Afterwards they sat up and Annabelle laughed: awkwardly, nervously.
“I feel really embarrassed now,” she said.
Eddie smiled, resting his head in her lap again. She watched shafts of white light pour through the pine.
“How do you feel?” she asked after a while.
“Well it was hard,” he said, slowly combing her hair with his huge fingers, removing pine needles, small twigs, and bits of dry leaves.
“Why was it hard?”
“No one ever asked me to do that before. It violated the code of honour.”
She stopped smiling. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“I didn’t want to hurt you. I’m a very big guy. It must have been painful. I feel sorry about that.”
“It didn’t hurt,” she said, suddenly realizing how much her groin hurt.
He touched her mouth. “Your lip is bleeding a little bit,” he said. She covered her lower lip with her tongue, tasting the bruise.
He stood up, extending his hand to her, giving her a long look. “Well you look like you’ve just been attacked in the woods.”
“What should we tell your parents?” she asked.
“We’ll tell them you fell down coming back from the falls.”
Joanne was standing in the foyer straightening out the coat closet when Annabelle and Eddie arrived at the house.
“Did you see the foxes?” said Joanne, her head still in the closet.
“No, Mom,” said Eddie, unlacing the snowshoes he’d been wearing.
“Wait until the summer, Annabelle, there are hundreds of jack-in-the-pulpits up on the banks of the falls,” said Joanne, emerging from the closet, her arms laden with sweaters and hats.
She paused, then exclaimed, “What happened to you?”
Eddie and Annabelle looked at each other.
“We were frolicking in the pine grove,” Eddie finally said.
Annabelle turned to him and grimaced.
“A frolic,” retorted Joanne, “in my boots. You look like you were in a fight, Annabelle.”
Eddie had started untying Annabelle’s laces.
“Don’t you and Dad ever frolic?” laughed Eddie.
“Don?” snorted Joanne. “Frolic? Bah.”
Annabelle stood motionless. How could Eddie have said that?
“Annabelle,” said Joanne, “I’ve been waiting for you to come back. Eddie tells me that you love yard sales and there’s a big one advertised down the road. I want to take you.”
Annabelle didn’t want to be alone with Joanne again, especially after what Eddie had just said to her; especially after the rush of emotions following her fantasy in the woods, so she turned to Eddie, hoping her pained expression would beseech him to create an excuse for her not to go.
“That sounds great!” said Eddie. “I promised Dad I’d help him with his computer. Are you going right now?”
“Don’t take off your coat, Annabelle, I’ll be ready in a second,” said Joanne.
“Ummm,” said Annabelle, “I’d like to wash up for a minute first.”
“Why of course,” said Joanne, “I’ll wait for you in my car.”
“Well Eddie’s quite taken with you,” said Joanne, buckling herself into her blue Mercedes. “In my day girls didn’t have sex with a man unless they were married. I don’t know why they’d want to anyway. I never liked it at all.”
“I’m sorry?” said Annabelle, helpless as to how to respond.
“Sex!” exclaimed Joanne, navigating her way down the winding driveway. “I don’t know how any girl could enjoy something like that. Don always wanted to poke me. I hated that! All that sticky stuff oozing down my legs afterwards. That was awful, running to the bathroom and washing all that stuff off. He still wants to poke me, can you imagine that? You’d think an old man like that would just forget about all that stuff. If he’s going to forget about anything I’d like him to forget about all that! But he has this fierceness to him. You wouldn’t know it by looking at him. Is Eddie like that?”
Annabelle shook her head, unable to speak.
“Well I think Eddie should cut his hair, don’t you?” Joanne finally said.
“He likes having long hair,” said Annabelle, eager to change the subject.
“He looks foolish. He doesn’t look professional. If he’d cut his hair he’d look like a million bucks. OK, here we go,” she said, abruptly turning onto a dirt road. “The newspaper said it was down here – there it is.”
They stopped at a rickety clapboard house and got out, walking around together for a few minutes until Annabelle discovered a stack of record albums to inspect. Joanne soon found her, nudged her ribs, and said, “Just a lot of junk, if you ask me. I thought I’d get this scarf. They want seventy-five cents for it. Can you imagine that? I’ll offer fifty cents, see.” She ambled over to a man with a change belt.
Annabelle stared as Joanne loudly argued with the man about the value of the scarf. Eddie somehow resembled this blunt, proud woman, so determined to find a bargain.
Later that afternoon, Eddie said, “Dad wants to meet with us in his office.” His voice was unusually low and serious, imitating his father.
There were no curtains on the numerous windows in Don’s office.
Annabelle and Eddie sat on a brown leather sofa, facing two of the windows. Don sat at one of his desks by a corner window. Above his head hung a rock, the size of a soccer ball, dangling from a thin wire. The rock twirled slowly as they spoke and Annabelle couldn’t help staring at it from time to time.
Finally Eddie said, “That’s Dad’s rock.”
“My sword of Damocles,” smiled Don. “One of many. Getting back to the topic at hand, Edward, now that you know about my ideas for involving children in this process, do either of you have any ideas? You both have children at such important ages for this work.” He spoke so slowly and paused so often that Annabelle kept thinking he had finished speaking mid-sentence or had lost his train of thought.
Eddie turned to Don and said, “Well I’ve done some of that with computer science. I went down to Danny’s school and taught a three-day course on computer imaging.”
Then the room was silent again.
“What do you think, Annabelle?” said Don, finally.
“I think the work you’re doing is very valuable,” she said. “And I guess I only have two comments. Um. First, I think you might want to consider going to a few classrooms yourself and talking with the children, to see what they think. Um. Also, before they can learn and get involved they have to be cared for. They need food and shelter and all those things. Ketchup is not a vegetable after all. A lot of the children you’re most concerned about – and I’m most concerned about – are deprived of the most basic necessities, especially with the GOP in charge, so before they can learn anything new and get involved in saving the world, they have to be cared for as individuals. At Sarah’s school we have fundraisers to help shelters and such. The kids help raise the money, and when children get involved in helping others, they start developing social consciences.”
Annabelle spoke longer than she’d intended. Don wrote all the while she spoke. Then he didn’t respond, but sat and stared in space.
The room was silent again.
Finally Don pulled a white index card out of his white shirt pocket. “Joanne and I would like to take you two out to dinner this evening,” he said, glancing at the card, “I very much appreciate your taking the time to discuss these important matters with me.”
He stood up and Eddie tapped Annabelle’s hand, beckoning her out of the office. They returned to the guest room and started dressing for dinner.
“What do you think of my parents?” laughed Eddie.
“They’re quite a pair. Your mother told me that your father always wants to poke her!”
“She loves to talk about sex and how much she hates it. My father loves to talk about saving the world. We call him Don Quixote.”
“I think he’s sweet,” said Annabelle.
“He’d give all his money to the poor if mother would let him. But if he tried it she’d have him committed. But… you have to watch yourself with him you know: he’s very critical.”
“What do you mean? Did I say something wrong?”
“I don’t think so,” said Eddie, “but if ever you do, I’ll hear about it. He keeps files on all us brothers. And our spouses and our children. And our girlfriends.”
“Are you serious?” said Annabelle, frowning.
Eddie smiled. “Everything you said today will go in your file. He probably made a new file for you the first time I told him about you.”
“Well,” said Annabelle, unsure about whether Eddie was being serious, “at least he seems to be doing good humanitarian work,” she sighed. “I wonder what he’d make of my father? I’ll never forget the time, when I was about twelve, I was looking through the bookshelves in my parents’ bedroom and I found my father’s copy of Mein Kampf.” She lowered her voice. “It had annotations in the margin, like ‘good point’ and ‘makes sense to me’. He used to say that Hitler was a genius… as if that made it all right…”
She stared into space.
Eddie frowned and reached for her hand.
They left the following morning, as mist rose around the lake. Once on the highway, Eddie began reminiscing.
“I remember one time my mother was having wine with another man in the middle of the afternoon – he was the father of one of Andy’s friends. When Dad found out he ran around with an axe, yelling that he would chop down our house.”
“What did your mother do?”
“She told him to stop being an old fool. Then there was the time they had a fight and she served him a tuna sandwich made with canned cat food.”
“My father would have murdered my mother for doing something like that; literally killed her.”
“But do you see how they fulfil each other’s needs?” said Eddie. “She’s always been his challenge. He needs that.”
Annabelle paused. “Well, in a way you’re fortunate to have parents like them. They seem so concerned about all their children. Not like my parents, although my mother can’t help it if she isn’t. But it always hurts that she doesn’t remember my birthday.”
“I want to meet her.”
Annabelle smiled. “You want to stop at the nursing home on the way home?”
“No, I’ll cook dinner. Can you bring her over to my apartment for dinner, maybe in a couple of weeks? Next weekend I want you and Sarah to come over and meet Danny.”
The doorbell rang at nine-thirty at night while Annabelle was in the kitchen waiting for Eddie to call. Sarah was asleep in her room.
Annabelle turned off the lights, crept to the window, and peered out. Dennis was standing at the door, hands tucked in his jacket pockets, his car parked across the street.
She froze.
He rang the doorbell again. She remained motionless. Minutes went by. Finally he knocked, and then pounded. At ten the phone rang. She hurried through the darkness, into the kitchen, and picked up the receiver.
“Eddie,” she whispered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Dennis is outside. He’s been out there for a half-hour, ringing the doorbell and banging on the door. I don’t know what to do.”
“Call the police,” said Eddie.
“I’d hate to do that,” she whispered.
“He preys on your insecurities. You can’t let him harass you like this.”
“He must be drunk.”
“Sweetheart, you can call the police. It wouldn’t hurt anything to do that.”
“It’s just that whenever I think things are under control he pops out of nowhere and starts acting out again.”
“And all that is going to end,” insisted Eddie, “You’re not a victim any more. I really want you to call the police. You need to stop worrying about persecution, let him know you won’t be bullied.”
Annabelle paused. It had been quiet for several minutes.
“I think he left,” she finally said.
“I’ll wait if you want to go check.”
She put down the phone and looked out the living-room window. His car was gone. She crept back to the kitchen.
“He’s gone. I hate this. I feel like I’ve been living with a false sense of security. He’ll never stop bothering me.”
“I think you should call the police if he ever tries that again.”
“I hate this.”
“Maybe it’s time for him to become aware of me,” said Eddie.
“What do you mean?”
“I think he’ll stop bothering you if he sees you with me. I’m twice his size. I could kill him with one hand.”
Eddie’s first glimmer of fierceness: a strange comfort.
Dennis called Annabelle at her office the next day. She picked up the receiver.
“I’m sorry about last night—” he started.
“If you ever do that again,” she shouted, “I’ll call the police!”
She hung up. He didn’t call back.
Eddie came to dinner that night. The early April evening was unusually warm, like the promise of safety after a cold, restless night. Sarah went to sleep early, and then Annabelle and Eddie sat outside on the porch swing, defiantly kissing, their arms locked around each other.
The street was quiet, with little traffic. In less than an hour Annabelle spotted Dennis’s car at the top of the hill, creeping along. Dennis glanced at Annabelle and Eddie on the porch, then sped up and was soon out of sight.
“I wonder how long he’s been stalking the house,” said Annabelle, after he left.
“Don’t worry about that. He won’t be back.”
She remembered the paralegal work she’d done years earlier and all the cases of ex-husbands abusing their ex-wives. Once, while doing intake work, a man had called saying he was seeking custody of his grandchildren. When Annabelle asked about the children’s parents, the man, who was the fraternal grandfather, said their mother was dead and their father, his son, was in jail.
“He offed her,” said the man.
Annabelle had asked the man to repeat the statement several times, unable to understand the meaning, until the man impatiently retorted, “He killed her. Offed her. OK?”
The legal office decided not to take the case.
Annabelle shivered and leant against Eddie.
The porch swing creaked. Eddie stroked her hair.
Eddie was agitated at lunch at work the next day.
“Why is it so hard to get free?” he said. “You have to protect yourself from Dennis and I have to pay through the nose for my freedom.”
What do you mean?” said Annabelle, taking a bite of her cottage-cheese fruit salad.
“I had to buy my freedom from Barbara… but every day I’m thankful that I no longer have to look at her. That bitch.”
Annabelle’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were capable of this much anger.”
“I’ve been controlling my anger all my life. Men aren’t allowed to have feelings or to be sad. Our culture doesn’t accept it.”
“Why are you suddenly angry?”
“I always have to control my anger at Barbara. Even though she continues to wreak havoc on my life.” He paused. “I’ve just been thinking about this coming weekend when you’ll meet Danny. There are some things I need to tell you about him.”
Annabelle frowned.
“He has some socialization problems,” continued Eddie. “He’s extremely bright. He’s brilliant. But he has a lot of trouble relating to other children. That’s one of the reasons I enjoy being with Sarah so much, she’s a kid. She acts like a kid, she has an imagination. She plays. I wish Danny could do that. I don’t think Danny has an imagination.”
Annabelle smiled, “Eddie. Everyone has an imagination.”
Eddie had stopped eating and was staring out the window.
“Well exactly what kinds of socialization problems does he have?”
“He can be somewhat violent. I wish I could reach him. It’s very complicated.” Eddie sighed. “During our divorce, Barbara became a born-again Christian. She apparently feeds him stories about how I left them… I never, ever wanted to leave Danny. But I had to leave Barbara. I had to.”
Eddie remained perfectly calm, half-smiling.
Annabelle frowned. “What do you mean by violent?”
“Oh, Danny? Well, he’ll sometimes clobber other kids for no reason… I guess he has his reasons, but they don’t make sense sometimes. Part of the problem is that he’s so big. Even though he’s only ten, he’s the size of a fifteen year old, maybe bigger. Not only does he have my genes, but for reasons I cannot begin to fathom, his skinny, anorexic mother insists on feeding him red meat every single day. And I can’t help feeling sorry for him because he’s only ten and people expect him to behave like he’s five years older than he is because of his size.”
Annabelle closed her eyes, envisioning a child monster.
“Have you brought him to counseling?” she asked, thinking Danny might benefit from Nux Vomica, a homeopathic remedy for irritable, fault-finding meat-eaters.
“Oh, Barbara adores psychiatry and has had Danny in therapy since he was three. Now Danny thinks that everyone has to relate to him with the same sensitivity that his therapist shows him. But real life can’t be like that, you know?”
Annabelle stared out the window. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I just thought I should warn you,” said Eddie, “because Barbara has been very critical of my former girlfriends. I did consider fighting for custody. But then… what good would that have done? It would have shredded Danny to pieces. I care too much about him to do that. I even care too much about Barbara to do that. Even though leaving Danny was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, fighting over him would have been the worst thing I could have done. Children are the last battleground in divorce, you know. But I, for one, refuse to fight.”
Sarah paused on Eddie’s porch, pointing to the huge papier-mâché mask of St Francis of Assisi. “What’s that?” asked Sarah.
“That’s a mask of St Francis of Assisi. He was the patron saint of animals.”
“What’s he doing on Eddie’s porch?” asked Sarah.
“I think he belongs to Eddie’s brother,” said Annabelle, ringing the doorbell. “It’s a Bread and Puppet thing.”
“What’s Bread and Puppet?”
“It’s social theatre.”
Eddie appeared at the door. He reached out to hug Annabelle but she backed away. He nodded.
“Hi!” he boomed. “Come on in!”
Sarah cautiously stepped up into the apartment and Annabelle followed her. Eddie waved them into the living room where a large boy sat, his face covered by a copy of Scientific American.
“This is my son Danny,” said Eddie, nudging Danny who stood up and put down the magazine.
“Hi,” said Sarah in a dour voice.
Danny sauntered over and stood in front of Sarah. “Ayyyhhh!” he shouted in Sarah’s face.
“Argghhh!” screamed Sarah, running behind Annabelle. Then she peeked out and Danny shouted in her face again.
Annabelle gave Eddie a concerned expression.
Eddie laughed and said, “Are you guys hungry? I made a pizza and we’ve been waiting for you to start eating.”
They all sat around the tiny kitchen table. Eddie served everyone a piece of plain cheese pizza.
“Where’s Sam?” asked Annabelle.
“He has a concert,” said Eddie. “What should we do today?”
“What’s the capital of Oklahoma?” said Sarah to Danny. “I bet you don’t know.”
“Oklahoma City,” said Danny, confidently.
“OK,” she said, “What’s the capital of Wyoming?”
“Cheyenne,” said Danny. “What’s the capital of Argentina?”
Sarah paused.
“Buenos Aires,” said Danny. “I bet I can sing something you can’t.”
“What’s that?” said Eddie.
Danny took a sip of apple juice, cleared his throat, and began singing in Latin, in a clear alto voice. Sarah put down her pizza and stared at him.
When Danny was finished he smiled and said, “That was from Huc me sydereo descendere jussit Olympo.” His voice was low and smooth, like a classical radio disk jockey.
Nobody said anything.
“It’s Renaissance music,” explained Danny.
“That was very nice,” Eddie said at last and Annabelle nodded emphatically.
“Yeah,” said Sarah, “that was good. I bet I can sing something you can’t.”
“What?” challenged Danny.
Sarah raised the index and middle fingers on both hands and waved them from side to side, chirping, “Little bunny foo foo hopping through the forest, picking up the field mice and boppin’ ’em on the head—” She made a fist with her right hand and tapped it with the palm of her left hand.
“That’s an absolutely ridiculous song!” interrupted Danny.
“Don’t interrupt,” said Eddie. “Keep going, Sarah.”
Sarah continued and Eddie joined in, “Down came a fairy and she said…” Sarah and Eddie shook their index fingers at each other. “Little bunny foo foo don’t you go hopping through the forest, picking up the field mice and boppin’ ‘em on the head!”
Annabelle, Eddie and Sarah all laughed. “Where did you learn that?” said Annabelle to Sarah.
“From TV,” said Sarah.
“That’s an old camp song,” said Eddie. Danny was scowling.
“Don’t you think it’s funny?” asked Eddie.
“No, it’s very stupid,” said Danny.
“I bet you can’t sing it,” smirked Sarah.
“Of course I can,” said Danny.
“Go ahead,” she said.
Danny sang the song, waving his index and middle fingers; then Sarah and Eddie joined in until Danny laughed.
They spent the afternoon playing basketball at a park by the Mystic River. At dusk Eddie heated up two cans of tomato soup.
“Are you going to stay overnight?” Danny said to Annabelle.
“No,” said Annabelle, shaking her head. Sarah looked incredulous.
“That’s too bad,” said Danny.
“Why would we stay overnight?” said Sarah, spilling a spoonful of soup on her sweater and looking down to see where it had landed.
“My father’s other girlfriends used to stay overnight,” said Danny.
“My mother is not your father’s girlfriend,” Sarah carefully explained.
“Oh no?” said Danny, raising his right eyebrow.
“No!” insisted Sarah, looking at Eddie. “He helps us with our car. They’re just friends.”
Annabelle and Eddie looked at each other.
“She’s your girlfriend, isn’t she?” asked Danny, pointing at Annabelle.
Eddie took Annabelle’s hand. “She’s my best friend,” he said.
Danny and Sarah looked at each other.
“I told you so,” said Danny.
Eddie called a little later than usual that evening.
“Sarah interrogated me about our relationship all the way home,” said Annabelle.
“I think the kids had a great day!” said Eddie.
“Once again she informed me that I must never get married again because I already did that and it didn’t work. But she doesn’t seem to be upset about you being my boyfriend. She had a good time too.”
“Didn’t they?” said Eddie. “They ended up playing very well together. I think Danny enjoyed being with Sarah more than he enjoyed being with me. That really surprised me because usually he’s so antisocial. They have him in controlled play settings at school but today he was actually spontaneous. And then he was disappointed that you wouldn’t be staying overnight. That never happened before!”
“So we met with his approval?”
Eddie paused. “Why are you angry?” he asked eventually.
Annabelle shook her head in exasperation.
“What’s wrong?” said Eddie to the silent telephone.
“If we hadn’t met with his approval what would you have done? Cut us off like you did all your other girlfriends?”
“Annabelle, if Sarah hadn’t liked me, wouldn’t you have been disappointed?”
Annabelle remained silent, realizing she would have ended their relationship if Sarah hadn’t liked Eddie.
“We’re trying to do a lot,” said Eddie finally, interrupting Annabelle’s thoughts. “We’re trying to get two only children together with as little friction as possible. I love you. And I love Danny and Sarah and I’ve just been so happy about everyone getting along. I’m looking forward to meeting your mom next weekend. Danny won’t be there and neither will Sam. Will you be more relaxed then?”
“I’m sorry,” sighed Annabelle. “It’s just that there have been so many changes in my life recently – and I’ve come to feel as if I’m being inspected by Sam and Joanne and Don and Danny… And I wonder if our relationship depends on their approval.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way. What can I do to help?”
To: EWRIGHT
From: ABonney
Thank you for bringing lunch today. Our relationship is complex. I do love you. And I am happy that everything went well when we met Danny.
I just drafted some new poems. Here they are:
Did you ever notice
That my daughter and your son
Wear the eyes of their other parents,
The ones that came before us
And now hide in the bushes
Of our cerebrums?
Did you ever catch those eyes
And look away
From the stranger
On the path we walked once
Long ago, into that dark forest
Where trees had grabby arms
And wouldn’t let go
And pounded on our doors
At midnight?
Why do neither of our children
Have our eyes? Where did they go?
X and X and
X and Y, his green,
Not brown like yours,
Hers blue, not hazel
Like mine.
Last night the moon was full
Of negotiations. We plan
To meet again.
A long time ago now
You asked me to teach you
About poems. On the telephone last night
My voice had iron in it.
This morning is so early it’s black
Except for the light bulbs I’ve lit.
I need to make eyes with you
So we can see ourselves
Looking back. I need to understand
This baby mania, this passion casserole
They call parenthood.
Don’t you see the danger
I’m in? Wanting
To grow now and blossom and bloom
With sprouts and new leaves and pulp and earth?
Once I saw a tree trunk
With the body of a woman,
It’s torso reclining, watching
The night.
Last night I dreamt four men
Were forcing a dead Christmas tree
Through my door
And I kept begging: “Take it out!”
And they kept screaming: “No, it’s yours!”
Don’t you see the danger
I’m in
Now that the pine cone matters?
Now do you see
How hopelessly I want to
Forebear and bear
New fruit?
To: ABonney
From: EWRIGHT
A new poem for you, Annabelle:
How could you have known
You were the dream
I had several years ago
Of my perfect love?
Dreams can’t dream.
When was the last time
You saw the angels
Walk across the sky?
A star lights up
Shows you the way
Though a forest silent
With trees
So patiently
Calling out.
It’s the telephone.
It’s for you.
It’s God.
While Annabelle drove, Sarah spoke non-stop to her Grandma Mary.
It had been an effort to get Mary into the car. Annabelle signed her out of the nursing home and slowly walked with her, opened each door and waited and waited. She realized she hadn’t been visiting nearly as often since she’d been with Eddie; now her visits were limited to quick trips in and out of the building on Sundays instead of the extended visits she used to make during which Mary would become increasingly confused.
When they arrived at Eddie’s house, Sarah explained the huge mask on Eddie’s porch.
“That’s St Francis of Assisi,” said Sarah, “he belongs to Eddie’s brother.”
“Oh that’s nice,” said Mary, “his brother.”
Eddie opened the door and led them all in. “What’s that smell?” said Sarah.
“Baked potatoes and chicken!”
“I’m not eating any chicken,” said Sarah.
“You can watch television until lunch is ready,” he said.
Annabelle introduced Mary to Eddie. He had pulled his long hair back in a tight ponytail in deference to her. Mary was extremely quiet, nodding her head and smiling for no apparent reason.
Sarah and Annabelle never ate meat and although Annabelle cut Mary’s chicken into bite-size pieces, Mary didn’t eat any either.
After devouring her potato, Sarah ran back to the living room to watch more television while Annabelle, Eddie and Mary remained at the kitchen table.
Mary fingered her paper napkin and folded it carefully. She held it up to Annabelle and solemnly announced, “I want you to have this.”
Annabelle smiled and took the napkin. “Thank you,” she said.
Mary continued working on her potato, which she had slowly consumed with her spoon and now there were only tiny bits of white pulp attached to the brown skin that she didn’t try to eat.
“Well it’s very nice that you could come here for lunch today,” said Eddie, smiling, his arm around Annabelle.
Mary looked at him, then stiffly raised her right arm and held it out straight, high in front of her. “Heil Hitler!” she exclaimed.
Annabelle and Eddie looked at each other. “What’s that?” said Eddie, still smiling.
“She will do anything you say,” said Mary.
Annabelle grimaced and said, “What are you talking about Mom?!”
Mary returned to her potato and continued humming.
Annabelle helped Eddie wash the dishes while Mary sat at the table, still scraping the potato skin around the plate.
“She never said anything like that before,” Annabelle whispered.
“Maybe I remind her of your father,” said Eddie. “He was a big guy, right? Maybe that’s symbolic of how your father treated her… Maybe seeing you with me brought back some image of when she was with him.”
Just when those memories had faded far enough to seem like distant nightmares, something happens to jolt me awake and it all comes back and it never goes away.
There are just too many variables to figure all this out… All the paraphernalia my father left behind when he left Mom – his army jacket, which Mom gave to Dennis while we were dating – it has that mysterious spearhead insignia that Dennis kept obsessively researching, claiming it was the symbol of the OSS… That kid in high school, whose dad was openly involved in organized crime, telling me that my father had sponsored his father to join our country club…
At least my father took all his guns with him when he left, along with all his money.
But after all this time, why did Mom say that?
Annabelle shuddered, staring at her mother, a strange and tender woman who had prayed to forget.