Chapter 8

Bruna cancelled that week’s sleepover so Emm could get another good night’s rest. They spent evenings in front of the television, their eyes on the screen so they wouldn’t have to talk. He watched the sitcoms she liked—All in the Family, Maude, Mary Tyler Moore—and felt a soft spot for the beleaguered Archie Bunker. Bruna listened to his news programs and gave him tea.

They both sat forward the day the CBC announced the verdict in the Patricia Hearst trial: “The famous heiress, who took the nom de guerre ‘Tania’ in honor of Che Guevara’s martyred lover, was convicted of armed bank robbery and given the maximum sentence of thirty-five years. The jury decided that Hearst, kidnapped two years ago, was a willing accomplice of her captors, a left-wing guerilla group calling itself the Symbionese Liberation Army. Her flamboyant attorney, F. Lee Bailey, who spilled water on his pants during the closing arguments and was suspected of being drunk, has not said whether the legal team will appeal the decision.”

“I’ve been following the case in the Star,” said Emm. “The defense argued that she was brainwashed, but I say she was a rich girl getting back at her father. She got what she deserved and can rot in prison. I’m just glad it’s not our country’s tax dollars paying her room and board.”

“How can you say she was a voluntary participant in the robbery? The poor young woman was held in a closet and raped. She was a victim. It’s a classic case of the Stockholm Syndrome.”

“What?” Emm recalled reading about it but couldn’t remember what the term meant.

“It’s when hostages identify with their captors and express sympathy for them. They even take on their beliefs and behaviors.”

“To the point of becoming terrorists and toting machine guns?” Emm sneered. “I still say she was a spoiled rich girl, rejecting her parents’ values. In the deadliest way possible.”

“She was a neglected rich girl, and the SLA gave her the close family she never had as a child. Patty didn’t want to reject her father. She was hungry for his love, and this was the sad and misguided way she showed it.” Bruna looked down at her hands. “It’s not so hard to understand.”

Emm was incredulous. “You’re taking her side because you identify with her? You think I neglected you?” He snorted. “Well, none of my children, including you, turned out that bad.”

“We didn’t turn out that great either.”

Emm couldn’t dispute that. All the same, he refused to be judged so harshly, as if he were somehow responsible for Patricia Hearst shooting up a bank and plotting to overthrow the United States government. He struggled to his feet. “I’m not going to live here if that’s how you feel. I won’t walk on eggshells around you. At my age, I deserve peace and quiet. And respect.” Emm pushed the walker toward his room. “Sons appreciate their fathers more than daughters do. They know what it means to work hard to feed their families. I’ll move in with Cleon.”

“Be my guest. If he’ll have you. Let me know by tomorrow if I should call your case worker or if you can declare your innocence and independence yourself.” Bruna turned off the television and brushed past Emm, headed for her own room. “To answer a question you didn’t ask, Father. I never had children; not because I don’t like them. Just the opposite. But I prefer to take care of other people’s kids so I don’t have to face the coercion and abuse of their fathers. My decision not to marry or have children wasn’t a rejection of Mother. It was a rejection of you.”