hand on my heart. "No, here's my papa."

Uncle Phil took off his hat and sat down next to the grave. "Clara, I don't know what to do with you. All I've ever wanted was for you to love me and trust me."

I stared at him. "Why?"

Uncle Phil opened his mouth. Then he closed his mouth. "Why?"

"I don't know if I can trust you. Will you tell me the truth? Will you stop whispering about me?”

Uncle Phil took a deep breath. "I can try. Will you give me a chance?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I can try."

"Shake on it?" He held out his hand.

I brushed my hands off on my pants and we shook hands.

I still didn't trust him.

=

The next morning, Uncle Phil walked into the dining room where Mama, Aunt Fran, and I were having breakfast.

"I have a surprise for all of you." He grinned at us. "You'll just love it!"

"I don't want anymore surprises." I got up from my chair. "We buried the last surprise."

Aunt Fran hid her mouth with her napkin.

Uncle Phil gave her a nasty look that Aunt Fran ignored.

"Clara, you didn't finish breakfast," Mama said.

"I'm not hungry anymore."

"Clara darling, you're wasting away."

I walked towards my room, but Uncle Phil grabbed my arm. "You can't keep running away."

I glared at him.

Uncle Phil changed his tone of voice. "I want to show you something new, something fun, something that will change our lives. Please, Clara. Give me a few hours. Will you do that?"

I rolled my eyes. "Ok."

"Good. Ladies, grab something warm to wear. We're going to take a little trip!"

About half an hour later, we were loaded into the car and driving out of town. The sun was shining, and a few puffy clouds drifted through the sky. Uncle Phil's car had windows in the back seat so that I didn't have to suffocate, and Mama's hair could stay in place. I snuggled into the corner and fell asleep.

"Clara, wake up, we're here!" Aunt Fran shook my shoulder.

I rubbed my eyes. "Where's here?"

"Somewhere you've never been before." Uncle Phil opened the car doors, and we all got out.

The car was parked in front of a house that stood alone on top of a cliff. Seagulls flew above our heads, singing huoh-huoh-huoh.

"This is our new home," Uncle Phil said.

"It's lovely," Mama said, and clapped her hands.

"I'm so glad that you're happy, Jo," he said.

I ran behind the house and down the cliff. Aunt Fran followed me, but didn't walk all the way down.

I walked all the way to the edge and looked down. The ocean crashed on rocks below. Then I ran back to Aunt Fran. "You're not going to like this place."

"I can tell," she said. "Looks like I'll be staying close to the house."

I ran back to the Uncle Phil and Mama. "Where's the beach?"

"There is no beach," Uncle Phil said.

"What's the point of living near the ocean if I can't go swimming?" I asked. "And why did you buy a house near a cliff? You know Aunt Fran doesn't like heights."

"I bought this house for your mama."

I shook my head. "I don't want to live here."

Aunt Fran joined us. “I don't, either.”

"At least look inside the house. You'll change your mind." Uncle Phil led us to the house.

I shook my head. "When I grow up, I'm going to talk to my family before I do stupid things," I whispered to Aunt Fran.

"When you grow up, I want to live with you," Aunt Fran whispered back.

Uncle Phil turned around. "What are you two whispering about?"

"About stupid things," I said.

Aunt Fran smiled.

The inside of the house was dark and dusty. I wrinkled my nose and sneezed.

"Don't you just love it?" Mama asked.

"No," I said. "It's too dark, and it stinks."

"Franny, please be a dear and open the windows," Mama said.

"I'll help," Uncle Phil said.

"I'll go outside." I sat down on the front porch deck and sighed, just like Mama did when she didn't get her way.

"The women are planning where the furniture is going to go." Uncle Phil sat down next to me. "What do you think of the place?"

"I don't like it." I drew a circle in the dust. "I'd rather live back in town. That's where Papa is."

"Clara, your papa is dead." Uncle Phil stared at the sky.

"That's what you always say," I said.

He sighed. "I know this may not make sense now. But one day, when you're ready, you'll move on with your life. Trust me, I've been through it. I'm not saying that you'll ever forget your papa. Someday though, other people will come into your life that you'll love."

"What does this house have to do with any of that?"

"I thought that if you got away from all the memories, you'd be able to start over fresh sooner."

"Oh." I listened to the wind for a few seconds. "Uncle Phil, I don't have a good feeling about this house, or about being here." I stood up.

Uncle Phil took my hand. “Clara, I’ll make you a promise. Live in this house three months. Just three months. If you still don’t like it, you and Aunt Fran can move back to town. Is that a deal?”

"That's a deal." I shook Uncle Phil's hand. Then I sniffed the air. I frowned.

"What's wrong, Clara?"

I sniffed the air again. "Do you smell that?"

"I only smell the ocean air."

"I smell Papa's pipe tobacco."

Uncle Phil laughed. "You're dreaming."