Annabelle stared at her reflection in Brian Anderson’s round reading glasses. Brian had been sitting at his desk for ten minutes, shaking his head and waving around her chapter on averaging methods while she stood next to him, waiting for his overdue response.
He said, “The problem with this is…”
He paused and shook his head again.
She looked away, noticing that his left shoe was untied.
“The problem with this is… I just don’t know if you’ve got it right. Did you try out these formulas?”
“On what?” she asked.
“On data.”
“Such as?”
“Anything. Just on anything.”
“Well, sure, I tried them out,” said Annabelle, sighing, “I imported some values for a series of companies and applied the formulas.”
“Where did you get the formulas?”
“From Frank.”
“Didn’t Frank review this?”
“Yes, but he said I should get your feedback.”
“Why does he want my feedback?”
Annabelle smiled. “He didn’t say.”
Brian frowned, exasperated.
“Just leave the fucking thing with me,” he said, “and I’ll look it over later.”
Annabelle watched while he placed the chapter on a pile of papers and turned his attention to his monitor.
To: EWRIGHT
From: ABonney
Dennis called and left a message on my machine asking if Sarah can stay with him this weekend. He said his mother is having a big party for one of his brothers and he wants to take Sarah to it. He hasn’t been acting out lately, you know? No weird phone calls or anything. He hasn’t signed the papers yet but at least he’s behaving better. So I called and told him it was OK and that I would drop Sarah off at his mother’s house early on Saturday afternoon. That way I won’t have to see him at all. So I’m free from 2 p.m. Saturday until Sunday evening! (He’ll drop her off on Sunday. I won’t let him in.) Do you have any ideas?
On a work-related note, can you explain the mystery surrounding the MVI averaging methods? Frank Marks gave me a set of formulas to document but said I should be sure to have Brian Anderson sign off on them before publishing them. So when I asked for Brian’s feedback, he was annoyed about it and has yet to review it. What’s going on?
To: ABonney
From: EWRIGHT
Let’s go on the trip to Brattleboro we’ve been talking about! There’s an excellent health-food restaurant there and we’ll get a motel room and have fun!
Re: work note: Yes. The averaging method calculations were written by Bradford Pickett, an eccentric consultant who no longer works for MVI. (Rumour has it he’s now working as a stripper at the Big Violet Banana on Route 16.) Anyway, all of MVI’s functions rest on those averaging formulas, but no one, with the possible exception of Bradford, understands them. Nor can anyone verify said accuracy. Let it go. Just pass the ball, stay in line, and keep the peace.
Love,
Eddie
They arrived in southern Vermont at twilight and parked in downtown Brattleboro behind the library.
“These Victorian houses are gorgeous,” murmured Annabelle as they walked down a hill towards the main street.
“When we buy a house it will be a small Victorian, OK?” asked Eddie.
They turned the corner by a fabric store at the base of the hill.
“In my first marriage we bought a great big old house that needed so many repairs even I couldn’t keep up with it,” he explained, waiting for a response.
“Dennis is never going to sign those papers,” sighed Annabelle, “we’ll never be able to buy a house or anything else.”
“Dennis is doing that to control you,” said Eddie. “Maybe you need to contest it – if it costs more I’ll help you pay—”
“But he keeps promising to sign them.”
They arrived at the door of the Shared Earth restaurant and were seated in the middle of a large room. Annabelle clutched her arms across her chest and looked around.
“What’s wrong?” said Eddie.
“Well, we’re sitting in the middle of the room.”
“So?”
“Nothing.”
They were both silent. A woman with multiple earrings and tattoos came to take their order.
“I’ll have the spinach pizza and some seltzer water,” said Annabelle.
“I’ll have that too,” said Eddie. “And do you serve wine here?”
“Just organic wine,” said the waitress. “Would you like to try the Green Mountain Blush?”
Eddie nodded and soon the bottle arrived; he filled two large glasses.
“Oh, this is nice and sweet,” said Annabelle, taking several long sips. She finished it while they waited for their food and Eddie refilled her glass.
“Look at the menu special,” she said, pointing to a blackboard by the kitchen, “there’s a dish called the golden bowl. The golden bowl is broken and the spirit has flown for ever. Oh that bell sure does toll…” she slowly whispered.
“What’s that?” said Eddie.
She smiled, “I’m thinking about a Poe poem. It’s about death.”
“What made you think of it?” he asked.
She started to laugh. “The dinner special. Just reminded me of that, that’s all. You ever heard ‘Annabelle Lee’?”
“No,” said Eddie as the food arrived.
Annabelle slowly cut her pizza with her knife then sat for a long while with a large mound of spinach and cheese dangling from her fork.
She finally said, “Well, it’s about this maiden and her lover. She lived by the sea. It’s about death too.”
Eddie stared at her. “Are you OK?”
“It’s about time. It’s about death,” she softly sang.
Eddie smiled. “You liked the wine?”
“Oh yes,” she said, taking another long sip. “I was named after her you know.”
“Who?” he asked, between bites.
“‘Annabelle Lee’. The poem.”
“Oh.” He nodded.
“Poe was a genius you know. He developed the theory of the collective unconscious before Jung did, in his little short story ‘Shadow – A Parable’. He described the split personality before Freud did in his short story ‘William Wilson’. He predicted computers in his essay ‘Maelzel’s Chess Player’. He developed the modern detective story before Arthur Conan Doyle did. He even described the Big Bang theory in ‘Eureka’, sort of. He was really something. You know what his friends called him?”
“No.”
“Eddie!” she exclaimed, laughing uncontrollably, clutching her arms, trying not to choke. She looked at the people sitting to her right and hoped they weren’t looking back. They weren’t.
“Too bad he had such a hard life,” said Annabelle, seriously, suddenly.
Eddie leant back in his chair, smiling. “He had a hard life? I don’t know much about him.”
“Oh it was terrible,” she sighed. “His mother died when he was three. He was there in the house when she died, he may have actually seen her die… Then he was taken away with these other people and his whole life just changed, as though he’d never had a mother. Can you imagine that? That alone… And there was so much else…” Her eyes welled with tears that dripped heavily on the plate. She looked up at Eddie.
“I’m sorry,” said Eddie, still smiling.
“Yes,” she said. “It makes me very sad.”
She finished only half her pizza.
While walking back to the car, Annabelle stumbled, then French kissed Eddie at a stoplight. He picked her up and carried her for half a block, ignoring the confused stares from the people they passed.
They slowly drove along Route 30, looking for a motel in town, ending up at the Green Mountaineer Motor Lodge. Annabelle waited in the car while Eddie checked in.
In the room, Annabelle unpacked jasmine incense, a red candle, and two purple balloons.
While Eddie was in the bathroom she enthusiastically blew up the balloons and tossed them at him as soon as he appeared.
“I’ve never been in a motel room with a woman before,” he said, plopping on the bed, batting a balloon back to her.
“Not even with Barbara?” she asked.
“No, the only time I’ve ever stayed in a motel was with my parents on a trip we took to the Grand Canyon. When I was a teenager.”
“Dennis and I went on a weekend hotel special once but he left me alone in the room while he went out to play hockey. He was on a team then.”
“He left you alone in a hotel so he could play hockey?!” exclaimed Eddie.
“Well I had paid for the room and he was on a team,” she said.
She had been attempting to light the candle she’d unpacked. Her hands were slow and unsteady. Finally she was successful. Then she used the long candle flame to light a stick of incense.
“That blush made your face red,” said Eddie.
“It made me blush,” she giggled, pouncing on him, poking his massive bare ribs.
“Stop it! They’re going to throw us out of here!”
She stood up and he pulled her down again, kissing her, laughing. She turned around.
“I want to use this position,” she said.
“What position?” he asked.
She rubbed his hand against her.
“From behind,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
She reached behind her back, found his erection and guided it inside her, pushing against him.
“You’re drunk,” he whispered.
She kept pushing. He pushed back.
“Wait, I need a condom,” he said, pulling out.
She stood up and leant over the bed.
“Let’s stand up,” she said.
She positioned him behind her and he entered her again. She stretched her legs, lifted her back, her face on the mattress, her hips high around him. He came fast, stopped, and said nothing.
She turned to face him.
“When did you learn how to do that?” he said, laughing, out of breath.
“I made it up,” she whispered.
“You’re a wild woman when you’re drunk.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Oh sweetie.” He paused.
“You never made love in that position before?” she asked.
“No,” he said, shaking his head.
“Did you like it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Yes. But I couldn’t see your face.”
“I liked it because you came in so deep. I had an orgasm all through my spine.”
Eddie nodded, murmuring, “Shakti. Kundalini. You never did this before?”
Annabelle paused. “Well I did. Dennis did it that way one night out of the blue a long time ago. Sarah was just a baby then. Well, she was about three. One night he woke me up and did it. It was the first time I ever enjoyed intercourse.”
“Well at least you enjoyed it with him sometimes.”
“I got pregnant that time,” she whispered, her voice fading.
A truck engine hummed in the parking lot. The red candle burned. The short stick of incense was reaching its end, a tiny hot dot straddling the air in a molded glass ashtray.
“What happened to the baby?” Eddie finally asked.
Annabelle tugged at the oak veneer nightstand drawer and pulled out the motel Bible.
“Listen to this,” she said, opening to the Song of Solomon. “’I sleep, but my heart waketh: it is the voice of my beloved that knocketh, saying, Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled: for my head is filled with dew and my locks with the drops of the night.’ Now that’s pure erotica and I don’t know why the Church refuses to acknowledge that.”
Eddie was silent. Annabelle looked up from the book.
“After I told him I was pregnant he said it was over, you know, that he couldn’t handle it. So he left for a few weeks. Then later I left him and we kept leaving each other for years afterwards. Before he came back I had a miscarriage. I guess that’s why he came back. Then I realized I would never have another baby.”
She placed the Bible back in the drawer. Eddie pulled her onto his lap.
“We’ll have a baby,” he whispered.
“Since then I’ve felt like I’ve got a baby ghost inside me. Some parts of me are just dead,” she said, closing her lips. “My head is just spinning.”
“Let me tuck you in,” he whispered.
“How’s your head?” asked Eddie in the morning.
Annabelle lay still, breathing traces of the previous evening’s incense in morning motel air.
“There was a diesel truck parked outside the window all night, running its engine,” said Eddie.
“I didn’t hear it,” said Annabelle.
“Thank you for teaching me the new position.”
“I’m sorry I drank so much,” she said, “I hadn’t realized how much wine I had. Wine goes to my head very quickly.”
“Can we try the new position again?” he asked.
She nodded.
This time she was shy.
He came hard, and then waited a moment, his penis still inside her.
“Uh oh,” he murmured.
“What?” she said, starting to turn around.
“Don’t move,” he said, placing his hand closer to his penis, rustling around.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“The condom broke. I’m trying to retrieve what’s left of it.”
“What?!” said Annabelle, counting the number of days since the beginning of her last period and squirming like a wild bird beneath him. “It’s been twelve days since my last period, Eddie! I might have just gotten pregnant! Oh Jesus Eddie! Dennis hasn’t signed the papers!”
“Calm down,” said Eddie, fishing the last piece of latex from her labia.
“OK,” he finally said. She turned around, sat down, limbs shaking.
“I’m pregnant,” she repeated.
“You probably won’t get pregnant. It doesn’t usually happen this easily. Lots of couples try for years, you know.”
“You usually ovulate about twelve days after the beginning of your last period and it’s been twelve days! This is unbelievable! This is the twelfth day! I must be! I get pregnant so easily! I must be pregnant now. I don’t know what to do!”
Eddie laughed, “It would be wonderful! We’ll have a cute little happy baby.”
“How can you say that? I’m not even divorced yet!”
“Well it might speed up the divorce,” mused Eddie. “If you give birth to another man’s baby he’ll probably get the idea that the marriage is unsalvageable.”
Annabelle shook her head. “Did you ever read Anna Karenina?”
“No,” he said, “but I guess I should have. Could you give me a reading list?” He had started making the bed.
“You don’t need to make the bed, this is a motel; the housekeeping staff will come in and take all the sheets and blankets off and wash them.” She had become irritable and snappy. “You don’t need to be sarcastic either.”
“I love you,” whispered Eddie, packing the candles.
He insisted on bringing the balloons with them. He stuck one under his sweatshirt and waddled around while packing the car. Annabelle didn’t laugh. The bright balloons bopped up and down on their silent drive back to Gardenia.
“I’d like to come and meet Sarah,” said Eddie, finally.
“If I’m pregnant then Dennis can say I’m morally corrupted.”
“Oh he’s a paragon of virtue himself. You’ll be divorced before you start to show so it’s really not a problem.”
“Don’t you think I’d have a hard time explaining it to Sarah?”
“Oh she’d be thrilled. She’d love to have a little baby to play with. Kids don’t think about months and stuff. She’d just be happy to live in a real family for once.”
“So you think I’m pregnant?”
“I suppose that you could be. I’m not sure what the mathematical odds are, but yeah, it’s possible.”
A late winter snow had started with flakes heavy as crocheted wool.
“What should I do?” whispered Annabelle.
“Relax,” he said calmly. “Call your lawyer tomorrow and ask her what to do.”
“Tell her I’m pregnant?!”
“No, tell her that Dennis keeps stalling and see if she can expedite the process.”
The telephone rang. Eddie had left her apartment ten minutes earlier and Annabelle was sitting in silence.
“Hello,” she said, not letting the answering machine take the call because she was waiting for Dennis to drop off Sarah and it might be Sarah calling.
“Where were you?” Sarah shouted, instead of “Hello”.
“Hi Sarah, what do you mean? Are you OK?”
“I called you last night, I called you this morning,” moaned Sarah. “You have to come and get me. Where were you?”
Annabelle felt her skin begin to crawl.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“I’m at Grandmom’s. Just come and get me, OK?”
Annabelle sped to Dennis’s mother’s house. As soon as she parked, Dennis’s sister Ellen led Sarah to the car.
Annabelle rolled down her window. “Hi, what’s wrong?”
“Hi,” said Ellen. “We didn’t think Dennis should drive her home. Bye Sarah, we’ll see you soon, OK?”
Sarah nodded and got in the car. Ellen waved and went back in the house.
Annabelle drove slowly.
“Something’s wrong with Daddy,” Sarah finally said.
“Really?” said Annabelle, negotiating her way around the Bell Circle rotary. The snow had turned to intermittent rain and big spots of wet drops splashed hard on the roof.
“What happened?” asked Annabelle.
“Well Grandmom had a birthday party for Uncle Gary but all during the party Daddy just kept walking around and around in circles in the living room, talking to himself. It was really strange. Everybody went home because they were upset about how Daddy was acting. Is Daddy crazy?”
Annabelle had barely enough strength to keep her foot on the accelerator. Other cars kept passing them.
“Well, I don’t know.”
“He doesn’t want to get divorced,” said Sarah, “but I don’t know why. He doesn’t love you.”
Annabelle almost stopped the car.
“He doesn’t love me either,” continued Sarah, “Before the party he kept telling me that you’re a bad mother and you don’t love me. If he loved me he wouldn’t say bad things about you.”
Sarah was crying. Annabelle squeezed her hand, struggling to keep her left hand steady on the steering wheel.
“Your father has a hard time when things don’t go his way,” said Annabelle.
“Everybody does, Mom,” snapped Sarah, “but Daddy’s just a big baby.”
Sarah bounced around the living room floor. Annabelle was sitting with her. They’d just eaten canned vegetable soup for dinner.
“You never watch TV, Mom!” said Sarah, smiling, repeatedly glancing over her shoulder at Annabelle.
They watched a show where people sent in videotapes of candid experiences. A bride spilling wine on her dress. A toddler singing the national anthem. Annabelle imagined a video of Dennis the previous evening, delirious at a party, talking to himself, his loved ones backing away, making excuses to leave, then a video of herself and Eddie, the condom breaking, the irony of life.
Shortly after Sarah fell asleep, the telephone rang. Annabelle paused, letting the answering machine pick up the call.
“Hello,” said the voice, “this is Derek. I’d like to talk to you. My number is—”
Dennis’s older brother. Annabelle picked up the receiver.
“Hello?” she said.
“Annie,” said Derek, “how are you?”
“What’s up?” she said, struggling to maintain her composure.
“Has anyone told you what happened this weekend?”
“Well Sarah said that Dennis was talking to himself during Gary’s party.”
“Yeah, quite a show. Our mother is pretty upset about it.”
Annabelle was silent.
“Did you know that our mother has cancer?” asked Derek.
“No,” said Annabelle, stunned by his words. She could feel a fever rising from her stomach.
“She didn’t want everyone to know. She refuses to tell Dennis and won’t let anyone else tell him either. She figures that he has so many problems as it is. She’s very upset about your divorce.”
“I’m sorry about your mom.”
“It’s pretty hard for her to see Dennis this way. She has lung cancer and doesn’t have much time left. She’s been in a lot of pain.”
Annabelle shook her head.
“You see Annie, the idea is this. We just need to keep everything happy and calm for her, do you understand? We had the party for Gary as an excuse to get the whole family together. It’s pretty clear to everyone that Dennis is in desperate need of psychiatric help, don’t you think so?”
“Derek, I’m sorry,” whispered Annabelle, “but I can’t focus on Dennis’s problems right now. We are in the process of a divorce.”
“Our mother has cancer! She is going to die!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Look, I have an idea. Dennis doesn’t want the divorce and he keeps saying that he’ll do anything to get you back. If you would be willing to reconcile he might get himself to a mental hospital. He’s not in any condition to agree to a divorce. His mind isn’t sound.”
“Derek,” she said, her voice rising, “this is just another one of his attempts to manipulate me!”
“This isn’t about you, Annabelle! And I’m not suggesting that you never get divorced. I just want you to tell him that you’re willing to consider reconciliation so that he’ll see a psychiatrist. Once he gets some treatment and things calm down, then you can continue the divorce process.”
Evaluation of Derek’s Idea:
She imagined her belly growing. Her baby born. A speeding train. Russian swans.
“No,” she said, finally.
“Then I’ll get a lawyer for him, and we’ll have ourselves a good fight,” hissed Derek.
“OK,” whispered Annabelle.
Derek hung up.
Annabelle stood, needing to urinate. She went to the bathroom and waited and waited. Finally a stream began while she bit her hand. She returned to the kitchen and called Eddie.
“Eddie, Dennis was acting out this weekend and now his family is convinced he’s crazy. His brother called and told me their mother is dying of cancer and they want me to reconcile with him so that he’ll see a psychiatrist. And I’m probably pregnant. I told his brother I wouldn’t so he threatened to get a lawyer for Dennis and force me to stop the divorce!”
“Is this a soap opera or what?” chuckled Eddie.
“I’m serious!” said Annabelle, beginning to cry. “They’re not going to let me divorce him!”
Eddie whistled and said, “Sounds like bullying runs in the family.”
“There’s no hope,” sobbed Annabelle.
“There is hope,” laughed Eddie. “Nobody can be forced to stay married to someone! This is a free country!”
“I feel terrible about his mother,” murmured Annabelle.
“I hear you. But it’s not your problem.”
“You say it’s not, they say it is.”
“It’s not. It sounds like Dennis has an elaborate network of people who have always been codependent to his immature behaviour. It’s time to end all of that.”
“What should I do?” she asked, slouching against the chair.
“Call your lawyer tomorrow morning and tell her what Dennis’s brother suggested. She’ll know what to do.”
They both paused for a long time.
“You need to get some sleep,” said Eddie.
“I can’t.”
“OK, bring the phone over to your bed and lie down while you’re talking to me.”
She did.
“OK,” he said, “are you lying down?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m going to tell you a bedtime story.”
Annabelle smiled in spite of herself.
“Get comfortable. Did you ever hear the story of the three sillies?”
“No.”
“Are you comfortable yet? Are you still lying down?”
“Yes,” she said.
“OK,” he began. “Once upon a time there was a man who was dating this woman and he was over at her parents’ house having a meal and they ran out of wine and they told the daughter to go downstairs to get some more wine and so she did.”
The story continued for twenty minutes, Eddie’s melodious voice becoming progressively softer until he whispered, “And so the man returned to the house and married the daughter and they lived happily ever after. Are you sleepy now?”
She was asleep.
“Good night,” he sighed.
In the morning Annabelle called her lawyer, Eileen O’Malley, and described the situation with Dennis.
“Well of all the nerve!” exclaimed Eileen. “His brother is harassing you!”
“What should I do?”
“I think he’s just trying to get his family to pity him. I think you should meet with him and carefully explain to him that you are proceeding with the divorce. You could read him some of the affidavit you wrote – explain that if he does contest it you’ll present all the instances of abuse you documented. I really think he’ll concede. But if he doesn’t, we’ll go ahead and file on the grounds of cruel and abusive treatment.”
“What if his brother gets a lawyer for him?”
“That would be good, he should have a lawyer. Maybe then he’ll take this whole thing seriously.”
“So you think I should meet with him?”
“Yes, but for your sake do it in a public place so he doesn’t attempt to harm you. I don’t trust this guy.”
“I feel terrible about his mother,” said Annabelle.
“I’m sure you do. That’s too bad but it’s not your problem.”
Annabelle called Dennis and arranged to meet him at noon at the doughnut shop around the corner from his mother’s house.
Dennis was already sitting at a booth, sipping a cup of coffee when she arrived.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he said before she sat down. He was smiling his little boy smile, the one that had always melted her and beckoned her back. He reserved it for special occasions, such as this.
She ordered a cup of tea.
“Your brother Derek called me the other night,” she said.
Dennis raised his eyebrows.
“Did you know that your mother is dying?” she asked.
He squinted at her.
“What are you talking about?” he said.
“Your mother told your brothers and sisters not to tell you that. She has lung cancer.”
“What are you talking about? Derek called you? Are you telling me that my brother Derek called you?”
“He told me a lot. He told me how you were behaving at Gary’s birthday party. Did you know they were having the party to try to get your family together before your mother dies?”
“I don’t believe this,” said Dennis, shaking his head.
“Did you know that you’ve been behaving like a spoiled brat?” she asked.
Dennis nodded. “I just want to get back together, Annie. I’ll do anything you ask.”
“First, don’t call me Annie. Do you want to know what else Derek told me?”
“I guess you’re going to tell me.”
Annabelle spoke very slowly, carefully enunciating each consonant: “Your family wants to admit you to a mental hospital. They think you need intense psychiatric help. Derek called to ask me to pretend to reconcile with you so that you would seek help. He wanted me to tell you that I would reconcile with you as long as you checked into a mental hospital. How do you like that?”
“This is crazy,” said Dennis, nervously looking around the doughnut shop. “I don’t believe this.”
“They’re doing this for your mother, Dennis. They want her last days to be happy and peaceful, not filled with the problems of a codependent son.”
“What did you tell Derek?”
“What do you think? I told him no.”
“Annabelle, are you sure? Are you sure you won’t reconsider? Don’t you have any love for me any more?” His little-boy face was pathetic.
Annabelle shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I have absolutely no love left for you.”
“None at all?”
“Nope. None at all.”
“Is there someone else?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“There’s someone else.”
“That’s none of your business.”
Dennis sighed. “All right,” he said, “I’ll sign the papers. I guess there’s no use fighting any more.”
“You’ve been saying you’ll sign the papers for six months now.”
“I really will this time.”
“They need to be notarized,” she said.
“OK.”
She pulled a copy of the divorce agreement out of her briefcase.
“There’s a notary public in this plaza.” She pointed out the window. “See that building there? They have a notary public. You can walk over and sign it right now.”
“You’ve planned all this.”
“That’s why I wanted to meet here. I checked the notary listing and there’s a Mrs Paulson who does administrative work there. I called and asked if she would be there today and she said she’s not leaving the office until five. So she’s there right now and you can just go over and sign it.”
“You’ve set this all up,” he said, scowling. “I’ll sign it but I’m not going over there.”
“If you don’t sign it right now, Dennis, I’ll file on the grounds of cruel and abusive treatment and I’ll do that this afternoon.”
Dennis stared at her.
“You really do want a divorce, don’t you,” he said.
Annabelle’s stomach churned. She thought of the baby inside her. “I am infuriated!” she shouted.
Dennis looked around the doughnut shop and rested his chin in the palm of his left hand.
“You set this all up,” he repeated.
“I’ve always taken care of everything for you,” she seethed. “Why should our divorce be any different?”
Dennis stood up. “OK, I’m going. Mrs Paulson, right there?” he said, pointing to the realty building.
“It costs five dollars. Do you have five dollars?”
Dennis nodded.
“I’ll wait here for you,” she said.
“OK,” he said, “anything for you. Anything you want.”
She turned around and watched through the plate glass as Dennis meandered towards the realty building and went inside. Twenty minutes later he returned, the papers signed and notarized. He handed them to Annabelle, and then walked with her to her car.
“So are you going to check yourself into a mental hospital?” she asked.
“My brother was crazy for suggesting that,” he said, “I’m just very concerned about my mother. I can’t believe I’ve been acting like that. I knew she was sick. I didn’t know she had cancer. I wish someone had told me earlier. I don’t know what I can do to make it up to her.”
“Buy her some roses,” said Annabelle, getting into her car. “Try to act normal so that she doesn’t have to worry about you. That’s the best thing you can do for her.”
Once again, Dennis smiled; a strange, endearing mask. “I guess I’ll see you in court,” he said.
“The court will set a date in about a month and we’ll appear soon after that.”
“I don’t think I should see Sarah for a little while,” he whispered.
“That’s OK,” said Annabelle.
Dennis nodded and went back in the doughnut shop.
Annabelle drove off with the signed agreement in her briefcase and Dennis’s image in her mind. She was inexplicably sad for him. She hadn’t been his wife, she’d been his mother, and soon he’d be losing his other one.