Seeing Things
Seeing Things
“She sat with her legs splayed out before her. Her hair hung limp over her shoulders, completely platinum as mine had been by her age, only straight as a ruler. I hadn’t seen her in five years, even though we had vowed to visit one or the other at least once a year. And here she was on a mission of collusion. A pair of robins I’d come to know from their chittering sounded the alarm. A neighborhood cat on the prowl? A duplicitous daughter?
From inside the house, the whine of power tools and t...he pounding of hammers thudded against my chest. I promised myself to call Emory once Diane headed back to Ireland. I’d made enough of a mess; it was time to go home.
“Ma, Andy thinks your behavior has been a little . . . erratic. And, well, he’s concerned about your safety.” Diane’s voice, fatigued from hours on jets and in stale airports, made me want to pull her into my arms and sing her a lullaby, but I knew better. Diane, of my two children, was most like me—independent and self-contained.MoreLess
From inside the house, the whine of power tools and t...he pounding of hammers thudded against my chest. I promised myself to call Emory once Diane headed back to Ireland. I’d made enough of a mess; it was time to go home.
“Ma, Andy thinks your behavior has been a little . . . erratic. And, well, he’s concerned about your safety.” Diane’s voice, fatigued from hours on jets and in stale airports, made me want to pull her into my arms and sing her a lullaby, but I knew better. Diane, of my two children, was most like me—independent and self-contained.MoreLess
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