The Knitting Circle
“At first, she could not bear to go into Stella’s bedroom. Then she began to steel herself in order to enter it, standing in front of the door and pressing her hands to the wall outside for strength. Once she stepped in, she might open a drawer and gently touch her daughter’s ballet tights and leotards, or the bright balls of colorful socks; she might open the closet and run her fingertips across the row of dress-up dresses hanging there; she might let her eyes scan the titles of books on the low pink bookshelf. Then she’d leave.But that early September day, she’d come home and gone into Stella’s room and been overcome by exhaustion. Even the walk out of the room and down the hall seemed impossible. Mary climbed into her daughter’s bed, slipped under the purple and white quilt, and fell asleep, the way she used to when she’d put Stella to bed a lifetime ago. Back then she’d been tired from the abundance in her life. Now, it was the routine, the sameness, the smallness, of it.With anoth...er Halloween, another Thanksgiving, the endless cycle of joy and holidays approaching, Mary spent every late afternoon asleep in her daughter’s bed.MoreLess
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